Portugal

I've been home for about a month.  I can't say if my lack of updates have been due to lack of motivation or lack of free time (lack, lack, lack, lack, annnd the meaning is gone), but I would still very much like to succinctly describe the last couple weeks of my time overseas, before the memories lose their freshness and become jumbled together as one. 

Portugal.  Awesome place.  Before I delve into exactly why, I want to say that I 100% value diversity and am by no means anti-immigration.  But one of the reasons why I liked Portugal so much was that it seemed like almost everyone there was Portuguese.  This may seem like it'd be obvious, but, when compared to Spain, where Chinos (don't worry – it's not an offensive term) dot every popular street corner (and there are muchísimos in Madrid) selling cans of beer and invading your personal space advertising worthless doohickeys which may or may not light up and/or spin, that is, of course, when they're not peddling more generally undesirable shit out of their nondescript, murky-windowed Chino shops (the Spanish version of the dollar store), Portugal's purity was a beautiful thing.  There were less tourists, too.  All in all, Portugal seems to have done well to resist the degeneration of quaint, attractive spots at the expense of tourists seeking out the non-tourist route, which, naturally, turns such discoveries into a tarnished tourist spot.  Lisbon was rich with reminders of Portugal's impressive history of conquest and exploration.  It seemed like a terrific place to live – beautiful, active but calm, and full of the ever-desired, oft-inexplicable good vibes.  Our hotel was in Cascais, about 30 minutes north of Lisbon.  Such a lovely place.  Charmingly quiet, but not lacking a dynamic, intriguing downtown strip.  Oh, and tremendous beaches.  I got lost on my own walking around a marina at one point, but the experience served only to improve my lofty opinion of the country and its people.  One beach, in particular, was the 2nd best beach I've ever been on, behind only Positano in Italy.  It was so vast, so deep, with such beautiful sand – some points steep sand-dune-like slopes even – all surrounded by a gorgeous red cliff which looked westward out into the seemingly endless Atlantic.  That day was a hard one to top.  The Portuguese are very friendly, and their language is intriguing – it looks almost identical to Spanish and is structured accordingly, but it sounds nothing like it.  I thought it sounded quite like Russian, in fact.  It was kind of strange, alien-sounding really, with lots of sh's and ch's which gave the flow a curious timbre.  Then, I went to Amsterdam.  Now that's a language.  The problem was that, unlike Portugal and much of Spain, the Dutch are essentially all fluent English speakers.  Well, it's a problem when you forget that, anyway.  

First thoughts of being Home

Well, I'm home.  As the end of the program and the subsequent end of my year-long journey approached, I did my best not to allow myself to lament at how quickly time had passed or much I would miss Madrid or my friends once I was home, nor did I fall prey to the potentially-depressing compare-and-contrast of life in the States and life elsewhere.  Instead, I went through each week, each day, each moment, as though it were independent – a moment to be enjoyed as it was, void of deep contemplation about how I'd look back upon it in the future or how much I'd awaited it.  Even on the plane home, I did not think much about America.  I didn't make a list of foods I was eager to eat or people I was excited to see.  My adventure was not ending.  I spent a lot of time alone this past semester, mostly of my own choice.  I lost my phone in Rome and I decided to forego getting a new one for the final six-or-so weeks I was there.  I think the experience spurred on an extra level of awareness and perspective.  As the day approached when I would again land in America, this time with no set plans to leave anytime soon, I tried not to grow despondent, and instead realized that it's not where you're at, but who you are and what you've got.  Anywhere you go, you can meet that person or have that moment of overwhelming exultation.  

Home's been a little slow so far.  It seems nothing has changed.  This is a good thing, in some ways, but it also exemplifies a static lifestyle which is quite different than the one I've been living for the past year.  I'm eager to get my summer going, but before I get too far into this next adventure, I'd like to reflect on the last month, which, filled to the brim, was exhausting and perfect.  

Before spring break, I hadn't left Madrid since arriving.  The last month or of my Spanish vida was essentially the antithesis of that.  Every day in Spain was a special one, each an improvement on the previous.  My weekends, though, were for the most part spent away from my host-country.  The trips were meant to be somewhat spread out for a nice balance of time both in and out of España, la puta madre, but a certain somebody, the often very calm and collected but occasionally disruptive and ill-tempered, Mr. Eyjafjallajökull, had different plans in mind.  

