Entry 4: Jaffa to Ramallah

Jaffa to Ramallah


Wednesday, Jan 21

After several days of procrastinated packing I finally left with goodbye hugs to my friends. I must admit I was sad to go but I didn't want to get too comfortable.

Right now I'm in the mindset that I need to keep traveling, I left the Milk and Honey hostel because I could feel myself getting too comfortable there. I made great friends and it was sad to go but I felt like I had to because I'm traveling -- that's what you do when you travel, right? Yet when I walked away with my heavy backpack slowing me down, there was an additional weight of regret pulling me back to Milk and Honey as if I wanted to stay longer.

The warmth of the sun and clear skies gave plenty of room for thinking my plans over though I trekked onward to an on-ramp Ori suggested to try hitchhiking, or "tremping" as they call it in Israel. Swaying in my arms in plastics bags were a fire starter and fuel kit that I collected from guests who left them behind, dried fruit, nuts, and granola to ensure my sustenance for the coming days.

I waited a half-hour until I met Shoshana, a New Jersey native who picked me up on her way to her Jerusalem home. We talked the whole time about our home country and why we left.

Once she dropped me off I took the short walk to Abraham Hostel where I checked in for free, as fellow hostel workers get three free nights there. Soon after, I met up with my friend Zoe, an experienced traveler helping me spread my wings and fly, who toured me through the city.

After a long day I rested my head in a crowded dorm room of Abraham Hostel.


Thursday, Jan 22

I woke up early to get first in line at the Ministry of the Interior's Jerusalem office where my attempt to extend my visa was thwarted by a bureaucratic delay, which I was warned is horrifying -- the earliest appointment I could get was February 9th, one day before my visa expires. Whatever, I'll get there early that day too, and if they don't accept it then I will quickly trek to the Southern Israeli city of Eilat where I can hop to Aqaba, Jordan and back, though they may only extend my visa for ten days. If this happens then I will try the Egyptian Sinai and back, or maybe move on to Cyprus.

I returned early enough to score a second breakfast at Abraham Hostel where I found a former guest of Milk and Honey, Tseda, an American researching for her senior thesis on the history of medical attention to refugees (I think? I forget).

Stressed about my visa circumstances, I wandered around the city and ate a mini cup of Ben and Jerry's cookie dough (so thankful they have it here) until I ran into my Norwegian friend from the asshole-led Jerusalem Gardens hostel, Bjørnulf -- Beo for short. I forgot to write about it in my last post but I ran into him at the Milk and Honey Hostel too, as he wanted an escape for a day, so it was a crazy coincidence to see him again. He lifted my stress and I went straight back to the Abraham Hostel's wifi to work out my situation.

While I could have stayed for free at Abraham Hostel, I ditched my reservation to CouchSurf with Ira from Silver Spring, Maryland, a town fifteen minutes away from my hometown of Scaggsville! Ira hosted another guest along with me, Claudio from Italy, and regaled us with tales of his activist youth in the 70's.

Friday, Jan 23
Friday and Saturday I found another CouchSurfing host, Shiri, a chemistry student at Hebrew University who cooked me and her friends a fabulous vegan dinner that kept me full for days. Like me, she grew up Jewish but is now atheist, so we bonded over that.

It's interesting actually, my time here in Israel has made feel less Jewish. Non-religious and atheist-Jews in America often still culturally identify with Judaism, joking and mocking their own Judaism to stick out as a form of identify expression in a Christian dominated culture. I know some such American Jews who casually joke about themselves openly to their friends as if to remind themselves and others about their Jewish background. Not that this is a bad thing, it creates a sense of community and belonging out of a tiny percentage of society who would be alienated otherwise.

However Israel doesn't have this because of the Jewish dominated culture. It's not necessary to joke about getting Chinese food for Christmas when nobody forces Jesus down your throat. The secular and left leaning Jews I've met here are actually disgusted at the increasingly religious-right government and certain parts of the population, so they eschew Judaism all together to create bonds rather than joking about their own Judaism like American Jews do. When showing my avocado seed carved Star of David to an Israeli I met he even compared it to the Nazi Swastika, asking me to get rid of the nationalism from his sight.

I can't deny my Jewish cultural identity though since I was raised with it but when the Netanyahu administration ties Judaism with Israeli Nationalism it becomes elitist when one does deny the Palestinian struggle.

Ok, that's enough pseudo-anthropological rambling, let's return to my blog.

