Israel is at war. Again. Except this time I am here.

You may be wondering if I am scared. I am not nearly as freaked out as I would be if this was happening in Red Deer or Barrie (i.e. a one and a half hour drive away). I am no expert on the middle east, and of course, I have been getting a pretty one sided story here in Jerusalem, but I thought that you guys would like an update from over here.

From my labmates I get a sense sadness, frustration but also resignation to the inevitable. Sadness because no one wants to lead a life of violence. Killing people and having your own people killed is an awful way to live. Frustration because the “other side” has never accepted a compromise. And also because there is a Catch 22 with the international community; when Israel attacks as a response to pop shots over the border (which the locals consider war crimes because they target civilians), they are condemned. If they use "soft" measures such as closing borders, withholding money and trade, the international community also condemns them. Regardless, since Hamas declared the end of the ceasefire on December nineteenth, the Israelis communities around the Gaza border have been under endless attack from pop shots over the border (thank God they don’t have planes…yet) and Israel feels it inevitably has to respond to protect its citizens.

According to David, no matter what, people will be fighting to get rid of Israel. The truth of it is, he explained, is no country around here really likes Israel. A Jewish state, hoofing out many Arabs and Arab rule and controlling the holy city, grates on them, despite the fact that several countries have reluctantly admitted to their presence because there is no defeating a country that is so well internationally backed. I can't imagine that having trade restrictions and closed borders makes the Palestinians too happy either (Read the National Geographic article about Bethlehem from last year to get the picture about how sucky it is to be a Palistian just outside of Israel). David is also afraid by what he hears some of the Arabs are teaching their children. He listed off a few examples and it was real “Jews have horns” and “There never was a temple” kinda stuff. True of the general Palestinian populous? I don’t know, and I doubt it. But if George Bush in America can say “God has our back, so we can invade Iraq”, anything is possible in the middle east.

You have to remember all of my labmates, except the couple of religious ones, have been in the military and quite a few are still in the reserves. Even the boss was a naval commander (No kidding. It brings new meaning to “Oh Captain, my captain”). Several of them have seen serious action. A rocket landed 200 feet away from David during the tussle with Lebanon in 2006. He had put research in the lab on hold when he had been called back from the reserves to serve in the war. How would having your life threatened like that change how you think?

If Israel goes on a serious ground offensive into Gaza, how many of my labmates will disappear back into the army and life-threatening danger? I asked Asaf today if he thinks he will get called back. He said, “Sure, I am going tomorrow,” and then nonchalantly pushed a couple buttons on the spectrometer. I freaked out and was about to berate him for not spending the day with his wife and daughter. “Just kidding,” he said. “It is just a week for training, and anyway I usually get deployed to the north [near Lebanon] not near Gaza.”

And as for me, I don’t feel that unsafe. I won’t be trotting around East Jerusalem (the Arab part) with an Israeli flag or anything stupid. We will be keeping a mad eye on the news. If the embassy calls or the boss says it is time to leave (which he told me he would do in my interview) then we will go. I highly doubt that will happen.

As for the Arab moderates and the Arabs who live in Israel, I am not really sure what they are thinking. The middle aged Arab ladies who take out the garbage in the morning still smile and say “boker tov” (good morning) and flirt and laugh with Itzik, Mr. Jerusalem himself. So in many ways nothing has changed.

Boxing Day

Man it is cold in here and we are too cheap to put heaters on. Part of our problem might be our inactivity. After yesterday, today is our well deserved day off.

The sum total of today’s achievements: one load of laundry, and the consumption of two turkey and cranberry sandwiches, stuffing, apple crisp, tiramisu and of course, some raw green beans.

Christmas: the Dinner Party that could have gone Oh So Wrong

To spread the Christmas cheer, and after semi-pleading with the hubby to do this, James and I invited a bunch of my labmates and their significant others over for a traditional Christmas dinner. Since we are kinda poor right now, putting on a big Christmas party was my present from James. It was stressful and crazy at times, but it turned out to be one of the best X-Mas presents I have ever had.

James and I picked up Butch the Turkey at the grocery in the morning (If you are curious about the name, it came from the some Vinyl Café Siu sent me. Thanks Siu- it was awesome!). I had never really done a whole Christmas dinner all by my self before, so I was a little frightened. Our first surprise was when we took Butch out of the bag; he still had his neck. Hmmmm. What to do about that. After I unsuccessfully tried hacking it off with a knife, I stared at him for a few seconds like he was Nearly Headless Nick. “Quick, James,” I said “get the pliers!” And in a minute, Butch was neck-less. I thank my lucky stars Butch did not still have a head and feet.