The volcano erupted about mid-week as Thursday the 15th of April approached, in which Matt, Ricky and I were scheduled to fly out on our long-awaited journey to Amsterdam.  I didn't think too much about the potential consequences of the eruption, but when, on the morning of the 15th, I read on Iberia's website that all flights out of Spain were cancelled, I was devastated.  I had been so very pumped to go, all set with a list of parks, museums, coffee shops, tulip markets, etc. to see, and I was all of a sudden left with an unrelenting, helpless situation.  There was simply nothing we could do to get to Amsterdam, or anywhere.  It was a frustrating morning, but, luckily, my intuitive mother did me a huge favor and contacted the airline for me and was able to maneuver a switcheroo for two weekends later.  Matt and Ricky likewise switched their flights, so, presto, another weekend in Madrid was in order.  It was a bit of a slap in the face that those who had left a day earlier were so unfortunately stranded in Paris, London, Munich etc., but it turned out that many of them had to catch über-long bus-rides back to Spain in the end.  So it all worked out, but, like I say, it certainly made the last few weeks much more jam-packed.   

Italy was amazing, probably the best trip of my life.  Went to so many places – Rome, Venice, Florence, Siena, Capri, Anacapri, Sorrento, Positano, Pompeii, Mt. Vesuvius, Naples – with a really great group of friends as well as my cousin Ben, who came to meet us from Israel, where he's doing some volunteering.  Rome was off the chain.  So much to see, great food, an easily navigable city, and overall a great vibe, independent of the more overt awe-inspiring aspects (see: Pantheon, Roman Forum, Coliseum, Vatican, etc.).  Venice was gorgeous and my cousin and I (we separated from the group, taking an overnight train from Roma) had a fantastic time which we surely will never forget.  Also had a great opportunity to go to a Sephardic Passover service and then eat at a terrific seder with people from all over the world.  Florence was.  Hm.  My first inclination is to call it overrated, but I have to give credence to the fact that it was tarnished by a few factors.  A lot of people really love Florence and say that it's so beautiful and nice and quaint.  It was quaint, indeed, but the smallness only served to emphatically emphasize the exorbitant number of tourists/people studying abroad which made English by far the most common language heard (we were there for the busiest, most touristy week of the year).  I was wowed by Michaelangelo's David, could have looked at it for hours, although I wouldn't say the renown Uffizi museum was worth the 3-hour wait.  Botticelli was incredible, but I'd had more than enough of my fill of images of baby Jesus.  It is a beautiful city, with a gorgeous Duomo (Italian cities are all about their Duomos) and the Ponte Vechio bridge, particularly with the enchanting view from the Plaza di Michaelangelo, but people had hyped it up to be like walking through a gorgeous museum; at parts this was moderately accurate, but on the whole it fell a bit short of what I was expecting.  Siena was beautiful, and a great remedy to the tourist-crazed Florence.  I'll never forget the advice a hat salesman named Gianni gave us: Happiness is harmony with the universe, and it is spontaneous; looking for happiness rarely takes you there.  Then the final leg of the trip, an organized tour of the Amalfi coast, was phenomenal.  Lemons the size of your head, literally.  Positano, with its black sand surrounded by cliffs and mountains, was the best beach I've ever been to.  Pompeii and Vesuvius were almost overwhelming in their portrayal of the passing of time and the power of nature, respectably.  Naples reminded me of Detroit, although with a touch more gaiety (their Duomo: beautiful, beautiful building overlooking a delightfully charming plaza.  Except there's trash everywhere. And there are weeds growing out of every crevice, on the steps, the colonnade, the basilica.  And those two impressive statues in the center?  Covered in bird shit.  But the people don't care; soccer balls being passed around, kids riding bikes, men [perhaps mafia; it is, after all, the mafia capital of Italy] laughing together). Overall, Italy is... 

-Kingdom of carbohydrates

-Wine

-Gelato!

-Shiny, poofy coats

-Hair gel

-Stoic Italian faces

-And I would venture a guess it's arguably the most beautiful country in the world, with its endless green, rolling fields of Tuscany amidst a brilliant mountainous background, jaw-dropping cliffside views on the Amalfi coast, and spectacular historical relics, just to name a few...