Sunday, Jan 25

I left Shiri's place early to ensure my procrastination habits of a few days before would not resurface, leaving the fire starter and fuel here as I didn't want to bring that through the checkpoint. Standing at two of my bus stops on the way, I mentioned to the Israelis waiting with me where I was going to which they gravely warned me to be careful and wished me luck not to get killed. The only thing that scared me, I told myself, was how ignorant Israelis were -- buses are segregated, after all. (Keep this is mind as you read though as I end up scared nonetheless.)

I got to the bus station for Palestinians at around 3:00 PM, where a friendly one-armed man enthusiastically helped me toss my giant backpack and grocery bags under the bus and asked for twenty shekels, which I assumed was for the bus ride. I think he ripped me off though, using ten of those to pay for his own ticket, and since asked me for more money when I sat next to him. After he fell asleep, I occupied my time with staring out the window, keeping silent and enjoying the Arabic language in the air.

Passing the checkpoint is a breeze going in; it's on the way out that gives Palestinians hours, usually a full day, of trouble. During this bus ride I saw the apartheid wall up close for the first time -- it was surreal, a high wall with barbed wire rounding the top decorated by watch towers and occasional graffiti. I didn't get a photo, I wanted to wait until I learned the culture a bit first before I pulled out my iPhone's camera. As the blue dot on my phone approached Area D Hostel, which I knew had free wifi, I exited the bus and thanked the driver, shukran, lugging my bags across the street toward the hostel while people smiled at the American idling by.

Soon after borrowing a phone to call my CouchSurfing host Mohanad, he took me to Ramallah Cafe for hookah where he smoked as we chatted for a couple hours. He bought me Chinese take out as we headed for his home in the north of the city. I have a private room, bathroom, and shower in his beautiful apartment, recently emptied by his ex-wife and three-year-old daughter who he plans to see in Sweden soon. Mohanad works at a bank while studying for his master's in International Development, mountain biking with his friends in the little free time he has, so his busy schedule allows me to explore the city by myself.

Edit: check out this article about him and his friends mountain biking in Palestine!

http://www.middleeasteye.net/in-depth/features/palestine-riders-biking-through-holy-land-226620473

Or this link:
http://www.thatsramallahbaby.com/#!Mountainbiking-in-Palestine-Thats-Ramallah-Baby/c166d/55ae11330cf286eab0280e10

Monday, Jan 26

I woke up early yet spent much of the morning on my phone looking over my plans, with a late start out of Mohanad's home. While it's a half hour walk away from the city center, I took the stroll to see the route. Perplexed by a fancy KFC/Pizza Hut on the side of the road, I wandered in expecting to check it out for just a minute when a man exclaimed at me to help him finish his meal after learning I was American. I rejected at first but he insisted and eventually left me alone for his taxi job, which I first thought he was slyly making me pay for his meal but he turned out to be a sincerely nice guy.

Full with grease, I kept moving toward the city center where a swarm of kids ran into me at the afternoon market trying to communicate with what little English they knew, though it was much better than my Arabic. They cheerfully led me to their "boss man," an eighteen-year-old named Ali selling vegetables for his father's business, who's Arabic name on Facebook is علي أبو عطيه. The rest of the day and through the night I learned what Palestinian hospitality means. It's as if their national sport is throwing kebabs and pastries at Americans. From a teen worker handing me raw fennel drizzled with lemon juice to an old man walking by who came out of nowhere and literally pushed his half-eaten doughnut into my mouth out of giddy generosity, I was stuffed until the next morning.

Ali asked me more than a few times if I was scared to which I replied that I wasn't. No way, why would I be scared? They are people just like any other on Earth, kind and compassionate at heart. But could he see something that I couldn't? In the middle of goofing around with the kids at the busy market, an older guy around my age cut through the crowd and inched to my face with a stern glare, seemingly annoyed at me as if I was disturbing his family by my presence. I calmly asked him if he was ok, repeating myself several times yet got only a silent, angry glare in response. After a full minute or two of this he let out an incomprehensible yell -- immediately followed by a chorus of laughter as the kids realized their older brother was joking with me long before I did. He walked away chuckling at my fear. Without me realizing it, Ali was right. It was just 24 hours after arriving in a new place and new culture, the Arab world and the "Other," why wouldn't I have some fear and anxiety? Racism permeates us all subconsciously, it's naive to think I wasn't scared of entering the West Bank.

