donkeys and camels and horses, oh my!

Such good times were had at the lost city of petra in jordan...such good times. We had amazing company (Kitten, David and Alex from the University of Cairo and Danny from getting stranded at the border), probably my favorite landscape of alll time, way too much fun on donkeys and camels, beautiful bedouin people, tasty mint tea and soooo much laughter. Maybe later I can be a little bit more descript but for now I'll let the pictures do the talking.

so much to say.

It's been really long since my last blog and y'all have my deepest apologies. There's been a lot going on and I've been less than healthy so its been a hard sell to sit in front of a computer for more than five minutes at a time. Here is my small attempt to catch y'all up...

I met my American family (Marsha, Eldad, Yonaton, Shelly and Daniella) at the airport and travelled up north with them, which was beautiful only I have this bad habit of falling asleep in cars--so I basically slept through msot of the north. BUt we walked around Akko and tasted kanufe, which i still dont understand what it was made of...and Danny spent all night talking like we were little girls again and I tricked Shelly into telling me things she didn't want to tell me about her adventures with growing up and it was just really really nice to be with them again and be familiar with people again.

Then my friend Assaf came up to the Kineret (lake that jesus walked on) and we spent the day walking around the lake looking for a pretty beach which basically never happened and we settled for a clearing of rocks and broken glass net to a half sunk shopping cart in the water. It was awesome. One of the most beautiful places in all of Israel and we were sitting next to a shopping cart. I love the absurd.

The next day I headed wes,t over to Hertzelia to stay with the Reiches (Yakov, Emira, Dana, Yariv and Ayal) I've known this family for my entire life, still able to recall memories of playing with Dana on her terrace when I was four and her taking me to a party where all the little kids spoke hebrew and wanted me to play the games but I couldn't understand the rules cause again, they were in hebrew, so instead I just hung out by the snack table kicking stuff untill it was time to go. Ah, the memories. It was wonderful to see them all again, especially cause everyone has gone and grown up. Ayal took Simone and I to the beach where he taught us how to spin fire without the fire, very daring.

After knocking myself in the head with what could have been balls of flame, we eventually stopped and cruised around Herzelia. My friend Golan (from Laos) met up with us and introduced us to the incredibly happening nightlife scene. A little too happening if you ask me, crowds of fancy people standing in herds waiting to be noticed so that they could stand in a herd on the inside of that dividing line. We opted for a slightly less scenestery irish pub where the music was hilarious and the crowd a little less "concerned."

Later in the week Yariv drove Simone and I up to the Golan Heights which was beautiful and green and lush and all that good stuff. We played around on a mountain that had old army barracks/bunkers for tourists to interact with. Boy did I interact. I ran into every barrack, jumped all over all the pretend soldiers and to Simone and Yariv's great dismay made up loads of spontaneous games that I tried to involve them in. Yariv shirked most of my attempts but eventually I did get him to stick his head in the dragon made out of army bits' head:

Yariv then took us up to his old army base where he used to work with cannons. It wasn't exactly legal for us to be there so it was all on the hush hush. He gave me a hat to cover my mohawk, as if that was the reason why I would stick out on an army base... His friend was on reserve duty there and was generous enough to show us his cannon and let us run around inside of it (not that there's much room to run around) but he let us touch everything and ask loads of questions and wear the helmets and all that sort of fun stuff. I think Yariv is still confused over my appreciation of weaponry and vegetarianism...killing people totally different than killing animals...(just kidding). Anyways, it was awesome. A little bit creepy, but awesome.

Also I gotta say, damn those missiles are heavy...

Simone and I had intended on hiking and camping that day but we decided to run with our lazy streak and continue on with Yariv to his 8 year old cousin's birthday party. We ate amazing food and stared at the beautiful view of the Kinneret and got to know even more of the family and slept on the ride all the way back. It was a really excellent day full of cake and guns. Yeah for cake and guns!

