Last month in Israel.  A lot has happened here.  I've seen a lot, and felt even more.  There's simply no justice that can be done in describing everything I've experienced.  I really feel that I've grown in so many ways, and I know the process will continue as I move forward.  The future feels heavy to me; at times I just don't know how to handle everything coming at me from every which way.  There's just so much to think about.  When people ask me how my trip was here, I won't know what to say.  Time and again I've felt and mentioned in my blog many feelings which I cannot adequately describe with words.  Amazing.  Incredible.  Awesome.  Awesome, though, is a word which has really lost its meaning.  What it should mean is full of awe, which in turn implies something which can't really be expressed but only felt.  So, if I describe my time here to you with the word awesome, I mean it that way.  Not to say, though, that it hasn't been a totally rad experience, dude.  It's been a mixed bag: a wide-range of thoughts and feelings about myself, the world, the future, the past, life, death, meaning, purpose.  Lots of questions.  No answers, just possibilities.  It's daunting sometimes, but in the end, for better or for worse, it's all stahm: a Hebrew word which doesn't translate well to English, meaning something along the lines of "just is."

I can't begin to wrap my head around time.  Looking back it always seems like it moves so quickly.  But it can so easily feel as if it progresses with the speed of molasses.  Yet it's constant.  And yet again, it's all made up by us; by man.  The passing of events makes time tangible, or at least palpable.  My mom and my sister had planned to visit for a while; then they came; now they're gone.  Bam, time.  I digress.  Or perhaps I progress.  Here's what we did:

I went to Tel Aviv on Friday and stayed at Nir's house.  He had to work most of the night, and I took the opportunity to make up for a lack of sleep resulting from the continuous late nights spent with my friends or following the start of NBA games during the wee hours of the night.  Like the brother he is, Nir took me to the airport the next morning and we waited together for my Mom and sister Emily.  After their welcomed arrival, we had a great meal overlooking the beautiful sunny beach before taking a service bus to Jerusalem and their hotel.  Shabbat's presence permeated the air, as there was scarcely a person to be seen in the streets.  The ladies were naturally tired after their long flight, so after a little nap I took them around the downtown area, which had gained some life amidst our slumber, and, after a bit of a tour/wrong turn or two, we had some very good shawarma at the scrumptious "HaShamen," which can loosely be translated as "Chubby's."  (I made sure not to tell them this part!)  I had to leave a bit early on to work on a midterm paper due later in the week.  The next day, Sunday, I met up with them again after class for dinner in the upscale German Colony.  I enjoyed hearing about their day and relished the opportunity for a first-class meal (and the leftovers later on).  It was fun hearing their opinions thus far about Israel, and I enjoyed chiming in with my own, often elaborating on the aspects which I've discovered time and again which they'd only begun to see.  

Monday classes finish earlier than Sunday and Tuesday, so I had them meet me at my place and I took them to the god-sent falafel joint down the street from my dorm.  It was nice having them experience something I've been doing on a weekly basis since I've been here.  After the successful (although unfortunately not THE best – the problem with falafel is that, largely depending on how fresh it is [how recently it's been taken out of the oil], it's got a wide-range of texture, temperature, and overall enjoyability) chow-down, we headed to the Shuk, killing two birds with one stone by getting some much-needed shopping done as well as exposing Mommy and Emmy to one of my favorite areas of Jerusalem.  They quickly caught on to the loose sampling-rules, following my lead in tasting various nuts, fruits, halvah, and, of course, going a bit nuts (No pun intended. Seriously, didn't even recognize it until I re-read it.) in purchasing various kinds of nosh.  Thusly, by the time we were headed back to their hotel, which was very centrally located, we were all totally wiped out and soon succumbed to what our bodies were demanding, falling asleep shortly after getting back.  I still had work to do for my midterm, so by the time we were ready to move it was a bit too late for me to join, and I headed back to my place as my girls did a bit of exploring on their own.  

Tuesday I came again after classes, this time having finished my mid-term, and we went for another delicious dinner, sampling various Israeli delicacies, from Kubeh (or Kibbeh) to Mjadra and more.  We then sat around at a coffee shop and attempted to plan out the rest of the week, in which we'd hoped to go to both the Dead Sea, just south of Jerusalem (you can actually see it from my friend Jacob's bedroom window), as well as travel around the beautiful north.  We had a nice time sitting together, talking, moving past our various trivial, albeit somewhat heated, arguments from the prior days.  I'd felt a bit stressed at points about making plans, then also a bit disappointed in their ostensible lack of faith in my guidance abilities, but we're family, and we worked it all out and had a terrific second half of the week.  I left the coffee shop to study for my Hebrew mid-term the next day, still without a plan determined but looking forward to the unforeseen adventure.  

As it were, we decided to head north Wednesday just after I finished Hebrew in the morning.  The plan was to stay the night Tiberias and travel from there, but on the fly we changed our desired-lodging to Tzefat, another ancient city which came to be the epicenter of Kabbalism.  After getting off our bus in Tiberias, we met up with a cab driver who would end up taking us around throughout the entire trip around the north (which was a mega-condensed 2-day affair).  I'd gotten some recommendations from Ronen, and we set about hitting the various sites he said would be worthwhile.  First we went to Ben Tal, a mountaintop from which Ronen explained we'd be treated to a wonderfully expansive view, including both Syria and Lebanon.  After stopping along the way to overlook the Syrian city of Qunetra, which has long been at the fore of the Israeli-Syrian conflict, and gorging on some apples and nuts with friendly vendors, we made it to the summit.  I immediately recognized it as a place where I'd been both on the Birthright trip and with the Rothberg Program earlier in the year.  We quickly explored the army base and thoughtfully observed the views before succumbing to the cold and getting back in the cab, en route to Tzefat.

We arrived to Tzefat and checked into our hotel, of which the three of us were immediately fond.  Its elegantly-rustic style reminded us all of similar lodging in Colorado, and the cold made the nostalgia all the more fruitful.  After a short nap, we walked around the Old City of Tzefat, and I really dug the stone streets and iridescence from the various purple and blue lighting of the shops and dim streetlights.  It's a fairly religious city, so I was pleasantly surprised with the somewhat lively feel of the night.  We then sat down for a great dinner, hoarding the myriad plates of salad and dipping pita with hummus before moving on to the various delicious meat platters soon at our fingertips.  Little wonder that, after some dessert and coffee down the street, we all walked back to the hotel feeling like bowling balls rolling down the lane.  We didn't have the energy to do much else, and, after reading some of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (which I've subsequently finished and really enjoyed), I followed Emily and Mama to rest.  

The cabbie picked us up the next morning, Thanksgiving (!), after a delicious and plentiful hotel-included Israeli breakfast overlooking the beautiful mountainside which was hard to leave, and we continued along the Ronen-recommended journey, heading now to the Hula Valley, internationally renown for the masses of birds which stop there for respite from their migration.  Unfortunately most of the birds must have already gone along their merry way, for as we walked through the paths the animals we saw most were the catfish in the marshes below.  We were, however, treated to a Disneyworld-like movie, equipped with squirts of water and moving chairs, which turned out to be an interesting account of bird migration and the importance of the Hula along the way.  The next, and final, stop was the hot springs known as Chamat Gader.  Along the way, however, the cab driver became antsy and lost his patience, ultimately essentially demanding an increase on the price we had already determined.  He and I had a rather heated argument in Hebrew as he was driving toward the springs.  It was frustrating, but great practice on the language.  Ultimately we made a compromise, but I think we all lost a little respect for the man, who up to that point had been very accommodating and overall nice company.  The springs were nice, like a big warm bath, smelling of feet because of the sulfur, with plenty of old people to be found.  We'd realized that Ronen's recommendations were somewhat touristy, which my Mom deftly analyzed as indicative of the strong Israeli nationalism.  Politics aside, Israelis love their land and want people to see it.  

We made it back to Jerusalem that evening, Thursday, and I headed back to my place with plans to meet up with the ladies the next morning to pursue our yet-to-be-determined plans.  My friend Josh was celebrating his birthday weekend, so ten of us guys took a ten-seater service bus to Tel Aviv at around midnight and had a terrific time chilling on the beach for a bit before heading to, in essence, a rave.  Tons of people dancing, floating in their own worlds; lights flashing and music blaring.  I had a great time, and it was a very interesting sociological experience, seeing such people in such an environment.  Hippies danced about as if they were controlling the music with their own hands.  It was a terrific, albeit long, night, making it back to my bedroom in Jerusalem at about 5 AM.  

I met up with the fam the next day in Jerusalem, who'd been perusing the street market right outside their hotel.  After a quick bite, we took a sheirut (small bus) to Tel Aviv, checking into our hotel about a block from the beach.  Not wanting to disrupt our routine, we took a little nap before Nir picked us up and took us to his house for a lovely dinner with his family.  It was really nice all being together, and the BBQ was delicious.  After dinner and some nice cross-cultural conversation, Nir took my mother back to the hotel before he, Emily, and I went out for a night in Tel Aviv.  We went down to the Namal (port) and walked around a bit on the boardwalk.  It was kind of chilly, but both Emily and I agreed that the fly boardwalk was not being utilized to its fullest extent.  After waiting in line for a club, surrounded by endless Arsim (basically the Israeli version of Guidos), we were quite keen to leave and start our own dance party.  In the end, we settled on a nice outdoor patio-bar where I'd been a couple times before.  We shared a few drinks and smoked some Nargeela and overall had a very nice time together.  Soon enough the late evening had turned to early morning, and, as Emmy had an early flight, Nir took us back to the hotel.  I slept soundly, waking up only early in the morning to say goodbye to my family before slipping back into the comfortable hotel bed, the room mine alone just as if I was the dude (Kevin McCallister?) from Home Alone 2.  