I hung out with Ali and his friends at the market until it closed shortly after seven, then we all headed to an Internet cafe in a taxi-van to spend the rest of the night goofing off, sharing music, and learning about each other's lives in butchered Arabic and English, while sipping a creamy, orchid tea (picture!). While it was mostly fun and games, they also showed me YouTube videos of the IDF countering Palestinian demonstrations and a montage of Palestinians who have died at the hands of the IDF. While they love Americans they don't like our government, which backs Israel. Interestingly, I never heard the word "Jewish" from anyone yet; it's pretty clear to me that despite some Israelis claims otherwise, Palestinians hate Israel, not Jews. My CouchSurfing host has Israeli friends he invites over, though with difficulty due to the wall. I brought up the subject on my own and told him I was Jewish, which didn't phase him at all.

Ali invited me to stay with his family that night, who gave me another full dinner. I wasn't hungry but it would be rude to refuse and it was tasty anyway. After I told his Dad I was in Israel before coming here he gave me a long talk in decent English about how Israel doesn't exist, it's all Palestine, which I was grateful for the opportunity to listen and not argue. He also spoke in Arabic to Ali at length about their financial situation; I could see the poverty in their faces though they didn't specifically mention it to me. Hanging on their family's wall and as Ali's Facebok profile picture is a portrait of one of his sons who was taken prisoner by the IDF even though he was not armed.

They have a small television and wifi, though it's a crowded home as I slept in a small bedroom with two of Ali's brother's while Ali got out an extra mattress to sleep on the living room floor. I only saw Ali's Mom a couple times, who wore a headscarf and didn't make eye contact with me. While Ramallah isn't as traditional as the rest of the West Bank women are still often kept separate from men, especially when guests arrive. In the streets however I see plenty of women without any headscarves. I was warm enough to sleep most of the night however the morning call to prayer at around 5 AM wouldn't let me fall back asleep. The mosque must have been very close to his home because it was very loud and kept going for at least twenty minutes. In a odd sense of familiarity and curiosity I realized that while it was definitely foreign to me, it was similar to Jewish music heard in synagogues as a minor keyed tune.

Tuesday, Jan 27

7:00 AM breakfast at Ali's was sweetened tea, though he bought me some plastic wrapped pastries on the way to the market as well. He works twelve hour days with his family yet makes the best of it despite the conditions, giving travelers like me all he has. I hung out at the Area D Hostel typing this up (check out the view!) and checking emails then went back to market where I was given more fruits and pastries out of hospitality.

Notes, Tuesday through Sunday:

Mohanad finished the book he had for his course, "Popular Resistence in Palestine: A History of Hope and Empowerment" by Mazin B. Qumsiyeh, so he lent it to me for reading.

One night, Mohanad took me to meet his friends at an Irish pub where I met other CouchSurfers, NGO workers, and travelers. It was like a UN meeting of various countries sipping alcohol in Ramallah. Another night we went out again to a different bar and then to a dance club at the top floor of a fancy hotel.

I mostly wandered around the city, not doing anything in particular, but simply exploring and getting to know the place. Often people of all ages shout out to me "Welcome!", wave in glee, or even hand me a piece of whatever fruit or vegetable they are selling. Once some teens followed me around asking for shekels, the Israeli currency also used here, but adults caught them and sternly told them to back off (or at least I assume that's what they said since I don't know Arabic). On the other hand, I've had kids offer me money too, which I had to flat out refuse -- there's no way I'm taking that from them. While I typically walk everywhere to save money, walking to the Mahmoud Darwish museum honoring the late poet some people offered me a ride in their car right up to the front gate.

I left my CouchSurfing host Mohanad to spend one night for free at Area D Hostel on Saturday night, since a volunteer there invited me when he visited Milk and Honey a few weeks ago.

I start volunteering at the Hostel in Ramallah today, Sunday February 1st, for at least one month, and I may volunteer at a refugee camp or teach English during the next month. My first week here has been incredible, here's to the rest of my time here.

Adding on: Just got to the Hostel in Ramallah, and was greeted by a wonderful guitar voilin duet rendition of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" as we're making dinner together. I like it here already, great music, great food, great people.

List of Arabic words I've memorized so far (pardon me if I butcher them):

Salaam Alaikum -- hello, goodbye, peace. Like Shalom in Hebrew

Layla Sayeeda -- goodnight

Jayeed -- good

Mahyi -- water

Shukran -- thank you

Update 3, Jan 17th, '15; Milk and Honey Hostel

It's been a while since my last update, and unfortunately I did not make detailed notes to use for the blog like I did for my last posts, so this will be more... general.

