My bus finally broke down... in the desert.

I've finally returned Palestine, and as such, I will attempt to get back to my blogging ways. My return was delightful, miserable, and as always eventful. I returned via Egypt, having heard from several people that the southern border crossing into Israel is relatively easier to pass through compared to entering through Tel Aviv. I was a bit worried my third visit, the second in less than two months, might throw up red flags with Israeli authorities. Thanks to my mother's job with Delta (please think of using them the next time your "travel plans call for air travel") I flew from NYC to Cairo first-class. As I picked up my copy of the Financial Times, and flipped through their monthly magazine insert "How to Spend It", while sipping a cool glass orange juice, I was relieved to see that finally someone appreciated me as a consumer with discerning tastes. I was quite impressed with the new line of special production bicycles by Porsche, but less impressed with the luxory watches on review. You really can't have enough finely built, handcrafted time pieces.

Despite my fully reclineable seat and not having to deal with the rabble in coach (... I don't even know why the let them on the plane) I spent a fairly sleepless night. I arrived in Cairo and left as soon as I could. Before doing so I made sure to sweat... a lot, and to play the video game-like challenge of crossing streets in a city with over 20 million people, and even more cars. I'm fairly confident that my survival is owed no less to the many hours I spent as a child playing Frogger on our 1982 vintage IBM PC at home. I took an overnight bus to a little town called Dahab, situated on the southerneastern coast of Sinai (only an hour north of Sharm Al-Sheikh, of presidential summit fame).

Dahab features a number of world class diving and snorkeling spots and is a backpacker's favorite. I spent 4 days here. The first catching up on sleep, the second two playing in the water, and day 4 relaxing. I hung out with a couple of American guys and a Canadian girl while I was there. The 29 year old from Ohio was quite a character, and a traveler. He's an avid climber, and enthralled me with his account of his ascent of Everest. He didn't make the summit (only the final advance camp (about 24,000 ft)), but I have a feeling he will eventually do it, and make it down to tell the tale. The other American was in the 9th month of an around the world adventure that has included stops on all seven continents... yes, Antarctica.

I was tempted to go diving, but for a hundred dollars for two dives, i decided to stick with snorkeling ( a hundred dollars is 3 weeks worth of food in nablus) ). The time I spent in the water was amazing. I was really impressed with the wide array of tropical fish, some decent coral formations, and the sheer extent of the underwater environment. I snorkeled around a sight called blue hole/the bells... amazing. There is a coral shelf about 3 feet deep which leads to a cliff/ledge that then drops to over 300 feet. It was unbelievable to see all the bright coral and aquatic life just drop into a bright blue abyss. It was a strange sensation to hover over this cliff feeling as if the laws of physics were somehow turned upside down I could plummet into the deep blue.

The two and a half hour bus ride from Dahab to Taba (on the border with Israel) took almost 5 hours. Our bus came to a stop to give water to a stranded truck driver (remember we are in the middle of the desert). As we are preparing to get back underway a group 6 foreigners comes walking up from the back of the bus demanding to be let out... I look back the bus is filling with smoke... I had just drank the last of my water about an hour ago. I knew I would eventually be on a bus that would break down. I figured it would probably be one of the Boston-NYC Chinatown buses. The thing is that, I-95 going through Connecticut is just a fundamentally different environment than the Sinai Desert.

After the smoke had more or less abated we were hearded onto the bus, by the driver who was visibly agitated due to our delay. The following 5 minutes would be the most frightening bus ride I've had since I thought I was going to die on a chicken bus in the Andes coming down the mountains from Quito in Ecuador. Contrary to my prior belief, there are hills and mountains in the desert, and there are roads that take sharp turns, and apparently there are bus drivers who are willing to bet lives on timely arrivals. For a couple of minutes I really thought the bus had lost its brakes. At least I wasn't going to die of dehydration on the side of the highway...

I took me forever to get out of Egypt, as one poor guy labored away stamping passports while 4 other border workers looked on, apparently managing logistics. I lost track of the number of times people cut in front of me. The line morphed from 3 separate lines to 2 to 1 and back to 3, all for the same station in the 30 minutes I was waiting. I won't even go into the hastle I created for myself by asking for a special re-entry stamp... wasn't worth the $15 it would have saved me. Putting my best game face on I entered the Israeli border control station. All smiles, I made a sarcastic joke about not being with the tour group entering at the same time as me and passed through the metal detectors. Of course they wanted to go through my bags.