I spent the next day walking around Tel Aviv, mostly chilling on the beach and reading my book.  It was a day of mixed-feelings: my family had left – a sharp reminder of my dwindling time in Israel; I was feeling somewhat lonesome, as none of my friends were available; yet I was happy, enjoying the environment and feeling like I had a sound grasp of where I was and where I'm headed, or at least a grasp and understanding of the fact that it's okay that I don't know.  I headed back to Jerusalem in the evening, eager to see my friends.  Upon making it back, I reflected upon the past three days and the intense traveling I'd done which made it hard to believe that it had all happened in such a short amount of time: from Wednesday afternoon to Saturday evening I'd gone from Jerusalem, to Tzefat, to Jerusalem, to Tel Aviv, to Jerusalem, to Tel Aviv again, and finally back to Jerusalem.  It was nice to be back, needless to say, and it would be an abbreviated week as one of my classes had the week off to work on our take-home midterm exam. 

The next weekend (this past one), I fulfilled my desired plan to go to the Dead Sea.  Along with my buds Josh and AJ, we took a southbound bus, equipped with a tent, a bit of food, and some warm clothes in preparation for the desert night, toward Ein Gedi, getting off at a trail called Metzukei Dragot.  We headed down away from the uphill trail, toward the Dead Sea, the lowest point on Earth.  Immediately we were exposed to what would become a common theme of the trip: hippies.  Naked hippies.  By far the biggest hippies I'd ever met.  Soon after we'd set up our tent, we went to hang out with a couple of them who were right next to us.  Two of the three had dreadlocks which were at least 5 feet long and who'd apparently been living in India for an undeterminable amount of time.  The third, who apparently resided on the beach, explained that he'd been traveling for eleven years.  (No dude, you're just homeless.)  Soon enough they were jamming on their violin and bongos while AJ and I also dabbled a bit on their guitar.  We'd brought little food with us, with a container of hummus representing a large portion of what we had.  We weren't warned about the high moochability of the hippie community, and thusly Josh brought over the hummus and some pita to have a quick snack.  Soon enough, most of the hummus was gone, and our dinner plans had turned bleak.  But, oh my, was it ever beautiful.  We walked a bit around the bay, hoping to collect some firewood for the evening (which turned out to be extremely difficult to find amidst the unforgiving climate), taking in the beach and the landscape.  It was almost like being on a different planet, or the moon.  Everything was grey.  There were strange, warped rocks along the sea, which we later found to be formations of the thick mud that comes from the Sea which is used by many for dermatological purposes.  At one point we walked up a small cape which instantly reminded us of Pride Rock from Lion King, and looked out at one of the most amazing views I've ever seen: mountains in the background overlooked the calm expanse of the sea, which, combined with the awesome (again, in the better way) sunset, created what seemed to be a rainbow enveloping us.  Looking toward the mountains over the sea I could clearly discern red, yellow, green, blue, and purple.  It was incredible.  Soon, though, it was pitch-black, by about 6:00.  We were able to get a meager fire going and cooked some potatoes, with some spices and oil we'd brought, to just barely edible, still essentially raw, but enough substance to satiate our hunger.  It was exemplary of the extremely rustic time we experienced together.  We had almost no food, and the main sustenance we did have were potatoes, which are not easy to cook in such circumstances.  We really roughed it.  After watching the stars for a time and digging the yellow moon rising over the sea, we moved into the tent and went to sleep.  

The next day, after some dry oatmeal and a granola bar for breakfast, AJ and I took a dip (or a float, rather) in the salty sea before heading to a fresh-water spring about 30 feet above it, which was really great for getting the irritating salt off our bodies, but not so great in that there were 4 naked men chilling in the spring little bigger than a hot tub.  We then attempted to read a bit of ancient Josephus texts for our Jews of the Greco-Roman World midterm.  AJ pointed out that it was quite the experience to be reading such texts in such a place, but we soon realized that this was not the place to get work done.  We collected our things, packed up, coaxed Josh from his fascination with the intriguing mud, and made the ascent back up toward the road.  From there, since it was about 2:00 on Shabbat, we had the option to either catch a ride or wait about three hours for the bus.  We opted for the former, taking turns holding out our hand at a 45-degree angle (as Ross explained was the Israeli sign for hitch-hiking).  It took patience; few people stopped, and those who did often weren't going toward our destination.  Eventually, after about an hour and a half, a nice, old man who'd been in the South for a bicycle race picked us up with plenty of room in his car for all of us and our things, and, to all of our reliefs and great thanks, dropped us off within walking distance of the dorms.  The excursion hadn't lasted so long, but it sure felt like an adventure; overall it was a really great and totally worthwhile experience.  

Just turned in my midterm, gotta presentation tomorrow, then it's the weekend!  Planning on going to Egypt a week from tomorrow (Wednesday, December 16).  Doing my best to make the most of the last couple weeks here...  Look out for pictures soon!

 

It's hard to believe I've been back from my trip for almost seven weeks now.  Time really flies – one of the many cliches that I'm finding to be so true.  The grass is always greener on the other side is another.  I suppose their axiomatic nature is why they're cliches.  But I think they get an undeserved bad rep.  Sometimes the cliche is just the right way to express something; I don't care if my fifth grade teacher recommended against them.  In either case, my mom and sister Emily arrived to Israel yesterday morning, and I thought it'd be wise to write an entry before we fill up our schedule and I have too much material.  

As I said, I got back from my trip about six weeks ago.  In truth, though, I've been 'tripping' continuously for almost four months now.  Every day something happens which, even if I don't realize it at the time, affects me in some way.  As each day passes I like it here more and more.  Israel is so small.  Smaller in area even than New Jersey.  There are people here from every degree of the globe.  The community is unbelievably eclectic, particularly in Jerusalem.  They call America the diverse melting pot.  But the diversity here is so much more prevalent because of the size, or lack-there-of.  I mean to say that in the U.S., the Hispanic community, for example, while representing a significant portion of the population, is located primarily in one area, the Southwest.  Of course, it's a natural human, even animalistic, tendency for groups to stick together (as far as I've ascertained in my 20+ years).  Here, though, there's just no option for groups to be secluded.  The diversity is manifest even from something so trivial as sitting on a bus.  It's easy to get lost in the nature of the Jewish state and feel that there's a type of unity which supersedes any notion of diversity.  Yet, even disregarding the non-Jewish population, there's an extraordinary plethora of backgrounds, cultures, lifestyles, all which blend together within the lens of this place yet retain their own uniqueness.  It can easily be disregarded, but in reality the collision of cultures permeates the air, and is in fact illuminated by the select commonalities and stark nationalism.  Additionally, there is so much to do here.  Unbelievable natural beauty: The lunar-like expanse of the Negev, whose vastness the mind has trouble wrapping around, yet whose endlessness is beautiful; the Sea of Galilee in the north, whose glisten symbolizes its nature as a diamond of life in the middle of an arid dust-bowl; the mountains which scatter the country, whose height has been utilized for thousands of years for wartime advantage by some and spiritual journeys by others.  And of course the man-made history: Relics from before the common era, telling stories of ancient times and ancient peoples who paved the way for civilization as we know it, right alongside recent historical trends which still are prevalent today.  

So, overall, I'm having a really great time here.  The country itself is amazing, I've really enjoyed spending time with my friends that I have who live here, and the new friends I've made through my program are amazing people from all over the US and Canada, and elsewhere, who I hope to stay in touch with for my entire life.  Despite all this, I've decided to study in Madrid, Spain next semester.  It's going to be extremely bittersweet leaving here on the morning of December 31.  I'll miss my friends, the country, the culture.  It'll be depressing.  But then I'll be moving to a completely new culture, with new friends and new experiences.  Sometimes I wake up here in the morning sad that I'll be leaving so soon, but it helps to remember that before I came here I wasn't so keen on leaving Ann Arbor.  It's interesting comparing my feelings prior to leaving for Israel and prior to getting to Spain.  In the former, I was in the mindset of going for an entire year.  I'd been there before and I had friends who I'd hoped to see much of.  Thus I had myriad expectations.  Looking back, I think some of these expectations, particularly regarding the level to which I'd see my friends, played a large role in affecting my first couple weeks here, in which I was often disappointed and unsure of my purpose.  Eventually, though, I think I was able to let go of these and just roll with it, and I haven't turned back since.  Now, approaching Spain, I'm hardly even thinking about it.  I'm excited, but due to the combination that a) I've never been there before and b) there's too much to do here to think about a different world, I have practically no expectations.  My man Ricky will be there on the same program, with his twin brother Matt, who's also a boss, so I'm excited about that.  It'll be a crazy year, and I'm not even halfway through...

I've started classes here.  Well, we're in the fifth or sixth week.  They're okay.  Meh.  The school-week is Sunday-Thursday because of Shabbat, but my schedule is such that I don't have class on Thursdays.  The classes I'm taking are: Foreign Policy of Israel (my favorite), Hebrew (required), Israeli Literature, Jews of the Greco-Roman World, and an academic component to the internship I'm doing, which I'll discuss next paragraph.  The material is overall pretty interesting, but the biggest difference between here and Michigan is the teachers; to put it bluntly (and accurately), they suck.  Wildly unorganized.  Sometimes torturously boring.  They're nice people, but they just don't know how to teach.  Thus, my classes have for sure been the worst part of my experience.  But they're easy, and my grades don't transfer back to school (only the credit), so I'm enjoying diverging from my studious nature and kicking back and living it up.  I must say, though, that it is rather incredible that in one day I'll learn about various conflicts and confrontations in and around Jerusalem between Greeks and Jews in 500 BCE, then two hours later learn about the battles over it in the 1948 Independence and 1967 6-Day War, then walk back to my apartment with a view of the entire epicenter right in front of me.  It's another one of the ineffable sensations that I've been experiencing.  