Spain!  Spain's awesome.  Since I've been back from Italy I've put in a conscious effort to get out during the day and see the city and all it offers, and I absolutely love it.  Madrid has got to be one of the most livable cities in the world.  It's so incredibly lively and animated, and there's practically anything one could want in a city.  Almost every day I'll walk around the city, mostly toward/around my favorite tri-barrio region of Tribunal/Noviciado/Chueca and get such a terrific natural high from everyone just doing their thang Madrileño-style.  I love sitting in coffee shops, and either people-watching or reading.  You order a café con leche and you can sit there for hours; no one will come up to you and ask if you'd like the check; that table is yours as long as you want it.  Spaniards have so many idiosyncrasies.  Super friendly people, for the most part (compare: Italians).  Never in a hurry.  In fact, they go out of their way to not be in a hurry: on one side of the escalator you're meant to walk, and on the other you're meant to stand.  The line for the latter is ALWAYS loads longer than the former, but people simply don't care to take the quicker option.  Spaniards need a knife to peel their fruit.  They never eat the peel of anything – apples, pears, etc. (yet they feast on pig's blood and squid ink – go figure).  They prefer their bread to be without the crust (case in point: at the supermarket, a loaf of wheat bread with crust is 79 cents.  A loaf of white bread without crust is 2.50).  They're seemingly always drinking, but never drunk.  Love their pigs.  Well, dead, cured, pigs.  Cannot fathom the notion of vegetarianism.  Totally uninspired in their cooking.  This is how we do it, no questions asked.  We do not want to put lettuce on this or any sandwich.  We do not carry hot sauce in our house; such nonsense is for Mexicans.  An omelette should have one ingredient only.  An omelette that has just eggs is French.  If you leave without saying goodbye, you're practicing French culture.  French tennis players are no good.  I believe what I believe, even if it isn't true.  But if you don't agree, meh, no pasa nada, tío.  

Wish I had more time to write a more comprehensive blog, but it seems as if I've waited a bit too long, for I am headed to the airport in about 50 minutes en route to Italy for spring break. Woo!

Quickly, though, I am really having a great time in Madrid. There are so many awesome areas to go to, so many beautiful parks, so much to do! It's amazing.

My birthday was one of, if not the very best. On Friday, the 19th (mine is the 20th), I went with a trip that was offered through my program on a bus ride to Valencia for the culmination of Las Fallas festival. Throughout the week, the various towns around Valencia create absolutely massive, ornately detailed floats, with satirical themes (I guess I'm not down enough with Spanish culture/politics to know what they were really satirizing. It also didn't help that, like in Barcelona [crap, I didn't even blog about that, did I?], they have their own dialect which I couldn't really decipher, despite being somewhat similar to Spanish.) Anyway, the last night of the week-long festival, Friday, is when they BURN 'EM DOWN in colossally epic fires which are by no means safe but by all accounts wondrous. Throughout the day, leading up to the burning at midnight (and my birthday, of course!), there were explosions and firecrackers and whatnot booming constantly. On more than one occasion I momentarily lost hearing, and on even more occasions I saw little kids lighting things on fire. It amazed me that, as far as I could tell (for I didn't see many limbs lying astray), very few people were getting hurt. I suppose that was really the only difference, along with the utter jovial attitude and various tents lining the streets selling delectable treats and drinks, between the streets of Valencia on the last day of Fallas and the Gaza Strip. Actually, I guess there was really only one similarity between the two, but still, the comparison did come into my mind multiple times (I can't tell if that's too racy of a thing to say. I don't mean to be political. But I do keep it real. And I know that there's loud shit going off randomly within the Gaza Strip. Oh – and the crowds. That's a definite similarity. Yikes, I did not intend to do a compare and contrast essay between Las Fallas and Gaza Strip. But here I am. Carry on.). I met some cool people, accidentally (I swear) dined-and-dashed, and had my personal space violated time and again as the hour of the Crema, the burning, approached. It finally did, and yes, it was awesome, and yes, I'm kind of a pyromaniac.

