My First Trip to Gaza

Foreword: I'm re-posting this old blog entry about my first trip to Gaza because somehow it disappeared entirely from Packing Lust, probably during the transition from my last blogging service to Wordpress, the one I use now. It's one of my favorites, so I was so sad when I thought it was lost to the void forever. (I didn't have a back up of the text, just the photos). However, Prince Charming managed to find an archive of it online, despite my deleting the old blog before I knew it had gone missing. "Nothing can completely disappear from the internet," he says. (I now back up my blog regularly.) This was originally posted December 18, 2012. Enjoy.

Entry at Erez

"You're not a journalist or anything, are you?" the Israeli soldier in the first booth at Erez Crossing Point asked.

"No." But will I write about what I see? Of course. 

Until the New York Times picks up this blog, I am not a journalist. I am free to enter the Gaza Strip through the Erez Crossing thanks to Prince Charming's NGO-worker status and my status as his wife.  And from this unique position, needing neither journalist's credentials, nor being blocked from writing by my organization (as Prince Charming is), I can simply tell you  what I experienced on my first, short trip to Gaza.

Not  that it was simple for me to get into Gaza. First, an employee at Charming's NGO got me coordination with the Israel government and a visa with Hamas, the governing body of Gaza.

We arrived at Erez Crossing on December 12th.

I put my camera away since there was a "no photography" sign at the entrance. The crossing looks like one modern, airy, new airport terminal. It's a large building with a lot of bullet-proof glass and shiny surfaces.  We entered after a quick chat with the Israeli soldier who asked if I was a journalist. Then there was an interview with a passport control officer who shuffles papers and flips through every passport. Like many passport officers, she had shimmering, perfectly manicured nails. I think if I were a passport officer, I would too. The only thing there is for a would-be border-crosser to do as you shuffle, flip, and make phone calls is to stare at your hands.

At this point, I need to introduce Osama, one of Charming's colleagus in Gaza. Osama is a Palestinian who lives in Gaza and he is rarely allowed out of the strip. However, he was allowed to visit the West Bank for his job for the first time in a while, and when we went to Gaza, he re-entered with us to rejoin his family.

 "Back to jail!" Osama said merrily as we entered Gaza.

Once across the border, we caught a special golf cart we called a tuk tuk that took us across a kilometer of open land that acts as a sort of "no-man's-land" between Israel and the administration of the Gaza border.

The covered path across no-man's-land.

The tuk tuk is officially for handicapped people, but if it's open, anyone can use it. Charming remarked that the tuk tuk driver has one of the weirdest jobs in the world. Can you imagine when someone asks "what do you do," saying "I drive a golf cart back and forth across the one kilometer separating two countries in conflict."

We then got out at a checkpoint known as Hamsa Hamsa or Five Five, in English. It's run by Fatah, the political party in charge of the Palestinian National Authority, which is the name of the government of Palestine.  The Fatah checkpoint is only there because  Israel won't talk to Hamas, the political party governing Gaza. Hamas is considered by Israel, the U.S., Canada, the E.U., and Japan to be a terrorist organization. While they seem more humane than other extremist Islamic groups, say the Taliban (who tried to kill  Malala Yousafzai), it's their habit of firing rockets indiscriminately into Israel gets them labeled as terrorists.

After the buffer zone of Hamsa Hamsa, we reached Arba Arba (Four Four in English) by cab. Arba Arba is run by Hamas. We picked up our previously arranged paperwork and Hamas officials searched our bags. Cars from the Gaza office arrived and I met more Gaza staff members (of Charming's NGO).

During our twenty minutes at Arba Arba, a magical moment happened. 12/12/12 at 12:12. Charming and I got a photo to memorialize:

Gaza City

After these three different checkpoints, we arrived in Gaza City. Osama pointed out some of the destruction from the recent conflict. One thing that struck me was the precision of the attacks. Of course the Israelis made mistakes (see above note about children killed) but for the most part, (if we allow ourselves to sweep away the image of 35 dead children with that phrase) Netanyahu kept his promise when he said "...my government has instructed the Israeli Defense Forces to conduct surgical strikes against the terrorist infrastructure in Gaza."

A surgical strike in Gaza City.

Another precision strike leaves a nearby palm tree and a mosque untouched.

Destruction in Gaza City.

More wreckage in Gaza.

As we drove into the city, Osama greeted a fellow commuter he knew.

The people in Gaza use a lot of donkeys and horses for transportation and conducting business.

A special export of Palestine is the strawberry. When I tasted my first strawberry here, it was as if I had never tasted a strawberry before. Charming says the Dutch import them from Gaza and the fields are treated with great care and expertise.

Once we arrived, Lulu, the office receptionist, kindly drove me around Gaza City so I could see the sights. Having already seen a lot of destruction, I was eager to see the beach.

Enjoying the sight of the sea in Gaza.

It was lovely, this portion of the beach having had a walkway put in by Jawwal, our cell phone service provider. There were horses galloping along the water's edge. You can see them tiny in the background of the above photo.

But after that nice photo, I have to show you what happened before we saw the beach, before we had even left the street in front of Charming's office. As Lulu began to drive in front of Charming's organization,  a group of men jumped out of a nearby car, and seemed to attack the car in front of us. Men jumped and were pulled out of that car. I didn't have time to feel scared. I snapped a couple photos.

Lulu, composure and smile perfectly intact, backed up, and turned off onto another street. I simply thought the incident it was a bit of road rage on the under-construction, traffic-clogged byway. It wasn't until writing this blog post that I noticed the large knife in the brown-jacketed man's hand in the second photo. Was this a car jacking? A car burglary?

The second photo.

Maybe this explains why, a bit later, Lulu said "you don't seem scared. Some foreigner are afraid to be here." I was thrilled to be somewhere warm and sunny with an ocean view. I didn't think much about the underbelly attributes of Gaza until I was out.

Lulu took me to her future home, a fourth floor condo still under construction.

Lulu in her future condo building.

View from Lulu's future home.

We drove by the Gaza City fishing port.

Like a scene out of a Tom Waits movie, near the center of town there was an abandoned circus.  I wondered if I'd see a lion or trapeze artist roaming town, feeling lost.

Finally, my tour ended at Lulu's family home where I met her mother, two out of seven sisters,  and her brother. We had coffee and cookies served on a tray decorated with hand-embroidered cloth.

Rafah

Later that evening, we drove with Osama and Arwa down the coast to Rafah, which is on Gaza's border with Egypt. Tunnels connect Rafah to Egypt, and Osama said "Everything you see came in through the tunnels." The streets were filled with the same early-model Mercedes that most of the population drove, making Rafah feel like we were in a movie set in the 60's.

On the way to Rafah, we stopped at a fish restaurant splendidly located with a view of the water. The only sign I saw said "Fish Frsh." Fish Frsh kept live fish in large pools fed from the nearby ocean.

Patrons can attempt to net their own fish for their own dinner plate. I tried, as  Prince Charming, Osama, and Arwa looked on.

I failed. Osama said he'd never been successful either. One of the employees got down into the tank and netted us a couple of fresh fish, one of which showed up on my plate 20 minutes later.

We had a wonderful time chatting and laughing over dinner with Osama and his wife Arwa. Osama is a big fan of argila, which is a very popular hobby/habit/vice all over Palestine. It's also called sheesha, hookah, or, affectionately, hubbly bubbly.  We laughed over the fact that extreme Muslims frown on women smoking argila in public because it looks suggestive. Of what? Oh dear, the culture is far too genteel for anyone to actually say what it might be suggestive of. I'll leave it up to you to guess.

Many thanks to Osama and Arwa for being such generous and warm hosts who genuinely seem to love their adopted home, (they are descendants of refugees) yet are honest, educated, and well-traveled enough to rue the fact that they are stuck in Gaza unless they can get jobs overseas. Osama would want you to know that his favorite meal in the whole world is Kentucky Fried Chicken, and he wants peace for many reasons, but partly because he really wants Gaza to get the franchise. He also speaks with enthusiasm about how resilient the Palestinians living in Gaza are. Seriously, I can hardly overstate how  kind, hospitable, and tolerant Osama and Arwa are. I wish them the best and hope for peace and all the opportunities they could ever want for themselves and their family.

Ladies Brunch

Prince Charming's office in Gaza is majority male, and so the next day the few ladies at the office invited me to brunch with them at a restaurant in Gaza City overlooking the ocean. I always ask permission before featuring anyone on the blog (except men who attack the car in front of me) but a few of the women at the brunch didn't feel comfortable appearing here, so the only photo I'll show you is of the view of the ocean when it started raining in the middle of brunch.

Apparently, it only rains a few times a year in Gaza, so this event was cause for great joy. The women got up and rushed to the window, opening it and putting their hands out to touch the rain. One of them told me "If you ask Allah for anything while it rains, he will give it to you."  Another said that as a romantic, she loved to walk in the rain.

As you know, I'm coming from Ramallah, where it's been cold and rainy for weeks. I was surprised at their enthusiasm  and then remembered how rare rain was in L.A., and how I'd felt a similar sense of blessing being poured from the sky when it rained there. I sat back and enjoyed the sound of the rain as it poured loudly on the roof of the restaurant where we sat warm and dry.

At the brunch, and several times throughout my visit to Gaza, I tried to find out about the details of the traumas and miseries of a) being in Gaza during the strikes, and b) being a woman in Gaza. My leading questions were not met with complaints or tales of woe.  Lulu told me that the day after the ceasefire, everyone was arranging parties and gatherings. Osama drove by a group of men playing soccer by the beach and said "Is this resilience or what!" Others echoed those sentiments. The people of Gaza want to be happy and to have peace just like any other people in the world. They want outsiders to see that they are caring, strong, resilient, and hopeful.  They try to see the blessing in the rain.

Exiting Gaza

Getting back into Israel from Gaza was a lengthier process than going in. We quickly passed through Arba Arba and Hamsa Hamsa, this time walking the kilometer from Hamsa Hamsa to the Erez terminal.  (The tuk tuk wasn't around.) We walked through large turnstile doors, and then into a room with two large tables. The only direct contact one has with any Israelis during the process is with passport control. In this room, we couldn't see anyone, but Charming told me to open my bags and show them to a camera. The soldiers watching must have been okay with the contents of my bag, because a green light flashed on one of several entry doors, meaning I could go in. Charming and I entered a warren of small chambers separately. Nothing happened in my first chamber, except the light turned green, and I passed into a second, identical chamber. The red light turned green, but when I pressed the door, it didn't open. Someone uttered something in Hebrew that I didn't understand. I tried again, then realized I'd been pressing on the wall, not the door. I found the door, and it allowed me to pass into a luggage checking station. Again, I wasn't sure where to go, but when I looked up, I saw officials looking down on us from a glassed-in upper level. They motioned to me where I should go. Via this system of cameras, speakers, bullet-proof glass, and compartments, the Israeli officials are kept safe from would-be attackers.

We loaded our bags onto a conveyer belt, and another light turned green, allowing us to pass into the room where we picked up our luggage. We only had one more obstacle to get through: passport control. "What's your father's name?" The same well-manicured lady asked. I told her, and she said "What's your grandfather's name?" "Which one?" "You father's father." I told her, and she let me back into Israel. Charming's interview lasted much longer, about an hour.  He and the nice-finger-lady chatted, and then he was sent back into the terminal to wait. Finally, after another chat, they let him through. His current passport/visa/paperwork situation is complicated and it took a while for the soldiers to ascertain the legitimacy of his papers. Once they did, we were free to re-enter Israel with a  dual sense of gratitude and guilt for those we left behind.