I'm doing an internship, facilitated by the Rothberg program, with the Ethiopian National Project, which is an organization that seeks to provide social and academic assistance to the Ethiopian Jewish population to help them assimilate into Israeli culture while still maintaining their own roots.  It's been a really amazing experience.  My role for them is to a) visit various youth centers and programs and write about them for the ENP publications, such as their blog,  and b) teach one of the guides how to speak English.  I've primarily done the latter; for the past couple weeks I've taken an hour+ bus ride to Ashkelon (just northeast of Gaza) to meet with Eli Melech, a 35-ish Ethiopian G, and give him English lessons.   He speaks the Ethiopian language Amharic along with Hebrew, so if he doesn't understand something (which happens often; I speak Hebrew better than he does English), we'll meet in the middle and I'll do my best to explain in Hebrew.  Last week we went over the use of "to be" in English, which is not used in present-tense in Hebrew.  It felt rewarding to hear Eli Melech's diction progress from "I teacher" to "I am a teacher."  Along the way, I've learned about his and others' epic journey from Ethiopia to Israel in the 1984 Operation Moses, trekking through the perilous Sudan desert with a group of 60 or so people, under constant threat of looters (seeking both possessions and women), lacking food and water, until ultimately being picked up on a plane from a dangerous Sudanese refugee camp, and transported to Israel in a completely gutted aircraft to fit the record-setting number of airplane passengers.  I've heard other stories, such as those of some of the teenagers to whom ENP especially seeks to assist in hopes that their children won't require the same programs, many of whom have come in the past ten years, leaving behind family and friends to arrive to where they feel their true home is.  It's amazing to be exposed to all of it; I'd been familiar with the phenomenon of the Ethiopian-Jewish immigrant, but the phenomenon is now more personal, more real.  It's an integral part of Israeli society and policy, and I'm getting a unique opportunity to delve into it.  

I've had some really great encounters with various saintly people.  My friend Mickey, from Jerusalem, has been in Germany the entire time I've been here (he's coming back November 30), but that didn't stop me from meeting up with his parents and sister and having a wonderful Friday night shabbat dinner at his house, and going out to town with his sister Jennie and her friends.  I also went back to Haifa and met up with a nice, elderly couple, Ruthie and Jacob, with whom I was set up by a distant relative in Michigan.  They were extremely welcoming and seemed to relish the opportunity to treat me like a grandson, feeding me to my heart's content and offering various life lessons, such as the dangers of cell-phone waves and using a water-bottle too many times.  Jacob took me for a nice ride through a mountain pass which he explained to be often ignored by tourists.  It was beautiful, sharply reminding me of the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.  The next day, I met up with my friend Daniel, who I'd met two summers before in my first year working at camp.  I went around with him and his army friends to a beautiful park/garden and to a very chic area called Zichron Yakov.  We ate at a nice restaurant and all had a ball passively retaliating to the negative vibes we were getting from our admittedly hot Israeli waitress.  It was a nice weekend.

I also went to the Old City with my man Julian and, after taking in the unique scene of hoards of Hassidic Jews gettin' their prayer on (some with a groovy hip-swing), we were hooked up by the Student Center with a family who lives within the walls of King David for a bangin' Friday night Shabbat dinner.  It was a modern-orthodox family, a young couple with two young children.  The man, originally from South Africa, now studies Judaism at Yeshiva for his career, and the woman is a US emigrant.  The food was terrific and bountiful, and I took advantage of the opportunity to ask questions about Judaism and the lifestyle of an observant Jew.  It was interesting hearing his ideals and practices, and he answered many questions which could have perhaps offended a less progressive, open-minded man.  It didn't feel like proselytization, but rather a welcomed discussion and unique opportunity to learn about a lifestyle and ideology with which I was largely unfamiliar.  

I've received some terrific hospitality in Tel Aviv, particularly from my friend Ronen, who's let me use his place, two blocks from the beach, as if it were my own, and my friend Nir and his family, who have done likewise and have hosted me for multiple delicious dinners.  They're great friends and they've been nothing but family to me.  I'll miss them.  

Jerusalem's night-life I've found to be hit-or-miss.  On some nights, such as the last two, it's totally dead.  Particularly on top of the cold, which seems to affect the Israeli blood much worse than it does mine (they call themselves tough; psh, try out a winter in Ann Arbor), some nights even the often-bustling Ben Yehuda area is ghostville.  Other nights, though, you'll find a jackpot out of nowhere.  A couple friends and I went to a Black Party in an underground parking garage and had an awesome time grooving to good tunes (Balkan Beat Box) and had no difficulty to take notice of the plethora of beautiful Israeli women around us.  Another night, my boys Jacob, Julian, and I went to a concert at a bar and saw two very... curious bands.  Honestly, they were just so off-color and unique that I couldn't make up my mind.  The first band was almost overwhelmingly hipster.   The lead singer was an Israeli who sang in English with a British accent, reminding me of the band Caesars and their song 'Jerk it Out.'  At points he would say things which made us think that he thought it was English, but it just... wasn't.  The chorus of one song, for instance, was the repetition of something along the lines of, "Energy Mosserelator."  He was overtly flamboyant, too, at one point remarking, in Hebrew, "My mother thinks I'm gay... I'm cool with it."  After they left the stage, it was humorous seeing Jacob's reaction to it; he was simply the definition of bop – the bounce in his step was unparalleled by anyone's I've ever seen.  He loved them.   Not the next band, though.  This was a 3-man band, with an unreal drummer, a decent bassist, and a guy dressed up in an octogenarian suit who screamed phrases (in Hebrew) like, "I ALSO HAVE LEGS! (YESH LI GAM ET HA'REGLAYIM!)"  They were kind of terrifying, but also funny at points, as far as I could discern.  It couldn't have been more obvious that they needed a guitarist, though, as the bassist wasn't nearly good enough to carry the music himself.  Jacob's reaction turned a complete 180º, and at one point he even had to leave.  I still couldn't say how I really felt about the bands; confused, maybe?  Either way, it was a fun night with good friends.  

One weekend, about two weeks ago, I signed up for a hike in the Eilat Mountains, in the very southern point of Israel.  A couple of my good friends did likewise, and we together struggled to make it to the 6:30 departing bus Friday morning.  We were led by a fantastic guide, a late-20s Israeli who really loved what he did.  The trail we took was absolutely beautiful.  Breathtaking views of the contrasting colors of the granite, limestone, and sandstone made the steep ascents completely worthwhile.  At certain points, we could see the city of Eilat, with all their tourist hotels and buildings, as well as the developed Jordanian city of Aqaba.  Our guide explained that along the border, called the Jordan Valley, there was a large crack several eons ago, whose effects still prevail, with the Dead Sea in the middle of the country and the Sea of Galilee in the north, all along the same longitude.  It was a rather rustic trip; we made all our meals along the way, used mama nature for our bathroom, and slept outside (the desert is COLD at night!).  As we hiked, the paths reminded me greatly of my time in the snowy Rocky Mountains.  I really enjoyed straying a bit from the line, swinging out to either side, up a mountain-face or down around a slightly different route, similar to what you're able to do when snowboarding.  I got a kick out of the contrasting image of the snow-covered mountains in my mind and the hot, dry, yet equally beautiful ones in front of me.  It made me miss snowboarding a lot; it's gotta be one of my top-5, maybe even top-3, favorite things to do.  Hiking's up there, too, especially hikes like this.  

I was offered to join up with an archaeology class for a field trip to the Old City of Jerusalem, and ended up incredibly pleased that I did.  Piecing all the eras together, going back into the First Temple Period circa 800 BCE, up through more recent days, and having all this evidence right in front of you was really amazing.  Contemplating also how it all fit in with other eras around the world had a big effect on my opinion of ancient history.  I'd been thinking that it's just impractical and essentially useless, carrying none of the value of studying contemporary history.  But with this rare opportunity field trip, seeing ancient walls from 2700+ years ago, how the city has continually been built upon itself over and over, I was really interested and even amazed.  I'm in a great place to be studying ancient history, and this field trip really highlighted that, along with just the overall intrigue and prominence of where I'm at.  I've been saying for awhile now that I'm eager to see how I feel about Israel – the culture, the people, the history – once I'm gone.  It's things like what I've just discussed whose weight I feel will only be really felt and appreciated once it's no longer just a stone's throw away (with minimal gravity working against the throw.  But still, damn close).  

Mommy and Emmy are now gone, and we had a terrific time together.  I'll write about it soon and add pictures to this blog, particularly of the Eilat Mountains.  Tonight, I'm going to see Shotei Ha'Nevua (The Fools of Prophecy), my favorite Israeli band by far and arguably the best Israeli band ever.  AND Mickey comes home today!  So excited.  Going to be a terrific last month...  

Istanbul

I'd made it to the airport in Athens with plenty of time to spare (note: from this point forward I see myself arriving early to departure points to avoid situations like those which plagued part of my Greece trip. Should have just listened to my Dad!), and began leafing through a travel book I'd borrowed from my friend Hannah, flipping to the section on Istanbul. Reputed for it's "assault on the senses," as the book said, I learned the city was full of extravagant buildings stemming from the Ottoman rule (Istanbul was their capital from 1453 until their fall after WWI), oozing with decadent food, and radiating a lively ambience. The flight was short, and by the time I finished the book, I couldn't wait to step off the plane and experience the city. One of my teachers from Ulpan had lived in Istanbul for a year, so along with the guide book's, I had her advice. Apart from that, I was stepping alone into a completely new world!

