Christmas Cocktail in the Holy Land

I must apologize to all of you who checked back on Sunday to see if our Christmas Cocktail Party was a flop...and shame on you for thinking I would let a party flop!  It was awesome!  People were SO happy to have a Christmas event to mark the season and a reason to dress up and time to hang out with friends!  As surprising at it is...there is no Christmas in the Holy Land. At least not as we know it and not in the place where we can go.  Throughout Palestine there are Christmas tree lightings and peace choirs singing - but not here in Israel.  Anyway... enough of that sad story - on to the spectacular Christmas Cocktail!

The duty free alcohol for the party showed up, as predicted, the day after the party.  We ran to a local store and picked up the necessities to make our creative cocktails with festive names like "Father Christmas" (Bourbon, orange, bitters and powdered sugar) and "Holiday Cheer" (A fruity martini). And wow did our friends ever take the cocktail part seriously!  I set out little red and green notecards for everyone to write their cocktail recipe on...and the bar was littered with these cards!  The drinks were delicious, all but 4 of my cookies were eaten, the appetizers brought by friends were devoured! And most of all, people LOVED the Christmas decorations in our house which actually felt (and smelled) like Christmas!

My Christmas piano books were out but I'm too much of a chicken to play for everyone.  Lucky for me, one of the guests is a "trained in classic piano."  She happy browsed through the books and played the favorites while everyone stood around sipping cocktails and singing from the caroling books I'd saved from a Christmas cruise.  The surprising and touching and magical part of this is that my Jewish friends (some of whom have never heard these carols) were singing along! 

Another surprising thing here is the "Happy Holiday" versus "Merry Christmas."  Take the trend towards "Holiday" vs. "Christmas" and add in the complex cultural dynamic of Christians, Muslims and Jews, pair that with the fact that most people don't celebrate Christmas here, and the fact that we work for a politically correct government entity...and you get lots of Happy Holidays.  But not at our party.  All of our friends said Merry Christmas and it really meant a lot to us. 

Our tree and the many ornaments from my childhood were the highlight of the party.  And the make-shift advent wreath and the beautiful stockings I made. (Not really but I was proud of them and I want to put the picture on top!)

In short, it was a fabulous time!  Now that we have done Christmas here, it's time to go back to the States!!!  I probably won't post for the next three weeks (sorry), but we'll be on whirlwind tour of the States (at least the Midwest and the East Coast) and we'll be so busy seeing friends and doing everyday things we probably won't have time to write. (You can't possibly understand how excited I am to drive go grocery shopping.  Driving there without traffic, parking in a free parking lot with large spaces, paying in US dollars!!) 

How the Grinch Stole My Christmas Cocktail Party...

Twas the night before the night before the Vaca Christmas Cocktail party...(I think that is the wrong story...but we're going to go with it)....and all the Young Dips down in tel aviv were preparing for the Christmas party of the year.  "Cocktail Attire, no children please." The cookies were made, decorations on the trees.  The only thing missing for the Cocktail Party was alcohol purchased at duty free.

On Tuesday they called "I'll send it tomorrow," replied the warehouse man who had to approve.  "You'll have it by Friday! Don't you worry, my friend." on Wednesday...and Thursday brought even worse news.


Invitation by Jen: Can I get this published as an eSilver Card?

 The Grinch in the customs dept. surely knew that this holiday request was for more than two.  More than a request for alcohol and food, this order meant an evening of home, holiday and good moods.  It wasn't just the event of the season, it was the event that created the season!  Closer than ever to the true Christmas of ole, the kids in Tel Aviv didn't know that the countdown to Christmas was coming to a close!  Though just a few miles away from Bethlehems manger, no lights and no carols - it couldn't have been stranger.  Now the only event to mark the Christmas miracle, is a Christmas cocktail party - and they aren't going to get us the "Cocktails" in time!!!

Now I watched the Grinch just a few days ago, and I know that Christmas isn't about the ribbons and bows.  So surely it isn't about cocktail drinking, but is there a way to keep my party from sinking?!? I have to save Christmas, not just for me, but for all of my friends who are hoping to see - decorations and lights and holiday cheer,  cookies and candies and hope for the new year..... (Check back on Sunday....)

Tel Aviv sea during storm

Friday at work everyone was talking about "The Storm." It rained for 5 minutes and we thought "Hm...typical."  On Saturday the skies were cloudy (which is odd for us) and in the afternoon it started to get darker.  We would have walked to our friend's apartment by the beach around 7pm had we not been running late - but we were, so we jumped in a cab.  

My picture from same spot in May.

The driver was hesitant to drive down by the water - the obvious route.  We understood why when the sea came into view and the biggest waves I have ever seen were crashing over the stone walls that usually protect the beach.  As we paid the cabby and stepped out of the cab we were hit by much stronger winds than we were feeling 1 mile in from the shore.  Our friends like on the 17th floor with a balcony looking over the water and from there you could see (and feel) that this really was a storm.  

Leaving their apartment that night we were hit immediately by the 60mph winds!  Before bed we brought in our plants, stacked our furniture and closed all of the protective shields on the windows...just in case.

Sunday morning worse.  We unclogged the drains outside a few times to let the water drain down and re-staked our poor little fruit trees that were right at the end of wind tunnel. (Two of them were uprooted and quickly replanted.)  Sunday was consistently rainy and windy and one set of friends opted to not have us drive over to their place by the sea because it was "too dangerous to drive."  We didn't understand.  It wasn't THAT bad by us.  

So we went North to a co-workers for dinner.  The horrific traffic on the way was due to a few downed branches (very small) and blinking traffic lights. (Side note: Israel is one country where blinking yellow lights are not okay as all of the drivers are pushy and impatient - myself included - so we ALL push our way into the center of the intersection and one by one weave through...oh so inefficient!)

Anyway, getting there was bad but doable. The way home...another story.  The wind was blowing the rain almost horizontally and the slight flooding on the highways made the lines invisible (the lines here aren't straight...so you can't guess where your lane is!).  It was only the third time in my life that I have pulled over on the side of the road because the conditions were so bad.  We made it to a circle in the city only to find that part of it we had to go through was flooded.  (I later went to get a picture of this and the water was halfway to my knees!) 

The real surprise was when we got home.  I went straight to the front to check the patio drains which were flooded.  I put on a coat and some flip flops and ran out the side door (the water was up to the front door) to clear the drain.  I pushed away the debris (and nothing happened) and I ran around to the back to clear the other drain.  The water was deeper in back (above my ankles..on our 6th floor balcony!), it was dark and I couldn't find the drain.  Enter the hail.  I am getting pelted with little hail balls, standing in 4 inches of water in my flip flops...and I locked myself out. 

Paul came to the rescue and as I slipped into the house (literally slipping, not sneaking...falling) he ran to the back room to turn on the lights.  "Jen...come look at this!"  Not only was the light not working, but the room was flooded.  Water was coming in from under the door to the patio in the back where I couldn't find the drain.  Begin the frantic soaking-up, wringing out, clearing debris, calling for help, heaving buckets of water off the balcony.

Two hours later (midnight), after the government services guy left, the floor was drying and at least the back drain was working.  This is when I grabbed my camera and ran to get pictures of the flood (which I'll post later).  

The drive to work took an hour the next morning as the roads were flooded and many lights were out.  The beach was...and still is...a mess.

Turkey Day!!