On Saturday, I waited in line for OH MY GOD 4 HOURS for Real Madrid tickets, but it was totally worth it. I went with my man Bobby, who's been living here for a little more than a year, and we had a great time, and then went out after and did a fairly nice job representin' the 21st año.

Ummm. Family came March 5 - 12. Was great! (Yes, I'm giving you 6 words.) And my Spanish family is going really well. I've got a lot of anecdotes and thoughts on Spanish culture (as cool as they are for going out 'til 6 a.m. and not really caring about anything, they're kind of... big pussies [since it's in parentheses it's okay to use vulgarity, right?]).

Excited to see Italy and get a comparison! Here we go!!

If there is one word I would have to delegate to epitomize the Spanish mindset, at least as is effused by Madrid, it would be "nada."  Firstly, you hear it everywhere: Bump into someone?  Nada.  Received a favor?  Nada.   The soccer team just lost, of which you're a diehard fan?  Nada.  Above all, nada, which, as you ought to know, means "nothing," is, to me, the fitting metaphor for the Spanish lifestyle.  It's extremely carefree, and it pervades everywhere.  Walking down just about any street, you're almost certain to find a bar.  And within that bar, you're going to find people.  Depending on the location and particular place, the clientele will range from late teens to well into the octogenarian realm (the first time I ever heard such a word, octogenarian [or any of its accomplices], I thought it entirely ridiculous and unnecessary, but I've since come to embrace it).  Spanish old people are the starkest example of the nada lifestyle, but it doesn't take much time to realize that the ideal life of any Spaniard would be to sit and drink cañas (a pleasantly-small serving of beer from the tap) all day, served alongside, of course, tapas.  These small, variable portions of snacks, which are often served free-of-charge, too exemplify the lifestyle of ease and comfort.  Tapas bars also each have a way of their own, with some geared more toward the young hipsters and others toward the vets.  One of my favorite places is called El Tigre (meaning "The Novelist" [not!]), which serves up a delectable plate of unexpected snacks, ranging from potatoes to spanish omelette to various types of pork (<-- this would be the second word to epitomize Spain) served over small pieces of bread, all free of charge with the purchase of a two-euro caña.  The place is in a very alternative barrio called Chueca, quite close to the school, and is almost always packed to the brim.  You'd be hard-pressed to find the older generations reveling in the Spanish nightlife, though, in the same manner as the younguns do.  On just about any given night, but particularly from Wednesday to Saturday, it's quite standard to begin the night out at around midnight and continue on well past 4 AM.  In fact, it is common practice to stay out until 6 to catch the first ride of the morning metro, which shuts down between 1:30 – 6:00.  I've started the acclimation process, and have accordingly experienced a fair amount of seriously late, or perhaps early, nights.   

The nada metaphor illuminates the easy-going, live-for-the-moment lifestyle of Spain which is quite admirable.  It's different from Israel.  There, you've got the daily battle of balancing the epicentral nature of the land and the history with a desire to enjoy life in the present day.  It's not nearly as... light, in a word.  But it's something that I really liked while I was there.  In comparison, it's almost like Spain is missing something.  I couldn't say which lifestyle I like better.  They are, on the surface, quite similar, in fact, particularly the youth scene.  I'm digging Madrid more and more each day.  There is anything and everything one could want in this city.  It's similar to New York.  With a kick-ass Palace.  And, of course, the museums are amazing.  And the parks.  And the nightlife.  And the street markets.  And the plazas, which pop up just about every block.  If you're ever in Madrid and you're looking for an area, it will do you absolutely no good to say, "I'm looking for Plaza ... something."  The weather has been uncharacteristically poor, with lots of rain, and even snow on one or two occasions.  This past Sunday, though, I went with Ricky and Matt to the famous street market, el Rastro, and the weather was absolutely gorgeous.  We had a killer time and I cannot wait for the weather to make a permanent turn for the better.  I must say, though, I miss Israel quite dearly.  That place, man, it's something else.  