I first learned that Istanbul was divided in parts. The Bosphorus Strait splits the city in two and marks the border between Europe to the West and Asia to the East. European Istanbul is further divided north-south by a strait stemming from the Bosphorus, known as the Golden Horn. Where I was to stay, the Sultan Hostel, is located in Sultanahmet, in Southern, also known as Old, Istanbul. After gathering my bags, I discovered that Istanbul was playing host to the International Monetary Fund and World Bank, and that they were staying in a classy hotel right near my less-classy hostel. Stepping out of the airport, per my teacher's advice I caught a Kavaş bus, and took it to the bustling Taxim Square in New/Northern Istanbul. English wasn't so common, but after asking for a few directions to Sultanahmet, I found that these people were different than Greeks. They were nice. In fact, they were perhaps the nicest, warmest, most helpful people I'd ever met. I descended the lively and illuminated Istiklal Cadessi (Taxim sits atop the long, wide street of Istiklal, almost like a lower-case i) and saw for the first time, what was to be reinforced later on, the refreshingly energetic nightlife in Istanbul. It was a Monday night, but as I walked down Istiklal I saw people everywhere, crowding the main street and leaking out into the side streets which bloom off the Cadessi (street). I could smell and see the common site of roasted chestnuts and corn-on-the-cob for sale from street vendors alongside the elegant and rich restaurants lining the street. This was clearly a westernized area, with Nike and Adidas shops, and even an NBA store, making appearances. Anyone and everyone I asked for help, even those who spoke little-to-no English, did their best to help me find my destination. My original intention was to walk the whole way, but I discerned that it was quite a ways away to my hostel, and since it was dark, I succumbed to the public transportation. After the long, but utterly enjoyable walk down Istiklal I eventually made it to the Tram, like a street-trolley, which would take me to Sultanahmet. This was my first exposure to the welcomed convenience of Istanbul public transportation, and I familiarized myself with some of the other stops on the Tram which I'd recalled from the guidebook. I got off at Sultanahmet, and sure enough there were more than enough people eager to give me directions to my hostel. After getting the general idea, I started the apparently-about-5-minutes walk, and took in my surroundings. Cutting through a large park flanked on one side by the beautiful Blue Mosque and on the other side by the breathtaking Aya Sofia (which was conquered by Mehmet the Conquerer in 1453 to overtake Constantinople for the Ottoman Empire), I could feel myself falling in love with the city. These structures, too grandiose to be called merely buildings, were unbelievable. I took a few snapshots and made a note to return soon. This would turn out to be a non-issue, as my Hostel was literally two minutes from the park. There was even a view of the buildings from the roof of my hostel, which I sauntered to after arriving. Upon check-in (of course the clerk was friendly), I made it to my 6-bed dorm-style room, and went to the free computers to check up on life elsewhere for a few minutes. While sat there, two girls from my program in Jerusalem, Jen and Rebecca, who I'd told about my plans to stay in this hostel, passed by, and explained that they'd been in other parts of Turkey and had two more days in Istanbul, and were in fact in the same room as I. It was a welcomed surprise. We sat outside our hostel and checked out the street, which offered a commendable scene of its own. After climbing to my bunk-bed, I was displeased to hear the old man across the room on the bottom bunk letting loose his gases and snoring loudly, but I was excited to explore the city the next day.

After filling up (to a modest extent) at the hostel's included breakfast, Jen, Rebecca, and I set out to further explore the Blue Mosque and Aya Sofia. The structures were even more impressive by daylight, and I was particularly infatuated with the Blue Mosque. As we observed with awe, a bus side-swiped a car, and I was quick enough to snap an action-shot. Apparently on my toes, I was ready to move closer to the Mosque. Like all mosques, shoes were not allowed to be worn inside, and I must say that despite the buttery, footy smell, I was digging the vibe. Knees and shoulders were also to be covered, but my shorts were long enough so I was not subject to wearing the dress-like garment which both Jen and Rebecca had to don. I snapped a multitude of pictures of the impressive interior, and overheard someone explaining the floral pattern on the ground meant to guide worshippers as to where to place their knees, hands, and head. "Overhearing" tour-guides would become a common theme of my time in Istanbul. We then ventured across the street toward the colossally over-the-top Aya Sofia. In accordance with my entire trip, the weather was terrific, and I was feeling likewise. We entered, and, despite some reconstruction going on, again looked about us in wonderment, noting the huge black shield-like structures donned with beautiful golden Arabic calligraphy, the Sultan's quarters, and various other majestically adorned monuments in the once-functioning mosque (converted to a museum by Ataturk [translates to 'Father of the Turks.' Real name Mustafa Kemal, he helped steer Turkey out of the potentially disastrous post-WWI rebuilding period with Kemalism, focusing largely on secular and nationalist movements. He's like the George Washington except more recent, and therefore more palpable in a way, totally romanticized and adored by all. Plus the airport's named after him.]). I particularly liked the shield-like structures which served as artwork, and would have loved one of my own despite the inconvenience of stealing and the no-less-difficult task of carrying it back. Alas, I resisted. Unfortunately, my camera died midway through. I had to go back to the hostel to recharge it, but first the three of us sat together in one of the guidebook's recommended restaurants, and I enjoyed the rich Kebab-like meat with spicy peppers and particularly liked the red Chilly which was served on all tables as salt and pepper is served in the States and can be tastily served plain with bread.

I went back to the hostel and charged my camera for a while before heading back out with plans to go to Topkapi Palace, former stomping grounds of the Ottoman Sultans and officials. But it was closed on Tuesday, so I altered my plan and headed instead for the renown Grand Bazaar, a street market. On the way I stopped for some guidebook-recommended baklava, marking my first exposure to the exuberant decadence of Turkish desserts. Energized, I made the modest walk through town, heading northwest, but still remaining in Old Istanbul. I'd heard recounts of enormous proportion describing the Grand Bazaar, and I was eager to compare it to the balagan (Hebrew slang for 'mess') that is the Shuk of Jerusalem. Upon arrival, I noticed two glaring differences. First, the Bazaar is primarily indoor, with a labyrinth of tunnels housing all sorts of shops selling food, jewelry, clothes, houseware, and more. Second, it was way, way bigger, and way easier to get lost. I'd seen it before to a degree, but here I was thrust into the world of Turkish street-sales: tremendously aggressive, but comical in its own way. Every single time you walk by a restaurant, for example, the proprietor standing outside overtly assumes that you want to go there, and begins to shepherd you in, often disregarding all notions of personal space or free will. In the Bazaar, shop after shop seemed to think that merely looking at one of their products indicated I ardently wanted to buy it. This did serve me well in some aspects, though, as I was able to "sample" many times the gummy-like staple known as Turkish Delight which lined a large portion of the Bazaar. It was fun analyzing their thought processes: at one point I stopped over a display of lighters, and the proprietor gestured suggestively toward one styled with a howling wolf and another with an eagle. 'What's going through this guy's mind?' I wondered. 'What possibly could have led him to believe that I would be attracted to these particular logos?' Otherwise, I gained a certain appreciation for the Istanbulians' intelligence. For whatever reason, perhaps to attempt to establish some customer-rapport, the vendors all take stabs guessing where you're from. I was receiving Spain a lot, and eventually I took it and ran with it. Practically everyone with something to sell had sufficient Spanish skills, and I was able to practice. At some points I didn't follow, and I wasn't sure whether to chalk that up to my lack of understanding or their lack of proficiency. In either case, I really got a kick out of it. There were multiple stores selling sports jerseys, and I thought I'd see if I could get one for cheap. I was inquisitive and seeking a good deal. The vendor, too, had his methods, and basically handed me the bag with the Tracy McGrady Rockets jersey and matching shorts before I agreed to buy it, but I figured since it was very inexpensive, why not just rock the whole set. I regretted it slightly afterward, buying a basketball jersey in Istanbul, but at least now it's easier to take on an alter-ego on the court. Plus, I'd make up for it, later buying Turkish coffee and the Chilly I'd been seeing (and loving) on the restaurant tables, and sending it home. I left the Bazaar and explored a bit more around the area, sampling a grilled fish caught from the Golden Horn, which was right outside the Bazaar. Fishermen lined the bridge leading into Istiklal and New Istanbul. I decided I'd save this area for the next day (after, of course, getting a terrifically rich dessert recommended by my Ulpan teacher), for I had plans with Jen and Rebecca for dinner, and I'd learned that a bar near my hostel would be showing the Tigers-Twins playoff game.

We ate at another guidebook-recommended place, with modest prices and a terrific view of the Blue Mosque. The food was a fusion of various cuisine, and, of course, very good. At one point I recall contemplating the sources of the food, and amidst hearing Jen and Rebecca discuss Indian food, I for a second completely forgot where I was. It was an interesting experience, having my brain in limbo.

After dinner, Jen wasn't feeling well so she went to sleep, and Rebecca joined me for a caffeine-jolting Turkish coffee in preparation for the 12 AM start of the baseball game. I continued to be dazzled by the Istanbulian (Istanbulite? -buligan?) disposition, as the waiter was tremendously friendly and warm. Soon enough we found the bar that would show the game, and as the minutes ticked down I reached the pinnacle of excitement. A 1-game playoff. We play 162 games and it all comes down to this. I was able to watch the first 6 or so innings before the bar closed at 2, and I headed back to the hostel, hoping to connect with someone on skype to watch the rest. I succeeded, and proceeded to spend the next 3 hours watching perhaps the best baseball game I've ever seen. Alas, we came out on the wrong end, and the season was ruthlessly torn from my grasp. It was a sad, powerful, moment, but, being 5 AM, there wasn't much time for reflection, and I went to bed.