We stuffed him and trussed him and popped him in our super dodgy oven, which is circa 1975, smaller than normal, has had the original range on top removed, and kept flipping the breaker until we plugged it into another plug. Did I stuff him right? Is the temperature in the oven OK? Is he too close to the element? Will he burn? This was all very stressful with 9 to eat that night.

As the afternoon wore on and James and I cleaned, moved furniture around and decorated, Butch started smelling better and better. So we just left him to do his thing in the oven. We got the potatoes peeled and cut, the apple crisp ready to go in the oven and nibbed a huge pile of green beans to be steamed in the last few minutes before dinner.

The guests started showing up at 6:30 and I put the potatoes on. Took Butch out of the oven and he smelled and looked amazing.

That is when things started to go wrong. Almost as soon as he walked through the door, one of the guests sprung some mild but unexpected Kosher requirements on me, so plans for creamed potatoes went out the window. But OK. No problem. I had used margarine in everything, not butter.

When I was making the gravy things started really to go wrong. The flour I bought turned out to be cream of wheat. (GRRRR. I need to learn Hebrew!) So, along with David, a Hebrew speaker at the party, I met the neighbors who had some flour, al beit, whole wheat flour. Beggars cannot be choosers. OK. Got flour. Make gravy.

As I was browning the gravy, the gas ran out on the stove. No problem. There is supposed to be an extra full tank on the balcony. I sent a couple of guys out to change the tanks.
But the extra tank of gas was empty too. ARGH! Son of a HOO HAW!

In the fifteen minutes of confusion, the potatoes finished cooking in their own hot water, but the giant pile of beans, they are still raw and now in my fridge. James and will have to be rabbits this week.

Despite all this, there was lots of food, nothing was burnt and only the beans went uncooked. The gravy was even tasty and Butch acquiesced to being carved with a large bread knife. Like a good host, I don’t remember tasting the food, but I hear it was good. David organized a quiz, which was a big hit and gave Assi and Amit something to argue about on their carpool back to Tel Aviv. Stockings were passed with David, square cushion under his sweater, acting as Santa. Israelis are not nearly as excited by the Jaffa orange in the toe as my Dad is.

Definitely the quote of the evening comes from Assi, who had been to New Jersey once during Christmas time and was complaining about the repetitive Christmas music in the malls. “I must have heard it 10 times,” he said. “This song about Gandalf the Deer”.

After the guests left, James and I cleaned up a bit and then rested our weary heads. This morning we called the landlord about the gas. The bad news is, we will not get gas until Sunday evening. The good news is, we have a behemoth pile leftovers in our fridge.
See, Christmas never happens exactly as you planned, but it always seems to work out in the end.

Christmas Eve

We trudged our way to St. Andrews Memorial on a very bleak and rainy night at to attend the midnight service. Poor James was falling asleep before the service, despite my many pokes to the rib cage, but he perked right up as soon as the Rev. opened his mouth. The Reverend’s whole body enunciated his words that boomed out to us in his thick Scottish accent. James, a connoisseur of accents, was enthralled.

The like most Christmas services, the crowd wasn’t too sure what to do when. But there was an added level of confusion because beside the C&E Christians, there were a few Jews scattered about, curious to see what all the fuss of Christmas was about.

On the way out the door, we landed a little treat: a Hanukkah doughnut which is much like a jelly filled doughnut at Timmies. These confections only show up during Hanukkah, and seem to be passed out everywhere: at work, at Hanukkah parties, on the street by dudes in big black hats, at church…. Needless to say, we have eaten a few doughnuts this week.

A Very Merry Christmas and A Happy Hanukah to all!

I am taking tomorrow off work. I figure there should be perks in being one of the few remaining practicing Christians. What this means is I won’t be on the internet again till Sunday, so merry Christmas everyone.

To ward off the Christmas lonelies, James and I invited my labmates over for dinner. I wasn’t expecting a big response from a group of Jews, but I underestimated the power of the promise of yummy food. Our dinner will be somewhere between 12 and 16 people. Yikes.