How to Be Where You Are When Wanderlust Distracts

So we just found out we are moving to the country of Comoros! Just kidding. April Fools. But for those of you who were thinking "What the bleep is Comoros?" Wikipedia's short answer is "a sovereign archipelago island nation in the Indian Ocean, located at the northern end of the Mozambique Channel off the eastern coast of Africa, between northeastern Mozambique and northwestern Madagascar." It also happens to be one of the globe's least populous nations, but one of the most densely populated. In other words, it's a tiny country packed with people.

Our Wanderlust

Okay, now that geography lesson is over, I want to delve into something personal  -- our psychology of wanderlust right now. Charming and I moved to Palestine in May and June of 2012, with plans to stay for the duration of Charming's two-year contract with his organization. Beyond two years, our stay was and is unknown. So that means in just a few months, we enter unplanned territory. And something weird happened to our mindset. It's weird and also weirdly familiar. When was the last time I had this feeling? The summer after my senior year of high school.

Spoiling the Nest

Let me start by saying that all of high school was an emotional roller coaster for me (and for everyone, I know) but I remember that by the time I graduated, my roller coaster was decidedly uncomfortable. I felt completely done with my hometown, my family, my friends, and anything I could possibly do for fun. My mom called it "spoiling the nest," and I certainly was. I was irritable and quick to complain. I lashed out and put distance between me and my loved ones. I was a bird who was ready to fly, but knew that to leave the comfort of the nest I had to convince myself that it was a boring place filled with stupid people. I needed the place and people to prove their negative attributes so that I could feel justified in leaving. I love my family, and my  hometown is filled with dear friends. So those things I harped on weren't true, but my subconscious started to make them feel true, so that when the time came to leave, I didn't hesitate.

Similarly, I noticed I have been complaining more than usual about Palestine. I've been snarking on the repressive atmosphere, the constant harassment, the shoddy business standards, everything right down to the broken hinge on our toilet seat. Even though I can find those things everywhere in the world, if I look hard enough.

The Wanderlust Timer

Nothing seemed fun or worth doing for a while. I racked my brain. What was wrong? And then I realized it. I was spoiling the nest. Even though we have no plans to leave this place, my brain had been thinking two years, two years, two years, for so long that it was like a timer started going off when two years approached. A timer that said, "Ok, prepare for the train to leave the station." The wanderlust timer.

But the truth is, we may be here for a while longer. We don't know. The widening chasm between my geographical location and my mental location called for a recent attitude shift to bring them back to the same place.

Getting My Joie Back

I did four things to get my joie de vivre back and get back to Palestine mentally, instead of being here and not being here.

1. I talked it over with some friends and realized what was going on.

2. I imagined that we made another two-year commitment here. What would I do? What new places would I see, activities would I try, friends would I make?

3. I centered by focusing on my deeper purpose in life which I can live out with enthusiasm absolutely anywhere in the world.

4. I took action on a couple of things relating to #2 and #3 and put some new adventures into motion. (With help from my friends.)

I think these steps or some variation of them could be helpful if you find yourself drifting to some other place mentally and that drifting is making your current location or job or relationship seem not quite the romantic place it once was.

What do you think? What do you do when you need to enjoy where you are a little more? Please share in the comments.

What's Next?

When our friends and family ask "What's next?" I really like being able to give a concrete answer to that question. But the truth is, we don't know right now, and we don't know how long we won't know.

So for the time being, I'm focusing on enjoying my springtime nest right here in Palestine.

All Are Valid

I'll close with this excerpt from Mark Manson that I read and enjoyed today. It's from his essay "Wanderlust."

"The more places you go the less any single one is likely to satisfy you. As with any purely external form of satisfaction, there’s a cruel diminishing returns to it. Yesterday’s exotic is today’s bore. Yesterday’s news is today’s history. It’s the core of any addictive behavior: you need more and more and more, until one day you need less. Or even worse, you die never having known enough.

The more you see and experience, the more you see the overlapping of personality across culture, you see the universality of daily human existence, the common denominator of nature, and you understand that joy and relationships too, are location-independent.

You (hopefully) begin to understand the reward for any journey must be the journey itself or nothing at all — the moments of airport tedium as well as the exaltation of the world’s highest monuments; the anxious anticipation of the unknown as well as the jaded boredom of routine; the vanity of indulging in prestige and class as well as the humility of the living among the most downtrodden and unfortunate. All are valid and necessary. All are their own steps upon the same path of your life."

- Mark Manson

Dry Wanderings

We spend the last two weekends in February exploring nearby places that are just too hot and dry to enjoy during the arid summers here. The first weekend, we went down to...

The Negev Desert

Vision: Emotionally fulfilling stargazing and life-changing desert sunrises.

Reality: Overcast skies, dull clouds, freezing winds, and light drizzle.

Before we left, when we confirmed that the forecast was going to dash our star-gazing dreams, Prince Charming asked me if I thought we should still go.

"Yeah," I said. "We'll go and have fun despite the weather."

And we did. It was cold and the skies were lugubrious, but there was something charming about the town of Mitzpe Ramon, Israel. It's a small outpost that has attracted a combination of hikers, outdoor enthusiasts, and  eccentric artist types. And you know how much I love eccentric artists types. Charming and I always feel comfortable in places inhabited by eccentric artist types.  And I also love outdoor enthusiasts. So I felt right at home.

I took this picture in Mitzpe Ramon. It's a bicycle (outdoorsy type thing) that has been covered with white fuzz and turned into a permanent art display (eccentric artist thing to do).

Here's the rest of that art installation:

I think it's impressive that Mitzpe Ramon has attracted anyone at all, considering that its claim to fame is a hole. A very large hole in the ground. We couldn't find the hole at first, so we drove around, asking each other do you think the hole is over there? Could it be over there by those nice apartment buildings? Maybe if we follow the sign that says "visitor center."

Then, after a frigid walk/jog up an incline, we came upon the hole.

According to TouristIsrael.com, this hole is the world's largest erosion makhtesh. Makhtesh is often translated as "crater," but that is misleading since this hole wasn't caused by an explosion or the impact of a celestial body.

A better translation of makhtesh, perhaps, would be "erosion circle," or, "big ol hole."  Geological forces created this  superlative wonder some 220 million years ago.

It was pretty chilly on top of that hole in February.

Here's a photo (from the Shalom Israel Tours website) of the hole on a better day.

We stayed at a desert-hostel-camp rather chillingly called "Silent Arrow."  The place was so hipster that it had an ironic jacuzzi.

It also had a friendly owner and volunteers, and a great vibe. We stayed in one of these tents:

wadi qelt

The next weekend, we decided to do some hiking in one of the longest and most famous valleys (wadis) in Palestine: Wadi Qelt. To hike the whole thing from Jerusalem to Jericho takes about 10-12 hours, depending on the weather, your speed and your fitness level. We wanted the gentle stroll version, so we just drove around until we found an entrance (we knew because there was a tour bus, a camel, and some bedouins) and started walking around. We started at the top of the wadi. By the way, my vision is that I can always get my dog to look at the camera. Reality:

After photos, we drove down into the wadi. That is, Charming and I rode in the car, and we made Jelly run behind us. She needed the exercise.

Once almost to the bottom of the wadi, we got out and hiked around. At the very bottom of the valley, we heard the delightful sound of bubbling water, and followed it to this narrow aqueduct:

We found a green spot amidst the brown for a nice picnic lunch.

One of the most famous spots in the Wadi Qelt is St. George's Monastery. But by the time we got back to the car and drove to the monastery, we were tired.  We quickly became discouraged about the amount of energy it would take to run the gauntlet of hyper aggressive bedouin jewelry sales representatives at the entrance to that section of the park. So we went home. We'll have to save St. George's for another day, or just enjoy photos of it online.

Most of the time when traveling, things don't turn out the way you think they will. Although neither of these trips turned out perfectly, they had unexpected joys.

What about you? Do you have a traveling story where things didn't turn out quite like you expected? I'd love to hear it in the comments.

My Love Note to Juthour

I was recently hiking at Juthour, an arboretum eco park on the outskirts of Ramallah, Palestine. It was just before sunset, and this February day was especially stunning.  The air was clear and warm, but the earliness of the season meant there were no annoying bugs out yet. We could see clearly for an especially long distance all the way to Tel Aviv. As I walked up the hill with a couple friends, chasing the sun before it sank down into that western hillside, I thought of how grateful I am for Juthour's existence. My gratitude quickly turned into a desire to help Juthour grow, since I know that the land Juthour protects is under constant threat of development, bulldozing by Israeli extremists, poisoning by shepherds who fear the wild boar, and toxic construction waste dumping. Whew, that is a laundry list of threats to this beautiful land:

When I told Morgan, one of the co-founders of Juthour, about my urge to help preserve this piece of land, she suggested I write a blog post about it. So here is my little love letter list to Juthour.

My gratitude is especially deep when I think about these nine special attributes of Juthour:

1. It's on one of the last undeveloped hillsides near Ramallah, so I don't see or hear construction noise as I enjoy nature.

2. It's proximity to where I live in Ramallah means that I don't have to make a day trip of it, and plan a hike only for special occasions. I can zip out there any time for a quick hike.

3. I can go with friends or alone, and feel safe because the friendly park rangers are frequently in the arboretum, and they expect to see me.

4. I can run on the dirt road around Juthour with my dog, without fear that people will stop and try to steal my dog because no one drives on this quiet dirt road.

5. Not only is there already an incredible variety of trees, flowers and birds at Juthour, but the park rangers are always adding more botanical treasures to this eco-park.

6. The park founders take action by reporting nearby illegal construction dumping, so I know that there won't be huge piles of trash around my hike, like there are in other hiking spots around Ramallah.

7. Juthour (which means "roots" in Arabic) is being preserved so that people can learn about and enjoy Palestine's natural beauty, so I feel welcome there as a hiker.

8. The park founders are dedicated to peaceful, non-violent resistance of the Israeli occupation of Palestine, so I'm supporting a good cause by supporting Juthour.

9. I can be inspired by the founders, who are resilient in the face of setbacks. I know when and if the Israeli government or extremist settlers destroy the trees in the park, the founders won't give up on saving the land, but will start planting the park all over again, always in a sustainable way.

I hope this natural treasure continues to grow and thrives so that Palestinians, expats, and tourists alike can enjoy the incredible sights and sounds of this special place. Are you a hiker and nature lover?  Like the Juthour Facebook page to show your support for the eco park.

Top image credit: Juthour Arboretum. The others are from my Instagram feed, which you are welcome to follow.

10 Things to Know About Italy

I was a little worried about feeling lonely over the holidays, especially because we were planning to go to Italy, just the two of us. I wasn't that worried, because I knew it would be lovely to spend time alone with Prince Charming in one of the most romantic places in the world. I mean, Italy for Christmas? Yes, please. On the other hand, Italy for Christmas? Would all the Italian families be feasting with their massive extended families (and thus not around to open the museums or run the restaurants)? Would two feel like too small a group? Well, yes, and no, respectively. Here's why Italy for the holidays is still a good idea, despite most of the Italians being on holiday themselves, along with 9 other things you might want to know about spending your Christmas and New Year in Italy.

Rome-Antics

1. The streets are still filled with people.

Indeed, most of the Italians were no where to be found. However, we found that the streets were still filled with people, providing a joyful camaraderie.