The following day I woke up in the early afternoon, somewhat depressed but determined not to let the game break my spirits, and decided to venture toward the spice bazaar (which I had thought was different but later found to be essentially an offshoot of the Grand version. But more Turkish delight!) and check out the Dolmabache Palace. Unfortunately the palace was closed for the day, so I sat at a coffee shop on Istiklal and read for a time. While sat, I heard loud, coordinated shouts, and left my seat to find an apparent protest march, with banners aplenty. I asked a man what was going on, and he explained it was the Turkish Communist Party protesting the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund. Apparently Turkey owes them a lot of money. Later that day, as I made my way back, I saw a group of armored police, who I presumed were there to quell the protests. I'd had a long day of walking, and decided now was the time to be an uber-tourist/sultan-imitator, and check out one of the historical Turkish bathhouses.

Naturally, I referenced the guidebook, which offered a relatively cheap but famous and worthwhile recommendation. I entered the bathhouse, paid, and made my way to the changing room, where I was told to undress and put on a towel. There was a towel covering the cot in the room, and a type of rag on the table, so I put on the thing that looked more like a towel. Wrong. Bad start. Eventually I got it right, and was led to the main mens chamber, which was a cavernous, sauna-like dome with a large, white marble plateau in the middle, on top of which men were lying down in their towels. Surrounding the main chamber were several smaller chambers, which I later found to contain sinks of both cold and hot water which one is meant to throw on themselves before and/or after the washing takes place. I couldn't tell if there was a line or some kind of ticket queue or something, and it was kind of hard to breathe, quite reminiscent of Bikram yoga, in fact, so I felt a bit over my head. Adding to that the ostensibly painful yelps I was hearing from the man who was getting massaged/washed by one of the myriad burly, hairy Turkish men working there, also scantily clad, this was an experience indeed. Truly a bro-out. It was hot in this room which was apparently designed for the use of the Ottoman Sultans, so I poured cold water over myself as I sat waiting/hoping to be called upon. Eventually I was, and my guy, Ahmed, instructed me to lay on my back. He filled some kind of towel with very soapy water, and the vigorous scrubbing/massage sesh commenced. At one point I was sat up and he went at it on my head, and the soap got all up in my eyes, but the kindly Turk took notice and cleansed my face with nice cold water. After a quick turn lying on my stomach and receiving a nice back massage, the excursion was over, and Ahmed made sure to alert me where to leave a tip. Yes, sir. I made it back to the changing room, and this time I knew what to put on; after doing so, I bought a few bars of soap for gifts and departed, feeling minty fresh and looking forward to my final night in this city with which I was becoming more and more infatuated.

I headed back north on the Tram toward Istiklal Cadessi. Once I arrived, I went to a guidebook-recommended restaurant and had a delectable dish of lamb and eggplant. I then ventured to a dessert place, where, feeling adventurous, I experimented with a dessert which was apparently made from chicken breast. I wouldn't say it 'tasted like chicken,' for it was quite sweet and overall very tasty (not, of course, to say that chicken is not tasty). Now I was ready to do some in-depth exploring of the downtown nightlife. It was quite a different feel around Istiklal than what I'd experienced earlier in the day. Each side street was packed with lively people of all ages. There were nice, quaint bars all over the place, practically each one featuring live music. I sat for a bit and enjoyed an Efes, the staple Turkish beer, but for the most part walked around for hours and just dug the scene. This was when I came to the conclusion that Istanbul is a place I could live in, at least for a period of time. It was a westernized nightlife, no doubt, but it seemed more genuine, with people really enjoying themselves, and a sense of life being lived to its fullest permeated the air. I would have preferred to have been traveling with someone to share this experience, as it was one I will not soon forget. After making it back to my hotel in the early hours of the night, I made sure to prepare for my checkout the next morning and made plans for a full day before heading to the airport in the early evening.

Waking up on my final day, I headed northwest toward the Golden Horn. From there, I walked onto a boat which was to cruise up the Horn and into the Bosphorous, offering its passengers the unique opportunity to travel between two continents. As the last one on, entering from the bow, I was able to secure a spot in the very front and feel the wind beating at my face. It was a very cool experience; on my left sat Europe and on my right, Asia. I felt almost as if I was between two worlds. There were many sites to be seen, among them Dolmabache Palace, which I'd unsuccessfully tried visiting the day before, and a bumpin' castle which I presumed was built around the time of Constantine. The houses on the Asian side were intriguing, too, and I later heard that this is where the higher-classes of Istanbul reside. I also dug the kickin' view of the mosques, now, for the moment, not of such mammoth proportions. This experience overall was really beyond words; just the feeling of being there and thinking about my position on a global scale, while at the same time on a micro-level, indulging in the weather so beautiful and the wind so refreshing, was quite a sensation.

After disembarking, I got myself another fish sandwich, purchased a belt for around $3 (I've been wanting a backup), and headed for Topkapi Palace. I'd heard that this former Sultan stomping ground was grandiose and remarkably vast, which would certainly be in accordance with the rest of the city; this turned out to be the ultimate representative of the former might of the once-powerful Empire. Topkapi, too, was turned into a museum by Ataturk, but still retained its figure from times of old. I saw rooms where the heads would meet and discuss rules and governance over their vast empire. I saw the Sultan's private courtyard. And there were a plethora artifacts from Ottoman times: from the clothes of former Sultans, to battle equipment, to royal jewelry, dispersed throughout the various buildings and chambers which made up the palace along with four enormous courtyards. Unfortunately, taking pictures inside almost every room was forbidden, and there were security guards who seemingly worked for only this purpose. And they did a darn good job, especially considering the large number of people perusing the museum's offerings. At first, I was super smooth and held the camera right in front of my stomach, with the flash off, and stealthily snapped some cool shots of some of the Sultans' former threads (quite feminine robes) and weapons (quite kickass). One time, though, since I'd turned my camera off, the flash had turned back on automatically when I was ready to take another picture. I didn't realize, and soon enough I saw the bright light reflect off the glass casing, illuminating the entire room. A security guard scrambled over to me, hastily gesturing toward my camera, sharply instructing, delete! This particular guard was either a rookie who cared too much or a veteran with pride, and he diligently observed the display screen on my camera to make sure I deleted it. After doing so, the previous picture I took came on the screen, and the watchful guard again commanded, delete! I tried going forward or turning my camera off, but it just wasn't in the cards, and this sequence repeated itself about four more times, until all my illegal photos were placed back into oblivion. In line with my bad-ass persona, I had to take one more shot, and did so of a pretty sweet helmet which I wouldn't mind wearing on a daily basis.

Alas, the time had come that I needed to collect my bags and wave goodbye to the Blue Mosque and its splendid surroundings. I took a shuttle from the hostel to the airport, but of course not before bidding adieu to the select storekeepers and managers near the area who exemplified the friendly and hospitable nature of the Turks. Looking back, Istanbul was one of my best experiences to date. Looking forward, I'm eager to experience more.

Greece

*This was actually finished on Saturday, October 17*

After my trip to Nahariyya and Haifa in the north of Israel, I had one more week to go of Ulpan. My class took a field trip to the zoo, reviewed a bit, and before I knew it I had finished the final exam and was ready to go on my trip to the Greek Islands and Turkey. I had a 7 AM flight the day after Ulpan ended, a Friday, so I opted to pull an all-nighter and celebrate the end of the bane of my existence with my friends who felt similar ecstatic relief. Nir came from Tel Aviv to join in the festivities and offered to drive me to the airport. It was a good night in downtown J-town, and eventually I made it to the airport. There are so many check-points in the Israeli airport that it took a very long time to make it through, and compounded by the fact that I stood in an agonizingly slow line for the wrong airline for a good half hour, I ended up having to run through the airport to make my plane. But I made it, albeit stressed and utterly exhausted.

When I stepped out of the Athens airport at around 9 AM, after the long and discombobulating prior night, I felt refreshed. The air felt so pure and clean, with the perfect coolness to stymie my stress. The first couple people I spoke to asking for directions were helpful and reasonably friendly, and I easily made it to the bus which would take me to Claudia's house in the outskirts of Athens. Claudia is my mother's sister's friend's sister (yeah), who moved to Greece 3 years ago with her husband and two kids. She welcomed me to her home and I quickly found her to be unbelievably kind and great company. She showed me around downtown Athens, particularly the main bustling area near the Acropolis with many restaurants and shops, called Monasteraki. I was really digging the place, with it's side-by-side modern/ancient layout. Claudia explained Athens to be a place kind of caught in the middle of the upscale-Europe and old-time Middle East-esque lifestyle, where haggling is still an option. There was cool graffiti everywhere and the people seemed sophisticated and trendy. Kind of like a middle-aged, graying man, carrying a briefcase, wearing a sport coat and jeans.

I then went up to the Acropolis, where the Parthenon is located. As I ascended I was able to look out at various views of Athens, in awe of the sheer congestion of the place. The Acropolis was crowded, with various tour groups from all over the world, old couples trying to rekindle that spark, and that weird kid from America. I must have heard at least 15 different languages while I was there. There were many of the Greek-staple pillars, even off of the Acropolis; I'm not going to lie, I wasn't sure which of the buildings was the Parthenon until I asked a few people. Either way, I enjoyed the 360-degree view of the city and the incredibly ancient architecture awaiting my viewing pleasure.

I met again with Claudia, and we ate in the tightly-packed restaurant area of Monasteraki, where every plate at every restaurant looked essentially the same: very good meat on a pita. Souvlaki. Greek food is indeed very tasty, and very meaty. I must say, though, that at this point of my trip my opinion of Greek people started to diminish, having nothing to do with the fact of their goofy changing of the guard ritual (or their attire). Claudia explained that she felt like Greeks have a sort of better-than-you attitude, which I suppose makes sense given that they consider themselves the fathers of modern philosophy and democracy. And I totally got what she was saying. The waiters were impatient. The cab drivers act like they're going out of their way for you, and make sure to express their disdain for any destination that does not meet their unknown desired criteria. People weren't so inclined to give directions, and seemed almost insulted if asked whether they speak English (even if I tried in Greek). And the next morning, before my trip, I had an incredibly stressful, altogether terrible experience trying to make it to the Port of Piraeus to meet up with my tour group.