Then came time to step up to the plate and get my stamp. The early twenties-something girl behind the glass asked me what I was doing and where I was going. As she looked at my last exit stamp she then became intrigued, "Where are you staying in Eilat (the Israeli town on the border)." I had a hostel picked out... easy question. "Can I see your return ticket to the states?"... Electronic ticket, I don't have a print out of the itenerary. Next question please. A bit befuddled, but not looking as though she was prepared to call in the reserves she leans over to the girl next to her and starts talking. The two of them had tones in their voice that suggested that something was awry, but it didn't appear as though the system had me flagged, and I was all smiles... what could they do. I pretty much ran out the place and didn't even look to see if she gave me a 1 month or 3 month visa until I was at the bus station in Eilat.

Getting from Eilat to Jerusalem was uneventful except for the peculiar anxiety that seemed to permeate the Israelis around me. There was a rush to get on the bus, a rush to get off the bus. The girl behind me in line at the rest stop was climbing on my back waiting to purchase her yogurt. Every step I took forward, she took two. I felt as though if I had bent down to pick up some change I would have been leap frogged by atleast ten people by the time I stood back up.

The first week in Nablus has been pretty calm. I spent the first night in my old apartment. My favorite old roommate was prompt in letting me know that there had been no prior notice of my arrival (which wasn't my fault) and that since the apartment was now "full" (which is up for debate), I would only be able to stay for the night. I thanked him for keeping me abreast of the situation. I have spent the past four nights at the apartment of an orginization that has a good relationship with the university. The apartment acts as a homestead for international travelers coming to Nablus for short periods of time. All of the visitors so far have been French accept for the interpretive dance couple who were from England. I don't know how long this will last, but I do have my own small room and it is relatively clean... so I'm not complaining.

I've started teaching an English class at the university, and it is good to be back in the classroom. I had my first Arabic tutoring session, and that appears as though it should work out nicely. Congratulations if you made this far. I admire your stamina and promise to do my updates fairly regularly so that you're not subjected to book-length posts in the future. Hope all are well.

peace,
ryan

Follow the Women

So, unbelievably, my time here in Nablus has come to an end (at least for this trip... I'm still pondering whether I'm coming back or not). This past week has been a fairly full one (the weekends do tend to drag, a problem I will have to rectify if I do come back). The biggest event was by far the presence of over 150 women from 25 different countries in Nablus. The women were participating in a campaign for womens' and children's rights, and peace in the Middle East. The gimmick is that they are riding their bikes (they do get bused between locations, but it's a great event nonetheless).

This is a pretty big deal in a city where women are looked down upon if they ride a bike. The one reason for this social stigma that I heard can be requested in writing, as I don't want to offend any of those with more delicate sensibilities. Fortunately, the ride went off without a hitch. The women were supposed to enter through Huwarra checkpoint and meet their bikes (which were being shipped in trucks around the city for fear that they wouldn't be let into the city through the checkpoint). The morning of the event we received word that the women had decided they were going to ride through the checkpoint, "they hadn't come all this way to simply go visit historic districts and watch dance troupes from the local children's organization. They were going to make a point." Interestingly enough, when they showed up at the checkpoint the Israelis more or less let them right through.

Besides the horrid sunburn I got on my recently shaved head, the rest of the day was great. I got brush up on my Spanish with the contingent from the Catalan region of Spain, and learned a few words of Turkish. I'm not going to lie, I was just a bit depressed that evening when all the women left... I will be visiting Turkey at some point soon.

My depression aside, you should check out this group (www.followthewomen.com) and you can see the press release I wrote at http://youth.zajel.org/Study_visits/studyvisits26.htm. If you have any connections to media outlets, this group could use your help, and deserves to get more press than they do.

This past Friday I headed over to a local community service organization called Tomorrow's Youth Organization (http://www.tomorrowsyouth.org/4.html). It is being run in-country by a couple of girls from the U.S. (I mentioned Shauna, one of the organizers, in the previous post). They were having an open house so I headed over to release some energy and play with some of the kids. As always there were a few rascals (Dad, when you called me I had a couple of kids throwing leaves and flowers on my neck and poking me in the back, hence my seeming a bit distracted). I have to say I was really impressed with how well the kids behaved. I've had a much harder time telling that kid to give me the ball, or put the stick down (please remember I still can't count past 6 at this point) in other situations.