Later that night we headed back to Jerusalem where we rented a car and headed down to the Dead Sea. I want so badly to be someone who enjoys camping, but the truth is, right now anyways, I'm just not. After about three hours I was ready togo home. I sucked it up and stayed, but I was ready. It didn't help that I had gotten sick somewhere between Jerusalem and the Dead Sea. By the time that we did actually return in the morning I was beyond sick witha fever and a throat that made me want to punch nuns. The next four days I basically spent in bed. Pooor Simone. I was less than fun, but glad that Israeli television includes such TV greats as "Head of the Class" and "The Hogan Family." After catching up on my terrible shows I finally healed enough to journey south again...to be continued.

fun with the fam

My uncle Ruli is an interesting man. Previously known as the guy who always had knives and medieval weaponry magazines shipped to our house in NYC for most of my life, I later found out that he was quite the adventurer. He would make yearly trips to the US from Israel and somehow be the one who took us all around to see the new museums, or underwater puppet shows, or whatever other crazy underground thing you can think of that somehow none of us antives were ever able to find. He opens doors without any idea of what may lay behins them.

So when he offered to take me around the Old City of Jerusalem, a place where most westerners and israelis are too afraid to go, I jumped at the idea of seeing a Jerusalem that no book could tell me about. I invited my cousin Yuli and with some warnings from my father and requests that Yuli, who's in the army, bring her gun, we were off.

We began with a bagel unlike and better than any other bagel. It was arabic, I think...and about as large as my torso, and when dipped into soft cheese and Zataar, delicious. We then walked into the armenian quarter of the old city which I gotta say was a lot like India. The streets were really crowded and small and ancient, of course. And there was chaos and craziness everywhere, with venders trying to grab you with either their voice or their hands, kids rushing past shouting, "shalom" or "allo." All sorts of crazy foods and sweets and turkish coffees and so much yummies for me to taste! It felt good to be in a world that demanded interaction and awareness, it really makes a girl feel alive.

Ruli took us into a roman catholic church/austrain youth hostel that has Amazing views of the old city and was able to point out a lot of the historical sites from the roof, as well as the accompanying history of the crusades and architecture and all sorts of fabulous knowledge.

We listened to the mosques blast out their prayers and sampled many tasty arabic treats with some turkish coffee that I think is what happens when you mix a cup of chai with some coffee. Then we walked the vie De rosas, which was the road that Jesus walked on his way to his crucificion, all the way to the Western Wall. Ruli told us stories of how he and his regiment were the first people to enter the kotel/western wall during the 6 day war and why all the pictures are of the paratroopers instead of his troops and all of the ways in which it was different and how it felt than compared to now. Fascinating. And then I convinced Yuli to come say "what up" to the wall with me. Throughout this trip I have learned to believe in the power of intention--that holy places are holy because people believe that they are holy. Whether or not there was any holiness in the first place, after 100s of years of people worhsipping there and putting that energy there, the energy accumulates and it becomes holy. And I gotta say the wall defiently had a different energy than the surrounding area. As I walked closer, the vibration grew stronger and it was palpable. BUT, somehow the people who work near the wall, day in and day out had not been affected by this increased vibration in what could be understood as any sort of a positive way. I've never been regarded with such disdain by another human being. How could I dare to walk near the wall with henna on my hands, or tattoos on my skin or even to have skin showing!! HOw could I dare!! to show god a litle bit of the skin that he created in his image, in his perfection! HOw could I dare!! Anyways, I draped myself in some fabric and walked on through. Yuli warned me about hte really religous and also let everyone else know how she felt by cursing them all and wishing their death inside of the wall. Man, that girl's got balls.

After some falafel and hummus and the christian quarter and trying to udnerstand why all the really religious jews look like they are walking around in stripped PJ's we headed back home. Only first we had to make a stop to see some stret art hat YUli saw in a magazine. By the time we got there the statue had been torn apart. So, the good samaritans/fabulous artists that we are the three of us put humpty dumpty back together again. ANd then we made him a friend. It was damn good fun to rummage thorugh an abandoned construction site and put together to rad pieces of artwork.

Since then I have met back up with my friend Assaf from India and my family from America!! More to come...

and once again

it didn't occur to me that what the voodoo priest told me at the beginning of my trip would hold true at the end. Just as it would take four days for my trip into the crazy world of developing countries to truly begin, it has taken four days for my exit to really let me go. I spent the first few days here in Israel in a little bit of a haze. Yuli would catch me washing dishes and ask me why I was washing them by hand when there was a dishwasher. I was boiling water in a pot for my endless cups of chai and she reminded me that they had kettles here. I rummaged through Dani's clothing till I found her shirt that read, "sab kuch milega" ("everything is possible" in hindi.) and I drank cup after cup of chai that will never taste as it did in india because we westerners have a nasty habit of pasteurizing our milk. damn damn damn.