Sorry we didn't post about this sooner.  I know many of you heard our woes of trying to find cranberries in Isreal or buying the organic, free range, kosher, home-delivery bird killed only hours before going on the grill. In the end...HUGE Success!!!

The star of Thanksgiving was the turkey and the cranberry sauce (ehh..both made by the most attravtive chef in I've ever seen!).  We'll save them for the end.

Lets start with us bringing our big plastic picnic table inside and borrowing a full set of dishes from our friends, moving the bookshelf and the couches to make room for an ambitious 16 guests! 

Then, only a few days before, the pot luck thing seemed to be going down the drain when 2 guests replied that they would bring cake.  So we bought massive amounts of mushrooms, potatoes and onions, and pre-made buscuits.  In the end, they all brought more food than we thought and we had TONS!

While I would have loved to have sent my friends home with armloads of turkey and cranberry sauce and stuffing - I couldn't.  The stuffing was pretty much gone (and it is one of my favorites). And the turkey and cranberries...well that was my food budget for a month.  So today, like yesterday and almost every day since then, we've had potatoes and turkey for dinner. (Sweet and sour turkey, turkey pot pie, turkey sandwhiches - I'm not complaining, they are delicious).

We ordered 11 kilos of turkey (a safe bet according to the turkey experts online)(we ended up with a 25lb bird!).  Well, they don't really eat turkeys here so the market (demand and supply) is pretty small.  We couldn't really be picky.  Then on the cranberries.  You know those oceanspray commercials where they are standing in a pond with berries floating around them.  Well this is the desert and we're in a dry spell.  We bought frozen cranberries from Russia by the ounce! 

Paul cut the legs off of the turkey and pushed him down to make him fit on the grill.  After seven hours we had a delicious and juicy bird with a slight grilled flavor!  The cranberries...what can I say...it was almost like being at Aunt Patsy's! 

The whole event was a huge success and everyone very much appreciated us hosting.  Lessons learned:  1. Order less turkey.  2.  Confirm that guests are bringing sides. 3.  The pilgrims and indians ate those foods because they were local - so maybe next year we'll do a "local Thanksgiving" keeping with the spirit of the holiday.  4. Invite lots of friends and eat turkey for a month - it is worth it!

Celebration of Oil

What I knew about Hanukkah before today: "Hanukkah is...the festival of lights;" it is around Christmas; there is a game with a dreidel; they only had enough oil for one day but the candle stayed lit for 8 days.
Today is the second day of Hanukkah and I am in Jerusalem for work. What this means is: I know now infinitely more about Hanukkah than I did three days ago. You see, I am here for work (sans Paul). My two Canadian/Israeli co-workers are here with me and spending all day with them...eating every meal with them for 4 days...you learn a lot!
Tonight we happened to be sitting at an outdoor cafe between the Old City and Zion Square (in a young, popular, Jewish part of town). Just before sunset a couple hundred people can down the street with music and lights on a stick. Apparently they had walked around the Old City and were on their way to the Square to light the manora at sunset. About half of this group was new soldiers (in uniform, with guns). There was a stage and lots of happy Hebrew music which I didn't understand, but my co-worker sang along and said it was all traditional holiday music.

As the sun set a soldier said two prayers (I understood only the word Adoni, Lord) and they lit their second candle. More interesting than this was the 2nd floor balcony of someone's apartment in a very old beautiful building where a young man came out a sunset and lit a two small candles. He went back inside and sat at the dinner table. The dark night made his lit up dining room look like a stage. He sat down to dinner with his family and in the background fireworks began to go off. "One of the rules of Hanukkah is that you have to show your lights." This made infinitely more sense as we walked back to the hotel and saw manora lightings and singing on the sidewalks and balconies.
Apparently, Hanukkah also has a slightly political undertone to it. You see, the rest of the story of the candle that stayed lit for 8 days is this. Jerusalem was occupied by the Greeks and was a secular (like Tel Aviv today). The Macabees (either a rebel group that wanted to restore the right to practice Judaism or a conservative sect that wanted to restore strict Jewish law, depending on your interpretation of it) after a series of battles retook Jerusalem and went about cleaning out all of the pagan symbols and altars - some of which were in the Second Temple. They wanted to work through the night to restore the purity of the temple but only had.....(enter the story you know)...enough oil for one day of work. The oil lasted 8 days.
This is interesting to me because it happened here in Jerusalem. I am here. Though I didn't bring my camera, I hope to go to the Western Wall tomorrow, ie. to the only remaining part of the Second Temple. While I'd love to see them light the third candle - I think work will get in the way of that.
More than the festival of lights, I'm told it is a festival of oil. Most of the foods associated with Hanukkah include lots of oil. And I saw several altar-like manoras on the streets where the candles were actually oil! It was pretty cool.

Butter Crisis!!!

I'm not kidding. There is a butter shortage in Israel.  A CRISIS!  This is serious. You don't believe me? Click here. How do I know this? We are hosting a 16-person Thankgiving Dinner complete with a 22lb bird on the grill (with butter patties between the skin and meat), mushroom rice (with mushrooms sauteed in butter), mashed potatoes (obviously, with butter), buscuits (luckily I already made these with butter, but we still need to do the herb-butter to put on them!), and a sweet potato pie (1/3 cup butter in the crust).  Ahh!!!

On Thursday Paul ran to the store for milk, butter and flour.  He said the store was out of the butter we usually buy.  The second store was also out. Only margarine. Julie Child would not approve! And after reading this New York Times article last year, I just cannot bring my self to use anything but real unsalted butter. (PS. the oragne cookies in that aricle are delicious!) The third store: no butter. Fourth: no butter. Fifth, sixth...Ahhh!

At dinner the waiter brought us bread and butter to start with the largest blob of butter ever served! It was at least 1/2 cup.  I have to tell you that honestly I wanted to take that butter home with me. But I didn't. The butter sparked a conversation about butter shortages and how this really felt like a serious problem of unstocked shelves and wartime shortages. I explained to the wiater that this couldn't happen at a worse time (for us) given the amount of butter needed for Thanksgiving...not to mention the Christmas cookies!

This morning at work my worry continued (as did my stomach ache from all of the rich food and the blob of butter). "I heard something on the news. The government as ordered a stop on all butter production, prioritizing cheese as a need." Seriously?!?! Yes, they are serious. "Hopefully imports will increase soon...."

A Culinary Anniversary

I love surprises - but I admit, I am difficult to surprise.  Because as much as I love being surprised - I love figuring out what the surprise is! So when Paul left "for an early morning run" on our anniversary, I knew something was going on.  As he was leaving I curled up under the covers and closed my eyes...once the door shut, I sprung out of bed and began rapid work to finish the scrapbook I'd been working on for quite some time. 

An hour or so later, when I "woke up," I found flowers and coffee waiting for me in the kitchen! After a relaxing breakfast (and some cleaning and prep for our huge Thanksgiving dinner), we headed to the park for a picnic lunch like frequently did during DC summers (although, it is impossible to find prosciutto here, so beef jerky was substituted - haha).  The most enjoyable part of the picnic was reading on 1st Anniversary bottle of wine.  At the wedding, in lieu of a guest book, we asked our friends and family to write on wine bottles to be opened on our 1st, 5th and 10th anniversaries.  Surprisingly, there were many wishes in Spanish, Portuguese and Gaelic.  The picnic and well-wishes really took us back!