On Christmas day, we took a six-hour walk around Rome, keeping in mind that very few actual museums or sights would be open. Our goal was to hit the major photo opportunities that were (or could be) outdoors, like the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, and Trevi Fountain. It was fun to be with the crowds of people, and romantic to not have any obligations on Christmas day other than to enjoy our time together.

Piazza di Trevi was alive with people. Pulsing with camera flashes. Everywhere we looked, we saw someone waving us out of the way so that they could take a photo of someone behind us.  Overwhelmed, we got out of the virtual mosh pit that was the steps and space in front of the fountain. After catching our  breath and a regroup, we dove back in, trading photos with another couple. Then we got out. There were tourists from all over the world. In this photo, you can see the range of headgear from Santa hat to beanie to hijab, reflecting the amazing diversity of the crowd.

 2. Foodies beware.

Maybe it's merely a testament to how much Prince Charming spoils me with his culinary skills, but I wasn't as impressed with the food in Italy as I was on previous trips. I am extremely spoiled when it comes to food. I also have very specific standards when it comes to restaurant service, standards born out of growing up with Southern hospitality, living in casual and friendly California,  and being friends with a chef-caterer who would pray and send good vibes into the food as she was preparing it. So basically, food is everything: a feeling of welcome, an invitation to friendship, and a spiritual experience.

Food Should Not Equal Stress

Sadly, over the holidays in Italy, even choosing a restaurant felt anxiety-inducing. Once we did, we encountered stressed-out hosts, unimaginative fare, and servers who on more than one occasion, simply forgot to bring us what we ordered.  And this happened despite researching restaurants, looking up reviews, and asking for recommendations. Arguably, our best food experiences were when we assembled our own picnic meals from piazza markets or from places like this butcher shop. And then there was the stellar gelato recommendation from our tour guide, Max. He said that we'd be tempted to settle for lesser gelato because shops popped up all around Giolitti to skim off tourists who wouldn't wait in line. But we waited and were rewarded. And of course, the coffee was astrologically good. 3. AirBnB rocks. If you haven't gone for it yet, go for it! Pay to stay in a stranger's house. This is not just for the money you can save, but for the richness of the experience. When you stay on someone's home, you get to experience how a local lives, day to day. And when else can you get away with snooping around in someone's bathroom cabinet? Hotels can be fun, but eventually they all start to feel the same.  With AirBnb, we could afford to stay in a prime location in Trastevere, just a stroll away from everywhere noteworthy in Rome, and a few blocks from the Tiber River.

And our rooftop view was practically cinematic.

Finally, the clock on the wall helped us relax -- and showed that the owner of our apartment had a Mediterranean sense of time.

 4. Go ahead and dork out.

I'm not sure how to segway (groan) into this one, so I'll just say it: Go for it! Last time I was exploring a big city, and my feet hurt, I saw these people dorkily zooming by on Segways. I looked at them with skepticism laced with envy. And internally mocked them.  But a Segway tour is as fun as your inner child thinks it will be.  Or more fun. A Segway tour of Ancient Rome was part of Prince Charming's birthday present, but we enjoyed it equally. It's a bit pricey at 75 Euros a person, but WORTH EVERY CENT!

 Florence

5.  Florence has the world's best window shopping.

That is, if you like colorfully bizarre and offbeat displays, which I do.  You go to Italy hungry for aesthetic marvels (and pasta) and you quickly get tired of beautiful ancient architecture. So in Florence, you hope to be surprised by new art, even after all this time. After all, Florence was the birthplace of the Renaissance.  Maybe it's still happening, you hopefully think. Or at least I did, and wasn't disappointed when on our first evening stroll, we were beckoned into a art gallery that had some surprising works by a modern artist on display. It felt like a magical moment to duck into a gallery where we were the only two people enjoying the art, while outside the windows the Arno river sparkled in the night.

But then just down the road we found out where all the out-of-work artists are employed. Some of the storefront displays were wildly creative, including a Christmas tree made from toilet-paper wrapped Barbie dolls, a flamingo wearing a necktie, and this beautiful red ballgown, that upon closer inspection, is actually bedding.

6. Museums are stressful.

I have no idea how Prince Charming got this picture that makes me look alone with the Birth of Venus. The reason I'm looking so thrilled in it is because a) I'm afraid we are about to get caught using a camera (even sans flash) and b) I'm being jostled on every side by invisible hordes of exhausted and grumpy tourists.

I'm not sure if the crowds have gotten worse since I was last in Italy or the holiday numbers combined with the limited opening hours clusterf*cked things up.  At Florence's Uffizi Galleries, we stumbled along with the waves of sweaty masses that trudged through each gallery. Museum workers had lost that "I'm-working-with-the-world's-greatest-art" sparkle in their eyes days ago. Perhaps years ago. Yuck.

Breaking the "Rules"

Oh, and also, I'd like to tell you that Prince Charming and I are officially "the reason Americans are hated" all over the world, as stated by another American tourist who seemed to pop up nearby us throughout our visit to the museum. We may have deserved her ire. You see, we know something that the other polite American, British, and Asian tourists in the line didn't know: Italians don't queue. There's no sanctity of place in line. Rather, it is respected to push yourself through the crowd where you need to go. Spain was like this to, and Israel and Palestine are similar. I'll never forget attending Mass in Spain and at the end, suddenly it's a holy mob shuffle to get up to Communion.  It must be a Mediterranean thing.

No-No

So anyway, we knew that the Italians running the museum were probably laughing at the tourists standing in line. And they had sold us an appointment ticket to get in at 4:30. It was 4:30. The museum closed at 6.  Other people in line had been standing there for an hour after their appointment to get in. We could go to the back, and get into the museum 15 minutes before closing, while watching the savvier travelers cut in line while our stress levels soarded, or we could cut. So yes, we cut in line. And we did it right in front of the official. He didn't care. In fact, he allowed us in, right after the Italian guy that cut in front of us.  Still, despite doing something culturally approved in Italy, I felt bad for doing what I knew was a no-no in my own culture.

7. You may not want to get medical care here.

File this one under the sadly hilarious. Or hilariously sad. I'm not sure which one. Not only is this Italian health care worker smoking, but he's smoking in his ambulance. This was the first thing I saw as I emerged from Florence's central train station, and it tickled me. Do you think that he'll keep smoking as he speeds through the streets on the way to an emergency? Or will he throw the cigarette out his window? Or will he take the time to get out, stub it out, and throw it away safely, all while precious seconds on the clock tick away? Do you think the cigarette smoke will bother the patient in the back, possibly struggling to breathe what could be his or her last breath? Like the line thing, what he's doing is a cultural no-no in the U.S., and probably totally fine in Italy.

8. Pisa is a fun day trip.

Just a pleasant hour and change train ride from Florence,

Pisa was a decision we left until the last minute. We almost didn't go, because there is so much to see in Florence. And we knew that Pisa was simply a glorified photo op. Yet, we couldn't resist taking photos with the world famous icon, La Torre Pendente. The Leaning Tower of Pisa has become a symbol of travel, right up there with the airplane and the globe. It may surpass the Eiffel tour in its fame. It was exciting to be there, to see that it really does lean, and to take all the silly pictures that we swore we wouldn't take. Plus the weather was  beautiful. After our photo shoot, we enjoyed sitting down for pizza. Less for the pizza and more for the location. After the host sat us, I looked up and saw that the Torre Pendente was in full view. "Really?" I said. "Really" the waiter replied, without missing a beat. Really.

Venice

9. How to escape the snobbery of Venice.

If familiarity breeds contempt, I understand why Venetians seem to hate tourists.  Venice is overrun, but that doesn't lessen the beauty and romance of Venice. I recommend a gondola ride on the Grande Canal. New Year's Eve in Venice was crowded, Bellini-guzzling fun. Followed by fireworks.

To escape the snobbery of the areas around the Grande Canal and San Marco Square, I recommend a trip out to Lido Beach, another island of Venice that we accessed by water taxi.

Ibernisti Club

There's a small club of crazies called the Ibernisti (it means hibernators) who bond over a daily dip in the frigid waters of the Adriatic Sea every winter day. On New Years, the tradition attracts bigger crowds, with families coming out to see the crazy swimmers start off a New Year in style. You know, with pain. A lot of pain. Followed by a lot of adrenaline.

Can I Join?

I had been telling everyone that I was going to do this - swim with the Ibernisti on New Year's in Venice. So I had to. And I wanted to. Because I had to. And I wanted to. Sort of. It was cold! Just moments before noon, when the first dip of 2014 was scheduled to take place, I couldn't see anyone in their swimwear. I had to join the group! Where was everyone getting ready? Finally, I saw a man in a red swimsuit duck out of a tent. I ran up to him, gesticulating wildly that I would like to swim with the Ibernisti. He smiled broadly, clapped an arm around my shoulder, and ushered me into the tent, where about a dozen men appeared to be hurriedly changing clothes. "Non guardere!" my guide said brightly to the other men. Don't watch her dress. Fortunately, I had my swimwear on under my clothes, so there was no need for nudity. And don't worry, the only Italian sausage I saw that day was the one they served us with lentils after our swim. We charged out into the water, decorated with red and white balloons. There appeared to be subgroups of the Ibernisti club, for example, one group of women all wore necklaces made of white ribbon. I quickly made friends, as one does when wondering exactly how far into the water qualifies as "swimming," when it's so cold. The answer? Up to your neck, but not past your ears because the frigid water can hurt your ears badly if you don't have a swim cap to cover them. After a respectable amount of time in the water, we emerged, took a hurried group photo, and ran through the now-warm air to dress. Afterwards, a band played Beach Music. Songs like "Sitting on the dock of the Bay," seemed out of place for Venice, but oddly fitting, and added to the warm, small-town cameraderie at Lido Beach. I made balloon animals for the kids, which was really the first time I'd been able to successfully do that in Italy. Italians and tourists become suspicious when you try to give them anything, because the M.O. of the gypsies and street salespeople is to "give" you something and then demand payment or donation in return. By the time I had gotten comfortable making balloon animals for the kids around me, we felt pleasantly far from the snobbery of Venice, and far from the tourist scenes throughout the big cities in Italy.

Milan

10. Milan is good for a Last Supper.

I'd been to Milan before, and it was raining. Guess what? It was raining this time too. We knew industrial, urban, rainy Milan wouldn't be our favorite city, and only planned to spend one day there. We wanted to see da Vinci's The Last Supper. You have to buy tickets in advance to see the famous quasi-fresco.  It's one of those things where the museum sells tickets for an affordable price, and as soon as they go on sale, tourist agencies buy them all up and resell them at triple the price. When we arrived for our appointment, the museum was telling disappointed visitors that the tickets were sold out for several months.  Yet we were able to buy them just a few days before our visit from an agency. If you want to pay the cheaper price, make sure you buy the tickets several months or more in advance. The Last Supper was more faded and in worse shape than I thought it would be, but still worth seeing. I appreciated that they let small groups in so that the space wasn't crowded. They also provided a docent who explained details for us about the painting. They didn't let us take photos in the refectory itself, but we got this one of Prince Charming with a replica just to capture the memory of being there. Milan was good for our own personal last supper as well. Finally tired of pasta, we went to a sushi restaurant, and also a sort of bakery-salad place with communal tables. Both delicious.

Your Turn

Have you been or are you planning to go to Italy over the holidays? Comment below on your experience and let us know if you have any questions.

2013 in Review

A month into 2014, and I've finally found space to look back at the last year on Packing Lust and review 2013. 2013 was the first full year of this blog's existence, since I started it in the summer of 2012.