Finding a Turkey was a bit of a challenge. My internet searches for “Jerusalem Turkey” ended up with a lot of references to politics. Costi searched for me in Hebrew: “Yearooshalime Hodo” got a bunch of exotic pet websites. Who would have a turkey for a pet?!!! We eventually found a turkey source not too far from our place and when I talked to the butcher on Monday “Hodo, sheva Kilos. Bu-Hamishi be-boker” (Turkey, seven kilos, on Thursday in the morning” He replied with a shrug and “Why not?” This worries me. I’m sure it will be fine.

As you can imagine, finding a Christmas tree was a bit of a problem so I spent last Friday afternoon as the craft-a-ma-saurus an turned some corrugated green cardboard, a handle from a squeegee, a giant beer bottle and a whole lot of masking tape into a Christmas tree. The decorations are little Styrofoam balls coloured with Crayola markers and hung with parts of paperclips. The funny part was the guy was in tuning our piano while I was making this, so I am sure he was very confused by all the snip-snipping coming from the living room.

Speaking of the piano, we got it tuned by our neighbour who turns out to be a violinist for the Jerusalem symphony. He must be an amazing violinist but it is sad that even someone who has a full time symphony gig still has to supplement their income with piano tuning. The piano was so out of tune that it took Rafi two sessions and now the piano makes even me sound good. Sadly the neighbours’ Dashund still barks at my playing. But then again, the wiener dog from hell barks at everything.

Mystery Fruit No 4: Space Fruit

I have bravely gone where no poultry has gone before. It took us several days after buying this strange hot-pink and green fruit to decide what exactly it looked like. After considering other candidates such as tropical fish or some sort of Precambrian life form, We finally agreed on alien space ship (hence my little photo-shopping art). Our suspicions were confirmed of UFOness when we cut the sucker open: the flesh and juice was bright purple. To take a bite of the dodgy-looking space fruit took the most courage of all the mystery fruits to date. This time we were pleasantly surprised. It tasted like a kiwi on vacation (and without the pesky fuzzy skin!). Space fruit gets two thumbs up.
One last thought considering the bright purple flesh and for full disclosure in the name of science: I did not notice any …um… “digestive effect” similar to that of beets. (My sister will like this comment, the rest of you can be horrified.)

A wee movie

For my Mom's 60th birthday, James and I put together this little movie of photos we took. I have posted it here for your viewing pleasure. Mom's version had James and I singing as a soundtrack but we have decided to not go public as a singing duo just yet. Especially since three weeks of being sick has really taken a toll on my voice. I checked yesterday and I am officially an alto, if not a tenor. My voice is at least a fifth (probably more like an eighth) lower than normal and I sound like I have been chain smoking for fifty years. Assi says I should start singing the blues instead of Christmas Carols. Anyway. Hope you enjoy our pics.

Hanukah and Kaffee

Yesterday was the group Hanukah party at the boss’ house. The place was packed with our giant group and their significant others. The first candle of the Menorah was lit, which in the boss’ kid-friendly house was made out of brightly colored Construx (like an Erector set, for all you old fogies) and spun around when you flipped a switch. Everyone sung a couple of Hanukah songs and Edo, as the resident seven year-old, ran around with his hands pointed above his head like a candle and lit all the other candles (all of the folks in the room). There was lots of yummy food, and the boss was running around topping up everyone's wine glass. Other than the candles and the different songs, it wasn’t much different than a group Christmas party.

A giant Christmas package arrived in the mail from my Mom today that smells suspiciously like coffee. (Is it Tim’s? Muskoka Roastery? Either way, Mom is our new hero) We are very excited about this because coffee grounds here are horrible imported Kroger Grocery Store Brand from Ohio (no kidding) and at least three times the normal price. Everyone drinks Nescafé and even I have broken down and been sipping this wretched gut-rot instant stuff. In Hebrew, the word “ness” mean “miracle” so the serendipitous translation of Nescafé is “miracle coffee”. I say it is a miracle that anyone thinks it is coffee. I refuse to call it coffee. In my world it Kaffee.

Happy Birthday Mummy!

My Mom, Doris Irene Macdonald, turns 60 today! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! If you know my mom, than you know she is Fabulous (with a capital F). I like her more and more every year, so I know that 60 will be an even better year than 59.

She is a religious reader of this blog, so I am sure she might appreaciate some birthday wishes in the comments section (Hint Hint!).