More picks of the kiddos and the women of Follow the Women on my Picasa web albums!

peace, ry

Gas and Guns... nothing to see here

A week and a half ago I was itching to get out and roam. I suggested a hike to a friend (Shauna is from the States and is 1 of 2 in-country directors for a new community service organization in Nablus). The hike didn't work out, but we instead headed to Ramallah on Saturday night (the end of our weekend here) for an international film festival call Pangea Day (http://www.pangeaday.org). They were simulcasting a show with hosts stationed all over the world, and showed a collection of films from amateur and new filmmakers. Some of the films were pretty decent, others left much to be desired. The hosts were for the most part miserable, not the least because of their cliche script and equally unimaginative reading of said script.

Regardless, the highlight of this trip was chilling around a campfire having a few cold beers, some peanuts, and conversing without having to worry about making sure that what you say will be understood, or won't be taken in the wrong way... I've learned over the past 7 years that sarcasm does not translate well (Nick can tell you a story or two). The trip to Ramallah was a great breath of fresh air, both literally and figuratively. I honestly had this sense of release in me as soon as I was outside the perimeter marked off by the Israeli military around the city. Even though you don't directly see the Israeli military on a daily basis, your subconscious knows that you don't have to go far before your freedom ceases, if only briefly, to exist. I might also contribute a bit of this feeling to the conservative stigmas that are also present here (I think twice before I throw on a pair of shorts, to go for a run).

Oh, yeah, "Gas and Guns." As I arrived at the checkpoint (you get out of your taxi , cross the checkpoint on foot, then catch another "servees" taxi on the other side) I saw gas being let off. The canister was placed so that the wind took the smoke across the pen that you enter to have your I.D. checked (it is not an exaggeration to describe it as a cattle pen where, the cattle are lined up into a single file line between metal fencing), so as to clear all the people waiting in line from the area. As I walked up towards the front of the gathered crowd I saw four Israeli soldiers with their machine guns pointed in the general direction of the crowd and beyond. Shauna, who had gone through the checkpoint minutes earlier, phoned me and suggested I try to flash them my passport. I was politely told by the soldier to "back away", apparently this is only a move for attractive young ladies from the States. I was actually glad I wasn't given any sort of preferential treatment. I would have felt pretty horrible if a bunch of people saw me just walk through. Needless to say, I hung out with the crowd for about ten minutes, exchange shakes of the head and a few smiles with those around me, and then they began slowly letting us through... after all that, "nothing to see here."

My first smoke since the wind changed direction suddenly at that camp fire.

Yusra is the eldest of the Jamous girls. She has been living in Ramallah for a while now, and I had yet to see her (she was not at last week’s gathering at the family’s home). This past Thursday was the Palestinian Labor Day. On Wednesday night I decided to take a trip to the Golan (Northern Israel) to see some of the beautiful landscapes and historical spots around Nazareth and the Sea of Galilee. I was motivated partially out of a genuine interest to go and partially so that I would have material for my “vacation” to recount to the security at the airport when I leave at the end of May. To get to the Galilee and Golan I would have to go via Ramallah, via Jerusalem. I decided to set off.

First step was to leave Nablus. At the checkpoint the soldiers were friendly to me. They asked me where I was from, before I handed them my passport, and how I was doing. We exchanged courtesies. They asked me what I was doing in Nablus, and I replied tourism, “Just checking the place out”. We all smiled and I wished them a good night.

I met up with Yusra an hour later. I was going to crash on her couch, but her roommate, who was very nice and seemed pretty liberal (dressed liberally had a good job, etc.) just didn't feel right about a guy staying the night in the apartment. Fortunately, Yusra had a couple of really nice friends, Sa'id and Mohanad who took me in for the night and gave me one of their beds. The following day I decided to scrap my planned solo trip, to hang out with Yusra and her friends. They had planned a barbecue at a park area just north of Ramallah. The food included the traditional fair of pita bread, humus, yogurt, and a variety of meat dishes such as kafta (ground beef with spices) and lamb… wicked good.