Claudia and her family live at the very end of one of the 3 central train routes, in a place called Kiffissia. At the opposite end is the Port, and I found that it would take about 50 minutes to travel from end-to-end. My itinerary said that we'd be leaving at 6:30 AM from the port, so I made sure to arrive to the station early enough, by around 5:10, which I did. Three stops in, though, the train stops for about 5 minutes and the doors remain open. Since it was so early, there was practically no one on the train, so I wasn't sure what was going on. Soon enough, the doors closed and the train heads back toward where I'd started. It's about 5:25 by now. I get off at the next station, with the time weighing heavily on my mind, looking for someone to help me. I thought of calling Claudia, but I didn't have a phone, and there wasn't a pay-phone around. The station was all but empty, with 2 security guards who didn't speak English and apparently had no concept of someone being flustered, and another clerk who was likewise not eager to help. Eventually I discerned that to get to my destination I needed to go catch a bus, get on at another station, then take another bus or taxi. The estimated time was about 1.5 hours. Definitely going to be late by this point. Scramble out of the station hoping to find a taxi, which will be expensive, but will at least get me there. But the place is dead. Eventually I find the right bus, no thanks to the unhelpful workers, and decide that I should try to call the company and see if the tour group will wait for me. Otherwise I fear I'll miss the entire tour and have to stay around Athens until my flight to Istanbul 9 days later. So I frantically, desperately, walk up and down the bus looking for A) someone who speaks English (of which there were few, and even fewer who would help) and B) someone who's phone I could borrow. I was probably looking quite defeated, when eventually a saintly man, who I later found out to be a Romanian emigrant, reached out to me and said in his broken English, "I know what's like to be alone in country you don't know." Jackpot. So he lets me borrow his phone, I call Claudia, and she calls the company and says she'll call back. The Romanian guy offers to help me get a cab when we get to the station. He's dropping all kinds of broken-English knowledge on me, like "You can never know what tomorrow come." Claudia calls back and the company is not open for another 4 hours. Then the dude's phone dies. Damn. By this point I've accepted that I'll be late, and not really sure what I'll do. The guy helps me get a cab, and he departs. It's about 6:50 by this point. The cab driver kindly offers me a cigarette, which I decline, before lighting up his own. He gets me to the port. It's the wrong gate. I frantically search for the ticket office, and they tell me there's a ferry leaving for Mykonos, the first island, at 7:30, and that I need to run to the boat. The people at the boat tell me I need a ticket, as they don't understand my situation with my travel group who'd pre-paid for my tickets. I quickly decide to get a ticket and hopefully meet up with the group where we're staying on the island. I run to the ticket office and sprint back to the ferry and get on just before it leaves. Totally out of it, but accepting my defeat, I search for someone, anyone, who speaks English (or even Spanish) and may be familiar with my travel tour. Eventually I find 3 girls from Australia and sit down at their table, exhausted. I explain a bit of my situation, and it turns out that they're on my tour. The itinerary had lied about the departure time, and I'd made it. It took me a while to accept the fact, but I was on my way. The first island, Mykonos, was awaiting.

I soon learned that there were 35 people on my tour. Of them, there were about 24 from Australia, 6 from New Zealand, 3 from Brazil (they taught me some Portuguese), 1 from Canada, and me, the lone American. The place we were staying in Mykonos was called Paradise Beach. This was a bit overstated, as my particular accommodation was little more than a large doghouse. The beach was quite nice, though. The group went to town and we quickly noticed that practically every building, every room, every tile-pattern, is a uniform blue and white. Mykonos is particularly renown for it's night-life, but I found the scenery to be quite beautiful. Unfortunately it was late in the season, so not many people were there, and I thus did not really get the whole experience of this or the final island, Ios. I did have some delicious authentic Greek food and enjoyed walking through the maze of the narrow alleyways in the downtown area, as well as appreciating the unique views while relaxing at a coffee shop. And I quickly learned that Aussies are somewhat wild, which was to be reinforced night in and night out. I couldn't, nor did I really have the urgent desire to, keep up with many of them. But they were fun, nice people.

The group took the next ferry and eventually made it to Paros. Our guide, Laura (also American), explained that Paros is the least touristy island of all we would go to. It, too, had narrow alleyways and the familiar blue-and-white color scheme. After a laborious dinner in which there were only 2 waiters working for at least 50 people, I signed up for a day-cruise with the group for the following day around Paros and neighboring Antiparos, complete with a Greek BBQ. Almost the entire group signed up, and we were cruising along the sea by mid-morning. The land about us was home to the odd building, often a church, and occasional widely-spaced groups of housing. We stopped at various places to take a swim-break from the heat, and even had the opportunity to go cliff-diving. And plus, there was unlimited wine (don't worry mommy, I was careful). Soon enough it was lunch-time, and the group feasted on an authentic Greek BBQ, including various types of Souvlaki (of course), Greek Salad (try it with potatoes), freshly-caught octopus, and sea urchin (you scrape the orange-colored inside with a piece of bread). The captain and his first-ish mate then expertly packed the material up, leaving it on the island, awaiting their next group. Laura, our guide, told a few of us that on the other side of the water from where we ate, both Tom Hanks and Jennifer Anniston own homes, apparently for their peacefulness. One more night out in Paros, and we were off to island #3, Santorini.

I'd recalled hearing bits about Santorini from my Aunt and Uncle as well as from the Will Ferrell SNL 'Lovers' skit ("Again, our bodies sluggish with goat meat"). It was hyped for it's beauty, and I soon found it to live up to it's reputation, if not out-live it. After pulling in to the port, we were taken on a transfer to the hostel where we were staying in Fira, the capital of the island. The bus went up and up around windy roads into the tops of the cliffs, upon which the towns are built. Downtown Fira was similar to the other areas we'd stayed in that there were many narrow alleyways and shops, but it was altogether a better and more lively place. Laura took us to a cliffside restaurant with a magnificently beautiful view for dinner. Out to a bar afterward, and back to the accommodation, which had gradually improved from the first place at Mykonos. The next day, I decided to rent a 4-wheeler with an Aussie friend of mine, Dana, and cruise around the island. We were issued a map, and shown that the island is in a crescent shape, with basically one congested area each in the north, center (where we were staying), and south. I'd never been on a 4-wheeler, and I immediately loved it. We were right on the street with the cars, it was easy to get around , and it went quite fast (around 50 km/hr). And I liked the little trunk that was attached to the top of the vehicle. I felt just like Sal Paradise from On The Road. And the views were just unbelievable. In the middle of the crescent sits a volcano (which unfortunately didn't erupt), and as we cruised to the south of the island we could quite easily distinguish the settlements of the north and center. We went to the beautiful Red Beach for which Santorini is particularly known, along with the equally impressive, and more beach-like, Black Beaches (2). The water at both Red and Black was very refreshing and, of course, very pretty. I parted from Dana at the southern black beach and made my way back north toward Fira, where I stopped at our accommodation for a bit. Laura, our guide, had planned a trip to Oia (pronounced EE-uh), which is known as the spot to watch the sunset. Her trip included a meal and cost money, so I decided it'd be a better idea to take my 4-wheeler, which I had rented until 10 AM the next morning, up to Oia on my own. Laura warned that it may be difficult to get back since the street isn't lit well, but I checked with the place where I'd rented and they assured me the headlight was strong. I was nevertheless a little nervous, but headed north. It took about 35 minutes to get there, and I was instantly rewarded with an amazing site from which to watch the sunset. (And the ride there wasn't too shabby either). And the sunset itself did not disappoint. Vivid colors of oranges, reds, and pinks dazzled the sky as onlookers both from land and sea fawned over the sunset in comfortable silence. Still slightly concerned about my ride back, I decided to ride back as the sun was setting, and was treated to a pink-tinted sky, illuminating my majestic journey back to Fira just enough to get back to the more well-lit road before darkness. Everyone on the tour wanted another night in Santorini, but it was time to go to the final island, Ios.

Like Mykonos, Ios is notorious for it's night-life. Unlike Mykonos, there wasn't much else to offer besides the beach, which was admittedly splendid. It was the last two nights of the tour, and the group had grown closer throughout, so the partying was quite fun. The highlight was certainly the Slammer Bar, where for the mere price of 5 Euros the customer dons a heavy-duty helmet, takes a shot, and gets hit over the head with an object ranging from hammer to stool to skateboard. I now finally understood why Greeks think they're better than everyone else (the drawback to online communication is the lack of tone, which in this case would have better indicated my sarcasm on this last sentence). With no shame, many people participated, and we all had a fun night together. The next day was spent almost exclusively on the beach, with a nice group-dinner to follow at our resort before again going out. I'd had enough getting hit over the head, though, so didn't stay out as late as many. The last day we had a late ferry back to Athens, so I decided to make the picturesque uphill trek to the downtown area where we'd been spending our nights. It, too, was a maze, but practically a ghost town, with many resorts shut down for the season. Interestingly, though, I saw many locals all going to one building, which I found out to be a school, and voting in the Greek elections.

I arrived back to Claudia's house late at night after struggling to hail a cab from the Kiffissia station back to her place, and caught up with some news and called my parents before going to sleep. The next day I went with her to the traveling street market, which was fun but not as impressive as the Shuk in Jerusalem or Tel Aviv (where I went this past weekend). I had wanted to go back downtown for a bit and walk around, but I eventually figured that I'd had enough travel woes as it were and decided to head to the airport somewhat early. Everything went swimmingly, and I was stoked to be going to Istanbul (and ready to be away from Greeks). On the plane, I read about the city from the guidebook which I'd borrowed from a friend, and my excitement grew. I could not wait. And I was not to be disappointed.