2013 started out with visiting family on the East Coast, where planning for my mom's Cruzbike Race Across America (then 6 months away) to race 3000 miles for the cure for brain cancer was in full swing.

Down in beautiful and sunny Florida, I visited with my aunt and uncle, Trog, and Grammy.

In the meantime, Prince Charming was struggling through a very snowy week back in Ramallah.

In March, we left our new-but-problematic-and-far-flung apartment and moved into a fixer-upper, near the city center.  Along with our new home came a bunch of new friends we are thankful for. We tried not to offend our neighbors.

It was a Spring of enjoying both Palestine and Israel, with trips to Jaffa and Herzeliya beach, where a bulldozer almost ruined our day.

In May, I officially unveiled Prince Charming's handsome face. For now, we are still keeping his real name off the blog. Our marriage turned one in April.

Also in May sometime, we took a trip to Amman and Petra, Jordan. I blogged it, then lost that post. Eventually I re-blogged what I could remember. [Update: that re-blogged post is here.]

In June, my mom won the Race Across America, and I was there crewing from California to Maryland and every state in between.

Jelly Bean turned one sometime in June. We forgot to celebrate, but we give her birthday presents almost every day in the form of treats, toys, and bones.

I celebrated my July birthday with a small, quiet celebration, and by posting some sun-soaked photos I took with my birthday present.

In August, it was back to the states again for another big traveling month, with visits to Maine to see Charming's parents, then down the East Coast to see lots of friends and attend two weddings.

Maine:

K&C got married:

And then my brother too.

In September, Calli came to visit us in Palestine!

Fall brought a fun trip to the Golan Heights, where we stayed in a yurt and tasted some nice wine. Romantic.

I didn't post it on Packing Lust, but I had a great time painting my own and some friends faces for a Ramallah Halloween party:

We found a home for this stray puppy.

Just before Christmas, Ramallah got hit with some heavy snow; despite the weather, my family still managed to survive and thrive on their visit here.

Then it was Christmas in Rome. I plan to post soon about our Rome-antics and Italy fun, but for now here's a preview photo.

Career

My writing got a boost when my first book, Minimalism for Grandparents, won an About.com Reader's Choice Award early in the year. In April, I started blogging for Fairy Tale Life and officially launched my coaching business, Fairy Tale Life Coaching, in May. Today, I'm planning to bring my coaching practice over here to Packing Lust, and to bring my blog content over here too. In November, I focused hard on drafting book number two, Minimalist Living, and launched the book in December.

Packing Lists

There was only one post in 2013 dedicated solely to packing advice:

Minimalist Packing for Visiting the Gaza Strip

Must remedy that in the 2014 with more packing advice!

On Community

A huge theme for the year for me was community. When we moved into this home in March of 2013, we instantly had good friends in our neighbors, and we also gained access to the vibrant cafe downstairs, where it's easy to meet up with or bump into friends and colleagues.  Over and over, whether it was through what I was reading or in my life around me, I saw that community matters more than almost anything else. Whether it was my neighbor showing up at my door with fresh eggs from the chickens in her garden, family and strangers rallying around my mom's Race Across America in support of brain cancer victims, or my online community of beta readers and supporters of my book publishing, I felt deeply thankful for my community is 2013.

What were the themes for you in 2013?

What did you learn, experience, or do that you are proud of or grateful for?

Here's to a great 2014,

P.S. I thought this "year in review" thing was such a good idea, that I recently did one for 2012, too! I backdated it, but you can see it here.

How to Turn Conflict-Zone Living into a Video Game

Welcome to the first Packing Lust post of 2014! I'm so excited to get back to posting after a nice, long, good-for-the-soul holiday break. Let me set the scene for you. It was mid December, and Charming and I were looking forward to our family's visit with warm anticipation.  We decorated. Charming made a star-shaped tree topper out of aluminum foil whose star shape would later be called into question.

Morgan (BFF, land lady, and co-owner of the cafe downstairs) did an AMAZING job decorating the restaurant, turning its already warm atmosphere into a festive tribute to the season.

And then, as if perfectly timed, it started snowing. How quaint. I took this picture with plans to show you what I assumed would be a light, pre-Christmas dusting.

But then it kept on snowing.

And snowing.

And snowing. Until we were completely snowed in. Except for Jelly, who is an unstoppable canine force.

The power was out for days. Propane was running dangerously low. Charming was fielding calls from freezing employees who didn't have a way to heat their homes, but who were more concerned about the run-off flooding Gaza and displacing thousands. I spent a day downstairs with Morgan and Saleh complaining about how cold I was. They let me sit in the spot closest to the fire, piled blankets on my shoulders, and put their dog in my lap. I went out at one point and got into a life-or-death snowball fight with strange men. I survived and promised Charming (and myself) I wouldn't leave again during the storm.

The roads out of town were closed. My vision of greeting my family at the airport wouldn't come true.

When they landed at Ben Gurion Airport, they had to  make their own way to a hotel in the city. Little did we know, Tel Aviv was sunny and practically balmy.

As soon as it was remotely possible, we got into a 4-wheel drive vehicle and headed for the beach. Getting out of town was like leaving the wreckage of a zombie-desolated city. Cars were sliding all over the road.  At one point, I left the safety of the Jeep to make a mad dash over ice for an ATM. Armed with cash, a first aid kit, extra water and blankets, we started our journey to the coast, neither of us sure if the roads would be open or passable.

We made it. It took twice as long as normal, but once we were out of the treacherous hills, it was an easy trip. It was so great to finally see my family and enjoy a Tel Aviv coastal sunset.

I should note now that this isn't my entire family. My dad and two more siblings weren't able to make it for this trip. Maybe next time.  We had such a wonderful time with our smart, funny, loving, and very patient and gracious family. We made sure their trip included lots of good food, starting on our first night together in Tel Aviv.

The next day it was back to Ramallah, where the snow was melting.

Charming outdid himself with his breakfast spreads. We ate.

And ate.

And ate.

and ate.

And went all around both Israel and Palestine, including an emotional visit to Hebron. Very few people were around, except for the TIPH observers. (Temporary International Presence in Hebron).

The family were good sports the whole time, turning the challenges of 3rd-world living into levels 1-5 of a video game. Level one being getting through passport control, and level five being a moment in Hebron when, upset Charming hadn't tipped them enough for their (unrequested) services, a huge gang of boys surrounded our vehicle and tried to trap us in the parking lot they had lead us to by closing the gates. We escaped our would-be captors by a very narrow opening. Perhaps our good luck was due to all the holiness, including a trip to the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem and the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem.

Here they are stooping low to go in the door that was made small to protect the Church of the Nativity from marauders on horseback, and presumably, tall people.

We took them out to Ein Kenya, which is a beautiful spot of nature near Ramallah, and home of Juthour Arboretum.  We got our exercise, and my mom, brother, and sister managed to hang out looking like models for sunglasses and active wear.

We went to Jericho and on down to catch a view of the Dead Sea.

The trip gave me the opportunity to do some Gensplaining. I love pretending to know what I'm talking about.

Prince Charming got to do some tour-guiding as well. It was a pleasure when our visitors were so open-minded, curious, and eager to talk about the joys and challenges of the region.

Seriously, family, your visit and wonderful mindset rocked and made every minute fun.

I thank all three of you for being intrepid & adventurous,

positive and resilient in the face of obstacles and setbacks,

and extremely stylish and radiantly attractive.

I was so sad when you packed up to leave.

We love you!

What I Gained and Lost in the Packing Lust Move

Welcome to the new Packing Lust! I've had a challenging time (adventurous is my preferred word) giving the website a complete makeover and moving it from Weebly to Wordpress. I learned a lot in the process, so overall it was a positive experience. I couldn't have done the move without the help of a Bangladeshi technical whiz who goes by the moniker Genius Fred. Thank you, Mr. Ferdoush. Wordpress is a much more powerful platform that allows me to self-host my blog and do much more with it than I could with Weebly. I'm gaining flexibility and control over the design and user experience of Packing Lust. However, I had to make one major sacrifice to move to Wordpress.

I lost your comments.

I wasn't able to import your beautiful words of support and encouragement to the new site. They are gone. However, it's very important to me that you know how much your comments mean to me, even now, when they are gone from individual posts. Through the year and a half that Packing Lust as been around, your comments made me feel connected, supported, and encouraged.

I want to give special thanks to Natalie, Maria, Calli, Lucia, Mo, Trog, Special K, Dan Kenney, Philip Harold, Grandpa, John Tolhurst, Rewa, and all of you who took the time to comment (for your privacy, I listed your names as you chose to in your comments). Special thanks to Natalie and Maria who would win first prize for blog support if I was giving out prizes. Knowing that all of you are keeping up with what we are doing on Packing Lust means the world to me. Each time there is a comment on the blog, I excitedly click to see it and my heart is warmed by your words.

Please keep commenting on the new blog if you enjoy the writing and photos. Thanks so much!

Heroes and Villains

Sunday, May 26, was a lazy day for me and Prince Charming. We had some movies lined up to watch, and the first was a documentary called Five Broken Cameras. Just a couples hours later I've still got post-cry shakes. However, I also feel very glad that this documentary exists, because the end is hopeful, and the story is so human.

It's about a Palestinian man, a peasant who lives off the land, and gets a camera to film his kids childhood. His youngest son is the cutest little guy ever, and I fell in love with him over the course of the documentary.

The story is told through the five cameras he gets in succession, each after the last one is broken, often by a flying gas canister or related accident. Through these five lenses, we see what the camera saw in its life, and we see the story of how each camera met its end. Of course, what we are really seeing is the story of the families in this Palestinian village that is on the edge of several Israeli settlements. We see the wall go up, and we see the olive trees burned over and over by the settlers at night. We see the soldiers come to the homes at night to take children. We see people tear gassed, we see them throw rocks, and we see a man committed to nonviolent resistance gradually become scarred and angry as he sees what is happening around him. We also see, most hopefully, that he is always trying to heal in the best way he knows how.

I loved this film as a reminder that we must heal ourselves and each other, and to heal we must, like a doctor, first see the wounds. We must be witness for each other to the atrocities that take place in our lives.

Once you've seen the wounds in Five Broken Cameras, go watch another film. This one was part of a coaching training program in leadership, indirect negotiation and strategic intervention. Anthony Robbins has been studying what makes people change their lives for a good for many years now.

He had a conference on leadership planned on September 11, 2011. Instead of canceling after the terrorist attacks, he somehow got people to stand up and really speak the truth about how they felt about the event. There was a Muslim man who got up and said "this is retribution." Well, of course many people wanted to attack him, and even tried to there at the conference. One man, an Orthodox Jew with relatives in the West Bank (fundamentalist settlers - the kind of people who burn Palestinian olive trees) got up and offered to talk peacefully with the Muslim man.

Robbins led an indirect negotiation between the two men ON 9/11 itself that transformed both of them. They formed a Jewish-Muslim organization for understanding and peace.

I laughed and cried watching that film. It's called Negotiating Conflict: Leadership in Times of Crisis. According to this website it's available in full-length for free, although you can watch a 7 minute summary here.

We all wonder how peace will come to the Middle East and other areas of ethnic and religious conflict. The sorts of transformative moments shown and experienced by the viewer in these two films is our only hope for peace.

And now may I bring you from May to July?

A few days ago:

"What do you think happened? It had to be something tragic." I looked at my American friend, who has lived in Palestine for much longer than I have.