Oh, I switched my home-stay.  Toñi was a stand-up lady, but it wasn't the situation I wanted, and an opportunity came up which allowed me to switch.  Now, I live with a couple, Visi and Tito, and their 28-year-old journalist daughter, Vita.  They're very well fed (<-- Dig that euphemism) and Visi is a great cook.  She, seemingly like many Spanish women of her generation, is the ultimate housewife.  On many occasions, immediately after finishing dinner, which we eat around 9:15, she'll start preparing for the next day's meal.  I've got the whole basement to myself, equipped with a solid study area, TV with DVD player, and a pool table.  It's a house in sort of a condominium-like complex, and it's actually in the same complex as Matt and Ricky, who live literally two doors down.  I'm really happy with the move; it's a much preferable situation.  

My classes are quite good as well.  I've got two history classes, which are kinda similar, focusing on the monotheistic religions, both in their development and influence on Medieval Europe.  In addition to Spanish, I've got a Psychology class which I'm really digging and a course on Modern Spanish Art, which is taught in Spanish, and includes trips to museums about twice a month.  I've been to the Prado with it three times now, and I am now trained and equipped to drop some heavy, Goya-filled bombs of knowledge on your ass.  

My family is coming tomorrow!!  Well, everyone except Papa Bear.  We're going to Barcelona until Tuesday afternoon, then we'll hang out around Madrid until they leave next Friday in the morning.  I can't wait!!  And, BASEBALL'S BACK!  Wow!  I remember watching (gulp) the Tigers last game from Istanbul in October like it was just last week.  Crazy.  Bueno.  ¡Hasta luego!

Welcome to Spain!

After an entirely-too-long stay in the Newark Airport, the group, which had steadily grown in number as the hours passed, boarded the plane en route to Madrid. Earlier in the day I'd hit the jackpot and was able to change my seat to the aisle of the exit row – cha-ching! I was sat next to two classily-dressed Spaniards who gave me a preview of the plentiful sweaters and corduroys I'd apparently be seeing during my time in Spain. I slept most of the way, and could feel my unexpected nerves brewing as the plane got closer to the opposite side of the Atlantic.

Shortly after landing and gathering our bags, the group was led to a cluster of buses and shuttles and, before even getting a chance to say what up to the city which would host us for the following three-and-a-half months, we were on our way to Toledo, the first stop on our seminar. It would turn out to be not only a nice, well-rounded tour of Spain but also a very interesting educational experience filled with intriguing lectures and exceptional monument-visits which displayed the (personally previously-unknown) fascinating and multi-layered history of the country. In addition to immediately hitting it off with my man Ricky and his twin Matt, I quickly became acquainted with a couple other guys who I've found to be really good company.

Toledo was a relatively small, but quaint, town with a pleasant main square surrounded by a labyrinth of side streets. Every block seemed to have at least three shops filled with a plethora of swords and knives, and our hotel was medieval-themed, including myriad knightly armor suits and numerous uncomfortable, noble, high-backed chairs. The perplexity of such a situation was solved when we learned that Toledo apparently is the sword capital of the world, in fact producing many of the weapons used by Hollywood. At one point we walked into a shop which claimed to be the supplier and I got real kick out of watching Matt and Ricky nearly orgasm at holding replicas of Lord of the Rings battle gear. I hadn't planned on it, but decided to purchase a nice pocket knife, made out of bull horn, because, hey, when am I ever gonna be back in the sword capital of the world? Knives are small swords, right? It seemed like a logical, reasonably pragmatic decision, and I feel really badass playing with it, which is always a plus.

The average day in the seminar, which covered the fall of the Roman Empire in around 475 CE, the subsequent Visigoth (German) occupation, the Islamic Conquest in 711, and the Christian Re-conquest around 1100, included a lecture or two and a visit or two to one of the many historical, epically beautiful buildings housed in Spain. Being an historical epicenter of the three monotheistic religions, and in accordance with the theme of the seminar, almost all of our visits were to churches/cathedrals, mosques, and a synagogue. Each city we visited (Toledo for 3 days, Cordoba for 2, Seville for 2, and Granada for 3) continued to spew out astounding structures which have all blended together in my memory as a group of unbelievably beautiful, incredibly detailed and ornamented structures ripe with history and reeking of the longevity and potential of man's capabilities and artistry. The professor who ran the seminar was one of those guys who seems to know everything, and is good at explaining what he knows, so he was a terrific guide and I learned a tremendous amount of interesting information.