Let's see...  There's sooo much to talk about since my last update. Sorry it's been so long!

Typing with my thumbs as my head rests on my pillow makes me pump out these blogs sooner yet with the literaracy of a lysdexic ephelant, so bear with me.

I arrived at the Milk and Honey Hostel on Shalma 4 in Jaffa, Israel on Friday morning, December 5th. It was just some place I found at the last minute to work in exchange for food and shelter but by the end of my stay it became a home.

Between seven and nine other coworkers, we each worked around 21 hours per week, cleaning the four full bathrooms, making beds, sitting at the computer as a receptionist, buying groceries at the local supermarket, and making a breakfast of Israeli salad (chopped cucumbers and tomatoes), bread, hummus, tahina, and labina (a spreadable cheese without the distinct flavor cream cheese has). If I worked more than 21 hours, which was often up to 30 hours, I got 25 shekels per hour or 200 shekels per week ($50) to spend on my lunch and dinner. Total occupancy is at around 40 beds, which only happened around Christmas and New Years, though these guests supplied the staff with a steady stream of alcohol. I'm thankful for the many Russians that visit here.

The people I met here have been a blessing to my burgeoning travels, from my coworkers I grew friendships with to the myriad and diverse travelers who rested here for one night.

My manager, Kenya (like the country, yes that's her name), is a Yemeni Jew who co-owns the hostel with two other people, although I've never met them since they don't work nearly as much as she does. Her husband often works here too in addition to playing bass for the Israeli singer Ester Rada. They sometimes bring their adorable toddler with them as well as wine or pastries for special occasions (like my going away!). They are a very chill family, super friendly and welcoming, who invited me back to stay whenever I want.

Except for the two Israelis, Ori, a Tel Aviv University political philosophy student who gave me fantastic feedback on my Birthright essay, and Atar, an art student with an amazing tahina cookie recipe, staff here are also travelers, coming and going to make a steady stream of new faces to meet. When I first got here my coworkers were Selena, Cormoron, and Daniel, an American from Virginia who funds her travels by teaching yoga and giving massages around the world, an Israeli who changed his name to the bird of the same name because why not, and an eighteen-year-old American who paid over ten thousand dollars to work at this hostel and learn about Israel in a separate program. Then came Ilhan, a crazy French guy with one enormous dread-lock who incessantly asked people how they were doing over, and over again even if we told him we were fine just minutes before. Eventually, we couldn't take it anymore and my manager asked him to leave. There's Elmar, the Dutch artist born one day after me, carrying a book of the hand-prints of every person he meets on his travels. I just met Rabea before I left, a German girl who's spent four years on the road. Finally there's Valentina from Italy, who's looking over my shoulder as I type this -- wait, she just went away so I can talk about how evil she is. Probably my best friend after Christmas eve mass together at a nearby Arabic Church. We go from deep, meaningful conversations to spontaneous bursts of laughter, late night talks to walks in the local market. Thank you for everything, I will miss you! Come visit me in Ramallah!

There were even some hostel guests who have stayed here so long we became friends, like Jeffrey the Dutch philosophy student who spent his vacation here during Christmas and invited me to his home in the Netherlands this Summer. There's Michael, an American immigrating to Israel who is temporarily living at the hostel until he finds an apartment. And Harvey, a French guy traveling around the world who rambles incoherently and left his tent here for me to take (I think?). I met Ryan from the Virginia side of DC on his way out of Saudi Arabia where he taught English for six years. After growing sick of the fundamentalist country where his kids praised Hitler for killing Jews, he drove away in his expensive sports car, which he takes all over the world, getting it ferried across oceans and seas. Attempting to ship it to Cyprus, it got a flat tire on his way to the port in Haifa in Northwestern Israel; hopefully he can find the rare tires it needs in Turkey. He takes pictures of famous places with his sports-car in the foreground -- that's his shtick, a lot cooler than a garden gnome, right? While in Saudi he converted to Islam just for the fun of it despite secretly being atheist, and he became a minor celebrity in the country for a few weeks since it's very rare for a white American to do that. News networks tried interviewing him but he declined, saying that in his culture religion is more personal so it's not polite to sensationalize.