Look out for the next post about my trip to Istanbul, now easily one of my favorite cities.

I suppose the fact that apart from this past weekend I've felt there's been minimal to write about indicates that I'm settling in. Apparently I've acclimated to the kittens rummaging through garbage outside my building; perhaps the luster of the falafel joint down the street has diminished some. But hey, I almost made it through a whole picture book in Hebrew at a used book store (although to be fair it helped some that I was familiar with the story – Bambi)! Time does go by fast; it's amazing that Ulpan is in it's last week and in only a few days I'll be leaving on my trip to the Greek Islands and Istanbul which I planned what seems like so long ago.

Anyway, I am enjoying myself. Jerusalem is a great town, full of just about anything one could imagine. The downtown area is a bit far from the dorms I'm staying in, but it's well worth the 20-minutes-ish-depending-on-traffic bus-ride. Looking out the window from the gym across the street from my dorm I can see the whole city: A bustling, alive, eclectic jewel surrounding the near-ancient (who's defining 'ancient' anyway?) Old City, outlined in aging but assuredly strong walls, dotted with the beautiful gold Dome of the Rock in the middle. It's pretty amazing.

I'm doing my best to keep on top of my sports teams back home. Shout out to my parents for turning their webcam onto the TV in our living room and allowing me to watch games via skype on my computer across the world. It's a surprisingly clear picture. I set an alarm everyday at around 4:30 AM to catch the last inning or so of the Tigers games (if they start at 7 PM EDT [2 AM here]). Loving the Michigan football team. And I'm just as big a Lions fan as ever, despite the continued futility (but this one's our year! The prospect of infinite improvement awaits, and all we have to do is win one game. Beat that, every other team). On Sunday nights, we are able to go down the street to this place called the Student Center and watch their big-screen TV with their satellite. Too bad the Lions don't get much national exposure... And I was also fortunate to watch the last two rounds of the US Open, really terrific tennis. Vamos JMDP!

This past weekend was Rosh HaShana, the Jewish new year, and I just happened to be in Israel, so I reaped the benefits of having a day off from Ulpan on Sunday. Naturally I decided to travel a bit and see the country. On Thursday, shortly after class ended, I took a bus to Tel Aviv and met up with Ronen, who's old kibbutz I went to a couple weeks ago, at around 4 PM. We walked around for a bit, chatted it up, and I dropped my stuff off at his place. He went to work at around 7:15 at the Jazz Bar he manages, and I bought the travel towel I've been meaning to buy at the mall. Went back to his place and took a beautiful nap until around 11:15 before heading to his bar, where I was planning to meet my friend Nir and see the concert which was going on there. Plus, since it's his place, we didn't have to pay. It was a fun night, and I felt energized for a while thanks to my superb planning. The next morning Ronen headed up North after a mere 3-ish hours of sleep (he returned to his place at around 6:45 AM and fell to sleep on his bed with his shoes still on; I didn't ask), and I chilled on the beach and finished my book (Kerouac's On The Road [one of my new favorites, I think]), before embarking to Nahariyya, the most Northwestern point of the country, where my friend Gal lives and had invited me for Friday night holiday dinner.

Shortly after arriving and eating a bit, we met up with his cousin/friend Tom and went to the sea. Tom's sister had recommended a spot on the shore which, unlike most of the others, was not infested with uncomfortable stones but rather with smooth sand. She was right. I had a jackpot day at the beach. The water was the perfect temperature, and the waves were huge, but there was no current. We sat and ate grapes, played the guitar and joked around. It was great. Oh, and the best part, I think, was the skinny dipping. (Ask me if I'm kidding). After we'd dried off and gotten most of the sand off our bodies, we went to the border with Lebanon, about a 5 minute drive from where we were. We were actually closer to Beirut at that point than we were to Jerusalem. There was a big gate with an Israeli flag insignia guarded by some Israeli soldiers just on the other side. We were closer to the Israeli Naval ship we'd seen while swimming, and could now see the border demarcated in the water. This particular border was actually the exact spot where the two soldiers who were kidnapped by Hamas (which started the 2nd Lebanon War in 2006) were returned, dead. I found out that the third soldier who they took, who is known to be still alive and, although certainly traumatized emotionally, apparently thought to be moving toward a lucrative celebrity future, went to school with Gal and Tom. I then realized that we were in the city upon which, only one week before, two rockets were fired from Lebanon. It was another strong example of the ubiquitous and almost necessary lack of concern Israelis have over a constant potential threat. One just doesn't really feel the danger here, and, in reality, there's not much more, if any, than one could find in New York City; it's just so compact that the threat is a bit more constant. Plus, the publicity such things get make it seem more dangerous than it actually is. In either case, very interesting to see ancient and contemporary history and it's effects living side-by-side. Overall, don't worry about me, mommy.

That night we had Rosh HaShana dinner at Gal's place, which is located right on the coast. Some of his family friends came and it was overall a really nice time, not much different, if at all, from the dinner that I've done with members of my extended family at home for my entire life. The food might have been better, though. :) Afterward, we met up again with Tom, and another friend, Guy, and we all went to a dance bar and had a great time partying and chatting and meeting people and whatnot. I consequently woke up the next day quite late, and not long after, Gal drove me south to Haifa, before continuing to see his girlfriend in Tel Aviv.

I met my friend Maya in Haifa, and she showed me around the third largest city in the country, behind Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. It's rather mountainous, and Maya explained to me that there's a pretty clear socioeconomic disparity between those who live high up and those who live below. We saw the port which has been crucial to trade for hundreds of years and the amazingly beautiful Gardens of the Bahaii - a monotheistic religion which focuses on spirituality, beauty, and harmony (which was certainly evident), although we could only go down two of the stairwells to observe, as seeing the rest of the way, which leads to a temple at the bottom, requires paying for an organized tour. That night, we went to go see Tarantino's new flick, Inglorious Basterds. It was great, I think. I experienced one problem, quite large though: large portions of the movie were in French or German, and the subtitles were, naturally, in Hebrew. I couldn't do it. So Maya, so nicely, did her best to translate the subtitles and whisper them in my ear. At one point in the film a woman was translating a man's German into French. Maya was simultaneously translating the Hebrew subtitles into English. Four languages at once. My head started to hurt. Needless to say, it wasn't the ideal conditions for seeing a movie. The next day we ate at the beach with Maya's older sister, Gal, and she and I had a comfortably heated political discussion, but it didn't prevent me from enjoying the hummus and smooth breeze coming from the sea. I departed on the train at around 5:20 PM with lots to think about, feeling good about where I'm at and wondering where I'm going.

Anecdotes

The other night, Friday, I was hanging around with some friends in one of their apartments and we were playing Catchphrase. For those who don't know, it's a little mechanism that displays a word, and the person holding said mechanism is meant to describe the word without using the word itself. Kind of like Taboo, except no forbidden words.

Anyway, there were two hilarious occurrences, both involving Manuel, the 25-year-old German with a rather heavy stereotypical accent, almost like Schwarzenegger (who I know is actually Austrian). First: The topic I believe was grab bag. Manuel had been struggling comprehending various American phrases and people, and this time was no different, as he cycled through endless words/phrases he was unable to describe, until the buzzer sounded, indicating time had run out. As it did, he inquired, "Who is Ferris Wheel?"

Second: Again Manuel was passed the mechanism, and this time he came upon a word he knew. He gestured toward a friend to his left, named Shalom, with his elbow. "When we were swimming, I gave you the elbow.... The elbow." He went on to continue his motion and repeat the phrase "the elbow" (again, in his heavy accent) until time expired, at which point the flustered German announced, "the Uppercut!"

On the same night, another funny occurrence happened which no one but me seemed to notice, again involving our German friend. He had introduced himself to Ross, someone on our program, and wondered how old he was. Upon hearing he was 21, Manuel replied that Ross looks older than he is. Manuel then requested that Ross guess how old he is. After Ross' underestimation of the 25-year-old, Manuel pointed out that looking younger than you are, as he does, is much better than looking older than you are, which only seconds before he had told Ross. On top of it all, Ross quickly agreed, seemingly unaware with the rest of the group that he had just been majorly zinged.

Finally: Today, Tuesday, I went to the Shuk with my friend Daniel. While there, Daniel beckoned me to come glance at someone he thought he'd recognized. Sure enough, right in front of me, was one of my true loves, none other than Natalie Portman. She seemed to be with her parents and sister/friend and brother/friend/boyfriend, and not many around her seemed to realize who she was. I wanted to get a photo with her, but after trailing her for a few seconds I had lost the power in my legs and was unable to procure a sound from my voice box. As I watched my love slip away, I was able to snap a paparazzi/stalker-esque photo. Natalie, if you read this, please give me a second chance...

As planned, I took a bus to Tel Aviv to meet up with my friend Nir, who lives in a suburb about 15 minutes drive from the center of the city. We took the 3+ hour bus-ride to Kiryat Shmoneh, arriving at around 11 PM, and Ronen met us there and drove us to his old stomping grounds, Kibbutz Dafna. There was a party for a girl's 26th birthday, and people were sitting around with guitars and food and some drinks and having a great time, at least as far as I could discern. I say this because they, completely understandably and expected, almost primarily spoke Hebrew. I'm certainly improving from the rigors of my Ulpan course, but I really couldn't understand what was being talked about, and I for sure couldn't contribute to the conversation, for by the time I figured out what to say, which didn't happen all too often, the topic had changed. It was frustrating, but I did have a nice night.