I enjoyed getting acquainted to Spain via Toledo, where I had some terrific tapas and started the ongoing process of adapting my stomach to the mass amounts of pork to be seen and inevitably eaten. It's not the place to go for nightlife, but I look back on it fondly and am very glad I had the opportunity to roam its streets and meet some of the locals. The man who sold me my knife was particularly memorable – very likable and personable. I really appreciate a person like that.

Cordoba was a quick stop. We went to a monument – the Great Mosque – which, like many others, had gone through various religious-identities resulting from the various ruling factions of the land. This particular one was a grandiose mosque with an epic cathedral built in the middle. One of the themes of the trip was comparing not only practices and cultures of the various religions but also the art and architecture, which was very interesting. My experience here was marred a bit when, after the visit, walking on a promenade lined with orange trees, I jumped up with the intent of grabbing a couple and juggling, but landed on a strange, inconveniently placed ledge and turned my ankle pretty badly. Naturally, we got lost walking back to our hotel, and that was certainly not the most ideal post-ankle-sprain situation. I did quite like the city, which, somewhat similar to Toledo, had a sort of antique charm to it with its cobblestone, windy roads (also not ideal for a twisted ankle) and such.

The somewhat long bus rides between cities were a stark reminder of how much bigger Spain is than Israel. I enjoyed them though, particularly looking out at the endless rows of olive trees, looking first straight out through the alleyways the rows of crops created, then the two diagonal alleyways on either side of the straight-away view. I think it was the ride from Cordoba to Seville in which I was feeling so high on life. I was totally digging Spain. It inspired in me the same feeling I get from a new pair of fresh sneakers. Smooth and kickin'.

Seville was my favorite city of the tour, by far. Amazing monuments, check. Epic nightlife (here was my first exposure to the almost [<--- keyword] over-the-top Spanish discotheque outings of dancing the entire night away), check. And probably the best thing I've seen yet, which wasn't included in our tour, an unbelievable plaza which I heard (but not confirmed) was erected in dedication to Christopher Columbus. This would make sense, as we also saw Columbus' tomb in Seville's cathedral. The massive, open structure (the plaza, not the tomb; Creepers.) was lined with beautiful intricately detailed benches, decorated with colored tiles depicting scenes which represented various cities of Spain. And it was so clean. I noticed that every city, in fact, seemed to make cleanliness a priority. At one point I climbed a staircase and looked out at the expanse from a sort of patio, and felt just like the Emperor of Rome about to give the go ahead to epically dispose of the gladiators of the Colliseum with whom the lions had totally just had their way. Or perhaps just saying hello to my onlookers. Either way, it was a cool sensation, and I guess I'd be down with being Emperor one day. Better start looking for internships I suppose!

Overall Seville was just cool. A unique Spanish-European city, streets filled with delicious tapas bars and elegantly lined with orange trees. At one point we went to a park and had a ball (no pun intended) playing with the endless stream of oranges at our disposal. Apparently they're bitter and not to be eaten, so it's basically like having a ball tree. Then it explodes and gets you all sticky, but still, I would really dig a ball tree at home. I'd love to go back to Seville, and hope to once I figure out the Spanish bus system.

We then moved on to Granada, our last stop. By then I was growing a bit restless. I'd been living out of a suitcase for almost 3 weeks now (including my time at home in which I moved around a lot), the hotel dinners were taking their toll on my digestive system, and the seminar seemed to be dragging on. I was eager to arrive to Madrid already. The highlight of Granada was the Alhambra, a beautiful walled-city/palace stemming from the last faction of Islam before they were entirely eradicated from Spain, pushed out of the south in around 1492. At this point in history the group who remained in Granada knew they were the last of a dying breed (Muslims in Spain), so they dedicated their lives to beauty and elegance, with the Alhambra being their supreme wonder.

On January 26, we took the long ride north from Granada to Madrid. My nerves were brewing as we approached. I'd already learned who my host family would be: A 61-year-old widow named Toñi. I had requested to live with a family with someone my age, and I was initially quite disappointed about the prospect of living alone with one older woman. We made it to Madrid in the late afternoon and, after picking up my bags, I managed to unite with Toñi, who, along with other host mothers and families, were waiting next to the Real Madrid stadium where we were dropped off to take us to our respective homes.