For dinner we went to this great wine bar in Jaffa which specializes in meat and truffles! Hmmm :) Now, I don't want to say "I love Israel," for this could be misinterpreted, but...lets just say the waiter served his country well.  The cave-like restaurant was mostly empty (being a Sunday night), save for the owner, the manager and a few waiters.  After a delicious meal and a glass of the house wine, we were chatting with the guy about our anniversary and the great bottle of truffle oil we got for Christmas last year. "Ah, yes, Christmas," he said with a smile, as if realizing we were in some way different. 

Just before we left he brought over a little to-go box and said "I forgot to bring you your side dish." I thought I he meant the massive mound of butter (read the next post) until he winked at us and said quietly "It's not the butter." Though we wanted to know what it was, we clearly couldn't open the box in front of the owner or the manager. "Don't open until Christmas!" was the last thing he said as we paid the bill.  Israel is still below Argentina on my list of favorite foreign countries, and I'm not saying I can be bought off with a bottle of truffle oil...but it does go a long way! 

Playing Archeologist

Group sitting on top of the ancient wine press
just north of Palestine.

When I was in 11th grade I made a list of life goals.  Though I now can't remember all of them they included the following:  Learn a language (check: 2004/2005), Live abroad (check: 2004, 2005, 2010), See Machu Picchu (check: 2005), Publish my work (check: 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010), Work on an archeological dig: CHECK! 2010!!!

My friend Katie organized a group of 8 of us to volunteer for a day, helping an NGO clear a path to and uncover a wine press from the Bronze Age (3300-1200 BCE). While I can't say that it was the most scientific of digs, it was an ancient site and we did get to play archeologists!

  

Despite my eagerness to go on the dig, I did not want to drive.  But alas, my high school days have returned and I am once again the only friend with a car. So I drove a group of us up North, just above Palestine, to the top of a mountian (apparently the lady leading us didn't realize that my little volvo is not an off-roader!). It was a dream come true! There as a large stone structure mostly burried in dirt and rock, a makeshift tent over the dig site, and various spots in the vacinity with carved stones showing beneath the brush. 

Paul and the strong men set to work moving large stones (the size of children) and clearning a path from the road to the wine press.  Katie and another friend were moving dirt from the wine press, and Emily and I were...moving rocks. Nothing fancy..until we discovered something.  We don't know what it was - if anything - but it appeared to be manmade.  While we imagined it to be a water irrigation system or an olive oil press, it could just as easily have been a toilet. 

Anyway, before too long we lost interest in the toliet and joined Katie at the wine press.  Sorting stones from plants from soil, carrying buckets of dirt from the site to the dumping spot - this archeology thing was losing its shine.  Then, I checked the box! As Emily carried away a bucket of stones, laying there covered in dirt was the handle from a pot! The first archeological find of the dig! I found it! Woohoo!!!  Emily and I carefully sifted through the soil and rocks and found about 15 small pieces of an orange ceramic pot with a zigzag pattern on it. We placed them all to the side on a tarp (for the real archeologist to examine).

My desires to work on an archeological site have been fulfilled - I'm done with that phase. Sifted through the dirt, moved some rocks, found a pot, checked off that box.

God, King, and Man in Thailand

Even from the air, there was something very different about Bangkok.  Green seas of forest and grass, and rice paddies in every direction met my eager gaze.  Life in the desert has left within me a deep huger for verdant mountains and swollen streams that this two-week training course in Thailand would surely satisfy.

 

And satisfy it did.  Seafood and rice noodles in a red curry and coconut milk soup...for a buck?  Yes, life was good.  I took full advantage of the project design and management course, but also eagerly abandoned the luxury hotel for visits to beautiful temples, enormous outdoor markets, or even the aforementioned soup. One evening after visiting a Buddhist shrine in the Ancient capital city dating back to 1357, colleagues and I had the most phenomenal Thai food on a boat docked along the surging river (this was during the worst flooding in 55 years). 

 

Aside from the memories of good shopping and excellent food, I left most impressed by three things about Thailand and the Thai people.  First, they are exceptionally devout.  There are Buddhist temples upon temples, especially outside the city.  On our drive to tour the Ancient Capital, Ayutthaya, we passed one beautiful temple complex after another.  Each included a rectangular stone wall enclosing a stone patio.  At the center would be a large stupa or temple containg a principal statue of Buddha and many smaller representations throughout.  Even in the rain folks would pour into the temple to make offerings of incense, freshly-cut garlands, lotus flowers, and charity.  Sadly, the temples outside the city were mostly under water due to the historic flooding, but the many temples and shrines within Bangkok were quire busy.

 

Another observation is that the Thai people deeply rever their king.  I did not encounter a single city block that lacked a poster, a shrine, or a photo of the King or Queen.  Even before "The King and I" play and movie popularized the Thai monarchy, foreign visitors to Thialnd have been impressed by the stong and positive feeling that the Thai people have for the royal family.  The present king, unfortunately, is frail and ill, and as a result the Thai people are quite pained.

 

But as with many top tourist destinations, what strikes one most in Bangkok is the people.  Everywhere one goes one is greeted with a smile, a slight bow with palms toughing (as in prayer), and a greeting of "sawadeecup!"  Their warmth was infectious, and their hospitality was greatly disarming.  Two weeks among these people is hardly enough time to make such sweeping generalizations about a kingdom and a people.  But it was long enough to remind me how dry is my desert.

Jordan Part Three: A Lemon Scotch

A lemon scotch - it's a drink.  You've probably never heard of it.  It is the English translation of the Arabic translation of whiskey sour.  Let me start at the beginning.

One of my favorite and most interesting things to write about is cultural difference. You learn quite a lot in the first few hours and days within a new culture and my trip to Jordan to see Dusty was no exception.

As I noted in Part One of the Jordan "chapter," I was greeted with smiles as soon as I crossed into Jordan. I stopped in at the tourists information/police office before heading into to town to make sure I didn't get ripped off, or do something dangerous and stupid, or end up in Saudi Arabia. While we technically live in the Middle East, Israel (and Tel Aviv in particular) is nothing like its neighbors. (Exageration - it is clearly much like Jordan than Alaska is like Jordan, but Alaska and Israel are probably more similar than Jordan and Israel...but I digress!)

Where to start....the Middle East is not homogeneous.  If you read our post from Egypt on womens' clothing (see photo on the left) you would see that there are variations in the level of conservativeness within the Muslim communities in the Middle East (in addition to the other large communities that are other religions). Within some of the most conservative sects women are almost completely covered in black except for their eyes and must be accomapied by a male family member when leaving the house (our friend here refers to them as ninjas).  Dusty had alertered me that the women he had seen in Aqaba (which weren't many) all had their heads covered.  So you can see that a young white woman, traveling by herself, without her head covered might draw some attention. But I'd learned my lesson in Egypt and came prepared to try not to offend the locals by wearing conservative tops, pants and having my scarf ready to wrap around my head. I don't mind covering up because then I don't get as many stares, I look like a smart and informed Westerner and I secretly feel like Jasmin from the movie Aladin when she sneaks out to the market! 