The next day, Ronen took Nir and I to an amazing area of the river which runs through and around Dafna where he had gone many times as a kid. From the river we could see the border between Israel and Lebanon. Ronen told us about the Lebanon War in 2006, how bombs were constantly dropped around the area, coupled with monstrous explosive sounds, although no one in his kibbutz was actually hurt. It was quite riveting and humbling, coming from Huntington Woods, where the biggest threat I ever remember is when some convict escaped from police custody with a pistol when I was in 3rd grade. He was subsequently found barefoot. It wasn't surprising, then, that bomb shelters were practically everywhere on the Kibbutz. (In fact, I recently learned that every apartment/house is required to have a bomb shelter. My room is the bomb shelter for our apartment. It's reinforced a bit stronger, has an extra door, and is a bit bigger. I'm the safest. Schwing!) The river's water comes from Mount Hermon, the tallest point in Israel, where for about 2 weeks of the year people flock to go skiing. Subsequently, the water was absolutely freezing, but really refreshing. We made some food afterward, and Ronen had to go back to Tel Aviv to work at his music bar, which he manages. Nir and I explored the rest of the day and the next. The kibbutz was essentially a town. There was a store, a library, a post office, etc. Ronen had earlier explained that the former lifestyle of the kibbutz - whereby no one spent nor earned money and everyone participated in the functioning of the microcosmic world - had dissipated around 15 years ago when the government limited their funding and people started getting jobs outside the kibbutz, rather than solely participating in the kibbutz's production (Dafna produes shoes). The layout of the place reminded me a lot of where The Others live in the show LOST. That evening, Nir and I made it back to Tel Aviv, and we went out with some friends of his to a couple bars.

The busses don't run past 5:30 on Friday evening and don't start up again until about the same time on Saturday, because of Shabbat. Taxis still run, but they're more expensive, so transportation is limited, on top of many stores and restaurants being closed. It's something that needs to be taken into consideration when making plans.

I went to a soccer game with a group of people the other night. It was the first game of the season, and the local team, Beitar Jerusalem, was playing their cross-country rival, HaPoel Tel Aviv. Beitar's fans are notorious for being rowdy, and they did not disappoint. The term I heard used most often by the fans by far was Ben Zona!, which was directed at either the referee, the opposing players, or just this cursed life in general which denies the soccer fan his true desires. The first word, Ben, means son. I'll let you guess the rest. Another cheer was quite simply, Ani Soneh Poel!, translating to "I hate Poel!" Definitely no sportsmanship points to be found here! The Poel fans were really loud too and represented well. Overall, it was a sick time, but unfortunately neither team scored, which really was the worst thing that could have happened, as I wasn't particularly supporting either side.

This past Wednesday and Thursday nights in downtown Jerusalem the Beer Festival was going on, with beers from all over the world and great concerts, all for relatively cheap. The first night I actually saw a band I was familiar with, Hadag Nachash, who I'd seen in Ann Arbor when they came to perform. Unlike concerts in the United States, it was rather easy to work my way to the front. The next night we arrived too late, and weren't allowed in since it was full, so, along with my friend Uri, we spent the night making some rounds at a couple bars.

Friday was an awesome day. A lot of people had gone to Tel Aviv to chill on the beaches for the weekend, but I'd decided to stay and hang out in Jerusalem. I went downtown mid-morning and explored the area around the bustling Ben-Yehuda street. There was a lot going on everywhere I turned, with tons of shops and restaurants and people everywhere. Naturally, there were cats, but I was fortunate enough to stumble upon a group that was exclusive. The park where the Beer Festival was at was now hosting a Reggae Festival, and it was amazing. The music was terrific and the vibe was fun and hilarious. It was funny listening to the performers throw in Reggae phrases in Israeli accents, like "Good Vibrations Rasta Ya," not to mention the wild people who were jamming out, or playing with the water guns that were supplied by the festival. I had to leave early to try to catch the last bus in order to make it back to my dorm, but I ended up missing it and had to take a cab.

Two nights ago I walked with my roommate, Hannah, with the goal of making it to the downtown area where I'd been on Friday. After about a half hour, we missed our target and entered the Old City, in which we got lost multiple times among the narrow alleys and complicated infrastructure. It was cool, though. We were primarily in the Arab (or perhaps Muslim, I've heard the name may have changed) quarter, which tours and such don't generally go to. It was a bit uncomfortable being out of our element, but we met some really nice people and had some good food and hookah for cheap, and it was really interesting. At one point, seemingly thousands of people flocked together to go pray, presumably at the Dome of the Rock. We tried following, but were stopped by the Israeli police since we (apparently blatantly obviously) weren't Muslim. Throughout the alleys there were tons of children running around. For the most part it was cute and refreshing, but there were some kids who would clearly and deliberately do their best to get a look up Hannah's dress. She also got lots of looks from men and the frequent comment, which was also rather uncomfortable. Hannah suggested that the fact that hers were likely the first pair of uncovered shoulders most men had seen in public in a while had a lot to do with it. Unfortunately I didn't bring my camera, so I was only able to get one snapshot with my phone of a random cardboard box filled with baby chicks, but suffice it to say that it was a very interesting cultural experience.

Not In Kansas Anymore

So I made it. Hard to believe that it's only been two weeks. Certainly overdue for a blog update...

My man Ronen met me at the airport early in the morning and we took a bus back to his place in Tel Aviv. Despite being a little hopped up from not sleeping the previous night, Ronen made the awesome suggestion that the first thing I do upon my arrival is swim in the Mediterranean Sea, only about two blocks from his apartment. And so we did, at about 8 in the morning. Threw the frisbee around on the beautiful beach before embarking to Jerusalem to register for my program.

It was a bit of a trek, carrying all my luggage and whatnot, but eventually we made it. I quickly came to the realization, which would come to be reinforced time and again, that things work differently in Israel. The registration process was rather disorganized. I ended up waiting for a good four hours and wasn't able to get my pre-ordered cell phone until later in the week. Not to be a downer, however. Life is different here, not necessarily worse. People are warm, but not particularly receptive. For instance, cars will stop for you at a crosswalk to allow you to pass, but they'll come awfully close to you to show that they're not completely pleased about it. Also, cats are everywhere. And people, I suppose understandably, aren't too thrilled about it. But I love it! Kitties! Another thing is the security. Almost anywhere you go, guards check your bags. And before we enter any university building we have to show our student IDs.

I live in a dormitory on the Mount Scopus (named as such for it's view of the city) campus of Hebrew University in what's called the Students-Village, or Kfar HaStudentim. I'm in a five-bedroom apartment, and I've got 3 roommates. I had 4, but the last, an Israeli graduate student, Tzachy, who showed me and another roommate and good friend, Hannah, around the old city and to his favorite hummus joint (a highly debated issue), recently left to India. I've got my own room which is pretty nicely sized, and there's a kitchen and a bathroom. To save water, there are two flush buttons!

The weekend here is on Friday and Saturday, but from Sunday-Thursday I am in the Ulpan, an intensive language immersion program. It starts at 8:15 AM and goes until 1:15 PM, with 45 minutes of break-time, whence we go outside and lay around the grass under the hot sun in the middle of the nice campus. It's learning Hebrew the whole time. The material is fine, and the teachers do their best to mix the lessons up to keep it from getting tedious, but the fact of the matter is that we're learning one subject continuously, so it gets boring. Waking up early and constantly being in class reminds me a lot of high school. Bleh. It's cool, though, that I'm greatly improving in Hebrew, albeit a rather specified skill. In a more general sense, I suppose learning a language offers a special type of learning, which is good for my brain. Ish? It's also rather fascinating how many different types of people come to Israel to learn Hebrew (the Ulpan is required by the International Program that I'm on, but not exclusively associated with it). In my class alone there are Jews from France and a Far East country (disclaimer: not to say that they're all the same and lack individuality. I just don't know the dude too well), non-Jews from Spain and the U.K., and Arabs from Jerusalem.

Outside of the Ulpan, life is great. I'm meeting tons of people from all over the world, although primarily from the U.S. and Canada. The program I'm on offers activities to make our stay here more enjoyable, like a hike in the Golan that I went on last weekend, or tours of the city. There's a really nice gym that I joined right across the street (Name that quote: "I've been keeping busy... I joined a gym." Answer.) with great exercise equipment and a lot of nice tennis courts that I've been playing on with some people I met from the program. We're a bit isolated from downtown Jerusalem, so it's been a bit more difficult than I would have hoped to mingle with Israelis, but it helps that I've got friends here, who I've met up with a couple times and have met some of their friends too. It's about a 15 minute bus-ride to the center of the city. There is a bangin' falafel joint right down the street which, hard as it is to say, is even better than my beloved Pita Kabob in Ann Arbor. They fry up the falafel right in front of you and it is delicious.

So the Ulpan goes until the 24th of September. The day after, I'm flying to Athens and then going on a 9-day Greek Islands tour, then 3 nights in Istanbul. It will be a nice present for finishing. I have an advising appointment in about 10 days to sign up for classes, which start October 16.

I've been wondering a lot what I'm doing here. I spent so much time awaiting and preparing for this, and now it's finally here, and I'm thinking, "So I'm here... but why, again?" This is, I suppose, part of the whole experience, growing and whatnot. I am indeed meeting lots of people, learning about the world, and myself, and even branching out and dancing with Arabs at a Hostel in the North. So I'm okay with the wondering. I'm not worried about it, and not seeking any sort of conclusion. But it's what's been on my mind occasionally so I thought I'd share.

Oh. And I think I've decided to come home in January and February, and then go to study in Tel Aviv, rather than my initial plan of traveling around Europe during the break. It'll be fun to go to sporting events and hang out with my friends who won't be abroad and whatnot. And my family, too. What up.

Meeting up with my great friend Nir tomorrow and together going to the North to Ronen's Kibbutz, apparently within walking distance of Lebanon, for a girl's birthday party. It's located on a river. I'm really excited to meet people and see a new lifestyle.

לילה טוב חברים = Laila Tov Chaverim = Good Night Friends