The first night we'd been instructed not to go out. We didn't have phones. I didn't have internet at my place yet. Toñi spoke no English. She was nice, no doubt, but it was terribly lonesome. I felt miserable the next day, and angry that my housing wishes had seemingly been ignored.

As time has passed, though, I've grown more and more content with the living situation. In addition to being nice and caring, Toñi is a good cook and pretty goofy, albeit sometimes unintentionally. She has a sort of wispy, high pitched voice, with a distinct Spanish flair. Last night for dinner, the first course was peas. I asked, in spanish, "How do you say this in spanish?" "Guisantes," she answered, "y en ingles?" "Peas," I replied. "Qué fácil!" she exclaimed, in her unique, cutely-comical tone, "Vamos a comer peas." (How easy! We are going to eat peas.) It was really really funny and I laughed out loud.

So my housing has gotten better and I'm starting to feel comfortable in my room, and now I've got internet and a cell phone so I'm more connected. Plus, Ricky and Matt live very close so we go to the same Metro stop to get to town, which is about a 12-minute ride depending on where you get off (12 minutes to the Syracuse International Institute where our classes are). They live in a house about a 4-minute bus ride away, in a basement floor of their own, and I went the other day for a play-date.

Classes have started this week and they seem good enough, which is more than I could expect, particularly after last semester's debacle. I'm taking two classes in spanish: one standard grammar/vocab, and one on modern Spanish art in which we'll visit some of the many renown museums of Madrid each week. In addition to these, I've got a history class on Medieval Europe similar to the seminar but far more in depth, a Psychology class on Personality (I quite like the professor and the material so far), and one on Human Rights and World Politics.

Madrid is a big city and I'm still getting to know it. I walked around one day on my own for quite a while (so long, in fact, that I really grew to admire those who do walking marathons. Walking is hard!) and I quickly learned there are many different areas with a unique life of their own within the city. It's similar to New York City, but more calm. I heard that Madrid was determined to be one of the noisiest cities in Europe, but I would have to beg to differ. I hear much less honking and people seem kind of reserved. I'm still getting to know the Spanish culture as well, but they seem like fun-loving people, although less overtly polite and friendly than Americans, which is not necessarily a bad thing, for the latter could easily be deemed as insincere. I've found that being genuine is one of the factors I value most in people. I haven't fallen in love with the city yet, but I will give it time. I'm planning on going to its supposedly-most beautiful park this weekend and to a flea market which is meant to be a memorable experience.

And I booked my spring break trip to Italy, from March 26 to April 6. A couple buddies and I are flying into Rome and then out of Milan, and along the way hope to hit Florence, Venice, Naples, and anywhere else anyone would care to recommend. Excited for that! And excited to continue to grow and see the world and this city and country. Hasta luego!!

From Newark Airport, January 15

I am currently sitting in the Newark airport, on a 7+-hour layover awaiting my flight to Madrid tonight. I'd heard pretty lackluster reports about Newark, and a cursory glance out the window as my plane descended more than confirmed this reputation. The interior is quite nice, to be fair, although after getting off the plane I wandered for a frantic while wondering who the wise-guy was who decided on the bathroom allocations. I've settled down now in a coffee shop, and feel it's a good time, perhaps the best time I've ever had, to write an entry.

Israel was unbelievable. The last few weeks couldn't have been better. From the all-night/day covert desert party on Hanukkah, to visiting Bethlehem on Christmas Eve, to spending treasured time with my friends in the Kfar and portraying our savvy party-throwing skills, to renting a car and traveling almost the entire north in a span of about 36 hours, it was a jam-packed month which emphatically placed the cherry on top of the trip of a lifetime. I saw so much of the country, many different kinds of people, from jovial Palestinians in Bethlehem to high-spirited Ethiopians celebrating Hanukkah as they feasted on Jelly Donuts (or Sufganiyot – by far the most manifest representation of Hanukkah in Israel, far surpassing the menorah or latkes), and, of course, my Israeli friends. I can't say enough about how much they affected my trip. Thanks to them I was easily able to break away from the bubble of the study abroad program and explore more of the authentic Israel, as I met their friends and families and lived their lives alongside them. The nature of the program, and the country, made this difficult to do otherwise. Particularly because of the army: everyone around my age is in it, and since Jerusalem is mostly dead on the weekends because of Shabbat, there wasn't so much exposure to these people. All the people studying were older, and, because of the nature of the Israeli education system, took their studies very seriously. So, in addition to just being incredible people and better friends than I could ever hope for, my Israeli companions had a profoundly positive effect on my entire experience.