I've told you all of this so that you can fully appreciate this story:

If my traveling solo without a head cover wasn't enough to offend the locals, my presence in a bar (Gasp!)and the audacity to order my own drink would (oh the promiscuity!). Not only does the Middle East lack to wonderful drinking culture of Germany (in that it is controlled and tasty and cultural), but Muslims don't drink alcohol. This translates into more than just a bar of only tourists.  Because there aren't locals in the bars they are less busy. Because they aren't busy, the bartenders make fewer drinks. Becuase they make fewer drinks, they aren't so good at it. Thus, my general rule is to stick to beer which may be watered down but it won't be vinegar like the local wine and it won't be an overpriced softdrink with a splash of alcohol.  But as long as I was breaking so many cultural rules just by being there - I figured I may as well go ahead and take my chances with a mixed drink.

"Can you make a whiskey sour?" This was a question, not my order. Are you CAPABLE? Do you know HOW? The eager bartender smiled and rushed around the bar consulting with his colleagues. "Yes!" was the enthusiastic reply 5 minutes later. The poor guy confused Jim Beam and Johnny Walker, mixeing one part scotch with one part lemon juice.  I don't know the recipe - but it involves whiskey, not scotch and I'm prety sure it is more than lemon juice or they'd call it a whiskey lemon.  He did shake it up and serve it over ice.  :)

The bar staff all watched as I took the first sip. Mmmm! According to my Flavor Bible (thanks Greg!) our perception of taste is equal parts a.) chemical reactions to flavors, b.) temerapture and c.) the emotional environment (think of Thanksgiving dinner - as long as the food is hot and you are with family you will remember it as being a great meal).  I don't know if it really tasted refreshing and great, or if the genuine effort by the staff to make us feel welcome and fact that I was having a drink with my big brother compensated for the taste.  Either way - I made the bartenders day when I ordered another and I was more than happy to sip a lemon scotch if it meant more time with my brother!

Jordan Part Two:

“Are you with the USS Debuque?” “Yes ma’am, we are.” “Is the doctor here?” “No, he isn’t. Are you hurt? I can get you help.” I was so anxious I could barely say the next line! “I’m his sister.” The anticipation had been mounting, I had made it to Aqaba and I would hug Dusty any minute!

One of the highlights of my trip to Aqaba was getting to see my brother in his environment.  Not that I didn’t think my big brother was awesome before, but man! You could tell by the way everyone talked to him that they really respect and look up to Dusty – well most of them have to because he is pretty much a big deal on that ship.

The ship is striking (I don’t mean beautiful).  Dusty’s room is TINY!!! And he shares it with 2 other guys – what’s worse: it is a room for 6! Most everything is metal painted gray with white or red markings.  The “stairs” are more like ladders and the whole thing is a maze.  But the ship does have some really cool aspects which I got to experience firsthand – like the Capitan’s chair, the helicopter, the hummer ambulance and officers' dining room!  (I didn’t actually drive, fly or rescue…but I did eat!)

I could recount every detail of those two days if you would like; I cherished every moment for each one was worth more than I can say. 

Jordan Part One: I'd Cross the Desert

In preparation for the long drive I did what I usually do:  make myself a mixed CD of my favorite songs which I will listen to approximately 10 times; 5 times on the way there, 2 times on the way home.  The Bird and the Bee (a band my friend Nick introduced me to) was featured on this trip. “Across the sea, the mountains, the desert / And if you need me, just call me.”  And then I smiled:  over the Ocean, through the mountains (and craters), across the desert, over the border and around the sea…I was on my way to see my big brother!  I did all of that, and I’d do it again!

Dusty is a doctor in the Navy and I couldn’t be more proud of him! He was deployed with the Marines in May and though his ship’s route has been unknown to the general public for security reasons, I had had my fingers crossed that he’d be heading my way.  After training foreign militaries and rescuing a German vessel, the ship pulled into the port of Aqaba, Jordan on the Red Sea.  For a month Dusty was sooo close! At one point he went to Mt. Nebo (where Moses saw the promise land) and could see Jerusalem in the distance…I was in Jerusalem that day.  How frustrating!

But now I was on my way to Aqaba and I was only hours away from seeing Dusty! I arrived at the Israel-Jordan border and parked my car in the gravel parking lot. After showing my passport to authorities I left Israel and walked about 50 yards in between two tall fences.  The Jordanians greeted me with smiles and quickly sent me on my way to South Beach where I checked into my hotel about 2 kilometers from Dusty’s ship.  I was like a kid on Christmas Eve that night, counting down the hours until I would see my brother.

“You could take the hotel service or – if you understand me deeply – you could go outside and get a cab.” I took my delicately frosted pumpkin cookie outside to flag a cab for the $3 ride.  Though it was only 2 kilometers, a lone white female with her head uncovered should not walk along the side of the desert highway. After 5 minutes in the 100 degree sun waiting for a cab, the frosting on Dusty’s cookie and my time with Dusty were melting away. I tried to exchange the cookie for a ride on a tour bus, but the tour guide wasn’t having it.  What was I to do? (I wouldn’t…not in the Middle East…would I?!?)

The small beach was packed with young marines desperately trying to get an internet signal to call their families, talking about how much they missed home.  To the left was Saudi Arabia, to the Right Israel, across the sea Egypt. And sitting there on plastic chairs on a beach in Jordan were two kids from Mansfield, Ohio. It is funny how government orders put the two of us so close together.

Like the Desert Missed the Rain...

There is a great 80s song that goes "And I miss you...like the desert missed the rain.."  If this were a late night radio show with Dalila..I would dedicate that song to all of you, because now, living in the desert, I know what the singer was talking about.

When we first arrived in Tel Aviv the big park/circle near our house wasn't lush and green - but there was some...grass (eh hmm...prickly weeds).  Sitting on our balcony, looking into the distance, it was almost charming.

Then came the hot dry summer.  In Israel I would say we have experienced 2 seasons thus far:  summer and hot dry summer. The hot dry summer fried whatever resemblence of grass there as.  The ground became dry as a rock, dust filled the air, and water plants twice a day wasn't enough to keep them alive.  Our world turned brown (with a touch of hot Med. salt water in the background).  You didn't want to be outside for it was rediculiously hot.  You didn't want to be in the park because it was brown and dusty.  The Med. was hot and full of jelly-fish.  The garden crumbled. Everything felt dead.  The life had drained out and the remnants of the "environment" were covered in a reddish gray dust. 

You see, in the desert, rain is what brings life. This is true elsewhere, but I didn't fully understand it until now.  Without the rain our world is like a shriveled up, dried out, flavorless bread crumb. I don't think I can quite explain to you the dry hopelessness of it all.  All you can think about is how dry and dead the world looks, and how much you want rain.  Rain becomes the solution to all of your problems.  My garden is shriveled up - if only there was rain.  It is so hot! - if only there was rain.  My car is dirty - if only there was rain!

This thinking is all compounded by reading an agricultural book in which the author speaks of the smell of rain, the nutrients in the moist soil, and the bountiful and healthy fruit that grows as a result of good soil and rain.  And then there is that dusty park in front of our house.  I don't think anything could grow from that land...it is so dry and hard and...dead.  (You see - it looks pretty hopeless.)

And a little rain doesn't really help.  For example, you may have seen that it "rained" here last week.  Yes - literally for 2 minutes.  Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked out the window.  Again on Sunday it rained and some poeple outside were even cheering.  But because the ground was so dry and dead the rain washed away and it really didn't quench the thirst.