So as the voodoo priest warned I spent the first day saying again, "what the hell have I just left behind?" the second saying, "what have I gotten myself into?" and the thrid simply still in shock just asking "really?" or as they say in hebrew: walla? So yesterday was the fourth day and things began to shake up or shake down for me, whatever expression fits. After studying hebrew with my lovely and yet challenging "hebrew with pleasure" book, and some yoga I went off to get lost in jerusalem and thats exactly what I did. I got lost, and found that I knew enough hebrew to get by, that there are enough people here that speak enough english that I dont really need that much hebrew and that when you get lost most of the time thats when you learn how to get found. But enough bad prose.

I was worried that I had lost all of my travelling lessons, the being joyful and open, the sense of adventure and ease at which life dictates its story to you, instead of working to pull one from its gritty teeth. I've made some new friends, some brits some israelis. I've spent time with my cousin yuli and efat, who are both excellent company and always down for a drink and a laugh not necessarily in that order and I've begun to accept that I may not be able to travel in Israel as if it were India but that maybe thats not bad, and maybe what it is, is even better than what I can think of. Hell, after literally one night here I've already made it into the big newspapers, I'm the one on the left with the mohawk, Yuli is the one on the right who I think looks like me. If I'm already in the papers, things can't be that bad, can they??

just me and the boys...

When the time came to leave Dharmasala, it felt like I was leaving India. In some ways I was leaving the India that I knew, the one made up of westerners. It was an India filled with fabulous people from all over the world, a new language (the Israeli version of Hindi), and so many teachers with a constant supply of lessons. But as I boarded the local bus to Chandigarh to visit my boys it occurred to me that maybe that wasn't so much India. Maybe this local bus that I was boarding, in which i was the only westerner, in which none of the Indians spoke a lick of english, rather maybe this was the beginning of the real India.

The ride was beautiful, with snow capped mountains on either side of the bus for a good half of the journey. I made "friends" with an elderly couple on the bus who spoke impassioned hindi to me the entire way. I'm not sure what they were saying but it sounded really important, or at least the old man seemed to think that it was really important because he would not be discouraged by my repeated attempts to use the little hindi I knew to say "patanai hindi" (I dont know hindi) although my pronunciation may have been weak, in which case I was repeatedly saying "wife hindi" which maybe is why his replies were so impassioned in the first place...hmmmm.

I arrived in Chandigarh by night and waited for Karan to come pick me up. In the meantime, as per usual, everyone wanted to be my friend. I was finally in a place on my own, where I literally was the only foreigner. After many men introduced themselves to me declaring their desire to be my "friend," Karan showed up with a less than excited expression on his face to see my new following. He quickly picked up my bags, said some stuff in hindi and poof, like magic, made my fan club dissappear. what a neat trick.

We drove to a parking lot where we met up with Shiv and Harry, my friends from Dharam. And one of Karan's life long friends Vishal came to join us. I was so happy to be reunited with my friends that I was jumping up and down, drawing even more attention from even more men that had to be "spoken" with in hindi and made to dissapear. Apparently, jumping up and down is seen as "indecent" for a girl. Practically everything that I do that makes me me, is considered indecent in India. What to do.

After catching up and driving around we went back to Karan's mother's home so I could wash up and get settled and of course meet "Ma," because she is everyone's mother. In India it is not so easy for girls to be friends with boys, let alone for a girl to come stay with her guy friends. It was very generous of Ma to let me stay with them in their home but it became clear very quickly that was just how Ma was, generous with everyone. She and I took a walk around the neighborhood talking about teaching and reiki and of course Oprah, that woman really does make it around the globe. Some time after chatting and way before the boys were ready for bed, I passed out without even knowing it and that was the end of my first night in Chandigarh.

So much happened while I was in Chandi that I'm finding it difficult to string all the stories together into one riveting tale. For now I think I'll just run over the highlights:
Let's see, where do all good stories begin...right, at the pub. We went to a bar where I taught the boys a drinking game that I learned in Laos. Some new folks joined the frey and we were all pretty toasted by the time we were asked to leave. After blasting some punjabi music while we danced in the parking lot, we were again asked to leave but this time by the police. Shiv coming from the family he comes from has MANY connections with the police and everyone really, so we had no trouble. We found ourselves an empty river bed under a full night's sky where we turned our music back on and danced barefoot in the cold sand until we were done. Just to give the picture a soundtrack, because the soundtrack for me was one of the most exciting and amusing parts of this week in Chandi, we were dancing under the stars in the empty river bed to a mix of classic rock (lady in red), pop trash (backstreet boys), gangsta rap (50 cent) and other such random accoutriments like "the streets of philadelphia." My music sensibility was all over the place, and like with everything in India I simply had to say "why not?" and carry on. On the ride home, some poor dumb guy made the unsafe choice of cutting Karan off, so the boys decided that he needed to know how unsafe that was and chased him down to scare him. They cut him off, yelled at him for awhile, made like they were gonna beat him up but instead decided that Karan would drive this guy's bike back to his place (way out of this poor guy's way) and Harry would drive the car back. Apparently, this was generous behavious in Chandi. Most problems like this end up with some sort of blood spilt from some sort of body part. I was happy to not see this part of Chandi, or at least not that night.