Gabrielle, a guest here, deserves a story on her own. She did Birthright in 2009 and stayed afterward with her boyfriend to participate in activist demonstrations against the occupation. At one of these, the IDF was shooting rubber bullets at the protesters and hit her boyfriend in the head, permanently paralyzing and leaving him brain dead. She's here to try to sue the IDF for what happened, courageously coming back to fight for justice. The court cases haven't been going well though, as the Israeli bureaucracy shuts down anyone attempting to resist.

Update: I found this article where it clarifies it was a high velocity tear gas canister, not a rubber bullet

http://electronicintifada.net/content/tristan-anderson-civil-suit-delayed-new-evidence-emerges/10649

There were unwelcome crazy guests too, like a creepy old Israeli man who verbally harassed women every chance he got and an annoying French lady who accumulated so much trash under her bed I needed a giant black trash bag and vacuum to clean everything. Send me a message if you want the details of her stay that are too gruesome for this blog.

In a weird connection to recent news, every French person I met here has been crazy and Islamophobic, from simply saying Israel should take over the West Bank as if its ours to a couple that thanked me for making breakfast as they don't eat anything made by Arabs -- the TV told them that Arabs poison Jew's food.

Countless guests here have been Birthright participants, as they find the closest hostel they can after ending at the nearby Ben Gurion airport. Most recently, two were on their way to visit their IDF friend who promised to take them flying in his Apache helicopter. I routinely see Birthright buses in the city, and talk with the participants about my time here, casually asking how the brainwashing is going. So many Israelis, most of them liberal, consider Birthright a propaganda exercise; it's such a common notion that it is joked about in the Israeli version of Saturday Night Live.

While most of the people I befriended were at my hostel I did meet Zoe, an American who did the same thing I did but a year ago: Birthright to escape America and travel around the world. Coincidentally, she knows a Landmark College friend of mine back home and is familiar with the Maine based Beehive Collective, that artist activist collective I volunteered with this past August through October, since she's from that state. She's been all over Europe since first coming to Israel but she came back here for the Winter. I had Christmas dinner with her and her friends and I'm about to go visit her in Jerusalem on my way to Ramallah.

There's only three of us Birthrighters left in Israel, Eitan, Andrew, and myself; the rest of us had left the country a long time ago. Last night I had a mini Birthright reunion with Eitan and Noga, an IDF soldier who was with us during the trip. Hopefully I'll see Andrew at the farm he's volunteering with soon.

Well, there you have it, what matters most in traveling is the people you meet rather than the places you see. The connections created are a metaphor for how we are all connected in the world by human emotions, not photoshopped geography. Now that I got that cliche out of the way I can avoid social interaction the rest of my time, right?

I leave Jaffa today and will start volunteering at the Hostel in Ramallah (that's the actual name of the hostel) on February 1st for two months. Between now and then I will CouchSurf in Jerusalem for the rest of this week and then spend a week CouchSurfing in Ramallah to get used to the city before working there.

One point about Tel Aviv before I go: it feels too American, a Western city in an Eastern land. Israelis even consider it practically a different country than the rest of Israel. While it certainly has its differences and I enjoyed running barefoot on the beach, I have been ready to leave for a while now; my heart aches for more to see.

OK, I need to start packing, this procrastination habit is hard to beat.

Shalom and Assalaam alaikum

Addendum: I just realized I did something a little stupid.

My tourist visa says I can stay until 10/2/2014, so I had originally interpreted this as October 2nd, 2014, without realizing it actually means February 10th, 2014. Which means I have a little more than twenty days left in Israel.

I want to stay longer however, as you know, so I have a couple options. One, I can make a trip within the next couple of days to Cyprus, Jordan, or Egypt to reset my visa. Or two I can try to extend my visa, which is a lot easier I think.

In order to extend my visa, I'm told that I need to list an Israeli address as my place of residence, so for the next few days I need to find someone who will let me use their address even if I don't stay there like my new friends or my distant family here.

Or I'm going to Jordan and back! Where should I go?

Also, I've actually been trying to leave Jaffa for the past few days now but my procrastination, planning, and packing habits reek of -- breaking fourth wall here, I just got distracted for five minutes after writing that -- ADHD distraction fest. It's a running joke here at my hostel that I'm never going to leave. By Tuesday at ten o'clock at night I finally finished packing to head to the bus station for the hour journey to Jerusalem. My friend Valentina however (thank you very much!) suggested I call Abraham hostel to try to reschedule my stay for Wednesday night, which fortunately worked out with no money lost only because I'm a hostel worker myself.