That is how much we miss you all.  Like the desert missed the rain.  We are entering the "rainy season" now when it should rain about twice a week for about 2-5 minutes at a time. By January, that should be enough rain to bring back our stiff weedy grass.  And by January - we should see life return, even if in the form of stiff weedy...grass. 

Poetically like the rainy season - we are about to enter our friends and family season!  As I was explaining to my mom...the next two weeks include book clubs and cupcake making while Paul is in Bangkok. Once he returns we plan our big Thanksgiving dinner, and then a big Christmas cocktail party! (See...now it is sprinkling). AND THEN...we will pack our bags and fly to the States!  Unfortunately we won't be able to see everyone we want to see - but it will be a joyous, busy trip and we can't wait!!!

A Tale of Two Oktoberfests

As we sat at a nondescript sports bar overlooking the arrivals gate, there was little to identify our present location.  A brightly-lit Starbucks was just meters away, and smartly-dressed businessmen with blackberries and suit bags were rushing along in every direction.  But then the table next to us ordered another round of beers, a liter each, as our coffees arrived.  It was only 7:40am, and such a sight struck as overly aggressive until a young American couple dressed in lederhosen and dirndl reminded me that we're not just in any airport arrival gate, we're in Germany!

It's Oktoberfest in Munich, and we sought to embrace the culture, whether that be quaint traditional clothing or an early morning ale.  So having finished our coffees and still waiting for the arrival of Gary's delayed flight, we ordered a round of beers.  Normally I would hesitate to drink beer at 8am on a Friday but A) I am on vacation, and B) it's Oktoberfest and that sort of thing seems to fly around here.  In fact, the waiter gave us an incredulous look when we first ordered the coffees and, come to think about it, every other table was ordering beers.

Usually when prompted by a waiter to order I can quickly scan the menu and respond with something that I have enjoyed before.  But in this case nothing was at all familiar.  A Paulaner Dunkel? Or maybe a Paulaner Leicht?  A Kristalklar?  A Hell?  Well, nine years of Catholic school has conditioned me to reject the latter, so I ordered a Dunkel unsure of what would come.  Its a malted wheat beer, and not all that bad, but it's hard to appreciate a brew consumed between coffee and cornflakes.  As I enjoyed it I wondered what other elements of this trip would take me outside of the familiar.

Wurst, or course.  Pork (or swine as some of our observant coworkers refer to it as) is regarded as unclean to both Jews and Muslims, so its hard to come by in both Israel and Palestine.  Oh, of course, and the whitefish sitting out in the hot Tel Aviv outdoor market all day is perfectly clean, but I digress.  I ate more wurst (pork sausages) in the three days we spent in Munich than I had in the preceding year.  There was beerwurst, bratwurst, knockwurst, weisswurst...you get the picture.  And the sauerkraut...I was in heaven.  Well, if heaven is a place filled with beer and sausages (which it must be).

But even more impressive was the sense that this was no charade but a vibrant part of Bavarian culture.  Yes, beer and bratwurst are Oktoberfest (and German) stereotypes, but under-reported is the fact that EVERY local seemed to attend the main Oktoberfest grounds in perfectly selected lederhosen and dirndl.  Not to impress to tourists, of course, but because that is how one conducts oneself at Oktoberfest.  The best definition that I ever heard of culture is that culture is what members of a group do to show that they belong. While boarding the Munich subway en route to the festival grounds we were a tiny minority by not wearing lederhosen and drindl.  But rather than think that everyone else was crazy for wearing those outfits, I couldn't help but be impressed at the awesome vitality of the culture.

This past weekend we attended another Oktoberfest, but one much closer to home.  Taybeh, Palestine, is home to the only brewery in the West Bank and the biggest Oktoberfest in the Middle East.  There was no lederhosen or wurst, but with beer at $2.50 a pint you won't hear any complaints out of me.

The contrasts with the Munich Oktoberfest are too numerous to mention.  After all, Munich hosts millions of tourists and just celebrated 200 years of Oktoberfest festivities.  But there was one similarity that left me breathless.  Just as Munich's Oktoberfest is a visible, edible, wearable expression of Bavarian German culture, so too was the Taybeh Oktoberfest a tribute this this unique corner of Palestine.  One of the few purely Christian village in Palestine, there were olive wood nativity sets and local olive oil for sale.  Mothers shared date and fig pastries as children played with homemade toys.  And local bands blended soulful Arabic hymns with generous helpings of jazz, raggae, and rap.

Like the lederhosen in Munich, at first I thought that this an isolated and outward expression aimed at tourists.  But as my eyes panned around to the overwhelmingly Palestinian crowds, I realized that what I was watching was intended mostly for local consumption.  Commitment to family and faith, and openness to blending the best of traditional and imported styles...these are the hallmarks of modern Palestinian culture.  They lag far behind lederhosen, beer, and bratwurst as internationally recognized symbols of a vibrant culture.  That's too bad.  For these are bedrock elements of American culture as well, and symbols that Americans too infrequently associate with Palestinians.  Or other Americans, for that matter.

Guten Morgen!

As the plane drew closer to the ground, Paul and Jen peered out the tiny window at the lush green landscape below. Brown trees with bushy green tops, white farm houses with rusty-colored roofs, patchwork fields in every shade from brown to green; these traits were all so familiar and yet they had become but a fantasy living in the dessert.

Tears swelled up in Jen's eyes - maybe because she hadn't slept on the red-eye flight, but probably at the beauty of it all. Either way, this felt like home. So unfamiliar, yet surprisingly like home.

Through sleepy eyes Jen looked out the window on train ride into the city spotting cornfields and quaint houses all around. In every stop she could see the mid-West and in every person she met Wisconsin.  The trains were much more modern and rider-friendly than Jen had ever experienced or imagined. Coming out of the fourth stop on the U4 line, Jen quickly found herself and her traveling companions on the map and led the short trek to the apartment.

 

"Call 30 minutes before you arrive," were the instructions given by the proprietor.  They had been looking for a pay phone for the last 45 minutes and had now arrived at their destination 2 hours late and without calling ahead.  As Paul and Jen's dad scanned the sidewalks for a phone, Jen marched into a pub...not for a drink, to use the phone.

 

"Guten morgen!" The most delightful women in a traditional dress smiled from behind the bar. (She was behind the bar serving beer and breakfast to 3 men who were clearly from the neighborhood.)  Lets just come right out and say it... "I'm lost.  Where am I?  Do you know where this apartment is? Oh...Can I use your telephone?  Thanks...I'm at um.....Could you help me?"  The woman who will forever represent Germany in my memory took the phone back from me and spoke in just as friendly German to the woman on the line.  "She'll meet you outside in just a minute."  Ah!  Bitte!

 

For our three days in Germany this kind woman and her neighborhood pub welcomed us in as locals.  Everyday we would stop in to say hi...and maybe have a beer...and she would be just as friendly and welcoming as the first time.  After a full day at Oktoberfest we unanimously decided to stop in at our neighborhood pub (literally just across the street from our "home") and enjoyed a delicious schnitzel and large glasses of water.  Jen remembers this dinner so fondly that she led the group back for a final meal at the pub before heading to the airport. (As a parting gift she gave us free beers and a book! In my mind it is because she is so nice, but maybe we left larger tips than we thought....)