Yusra and her friend Marwa had been on a marathon of smoking nargila over the past few weeks (water pipe for smoking a fruit based substance (no more noxious to your health than cigarettes and no chemical effects like marijuana (you can find it in the States)). The nargila is a quintessential artifact of Arab culture and daily life. Every café in the Middle East and Northern Africa has them, and you would be hard pressed to walk into a café and not find at least one for every two patrons. Toward the end of the day the girls started to seem like they were getting a little loopy and I began wondering if this nargila thing was an Islamic substitute for alcohol (or maybe it was the sugar from the marshmallows we were eating). Giving in to my curiosity I decided to try it. Despite the sweet apple smell of the smoke released by the smoker, this stuff was hooorrrrrrible. Of course, I coughed and they all had a good time watching me. I’m happy to say that it’s not a past time I’ll be taking up, but a bit disappointed that my inquiry into this nargila smoking has ended without answering any questions… primarily why anybody would smoke it in the first place.

The views of the surrounding hills were nice, and it was great get away from my city center apartment. In the photo to the right you can see an Israeli settlement. It seems incredibly bold, and completely unjustified that Israel would plant a settlement this far into the West Bank. I will try to write up a brief explanation about the current main themes of the conflict here, but for the time being, it’s useful to know that these types of settlements are one of the main agitators of the conflict, and that many believe they are an attempt by Israel to establish “facts on the ground” which will have a bearing on any final settlement between Israel and the Palestinians.

A Long Awaited Reunion with the Jamous Family

[Distclaimer: After re-reading this post several times, I feel like I spent too much time concentrating on the cultural difference that stand out to me in my relationship with the Jamous family. This post does not reflect accurately the overall feeling of my visit with them, which was one of a joyous reunion. Seeing as how I don' have time to re-write it, please keep in mind that what follows tends to focus, not necessarily on the great friendship I have with this family, but more my observations on their life and reality as it is different from a cultural, and security standpoint, compared to that which I experience in the U.S. The Jamous family has always welcomed me into their home as one the family, and I'm grateful for their friendship.]

During my first visit to Nablus I became good friends with one of the student ambassadors, a girl named Yasmin. I was also friendly with her two sisters and brother, who were also involved in the camp to varying degrees. I was invited to their home to meet their family and to make kunafeh, a traditional Nabulsi dessert (Mr. Jamous , pictured at left with granddaughter Jenna, is quite proud of his kunafeh, as he should be). From the time I decided to come back to Nablus I had been eagerly awaiting to see the family again and to meet Yasmin’s Husband, Bashar, and their 6 month old Jenna (Yasmin & Jenna below).

Heckem, the oldest son, invited me over to the family’s house last Friday to join him and his colleagues for a lunch in honor of his upcoming departure for a job in Dubai. I arrived to the house before the rest of the guests and waited patiently in the living room, chatting with Heckem and greeting his father. His colleagues began to arrive and we all talked (I wasn’t doing too much of the talking of course) while the food was being prepared behind closed doors. When lunch was ready, we were invited into the next room, where the table was already set and the door to the kitchen was closed. The women of the family were kept out of sight the entire time. This, of course, was tough for me because I was waiting to see the rest of the family. The meal was delicious and was followed by kunafeh, this time, not Mr. Jamous'.

Once the rest of the guests had left I got to see the whole the family. Both Yasmin and Mais (Yasmin’s younger sister) are a bit more conservative. They wear a head covering and won’t shake a man’s hand… this was always a little tough for me, especially saying good bye to Yasmin four years ago, when a hug was definitely in order. On seeing them again, my immediate response was to get up and give them a big hug… but I stayed put and said hello with a wave (as awkward as this felt for me).

I stayed at the house chatting with everyone for the next 5 hours or so. Of course religion, politics, and the conflict came up. Mrs. Jamous (at right with Yasmin and Jenna) recounted to me that about three months ago Israeli military came into there house around 2am and forced the family out onto the street until 5 in the morning. It seems they were looking for someone or something in the house adjoining theirs. In the end there were bullet holes in the front of their house, and some of the younger children still get upset from the event.

When people here tell me their personal stories of their reality living under the occupation, I can't fully understand it. I tend to grasp for the emotional response that is warranted, but I am constantly trying to view their stories from some sort of objective lens, always trying to understand the factors that perpetuate the conflict here. Sometimes though, it really is just an innocent family suffering as they try to get on with their life (and this, I would venture, is by far, more often the case than not).














peace,
ryan