"I don't know. Something beyond tragic, I think," she said, looking at me intently.

I didn't know exactly what she was getting at, but I did know that is not what you say when someone loses a child. Losing a child is tragic, and one of the worst things that could happen to a parent. I could think of few things beyond tragic.

We were talking about a mutual acquaintance we both saw on occasion, ____ , a woman who lives in a nearby village. We had both known _____ to be cheerful, with a quick and genuine smile. Although she spoke little English, I enjoyed when I got to see her, since she would always communicate through her shy, dazzling smile. Knowing that she was a poor, kind, and intelligent woman who worked hard to support her special needs daughter and her dissolute husband only made me admire her more.

The last time I saw her, she tried to smile as usual. And her mouth moved. But her eyes failed to hide a pain that was too big to push behind a smile. I am haunted by that telling look - her attempt to smile as I said goodbye to her.

"I think someone must have done something to her child," my American friend said.

At first, I was confused. But then I realized -- "If her child had died, she would have just told us."

"Yeah."

The next day, my American friend looked rather pale, and told me she'd seen an article in the paper. A 14-year old girl from a nearby village had been gang raped by a group of seven men, each between the ages of 17-26.

I grimaced. "That's horrible."

"Have you put it together yet?"

"You think… it was ____'s daughter?" I didn't want to believe it.

"It must be."

"How do you know for sure? We have to find out."

How do you call someone and ask, in imperfect Arabic, if their daughter was recently gang raped? I don't know, but my brave American friend managed it, and later confirmed that the victim was indeed ____'s daughter.

My friend also told me that this group of men had gang raped before. Yet that time, each of the families of the men had paid off the victim's family to not press charges.

The story showing up in the newspaper meant ____ had refused to take a bribe from these seven families and was pressing charges.

I likely don't know all of the ramifications of that decision, but I do know that this poor woman is turning down much needed money to support her daughter and fight for justice. She's making a decision that some other parent her in village did not make for her little girl. She's a hero.

I also know that means there are seven families in her small village who want nothing more than to shut her up. Seven powerful families who are now aligned as her enemy - this poor woman whose special needs daughter was lured into an apartment only to be beaten and raped by their sons.

How can we help her? We are working on connecting her with a lawyer specializing in women's legal aid. My hope for her is that, if she wants it, she can gain refugee or other status that will allow her to leave with her family to start a new life in a place where her daughter won't spend the rest of her life fearing the seven men who will likely not be brought to justice. Then again, we can hope for justice.

And you know I wouldn't leave you without a way to take action - to do something to help ____. The Women's Centre for Legal Aid and Counseling is reaching out to support her. You learn more about them here and donate here.

Seriously, Why Isn't This a Bigger Deal?

I want to know: why is the Tour de France such a big deal in the cycling community and among sports fans all over the world, but the Race Across America is relatively unknown to the general global public?

Named by more than one media outlet as the the toughest sporting event in the world, Race Across America (RAAM) is one thousand miles longer than the Tour de France.

It's completed non-stop, with minimum breaks. It's generally completed in half the time.

Just like the in Tour de France, racers push themselves to their limits, but unlike the Tour, they aren't allowed to draft (ride behind each other) and there are no regulations on when they must stop and sleep.

It's an event that can savage an athlete like no other.

And my mommy is competing this year. Tomorrow I'll be flying from Tel Aviv to Fayetteville, NC, and from Fayetteville to Oceanside, CA after that.

There's bound to be drama, emotion, exhaustion, elation, and instagram photos of the three thousand mile bicycle ride across the country. I'll be there, crewing as part of the 3000 miles to a cure team for my mom, Maria Parker.

Part of my role is to help update the race fans all over the world, so I will make sure you get updates. However, I won't be updating Packing Lust for another two weeks (Charming might, but we aren't sure yet).

Therefore, please SIGN UP for race updates here if you want to hear about the highs and lows of the race. It's going to be the experience of a lifetime for Maria and the crew.

Here's Maria talking about her secret weapon - her Vendetta Cruzbike.

Along with crewing for the race, a small documentary film team and I will be shooting footage to continue the documentary begun by DAAM (Drive Across America) which you can see here:

In the above DAAM video, you'll meet Charlie and Tim, my wonderful cousins whose mom, my Aunt Jenny, was diagnosed with brain cancer.  I think they did an incredible job with the DAAM footage. They created amazingly clever, funny, and musical videos on their trip all across the country, which they recently completed to raise awareness for 3000 Miles to a Cure.

Jordan: Amman and Petra

I was reminiscing recently about how fun our 2013 trip to Jordan was. Then I looked here on the blog and found nothing. I remember blogging the trip, so that means the post must have disappeared when I changed blogging platforms later that year. What a shame.

Here we are two years later on May 1, 2015. I'm going to backdate this to May 1, 2013 since I know our trip to Amman and Petra, Jordan happened around that time. It'll be interesting to see what details I remember (or misremember) two years later. I don't think I'll remember much so this post will mostly be photos taken by Prince Charming.

In some of the photos (like the one above taken in Amman) I appear to be bursting with Spring-induced ebullience. That was probably true, but it was also true that I'd recently been inspired by this photo series to dance in as many photographs as possible. Thus the leaping, the arabesques, and the generally whimsical feel of many of these pictures, like this one:

We took this trip with Prince Charming's dear friend Eric:

Amman

One of the first places we went was the lovingly restored ancient Roman Amphitheater in Amman. Although it was built over 2000 years ago, the acoustics are so good you can hear everyone on the "stage" from the very top row. I remember that it was funny to sit in the seats and hear everything uttered by every tourist who wandered in the front entrance. We also tested the acoustics by reciting some Shakespeare. ("To be or not to be...")

Next we went to see some ruins. Hold a moment while I try to find out the name of the ruins.

Okay, got it. The area is called the Citadel. Wikipedia says:

The Amman Citadel is a national historic site at the center of downtown Amman, Jordan. Known in Arabic as Jabal al-Qal'a, (جبل القلعة), the L-shaped hill is one of the seven jabals that originally made up Amman. Evidence of occupation since the potteryNeolithic period^[1] has been found, making it among the world's oldest continuously inhabited places.

The Citadel is considered an important site because it has had a long history of occupation by many great civilizations

Petra

After 1 or 2 days in Amman, we went to Petra for a day and a night. Wow. Two years later, that visit stands out as one of favorite my travel experiences of all time.

After the trip I went back to Ramallah, Palestine and Eric and Charming continued on together to visit Beirut, Lebanon.

Bulldozer on the Beach

I almost decided not to write about this weekend's experience, because I've already complained so much about what it means to live under a military occupation, but I know you like to read about what goes wrong here. Otherwise, you'd get too jealous of me and my sweet life, right?So this weekend we decided to go to a new beach, one north of Tel Aviv. It was to be one of the first weekends of warm weather this year. And this time, we had a real, live Palestinian in the car.

Also, a real live Scot.

So with two Americans in the front, a Scottish lass named Kate, and a Palestinian habibti in the back, we set off for a beach we'd never been to called Herzaliya.

Now, normally, I'm prepared with my realism and slight cynicism about traveling to and fro between Palestine and Israel. It's always hard. We always get lost. There's always traffic. Checkpoints suck. Blah, blah, blah.

But lately, things have been easier. We've been making local friends who've helped us through the more difficult parts of life here. We sort of know where things are, and when we need to avoid certain checkpoints. It's about time, since we are just a few months away from the one year mark.

So as we rolled up to the checkpoint, I made a swaggering comment about how I'd bet money that the guard would just wave us through.  I was willing to put money on it. Seriously.

No ma'am. They asked for all our paperwork, and our Palestinian friend pulled out her I.D. and her special card from the UN giving her permission to enter Israel.

Holding our passports hostage, they told us to pull the car over, and open its cavities.

Then we had to get out, and put our bags through the x-ray machine. We had to pull out water bottles and for some reason, our Kindles had to get scanned multiple times.

Then they pulled aside our Palestinian friend to get her alone to interrogate her. In the end, they told her she couldn't pass through this checkpoint.

What was so frustrating for me is that I'm pretty good at negotiating with the teenagers who run the entry points to Israel.  (Yes, it helps that I'm a white American female.) I realize that negotiating with teenagers  is always a delicate and unpredictable process. And I'm aware that negotiating with teenagers who are CARRYING FIREARMS  is a delicate, unpredictable, and dangerous endeavor. However, I've done it before. with success and the help of an adorable puppy.

So I asked the soldiers what was up, and where our friend could get the information that said she couldn't pass. Turns out, she needed to find out from the  DCO (which stands for District Control Office or something) to find out which checkpoints she is able to pass through. At that point, I was thinking of trying the puppy method, which I'm pretty sure would have worked.

However, as I talked to the guards, the other members of my party were giving me "let's get out of here," looks, so I didn't continue to negotiate with the guards.  However, I think that, given another year of experience here, I will have the confidence to negotiate more effectively with the guards. It's all about confidence, whiteness, and having a few phone numbers of U.N. representatives in one's pocket. We seriously needed to get to the beach, and I was and will be willing to negotiate with armed and brainwashed teenagers both now and in the future.

But the story doesn’t end there. We turned around and drove maybe three more hours, getting lost and irritated as our planned time in the sun dwindled. We finally made it to another checkpoint where we had to get out again, and went through the same x-ray process, right down to having to scan our Kindles twice.

This time, they let all of us through.

But then we got lost again. Charming simply gave up, his foot cramping from driving so long. Our normally bubbly and outgoing Palestinian friend felt so humiliated that she stopped talking. That left me and Kate to figure out how to get to the beach. We pulled over, and thankfully, Kate offered to ask some nearby people for help.

They gave us directions, which matched Charming's suddenly operating phone GPS directions.

We finally made it to Herzeliya beach, with just a few hours left to enjoy.

But we did enjoy them, filling up on sushi overlooking a marina.

 

Then we met more friends (who'd come from a different direction and arrived hours before us) and settled in on the beach.But, I kid you not, just moments after settling in, a huge bulldozer came over in front of me and started creating a pile of sand that blocked my view of the water.

Seriously.

This was a huge beach, and the bulldozer was just a few feet away. You can see from my body language  how pissed off I am.

(Charming has decided to appear photographically on this blog. I'm so happy! This is a rather mundane photo for him to be making his first appearance in, but I'll try to add more shots that show his good looks later.)

If this had been an American beach, they would've been handing out hard hats.If this had been an American beach, they would've done the beach improvement work at 5 am when no one was there, instead of the middle of a Sunday afternoon.

But this was Israel, where if someone wants to plant a pole on the beach on Sunday afternoon, they are going to do it.

 

And they told us it would take  5 minutes.  Of course It took 30, and made me feel personally in danger of being squooshed by a giant wooden pole.By this point, the day was just hilarious. There was nothing to do but laugh.

And fly a kite.

 

I'm dancing, because after seeing this project, I decided I would dance in all future posed photos of me.Thanks Charming, Kate, and our dear Palestinian friend for contributing to a wonderful horrible adventure day. Seriously, life is so funny and crazy and wonderful.

P.S. All photos in this post are by Kate Aykroyd. Thank you Kate!

2012 In Review

2012 was the year that love won.

I'm writing this post in January 2014, but I plan to backdate it to January 2013. I wrote it so belatedly because the idea to write a year in review only came to me after 2013. Once I wrote that year's review post, I thought it would be fitting to write one for 2012. I think the distance will probably lend a slightly different tone to my recollections.