We also went to a disco (Harry, Shiv, Harry's way too young girl on the side, and I). The club was a blasty. I danced like a crazy person, finally in a place where I didn't feel like I had to worry about being indecent. Although, Harry and Shiv might speak differently because they spent most of their night on damage control, keeping me away from the big guys they couldn't beat up and the creeps who kept trying to dance with me. Little did they knowI am fully versed in creeps at night clubs, they exist all over the world. I was in my creepy night club element and fully at ease. Although, again the boys here are way more eager to fight than American cities and there was definetly a brawl we watched take place outside, where one of their friends wiped the floor with four other guys. An impressive, if not highly disturbing scene to watch.

What else...the boys brought me to two seperate pujas, which are special prayers and teachings... I think. One of them was an all night affair hosted by Vishal's family. There was music and bright flashing lights and the overwhelming feeling like I was in Vegas. The other was in the home of Ma's maid, a lovely woman name Ritu. Her whole family was there. And as per usual I tried to connect with the children--I find the language barrier not such a barrier when there's no language involved and most of the time the kids are quite fond of my willingness to meet them on their level. I don't know if it was my crazy holi hair, or maybe my frighteningly white skin, but I scared the crap out of this kid and any time I even looked in his direction he would start screaming like I was trying to eat his heart, which broke my heart. I kept my eyes on my feet and reiki'ed Ritu's arm.

Harry had apparently made an announcement to his world when I arrived that I was some sort of healer and there was a never ending supply of people who either wanted me to read their tarot cards or give them reiki, which was fine by me cause I needed the practice. One of the girl's that I read tarot for, Nitu, invited me to an Indian wedding. It was a seikh wedding and I got all dressed up in formal Indian garb in one of Ma's outfits. I was introduced as Harry's wife to some and relative to other's because it was not okay for me to just be his friend. And I was quickly told that although I was terribly excited to be there, jumping up and down was not permitted. What's a joyful girl to do!? I stuck to smiling and when the time was right, I convinced Nitu's sister Mina to teach me some Indian dancing on the dance floor. We put on quite a show for 5 minutes, till I realized that everyone was staring and then I thought maybe, again, I'm a little too happy for Indian standards and removed myself from the dance floor. I made conversation with Mina and Nitu for awhile, their mother told me I was sweet and pretty, followed by the okay symbol which I misread to mean "only a little bit." It was a damn good time.

I asked Harry loads of questions about the Seikh religion and although he was too cool to have many of the answers he was able to give me a general understanding, and Nitu filled in the rest of the holes. Later in the week Harry took me to a Seikh temple so we could pray and listen to the chanting and wash our feet and eat the holy beans and bow our head to the holy book and all that other fascinatingly different kind of stuff.

I learned how to make chai. Well, first I developed an addiction to chai, and then a fear of my life without it when I returned to the US. So, I thought maybe it was wise to teach this woman how to fish, instead of continuously asking for others to make chai for her (excuse the mixed metaphors). It was a great bonding tool, in each home I would ask the lady of the house to teach me her special way, and for each lady of the house there was a different and special way! Some put the milk before the water, others use green instead of black teas, others yet use herbs and spices while some rely on the simple flavor of good old fashioned sugar.

What else can I tell you to make you all understand how amazing my time was with my boys in Chandigarh...We drove around in Harry's car most days and nights, cracking jokes, screaming lyrics to wonderfully bad music, stopping at house after house of friend after family member for a chai here, some sweets there. There were many events but most of the 'amazing' happened during the uneventful, just being with each other and getting to know each other in ways that made me feel bonded like family. My brother Shiv, my husband Harry and my Jones Karan. Ishlibadish boys, ishlibadish.