From the moment the plane began its decent until the moment Germany faded into the distance, I loved it.  The colors, the food, the cold weather, the architecture, the people...there isn't a thing that I didn't love and even thinking of it now I start to tear up.  Germany reminded us of how clean and lively a environment and a city can be.  It reminded us that food can make you feel warm and that even architecture can feel welcoming.  It reminded us that strangers can be friendly and that there is a relaxing and enjoyable side to life that isn't tainted by sand, grunge or religious/ethnic tensions. It reminded us of how much we love and miss our families and friends, the places they live and the times we share with them.

 

Ramadan in the Holy Land

The ninth month of the Muslim calendar is Ramadan.  Like many of our months, there are 30 days. What is different about their calendar is that it is a lunar calendar - and thus 11 days earlier than ours every year (so you would really be older in calendar years!) and the ninth month is a month of fasting.

There are many different types of fasting, so I'll explain.  During Ramadan (which this year was from Aug. 10th to Sept 8th) observant Muslims can not put anything in their mouths from sunrise to sunset.  Nothing.  No food, no drinks, no water, no cigarettes, no gum....no tooth brushes (blah).  Nothing.  The purpose is to learn and understand patience and spirituality.

Wow! A month of fasting! Think how much weight they would lose! Not really.  You start your morning early with a large breakfast, then have absolutely nothing (no water.....think about it... we are in a desert!) and then exactly at sunset you can eat! So you pig out in a meal that is called an iftar dinner.  It usually starts with  a fresh date (the fruit, you're pretty grumpy at this point so a romantic date wouldn't go too well), the date is super sweet after hours of nothing.  Your meal has soup, followed by hummus and salads, followed by lots and lots of rice and sides and meats, and you top it all off with rot-your-teeth-off super-sweet desserts.  Baklava is just one of many small desserts set out to enjoy.  After dinner you smoke nargila (a flavored tobacco smoked out of a large water pipe in social settings) and then quickly go home to your family (if you didn't have this meal at home).  The next morning, you wake up super early for your breakfast, but you are still stuffed from the night before - so you can't eat much and begin another day of fasting.  Repeat this 30 times and you have the month of Ramadan.  Every night you pig out like it is Thanksgiving - you definitely don't lose weight.

Though it sounds as if it could be a pleasant spiritual experience, to us it seemed like a difficult time to plan social events, a month of late dinners (when Ramadan falls in summer), and a month of grumpy counterparts.  (I would say colleagues but honestly most of our Muslim colleagues didn't fast and our colleagues who did fast did so for only a day or so).  One friend did fast every day and I very awkwardly apologized when I offered her my strawberry guava.

It was an interesting month.  And maybe you heard of the tense time in which Eid (the end of Ramadan) and Rosh Hashana (the Jewish New Year) all aligned in one weekend? It wasn't tense here - we just had a lot of time off of work!

"Cat Pee White Flower Tree"

“Something smells like cat pee.”  This is how our conversation started a few months ago.  We don’t have a cat.  Our neighbors don’t have a cat.  And despite the thousands of stray cats in Tel Aviv, we are more than 4 stories up so it couldn’t have been them.

After a short investigation (us smelling everything in the apartment and on the patio) we discovered the rancid smell was coming from a flower.  Yes, a flower.  When we moved into the place there outside gardens had lots of flowers, vines and small trees that had just been planted.  Because of our love of vegetable gardening we uprooted one of the small trees, transferred it to a big pot and moved it inside in March.  In June the rancid flowers appeared.

As biology was NOT my favorite subject, in July I called my favorite cousin-in-law who loves stinky flowers, Mitch.  Holding the video camera close to the tree to show Mitch the flowers we noticed small green balls!  A lime tree!!!  We were so excited. Throughout July and most of August about 10 limes appeared…but they were all tiny and hard and 8 of the 10 fell off the tree.

Then…when Jonathan was visiting we were excited to show him our odd little lime tree.  We put more soil in the pot and carefully watered it to make sure it would be healthy. – only to discover our limes were turning red!  No joke.

Internet searches surprisingly returned few-to-no results for “cat pee white flower tree.”  It wasn’t until mid-August that we made the greatest discovery yet of our little cat-pee tree:  the fruit is DELICIOUS!!! One day, while pinching the red limes which we now thought were mini-pomegranates, the soft fruit fell off the tree.  I picked it up from the ground, blew off the dust (my house is clean but this is right by the door), and popped the little guy in my mouth!  Not really – I washed it in the sink and then cut it in half.  The inside was white and there were a few round seeds.  The taste was like a strawberry, the texture like a pear, and the size like a grape.  “What an odd little fruit!”

After enjoying 6 of 9 fruits which appeared on the tree in the past 2 weeks, I finally brought one into work to ask the locals what it was. “Ma ze?”  Passion fruit.  A berry.  Cherry.  They were all wrong.

On my last attempt to “ask the locals,” one replied “Strawberry” (which is clearly is not; look at it!) and the other replied “Guava” (which is much larger and not red).  So instead of googling “cat pee white flower tree” I googled “Strawberry Guava.”  And wouldn’t you know it…it is a strawberry guava tree!  (There are also pineapple guava trees.)

The bad news about strawberry guava trees is that they grow like weeds.  The good thing about strawberry guava trees is that they grow like weeds – and taste DELICIOUS!!!  Hopefully I’ll be more successful in growing them next time!  This fruit rivals raspberries as my favorite!  While I can’t make a raspberry pizza or raspberry cheesecake with strawberry guavas, they supposedly taste great in drinks, by themselves or in ice cream – and I just happen to have become an expert at making Julia Child’s frozen custard.  Frozen strawberry-guava custard…Mmmm.

Eventful day in the region...

You can scan the New York Times and read every word of your local paper - but you will miss the relevant news from our region of the world...at least relevant to us.

The first story I won't explain, but you might find it interesting: Here is the link.

The second story is fascinating (and does not cause harm to us or represent and increased level of danger). 

Version One:  My version.  Paul and Jen were working late at the office.  When they finally left at 7pm, the sun was beginning to set over the Mediterranean Sea and beach-goers were coming out of the water and crossing the street like wild crabs or baby turtles.  The couple walked to the car and drove home along the usual route, stopping briefly at the Embassy.  At approximately half-way home the traffic got thick.  This wasn't the usual pedestrians crossing the street, cars parked in the driving line, or other Middle Eastern driving habit we've written about.  No, this type of traffic was unprecedented for post-rush hour Tuesday night driving.

Inching through the intersection, around the bend, down the hill, under the bridge, up the hill and to the next intersection, Paul and Jen could see police lights ahead.  As they approached one foreign embassy (not ours), Paul noted the police tape on the fence. Hmm...perhaps a car accident at their gate.  No...the heavy traffic continued and the police presence increased.  As the couple passed the second embassy on the block Paul pointed out the high security and the news cameras: "Look Jen, high security and news cameras."  The traffic dispersed like mist on a water fall, yet Jen contributed to mess by driving slow to get a glimpse at the action. The Turkish Embassy.  Cameras.  Crowds. Police...something was happening.

As the couple pulled onto their road after an hour commute, Paul found the headlines on his blackberry: Shots fired at Turkish Embassy.  Palestinian...blood thirsty Isaelis...Not good.

Version Two:  For the Haaretz version  click here.  (Haaretz is one of two English-language newspapers in Israel).  The second picture is the Turkish Embassy - the street in the story above is pictured.