2012 was such a rich year that I created a memory book, similar to a scrapbook, and something I hadn't done in years.

I didn't start Packing Lust until June 2012, so I'll have to sum up the first five months of the year without the help of this blog.  Due to some date mix-ups during the transfer of my blog from Weebly to Wordpress, I'm not sure which was my first official post in June. Was it this one about my pre-adventure giddiness?

But before we get into what I was blogging about, let's backtrack and cover those exciting first 5 months of 2012, when I married the love of my life, twice.

January

I started off the month with annual get together of some of my oldest college friends in Raleigh, North Carolina. We sat around in our PJ's, snacking, laughing, and lavishing each other with handmade gifts. Julie arranged a bridal gown shopping trip for me at a nearby boutique, and I had a great time trying on gowns that cost thousands of dollars. If I remember correctly, I had already purchased the gown that I would get married in for $50 from a discount shop called JR's.  After wedding dress shopping, we ate cupcakes at The Cupcake Shop in downtown Raleigh.

February

I remember a day  in February when Charming called me outside our apartment for help unloading the groceries. When I emerged, he pressed play on the music player in his car and blasted one of my favorite songs out the windows What a Wonderful Life/Somewhere over the Rainbow by IZ. He got out and started dancing with me, and the beautiful West Hollywood sky above took on a new beauty, the palms bursting like stars into the blue.  I felt so grateful to be with him on a beautiful day in February. That memory reminds me of the romance of our engagement. He'd asked me to marry him during an early morning hike in November, 2011- completely surprising me with a proposal out in nature.

That day in February, it felt like we had finally won. We had won each other and we'd won our joy. When we started dating, some of my close friends and mentors had communicated their disappointment and disapproval,   all because Charming and I don't share the same spiritual beliefs. The lack of support among some of my friends made me doubt the romance.  All this difficulty was something I didn't expect or dream I would encounter at the same time as I was falling in love. Thankfully, we both had our family's support. I doubt we could have moved forward as smoothly as we did without that.  I also had a few friends who were supportive the whole way through. And I made new friends who supported my interfaith relationship and the influence Charming had on me. And some of my Christian friends were growing in the same direction as I was - toward a more progressive, tolerant faith - and that helped tremendously, and still does. But the sifting process - trying to separate the helpful advice from the harmful advice - was exhausting. It felt like a test. Would I listen to my heart or did I believe my heart was "deceitful above all things," like some of my Christians friends would've quoted from Jeremiah 17:9?  I knew that I could trust my heart on this matter. My Prince Charming is a good man, and his love is the greatest gift I have ever received. My heart was right.

That February night, we hosted a Valentine's Celebration of Love and Friendship. Our friends dressed in pink and red, and we gave away some of our possessions, lightening our load in preparation for living abroad. We laughed with our friends and celebrated our community in Los Angeles.

March

I felt completely spoiled in March. My mom and sister flew out to LA and treated me to an amazing spa day. My sister organized one heavenly bachelorette party.

April

We got married! I walked down the "aisle" - the dirt path to the cliff's edge where we got married - to that song we danced to in February. Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I wore the $50 dress I bought with my mom on the trip to JRs.

Charming and I were and are so thankful to our friends and family who attended both of our weddings and provided so much love on our celebration days.

In May my family threw us another wedding, one that was easier for all our East Coast friends and family to attend. It was a sparkling, rustic, elegant affair held in a reclaimed historic building that used to be a mule barn (that sounds odd, but I promise, it's beautiful.) The evening was travel-themed, with cake in the shape of a suitcase, and vintage style maps on the walls.

Later that month, I proudly watched as my brother graduated from the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs.  President Obama shook his hand for a job well done!

And that brings us up to June! I moved to Palestine, following Charming who'd already been there for several weeks getting adjusted to his new job. June and July were adjustment months of figuring out how things worked in a third world country.  We traveled up to Akko, and out to Taybeh in July, and I spent my birthday with Charming at a Dead Sea resort.

August

August brought a joyful trip to Tel Aviv, which was very welcome since it was a summer of adjustment blues. We also went to Egypt, where we saw our first Pyramids and I rode my first camel.

September was honeymoon month. Not that I was feeling travel deprived,  but it was so nice to lounge around someplace that wasn't third world or a conflict zone. More than that, the sunsets! The seafood! The jumping off boats!

If you're wondering why Charming doesn't appear in these early Packing Lust photos, it was for his privacy. We lifted the ban on Charming's face appearing here in 2013.

In October, I traveled to England to visit my dear friend Caroline and to help her move from Norwich to London.  Sadly, this was also the month when my Aunt Jenny was diagnosed with brain cancer.

In November, we rescued an adorable puppy we named Jelly Bean. She became a permanent member of our family. A short time later, another puppy showed up on our doorstep and I went through quite a lot to help her get Israeli puppyship so that she could have access to doggie rights like health care and the chip.

December

The last month of 2012 was very full. I took my first trips to Gaza City (I'm sorry - my Gaza post seems to have disappeared!) and Hebron, two cities in Palestine particularly ruptured by the occupation. We spent Christmas Eve at Manger Square in Bethlehem. Charming's birthday we celebrated in Tel Aviv.

Packing Advice

I managed to pack in plenty of my own packing angst, along with what hopefully amounted to some helpful guidance for other travelers.

Packing Solutions for Easy Jet's One Bag Rule

My Fashion Guidelines for Minimalist Packing

A Post about Minimalist Makeup

Underoos and Everything - My Complete List

A Decent Travel the World Indefinitely Working List

What I Learned

What a year! It was a rich, full, beautiful year of adventures. My big lesson this year was learning to really listen to my heart so that love can win. It's a lesson I'm still working on, a constant challenge I'm glad to embrace!

May love always win,

There is No Cure

At my pre-wedding ladies brunch back in May in North Carolina, I was surrounded by loving family, friends, and neighbors. I was touched at how many people came to Lumberton for the wedding - even most of my mom's big family, including her best-friend-sister, my beautiful Aunt Jenny. Aunt Jenny came to the brunch with all the other women, but she looked like she was in pain.She wrinkled her brow as she looked at me and said "you look beautiful, honey." I could see that her eyes were a combination of glassy and glossy from pain and perhaps tears. I asked her if she was okay and she said she wasn't feeling good, that she had a terrible headache.The headaches she experienced that wedding weekend were the first of a series of telling headaches that eventually led to a diagnosis of  stage IV Glioblastoma Multiforme, the most aggressive and malignant type of brain tumor. Currently, there is no cure.

This is a "worst nightmare" sort of situation for Aunt Jenny, her husband Ray, her children Charlie, Ethan, Timothy, Grace, and Joe, and all of those who love her.  Yet she and her family are handling it with the knowledge of being loved that is the only way they can find grace for each moment.My mom, Maria Parker, happens to be a world record holding cyclist, and she has a HUGE new goal.She's going to raise one million dollars for brain cancer research. Before you balk, I should tell you that my mom's world records are in ultra-distance cycling. She holds the women's world record for biking the most miles in 24 hours. She does not give up and she has stamina and persistence.

I love my mom so much, and she inspires me with her passion, her warmth, her loud laugh, and her kindness. In addition to being an endurance athlete, she is a counselor and Life Coach.  If you met her, you'd probably tell her all of your problems, she'd give you some down-to-earth advice, and you'd feel totally loved.  She seems to radiate pure love, and as someone who knows her very well, I can tell you that's the real her. It's authentic love all the way down. She's a leader worth following on this long path to raise a million dollars for brain cancer research.

She's going to raise this money via a very Packing Lust worthy event: a Race Across America. Yes, she's going to cycle across the entire U.S.A. in June 2013. I'm going to crew, so I'll make sure you know all about it as we travel from state to state, following my mom on her bicycle.Remember how I said there's no cure? It's true. Aunt Jenny will leave this life and go on to the next unless God steps in. Another word for God? The best part of you. The Love part. God is Love, and with the love in each of us, we can do this. We can change the outcome for future brain cancer victims by sharing the story of Jenny and Maria, and funding brain cancer research.  If 200,000 people give only $5 each, we'll meet our goal.Would you be willing to give $5 to brain cancer research today?And if you like this challenge, "like" it on Facebook.

With huge warm thanks,

Genevieve

Puppies and Soldiers

They might be able to sling guns and yell at elderly Palestinians all day, but when a puppy this cute was involved, it was a bit of a different story.

I drove up to my building with my new friend Eden last Wednesday night, and there was a tiny, adorable puppy hanging around outside my apartment. It wasn't Jelly, the puppy I previously introduced to you, but another puppy. That's right. After months of seeing zero puppies, two puppies came into my life within eleven days of each other. Naturally we asked around, realized she'd die soon if left alone, and took her in.Unsure whether my new guest was carrying any diseases, I took Friday afternoon to get her to the vet who was visiting the Atarot shelter where we adopted Jelly. The trip required my first experience with walking through Qalandia checkpoint, the area's most infamous checkpoint, and the one with the wall painted with graffiti that is featured in the news when they show the wall separating Israel from Palestine.

Usually I go in a car or taxi, but my taxi didn't have clearance to go through Qalandia. However, I was very motivated because this puppy had cried throughout two nights and I was worried he might be sick.

I waited and waited at the first of several prison-like turnstiles, where they have people walk through one by one, yelling, occasionally, through loudspeakers in Hebrew. I'm was holding the puppy in a box because I was afraid that he would poop or throw up in the taxi. It was cold and rainy, and the atmosphere at the checkpoint was filled with a mixture of fear and boredom. A young well-dressed woman translated for me and to asked the soldiers to open the handicap door so I could go through with my box, which was too big to pass through the turnstile. As she went through the tiny turnstile, which was only meant for one person at a time, an older man tried to squeeze in behind her. He had thick yellow fingernails and was playing with his cell phone, as if oblivious to what he was doing. What he was doing was pressing his body against that of the woman who had helped me. I watched as she turned around and spoke some harsh words in Arabic which had him backing up and apologizing for his obviously feigned non-attention.

Finally after several people who'd arrived after me had passed through the turnstile and a brief interrogation, I got to go through.

"What's in the box?" said the boy soldier, who looked like he was around 17. I opened it, and he said. "You are not allowed to bring dogs with you."

So I hold this tiny puppy...

 

...up to the glass window where the guardians sit. And you could see the two soldiers' little teenage hearts melting. Their eyes showed that they were calculating whether they could live with themselves if they denied this shivering adorable puppy access to health care. I could tell immediately that the answer for both of them was no. They might be able to sling guns and yell at elderly Palestinians all day, but when a puppy this cute was involved, it was a bit of a different story. Seeing this in their eyes kept me standing there as the seconds ticked by.But rules are rules. "I'm sorry. You can't," said the girl soldier, avoiding eye contact with the puppy, and then being drawn back into eye contact by the puppy's tractor-beam cuteness.

The puppy shivered. The two teenagers tilted their heads, thenconsulted each other quietly. The boy turned to me.

"You can't technically bring a dog with you. But," he smiled, "If the puppy followed you across the border, then why would anyone care?"

I sighed with relief. "Put the puppy on the ground, take your box, and just call to her," he whispered quickly.

After they looked at my passport, I set the puppy down and he pranced right across the border with me.

This is the kind of thing that makes me happy, sad and angry. I'm happy because I had a human-canine moment with the guards. But the other emotions are because this event demonstrates the kind of inconvenience and arbitrariness that most people here experience constantly. The Israeli military is filled with teenagers because it's mandatory to give two years of service at that time. Few volunteer to be in the army. They have to. And they really are young... sometimes they seem like kids. They have dangerous, stressful jobs, and they don't know what they are doing. They really don't. At the vet, the manager said that if you simply have a letter saying, "this dog needs health care at this clinic," they let you bring the dog across without a problem.