The last few days particularly were a mixed bag of emotions. On the last night, many people came over to my apartment and we sat around together, just living and laughing, having a great time. My flight left at around 7 AM, so I pulled an all-nighter as I waited to be picked up at 3:30. As I made it onto my plane, many of the tough feelings I'd been going through – sadness, regret, longing – were displaced by an overwhelming joy of having gone through such a legit experience. Looking back, I just killed it. It was a 10 out of 10. I saw so much, so many different perspectives and viewpoints, learned so much about myself, people, the world, life, felt so much. Nothing but great thoughts about Israel. It's such a crazy, unbelievable, altogether unexplainable place. Living there for an extended period of time was an incredible experience which will stay with me for the remainder of my life.

There are just so many aspects coming from all directions of time and space which go into making Israel what surely must be one of the, if not the, craziest place on Earth. I'll arbitrarily start with the history. For nearly 3,000 years, people have been fighting over the land. Ancient walled cities which today house bustling street markets and modern apartments stand as stark reminders of the almost seemingly endless past of the country. The last century, after the fall of the Ottoman Empire and the rise of Zionism, with the subsequent independence of the Israeli State, has brought an amazingly fascinating sequence of events. Indeed, the country's significance, which has been prominent, particularly in the monotheistic religious world, has probably only increased in the last 100 years. The world exposure certainly has. A lot of the history is ripe with conflict, which is an unfortunate portrayal of humanity, but there is so much more. Even today, the people represent an incredibly eclectic, rich, varying culture. The ongoing Israeli-Palestinian conflict is a shame, indeed, but it makes Israel all the more distinct and, in a word, wild. There's been so much strife, but an equal amount of bravery and cunning. When you look at the first ten or so years of Israel's existence, it's almost a miracle that the country still remains. The government, of course, has its faults, but one must commend them for making Israel a world powerhouse, respected on many fronts, notably for more than just their military prowess. Like my time spent in the country, they're so legit. Jerusalem is perhaps the paramount representation of the unending buffet of elements which are in play in the country. There are so many different kinds of people living there: staunchly religious Jews who don't even think Jews are meant to be in Israel before the Messiah comes, Arabs who feel their home has been tarnished, secular Jews who just love to live and just as well might live in any other city in the world, Arabs who appreciate the opportunities they're given which otherwise might not be available in other areas, and more. It's just so... crazy. And I was there. I was right there. The windows from classroom overlooked the West Bank. I went through checkpoints. I saw the conflict manifest itself in everyday life, from entering buildings to riding busses. Yet, and I cannot emphasize this enough, there is so much more than conflict. There's an ever-present love of life. A cultural consciousness of truth and reality which I've learned is not nearly so prevalent in the United States. It's a special, special place, and I cannot say enough of my experience there. So much fun, so much truth, so much value. Lifelong friends. Moments and images which will stick with me forever, and surely many others which will resurface from the depths of my memory at random times throughout my life. 10 out of 10.

My time at home was as good as I could have hoped it to be. A lot of mixed feelings about lifestyle and culture and belonging. Seeing my sisters in New York for the first few days was wonderful, and I'm proud of our relationship and theirs together. Spending time with my parents was great, and I feel my experience thus far has helped me gain a great appreciation of them. Seeing my friends was terrific; there's nothing like great friends who you can see only rarely but pick things right back up where they were left. Spent a fair amount of time in Ann Arbor, a lot of it with mah gurl Gummy (Clare), who I successfully converted to a Tigers fanatic when we lived together during spring term and the summer, and it couldn't have gone better. I'll miss everyone dearly while I'm gone, but I'm excited to meet more people, see more life, and just live live live. 2009 was easily the best year of my life, for many reasons. 2010 has started off terrifically and I can't wait to find out how it will play out. Here I go!

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.