Version Three:  An Arabic news article - translated for me by a co-worker.  A Palestinian man who used to sell secrets to Israeli intelligence (their CIA) stormed the Turkish embassy demanding asylum.  He took two hostages and after 6 hours the Turkish embassy turned him over to Israeli police.  Apparently he can't go back to the West Bank or Gaza (or he'll be killed for being a traitor), yet the Israeli's have betrayed him.  He is now stuck in Israel with no job and no where to go.  He can't get a job here (for political reasons) and he can't get a visa (because of his record).  Four years ago he did the same thing at the Brittish embassy (which is just down the road) and went to jail for year.  (Insert something about drugs...spies...and treason.)  But wait! There is more:  Apparently he did all of this....with a plastic gun.

I kid you not folks.  True story - or at least they tell me it is true.

JHG in Tel Aviv!

Jonathan was here!  I would have written while he was here, but there wasn't much time for that.  I think he hit up all of the highlights and, inspired by Julia Child's My Life in France, we had a gastronomical tour in conjuction with a historical and modern tour.  What this really means is that we saw the best historical sites, ate the best food Tel Aviv has to offer, and of course made sure Jonathan left with a good understanding of Tel Aviv nightlife.  We didn't go overboard - but it was packed.

The highlights:  Jonathan arrived on Thursday, Paul made his famous shakshukah and we took him to the hip "Jaffa Night Market" which is a street festival with cafes, beer stands, clowns, live music and botique designer stands.  Friday we sent him exploring the streets of Tel Aviv (in 100' weather) and met up for lunch in the Sheuk HaCaramel (the Carmel Market). Friday's are the best days as the market is packed with shoppers preparing for Shabot dinners and with tourists who just flew in for the weekend.  Happy hour at a chic wine bar in the artsy district was followed by dinner at home.

On Saturday we drove to Jerusalem where the city was in full Shabot mode.  The hotels were close, we couldn't enter the Dome of the Rock (the Muslim religious site in the Old City), and the city was in general very calm.  We wandered through the Muslim quarter and the Jewish quarter, the Christian and the Armenian and all noted the distinct feeling of each. The atmosphere changes dramatically with the change in stores, languages, the streets, the people, everything. The Western Wall was the highlight of the trip. (This is the only remaining wall of the Third Temple; a direct line to God according to jewish beliefs. Most people write prayers on little slips of paper and leave them in the cracks of the wall.)  Being Shabot (when no work is allowed) we couldn't take pictures inside and when Jonathan tried to write down his prayer a little old woman walked up and quicky said "NO WRITING ON SHABOT!" "Ah, sorry. That makes sense," was Jonathans reply. Haha! He had to go outside to write.

A Visit from Jonathan!

First – I am sorry that I haven’t posted in a while! Last week I was writing this same sentence for a blog post about why I hadn’t written in so long – and then for some reason the internet screen crashed and I lost the long post. I was so frustrated I didn’t start over…until now. (I have no good excuse for not writing this over the weekend!)

So last week our good friend Jonathan was here to visit! We had a great time and showed him the religious, historic Jerusalem, the Green Line (international zone) Palestine, the night life of Tel Aviv and the best of dining in Israel

Inspired by my recent reading of My Life in France by Julia Child, I will first tell you about the food:  Paul made his famous Shakshuka, a traditional Israeli dish of spiced tomatoes with a poached egg on top, accompanied by fresh bread from the market. On Friday, the most lively day at the sheuk, we enjoyed schwarma (grilled meats and veggies) across the isle from an herb stand, sitting in between a butcher and an olive vendor. Jerusalem falafel was a disappointment all around and I again apologize to Jonathan for the poor service, quality and price. However, this experience was happily overshadowed by the most refreshing and delicious fresh-squeezed, iced lemonade with fresh mint. (I know, I used the word FRESH twice – three times – in one sentence but no synonym could possibly convey to you how refreshing this was!) Back in Tel Aviv we ate at a charming little Italian restaurant and then had our final lunch with Jonathan at a great restaurant called Dallal.

Dallah has several small dining rooms and a central courtyard. The menu and chairs are elegant as if they came from an English castle. Where you would expect a tin ceiling, you find rustic wood beams fit for a cabin: These two styles (elegant and rustic) can also be found in the food. The “Executive Lunch” is a two-course meal with either a hot or cold beverage. I started with a calamari ceviche in a tahini-yogurt sauce, Paul had salad with genuine bacon, and Jonathan had my favorite – a duck pate with jellied beats. (I promise you it is the most delicious dish of my life!). The main courses were also amazing, a seafood pasta, broiled chicken, and farmer’s market gnocchi with whole-roasted garlic cloves! Please come visit so I have an occasion to go back! While it is a large lunch the menu is half the price of the otherwise identical dinner menu.

Beyond the food – the Old City was awe-inspiring as usual, very hot and not-so-crowed as we were there on Shabot. Walking from the Jewish to the Armenian quarter, from the Muslim to the Christian quarter, you could feel the change in cultures. The stores, the people, the language, the feel…it was very distinct in each. Everything in the Jewish quarter was shut down for Shabot but there were informative signs telling the history of a specific building or the reconstruction project in the works. The Christian quarter was bustling with tourists and vendors, there were churches and hostels for Christian pilgrims. The Muslim quarter was calm and dark with pockets of lively music; armed Israeli guards blocked certain streets and the entrance to the Dome of the Rock, allowing only Muslims in on their day of prayer. (This is our second failed attempt to see the Dome of the Rock – you can usually go, but not on holidays or days of prayer.)

On Shabot at the Western Wall there is no work allowed. Traditionally visitors write their prayers on a piece of paper and slide it in between the cracks in the Wall which, in Judaism, has the presence of God. (Whereas Christians believe God is everywhere, Judaism holds that God is only in the Holy of Holies, or the innermost area of the temple. This wall is the remains of the Second Temple, thus God’s presence is still there.) Anyway, Jonathan is writing his prayer and a short old woman in a white silk bonnet rushes over – “No writing on Shabot!” she whispers harshly. “Ah, that makes sense,” says Jonathan. No it doesn’t! If I can’t write because it is work then you can’t tell me not to write – because that is work too! So you telling me not to work is causing you to work and is therefore causing us both to work on Shabot! That makes no sense at all.

The trip was wonderful and it was great to see a friend! Thanks so much for coming Jonathan!!! (I'll add pictures to this post tonight.)

Something in the water....

The most important line of this post:  This is not about me, nor is it a hint at anything.

There is something in the water here.  We've noticed this pandemic throughout the country - and now it is hitting our office...hard.  Two weeks ago it took out one girl - she'll be back in 6 months.  Another girl can't be more than a month or two away...and a third will be out in December. 

In Israel - by law - women get 3 months of paid maternity leave and an additional 3 months unpaid, after which they can return to their jobs. That is 6 moths out of the office.

Now, clearly the women I've already mentioned have had a bun in the oven for quite some time.  But in the past two weeks 2 more have told me privately that they too, are pregnant.  I am super excited for them! (Leheim!!) But, needless to say - the pregnant/on-maternity-leave girls are everywhere!

For the record, of the 100 people I know in Isreal (through work or as friends): 1 just had her baby, 3 are due by the end of the year, and another 2 are due in Spring.  If you boil that down to only those who are female, married and of the age to have a child - I would say 60% of the eligible population is preggers.  I'm kind of glad they don't have baby showers - I'd be broke!!!