The happy ending to this puppy story is that, after he spent some time playing with Jelly…

 

...we found a home for him. One of Charming's co-workers has a home, yard, and family that is perfect for the little puppy, who we took to calling Newby, and who will soon get an official name from his new family.

Things We Yell From Cars

I was reading Half the Sky, the 2009 book about the state of women in the world earlier this year. When I read the part about maternal mortality, and exactly how preventable these deaths are and how many happen, I put the book down, squeezed me eyes shut, and said a silent prayer that some day, one day, I could do something to help the lonely women ostracized by their communities, curled up in their shacks, soaking in their own urine and feces and waiting - perhaps praying - to die. Well, that day has come. I can do something small, which is to urge you to buy and watch the Half the Sky documentary  DVD when it is released by Amazon on October 20th.  Two respected journalists and authors - Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn - have selected oppression of women worldwide as the single most important issue of the 21st century. What's exciting is that the book and the documentary are so well done  in terms of production quality and research that there's a lot of positive attention on this issue and I think we as a world can make amazing progress within our lifetimes.

Curious about some statistics?

Here you go:

• 99 percent of all maternal deaths occur in the developing world.
• The U.S. ratio of maternal deaths is higher than 40 other countries, despite spending more per capita on maternal care than any other country.
• More than 1 million children a year are left motherless due to maternal mortality.
• 135 million girls living today have undergone female genital mutilation, greatly increasing their risk of maternal mortality.

Source: http://www.halftheskymovement.org/page/-/fastfacts.pdf

So you see that this isn't just an issue "abroad," but at home in the U.S. too. Maternal mortality is just one cause of many highlighted in the book - there are other issues we can help with, mostly by talking about them and being aware of them, although giving money helps to0 , as does writing letters.

When I was a little girl, and I'd complain about how "unfair" something was, my dad would smile and say "You know what? Life isn't fair. If it was, you'd probably be sitting on the ground in Africa with no legs because an old landmine blew them off."

In addition to being a man who can create an unsettling  image with just a few words and a knowing smile, Dad was right. Life isn't fair.  He'd seen enough as a doctor to know that. But I didn't really understand what he meant by what he said. How could I? I had never seen anyone who was very poor, injured, or oppressed.

Here, I've witnessed it for myself.  I've seen children joyfully gathered around what gives them life - yellow dirty plastic jugs of clean-ish drinking water. I've see women who haven't had the opportunity, freedom, education, or diversity of experience to know they don't have to put up with polygamy or body shrouding. Perhaps saddest of all, I've seen men who don't have the blessing of free, spirited, educated, irrepressible women in their lives. Every day that I walk in Palestine, I see them, men on whose faces there's a  story written about their hunger - their hunger for the other half of the sky. Of course there are many enlightened, egalitarian men here in the Middle East, and I'm thankful for them. They will teach their sons and daughters and continue the progress that is happening here.

I'm writing this blog because there's so much beyond where our eyes can touch, and I want to help others - and myself - see these far away things and wake up. I write about lust -  wanderlust, lust for life, lust for a better world. Lust is not a bad or sinful thing, and there's no evil in the human heart - just reactions that either hurt or help people. All that's necessary to live a good life is to wake up (also known as learn, be present, be enlightened, be aware, be here) in this present moment and to form each action so that, whenever possible, we are helping ourselves and others- not hurting either party. In fact, people should party more.  More parties, and less explosions,  is my prescription for the Middle East and for humankind.

I was trying to party through the pain here this weekend. Charming and I were taking a trip to Tel Aviv to celebrate our six month wedding anniversary (I know, I can't believe it's been six months either). We were stuck in traffic  on our way to an infamous checkpoint. I was driving, and decided, perhaps unwisely, that to express my frustration I was going to yell. I announced to my Prince that I was going to yell in the style of men who yell barely intelligible things to women from the safety and comfort of their cars. "Uooo Lips!" I yelled to one man in a car as he cut me off. "Uck my Deeee!" I yelled to another. Charming was rather entertained, and so was I. I continued, with an "OO  you so beautiful!" to a man walking on the side of the road. I felt I had pushed it a little far. Yelling at cars was one thing, but yelling at some poor car-less soul breathing the traffic fumes? It was a little much. I stopped.

We arrived at the bottleneck that is Qalandia checkpoint.  Very quickly, we realized the lane I was in was behind a massive bus. It would take forever for the soldiers to check every single passport in the slow and ponderous way they go about that task. So I tried to switch to the next lane over. I made eye contact with a car with two men in it. They motioned to the spot in front of them with a smile that seemed to say "Go head." I fluttered my eyelashes in thanks. As soon as there was a gap in front of them, they gunned it and took up the space, almost hitting my car. Undeterred, I tried the car behind them, making eye contact with the female driver of a white car packed full of veiled women. They gestured angrily, making it clear that I was not going to get into their lane. Well, at least they weren't effing with me like the last car.

I tried a few more times, until the cars behind me were getting angry at the space growing in front of me. I zoomed ahead, only to wait and wait while the soldiers made everyone on the bus ahead of us get off and walk through the checkpoint. Soon the white car full of women passed us. In my  frustration,  I stuck my hand, palm up, out of the window and yelled, "You are so beautiful!"

I couldn't help but smile as realized how silly I was acting - and how silly the moment was. I saw their faces go from bored and frustrated, to confused, to broadly smiling - even the grandmother in the back gave me the most twinkly and crinkly of grins.

Suddenly, they were all so very beautiful. They waved, and all of us were laughing together.

The pain and frustration of oppressed women - whether it's traffic that's oppressing them or the patriarchy - can shift. It can turn into something positive.

I'm really lucky to be married to someone who helps the less fortunate of the world in a very active, full-time way. However, he can only do that through the support of people who live comfortably far away and donate a little money to organizations like his.  So there's no hierarchy of who is helping the world more - someone on the ground in Gaza, giving a tank of clean water to people trapped there, or someone who donates a few bucks a month to a high quality charity that helps out. If everyone on Earth would take one, small, tiny action, then we could solve all the problems described in Half the Sky.

What action do you want to take right now?

Probably you want to turn on a mindless TV show and eat chocolate, and try to forget about the poor women and children of the world. Me too. That's normal and fine, actually. Just donate your ten bucksbefore the chocolate fest, and you can feel good (extra special good) about the world while you watchModern Family.

One last note - if you liked this post and think it could inspire anyone, you can take the action of reposting it to your blog or facebook or twitter.

Thank you  darling friend!

YOU ARE SO BEAUTIFUL.

Cairo and Giza: Crying Over Pyramids

Egypt is a land that dominated my imagination as a homeschooled youngster. We studied ancient Egypt a lot. We danced with Steve Martin to King Tut and one year I dressed up as a pyramid for Holloween. Really. I have a great family. I read young adult fiction about a slave girl  who dressed in fine linen and gold and searched for freedom on the Nile. I think she found love with a tomb thief who stole her heart. Earlier, I colored in ancient Egypt coloring books and pored over Dorling Kindersley full-color photographs of artifacts.

So I  intentionally dampened down my expectations on Saturday, preparing myself to be disappointed at the real thing. The flights from Tel-Aviv to Amman and from Amman to Cairo were a humbuggery of the normal indignitities and inconveniences with some beautiful desert views thrown in:

 

I expected a mundane and gritty end to our travel day upon arrival in Cairo… and tried to stay level-headed.

Pyramids

But as the plane descended at sunset into the Cairo airport, Charming nudged me. "The pyramids are out there somewhere." I pulled myself out of whatever daydream I was in, and searched out the window. It was all gold and dust. I looked and looked, blocking out the sun with the shade to get a better view of the ground.

Suddenly, there they were.

One big, and two small pyramids on the outskirts of the thick city.

I gasped. They are real. The sight of the pyramids from the air set up an emotional chain reaction that took me back to childhood and awakened a deep sense of awe and gratitude.  Out of this happy well of emotion and exhaustion from the long day of travel, I began to sob. I turned to Prince Charming. "Why do I get to be here? I'm the luckiest. My whole life, I've dreamed of seeing the pyramids. I thought one day I would. I imagined it, but I never really, really, thought I would get to see the pyramids." I cried happy tears again, and nothing bothered me for the rest of the day. Almost.

We Raised Eyebrows

Until a little bump in the road. It wasn't exactly a rip off, but when we arrived at the Cairo airport, we first had to purchase visas for 15 USD each from the Bank of Cairo booth that comes before passport control. The Bank of Cairo there gave us an old fifty dollar bill as change. We raised our eyebrows as high as we could. We hadn't seen an old-style bill in the US like that in a long time. But the bank workers assured us the money was good. It would be accepted. It was good. It was good. They were a little too insistent.

Upon arrival at our hotel, we tried to pay for the taxi the hotel had sent to pick us up  at the airport. They took USD, so Charming gave them the fifty dollar bill.  They took it to the Bank of Cairo booth in the hotel which looked just like the booth at the airport. Ten minutes later, they found us in the lobby, returning the fifty dollar bill to us. They wouldn't take the bill. It was too old. I couldn't believe it. The bank of Cairo had stopped accepting the old bills. "It will work in your country, but it won't work in this country." So the dudes at the airport bank were unloading old currency on us that we couldn't use until we are back in the U.S.  I've never heard of a bank giving out currency that it won't accept back the same day. I'm guessing this is an example of what happens in a country with weak or corrupt infrastructure.

A Welcoming Culture

A man named Peter, the store guard at Vodafone in Cairo says "You are most welcome. You are German?" "American," I tell him. "Ah, good. USA. Very Good!" He gives a wide, warm smile. Of all the palces we've visited in the Middle East, Cairo is where I've felt the most welcomed by residents who seems almost star-struck. Maybe that term is too strong.

Struck with profit-potential may be more accurate. We find that often, when money changes hands, a little bit extra is kept by the vendor. Especially taxi drivers. The consistency of this short-changing is striking. After only three days here we've learned to count change carefully and inspect restaurant bills line by line. Here's a receipt from a recent meal out with some of Charming's co-attendees at his work conference here:

 

What's a cover charge? Is that not the same as a entrance tax?  In the U.S., those fees are usually charged upon entrance to a club, not at the end of the night. But this was a restaurant, not a club. Or, was it? What's the difference? The 12% service charge (tip) is fine, but the 10% sales tax seems kind of steep. Don't worry, the total is in Egyptian Pounds, not in USD.

The restaurant, Sequoia, was on the Nile, which glimmered and added magic to the otherwise hot and uncomfortable atmosphere.

A boat pulled up to the restaurant at the end of the evening and began shooting off large fireworks very close to us. We didn't know whether to ooh and ahh, or to be afraid and run for cover. A nearby building had been burned and cars set on fire not that long ago.

Street Life

As I walk down the street, the smog is so thick I can taste the air -- it has a grainy texture as it goes in my mouth and down my throat. A particle went into my eye yesterday,  partially blinding me for a few steps. It felt like ash from a charcoal grill.

Sidewalks are rare, often broken up with potholes and crowded with parked cars, scooters, and abandoned bags of soggy food. Most of the roads are four lanes, but people drive for miles right on top of the painted divider lines; traffic is therefore serpentine.  The lack of sidewalks forces people to walk in the street, adding more chaos to the congestion. Yesterday I saw two cars parked in the middle of a the road for repairs, their hoods open like dead birds' beaks.  I walk in a long skirt and long sleeves, despite the heat. I wear my thickest, ugliest shoes.

Cats so malnourished they never lose their kittenish looks roam the streets. The opposite has happened to the street children. Life begging all day on the hot street has made them  lose their kittenish playfulness too soon. Nothing curious or sparkling appeared in the eyes of the little girl asking me to buy her new clothes on Sunday. Instead, I saw the same dull, hardened look I usually see in the grown men trying to hustle us into overpriced taxis. (Security advisors say not to give anything to children here, as they are sometimes part of a long con. It's hard to imagine what the con could be, and heartbreaking to see these kids.) Thinking of that girl, I'm reminded of Egypt's shameful superlative, that of all the countries in the Middle East, it has the lowest literacy rate for women.

On the few streets where there are continuous sidewalks, every few meters, cold, dirty water splashes down on me from the window air conditioner units stacked up for stories above on the dingy high rise apartment buildings. One of them on a nearby building fell down. What caught my eye was the man they sent up to investigate. We took photos from our hotel on the eighth floor:

He's sitting in a sling. After I took this photo, he started chatting on his cell phone. I could barely look at him, but I couldn't stop staring.

Sights Yet to See

Due to the dubious nature of paying for anything and the exhausting nature of being a female walking alone (Charming is in a conference all day) on the street, I haven't yet seen the pyramids up close. They are far away from the city center.  I haven't seen much of anything. When I do, if I have any good photos or sights to report, I'll be sure to update the "bright spots" section of this post below.

I have been doing some guidebook reading, and following suggestions not to make eye contact when walking on the street.  Although it's not natural to me, since to me eye contact is a way to offer respect and friendliness, I've tried it here in Cairo, and it's been a helpful way to avoid harassment. Just as I was thinking that very thought yesterday, two men walked by me. One said looked at me and said "So cute." The other said "Milf." It's possible the second man was talking on his cell phones, and "Milf" is a word in Arabic. Very likely.

Bright Spots

As is often the case in the Middle East, the hospitality and kindness of the locals shine. Most people here in the city speak English and some French, which means I get called "Madame," and "Madmoiselle," which I find charming.  The housekeeper who cleaned our hotel room yesterday chatted and laughed with me warmly and then said "All finished, Madame!" And left without pausing for a tip. In fact, all the service at our hotel, Safir, has been wonderful. This is a great hotel, and although it's expensive, the prices seem fair and no one has tried to rip us off . We've spent some nice times hunkered down in the cool hotel. There's a grand lobby that has beautiful flower arrangements and a piano lounge. There are also a lot of good shark shows on the TV.

I'd like to feel compassion and gratitude towards Egypt because their government situation is so delicate right now and their revolution was mostly peaceful. I'm glad that there isn't open battle taking place on the streets of Cairo. However, I can't deny that deep inside, I feel sad for this culture that peaked so long ago.  I hope that democracy and the protection of human rights and civil liberties will be secured and will lead to Cairo's renewal.

*UPDATE*

Cairo got a lot better after a lovely evening of seeing the Pyramids at Giza and the Sphinx with a light show dramatizing some of the history of those structures. In real life, they are JUST AS AMAZING AND HUGE AS THEY SEEM TO BE IN PICTURES.

I also got to fulfill yet another life dream of riding a camel. Woot!

 

More cool stuff? Yes, it happened. We got to see Tahrir square, where the revolution got started. Some people were still Occupying.

Finally, a Felucca ride on the Nile so magical it was fit for a Disney movie.

 

Nine Ways to Skip (or Minimize) the Travel Adjustment Blues

When you move or travel to a new country where you don't speak the language or understand the culture, there is bound to be some transition-related stress. Prince Charming and I have not been immune. In retrospect, there are some things I personally could have done better, or could have tried to avoid to make the transition a little easier. I'll share nine of them.

1. Don't expect anything to be the way you expect it.

I had counted on all of our connections in the Middle East being, somehow, an easy 15 minute taxi ride away. However, they are scattered all over the place, and between the traffic and the checkpoints, meeting up with people can take hours, not to mention a hefty toll on the mood.

2. Don't start a new diet at the same time as moving.

I became a vegetarian shortly before arriving in the land of spinning cylinders of meat on every corner. I have stuck with it (although I  sometimes eat seafood) and I'm glad because I think it has improved my health. However, it would have been one less thing to worry about had I done it six months or a year before moving.  Every new habit or new activity you pick up before moving is just another new thing added to the overwhelming mountain of the unfamiliar that you are about to dive into.

3. Don't start a new medication before leaving.

In my case, I started taking a different kind of oral contraceptive almost immediately before leaving. My body needs time (about 3 months) to get used to a new hormone combination. Lesson learned. This lesson could apply toward any kind of medication, especially a long-term or brain chemistry altering medication such as an anti-depressant.

4. Go easy on yourself.

If you are like me, you want to jump into every possible activity, and understand where everything is, and be fluent in the language YESTERDAY! Celebrate the amazing victory of learning just one word a day. Eventually, you will feel like your normal, productive, fast-learning self, but for now, enjoy allowing yourself to not have any of the answers. This is a hard one for me, since I don't relish feelings of confusion and complete ignorance. In fact, they make me feel ashamed and sometimes humiliated. Those feelings lead to isolation and weight gain. So, I get lost. I learn to lean into the sense of freefall and disorientation, and just go with it, like jumping off a cliff into a cool lake.

5. Go easy on your travel buddy.

There is nothing like travel to get to know someone better. I went to a spiritual guide when I first began dating Prince Charming, and he recommended I travel with him to see if he was someone I wanted to spend my life with. I did, and I do, and here we are. The reason travel is so great for getting to know people is you see their worst and best sides. You see them exhausted and thrilled. You see them hungry and with tired feet. You find out how they lift their own spirits and if they are willing to lift yours.

6. Go easy on everyone.

This goes, of course, for everyone you meet in the new culture you are in. You might meet someone, and be highly offended by something they do or say. In fact, what they do or say might be the kind, polite thing to do in their culture. I believe that most people are doing their very, very, very best in life, even if it doesn’t seem like that.

7. Rely on the kindness of strangers.

There is nothing like travel to get you over "stranger danger" instincts. The truth is, most people are trustworthy, kind, and willing to help.  The people who aren't probably won't make eye contact. In fact, you probably won't even see them before they take off with your hand bag.  Get good at identifying friendly faces, and then ask for help without hesitation. The worst that will probably happen is they give you the wrong directions. See item 6.

8. Establish a Routine.

The sooner you can establish your new "normal day," the better. Get up at a regular time, go to bed at roughly the same time. Find out where and when you exercise and stick to your normal healthy habits. Don't stick to it like a machine, though. If there's a new adventure or social opportunity beckoning, be willing to bend your schedule.

9. Journal, Photograph, Blog, Email, and Skype.

Everything hard and everything that goes wrong, happens to be the stuff people find the most interesting. (We are mildly sadistic, we human beings. Or, more kindly, we enjoy learning from others mistakes). The wonderful moments that you document will be even more wonderful, because, like in a good adventure story, they are earned by the part where we fought the giant spider. Or the part where we kissed the frog. Or the part where we ate the poisonous apple. You get it.

Even though transitions can be more stressful when they come in batches - getting married and then moving immediately, for example - I don't regret our decision to start our marriage off in this way. This is priceless time together. It's incredible to be able to share each new challenge. It's exhilarating to be able to laugh off all the pressure we put on ourselves each day.

Thank you for allowing me to share my happy and challenging moments with you on this blog.

Lessons With Mohammad

Cool Shey Tamaam

I've been taking Arabic lessons with this fabulous teacher named Mohammad:

 

Thanks to his patient instruction, good humor, and abundant provision of coffee and mint tea (shai bee nana), I'm on my way to polyglot-dom. Polyglottony, perhaps.The arabic alphabet is, thankfully, just about the same number of characters as in English.

My  favorite letter is "sha." It looks like this: ش I think it looks like a cup of  شاي "shai" (tea) that someone is sprinkling some sugar into. When it's connected to another letter, it loses the big scoop on it's left, as you can see in the word "shai." Look at that word "shai." It has three letters. "sha" and two vowels "ah" (looks like a 1) and "ai or ee." (ي )My favorite words and phrases so far are: (Arabic is written right to left)

My husband = Zowji = زوجي  No problem  = Mish Moshkilay = مش مشكيلة Tea with mint with sugar = Shai bee nana bee sukar = شاي بي نانا بي سكر Everything is perfect = Cool shey tamaam = كل شي تمام 

I'm still learning; I may have misspelled some of the words in Arabic.

I feel like I'm REALLY close to being able to read Arabic. I'm able to sound out many words on street signs if I give myself plenty of time. Knowing what the words mean is a whole different ballgame. But I have a fun feeling of a whole new world opening up. It's like being five and learning to read all over again.

A Better Use for Cable Ties

This post  might make you sad or angry. I'll keep it short, because while I think it is important to share about, I don't like feeling sad and you probably don't either.Two weeks ago,  on June 12, Thomas and I  went to a lecture by Gerard Horton, a lawyer for Defense of Children International. The lecture was about Palestinian children held in military detention. It was the first time here that I'd actually been faced with this much information related to the ongoing conflict happening here. A note about Gerard. He was a British man, and his presentation was straightforward and dispassionate, which I think is the best way to be when speaking about such a political issue. He gave us the facts. The Q&A came afterward, and then we heard the passion, anger, and frustration in the crowd.

He and the organization he works with, DCI-Palestine, http://www.dci-palestine.org/  completed a four year long study of the way Palestinian children are treated when they are detained by the Israeli military. [Background info: Since 1967, Palestinians in the West Bank have been prosecuted  in Israeli military courts.]

Although the report is 142 pages to hold  the data collected from collecting the testimonies of 311 children, Gerard distilled the information down the most important point, which is that the evidence shows a pattern of inhuman treatment of minors as defined in the UN Convention against Torture.

The number one detail that strikes me when reading the report is the brutal use of cable ties to hold the children's wrists together behind their backs. It was the number one complaint of detained children, present in 95% of cases.

One child said "Soldiers tied my hands behind my back with one plastic cord and tightened it so hard that I still feel pain in my right thumb which sometimes goes numb."

A better use for cable ties might be to hold cables in place, as illustrated in this picture I took in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem:

There are many other issues of concern. Just a few of them:

• Child is blindfolded (90% of cases)
• Physical violence (75% of cases)
• Arrested between midnight and 5 am (60% of cases)

Often the children are woken up from sleep by soldiers in their rooms pointing guns at them.

Gerard gave us a copy of the report. There's a lot of information in there, but the positive part that would improve the situation are four major recommendations DCI lawyers make that would "provide a series of simple and practical protective measures."

• An end to night time arrests.
• Children have access to a lawyer prior to questioning.
• All interogations be audio-visually recorded.
• Every child to be accompanied by a parent.

After the lecture and a short video, a man stood to ask the first question. He spoke in Arabic for about ten minutes. I was so bewildered that I almost left. I can't imagine a moderator at a U.S. lecture letting a question become a speech. Finally someone handed me a headset so I could hear the translation into English, which was happening simultaneously. It turns out that he'd been detained in the same prisons shown in the presentation and he was telling his story.

Others, both English and Arabic speaking, spoke with similar passion. "Why isn't the International community doing anything about the occupation? Why isn't United States doing anything?"