The Check-out Line

Some aspects of daily life are very different here. For example, I wrote earlier about the driving culture and clearly the language and the market.  One thing that is very different and sometime intimidating is the check-out line at the grocery store.  We shop at "סופר סול".  In Hebrew letters the S and SH (the first letter in each word) like P and PH (the third letter in the first word...from the left) are the same letter, as are the place-holders for O and U.  There are also no vowels, so you fill in the blanks.  This store could be either "Super Sale," but no, it's Shuffer Sol....I don't know what they were thinking - Super Sale is a much better name. Anyway, here is how the drill goes, if you are Israeli:

First - As you walk into the store a security guard is going to check you bags if you have large bags, recyclable grocery bags (which we do) or you are a minority.  Yes, we have noticed just a touch of racism to which we usually do not fall victim.

Second - There will be a flier as you walk in with sale items listed.  Immediately past the entrance on your right you will find the sale items:  usually some canned veggies, some juice, some crackers, Asian pasta and maybe a cleaning product. 

You go through the grocery store and pick out your items.  The produce is highly priced and of a low quality compared to what you find in the market.  So you skip those.  The milk is mostly 3% and sold in small quantities (mostly a quarter of a gallon or smaller).  There are several butters and yogurts, lots of fresh bread, expensive frozen goods and canned veggies and alcohol that is 4xs the price you'd pay in the States. 

Finally, you collect most of your goods and stand in line...better put, you put your things in line.  Set your basket on the ground in line and run off to grab a few last minute things.  You are certainly not grabbing shrimp or pork because don't have it and will only laugh at you if you ask for it.  When you're done you walk back to line and the cashier is helping the lady in front of you who is arguing over the price of some item she thought was on sale but scanned up at a higher price.  This happens every time.  While you may be frustrated, you remember the first time you watched the prices as the cashier scanned your items and noticed the clear disparity between the shelf price, the sticker on the item and the scanned price. It happens...often.

The cashier asks you for your "cartis" or membership card.  Like in the States, you fill out a fill out a form and they mail you the card - only I don't think I gave them the right address...or name - so we have had a temporary card for 5 months. (Yes - we've been here FIVE months!!!)

You pass her the membership card and she scans your items as they would in the States.  The cashier says something to you in Hebrew (which you don't really understand) and she nudges a plastic bag towards you.  No one is going to put your items in the bag for you - you have to bag them yourself.

As you are bagging your groceries, the cashier - who is probably Russian or Ethiopian - asks you if you would like any of the special items.  Let me explain:  In the States, right by the check-out line there are stands of candy, gum, magazines, etc.  Here, there are 3 or 4 random items that the cashier tries to sell you.  When she (we have never had a male cashier) finishes scanning your items, she will ask you (in Hebrew) if you would like to buy chocolates, a toothbrush, gum, or mints.

You tell her:  "Lo, toda" (no, thank you) and she totals the bill.  As you hand her your shekelim you ask politely for a heshbonit mas or a tax receipt.  (When you turn in these receipts at the airport you get your 16% Value Added Tax back.)  She will sigh and pull out another piece of paper to print your Heshbonit Mas.  The customers behind you are confused and annoyed.  You pay and exit, smiling at the security guard - happy that your limited Hebrew got you through another mini-adventure.  :)

The Worst Wine...Ever

Look closely after you read the post.

Having both spent time in Argentina, Paul and I love good red wine.  This is a pretty common thing for people who stay there an extended period of time in Argentina.  The great meat goes so well with the great wine.  I think it is safe to say my cousin Sara, who spent time there too, understands this. 

So Israel supposedly has this up and coming wine industry.  Much like real estate "Up and Coming" is code for "currently in shambles, but some people are working really hard and sinking money into this area - someday we hope it will be good!"  :)  It isn't the vinegar it used to be known as. (What is the difference between Israeli wine and Israeli vinegar?  The label.) Israeli wine-makers are trying - but they are not Argentinians.

A few weeks ago at the duty free store (one of the perks of Paul's job) we found an escape from Israeli wine, a bottle of Argentine Malbec (A dry red wine from a grape that is really only grown there - yet somehow there is an Israeli Malbec. We haven't tried it.). The label looked good, it is from a specific region in Argentina we know, looks legit.  A little over our price range but we decide to try it.  So last night Paul makes steak (Oh, he is getting good at that!) and we opened this bottle. 

The bottle was very difficult to open and when the cork finally came out it felt like recycled tires.  We poured the wine and let it breathe a few minutes before trying it.  I was not impressed.  The aroma was off, the mouth was weak and there was almost no finish.  This is why at restuarants they have you try the wine before you buy the bottle - in case you have a bad bottle like this one. 

Giving the wine the benefit of the doubt (and because I had already paid for it), I let it breathe for 20 more minutes (wine tastes very different when it is exposed to air. That is why you sometimes spin the glass before you drink).  Still no good.  This did not taste like a Malbec and was definitely not the quality I have come to expect from Argentine wines.  Two glasses into the bottle we agreed that this wine was not worth buying again. 

As we poured out the last glass Paul noticed half a cork and lots of sediment in the bottle (tiny solid particles).  He made fun of my corking skills for having broken the cork...until I showed him the cork, still in tact.  The recycled black rubber cork was in my hand.  The half cork in the bottle was clearly not ours. 

In addition to the horrific half of a rubber cork and the sediment in the bottle, this wine tasted like crap.  Easily the worst I have ever had.  (For the record, we didn't drink those last glasses.) This was worse than Two-Buck-Chuck.  You don't need to be a wine expert to recognize that this was a bad bottle.  I'm telling you a.) because I'm shocked!, b.) because I don't want you to buy this wine, and c.) because it is funny!  I'm glad we didn't intend on sharing this bottle with friends!

Our Balcony Garden

The eternal summer that we're living in poses an interesting question:  can we garden all year round here?!?!  Yes, and no.  Yes, because it doesn't get below freezing so we won't be running out early in the morning to pick every green tomato like we did last year.  No, some plants (and trees) require cold weather, and more importantly, many things stop growing when it is too hot.  This was new for me.  I knew sun and water were factors - but according to my research tomatoes don't turn red below 40 or above 85.





So our garden looked amazing but nothing ripened...until about last week.  Now we have lots of beautiful (but small) red tomatoes!  Our experiment with hanging tomatoes was mixed.  We used one larger black bucket and two recycled bottles.  The main lesson learned here is to put plants under the hanging plants to catch the falling water.  After watering the hanging ones the water drains through very well - and then the patio is soaked and we waste the precious commodity.



Prior to the tomatoes ripening we only had lots and lots of beautiful zucchini flower (the yellow one on the right) and a few eggplant flowers (the pinkish-purple one on the left).   Although you can eat the yellow flowers you usually fry them to eat them...and we didn't try that. The pink flower on the other hand...we are just waiting for that one to turn into a baby eggplant like some of the others have!



In addition to the heat problem we recently found out that our water is super basic....I mean, it has a really high PH level.  Plants don't really like that.  I was worried the acid in the coffee grinds - which constitute a decent portion of our compost - was making the soil too acidic. Turns out we have the opposite problem.

So, to answer our question about gardening in the eternal summer: Yes, and no.  As crazy as it sounds for those of you in the northern United States - there is such a thing as too much summer.  September should be cooler, so the plan is to tear up the garden and start from seed again in August.  We're hoping it works!  Fresh tomatoes to anyone who comes to visit!