La Vache Qui Baa

Sometimes I am glad I don’t know Hebrew. Like when the ugly fat lady is beaking off in the grocery store about line budders. I can ignore her. Or chatty labmates become white noise rather than a distraction.
However, most of the time, I wish I knew a little more of the ‘Brew. Like when we accidentally bought non-alcoholic beer last week. It looked so promising with the wheat on the front and a name that I phonetically translate as “malty”.

Last night was a new low. We had bought cubes of beef the other day and put half of them in spaghetti sauce that fed us for two days. Last night, we cooked up the rest of the beef with some sweet peppers but it did not taste right. In fact, I actually exclaimed “what the heck are they feeding the cows around here?” I though that perhaps I had been pampered by grade Alberta beef for two long and I needed to get over myself.
But there was something familiar about the strange taste. Very familiar. It made me think of Jenny and Wayne’s house. Then it dawned on me. For the last three suppers we weren’t eating beef, but eating lamb.
Embarrassing.

Mystery Fruit No 3.

After the awful quince experience (i.e., Mystery Fruit No. Two) we were both a little leery of another fearless fruit feasting, but felt that we should potentially sacrifice our flavour-buds so you folks at home could live vicariously though us.

This green spiky fruit cost us about four shek and started firm but got softer as he sat in our fruit bowl for a few days awaiting his fate. When we did cut him open, there was soft white flesh that tasted sweet and a bit like a mango. Unfortunately there were 64 (we counted them) kidney bean sized black seeds to work around. I thought the fruit was kinda tasty and promptly ate most of it. James didn’t like it as much and said he considers it a B-list fruit. Good thing the fruit was already dead and in my belly before he heard that insult!

Magpies 1, Humans 0

Today I saw a magpie on the way to work pick up a nut, fly into the air and drop it on the cement to crack it open. Smart bird. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for some of the maintenance workers here at the university. Sadly this wasn’t even the same guy who asked me if I knew how to use a wrench. Dude came in this morning and asked me for my typex (as in white-out fluid). I complied and a few minutes later, I headed out into the lab to realize he was painting a board with it. No kidding.

Hamshushalaim

There is a winter festival in Jerusalem in which all of the museums are open Thursdays evenings from nine pm to midnight and patrons can see the exhibits for free and hear special concerts. The Chicken and I took advantage of this last night and went to the Shrine of the Book, where the Dead Sea Scrolls are displayed inside an amazing piece of architecture. We traveled though a tunnel so you felt like you were in the caves in which the scrolls were found. The tunnel ended in a vaulted room that was designed to be like the inside of the clay pots the scrolls were carefully placed in by Jewish purists living in an isolated colony nearly two thousand years ago.
Inside, there was a centre area that was raised. Around the narrow lower outside ring, there was about a hundred people sitting where ever they could, which was mostly on the floor. A choir sung from the raised dais, with harmonies that echoed hauntingly though the room. The crowd was silent and captivated.

To me, it was a presentation of some of the greatest aspects of humanity, for not only were we surrounded ancient teachings and angelic music, but folks of all ages were there to witness it and many were examples of peaceful and beautiful aspects human interaction. Next to us an older couple sat on the floor. Their eyes were closed and the wife’s head was gently leaning against her husband’s shoulder. Nearby, there was another couple, in an effort to be comfortable on the hard floor, had an entwined seated posture that should have been sculpted. Behind me, a teenage daughter was flanked by her mother and grandmother. I guess James and I also were part of the display as we had nowhere to lean against as we sat on the floor, so we had turned our backs and leaned against one another.

James was near motionless and I wasn’t sure what he was thinking of being stuck in an acapella choral concert. He told me later he loved it and he must have been captivated into motionlessness. I have been to and performed in many choir concerts over the years, and even though I was sitting on the floor, this was one of my favorites.

It's gonna be a good day.

You know it is going to be a good morning when you get asked if you know how to use a wrench.

Listen, honey. I'm from Dorset. I can check the oil on the truck too.
On a good day, I even know how to use pliers.

Ministry of the Interior Mild Adventure

Sunday was my first experience with Israeli bureaucracy. I had to get my student Visa. About a month ago, I made about 40 telephone calls (literally) tying to get though to the Ministry of the Interior for an appointment. Today was the big day. I caught a cab down to the ministry, whose tiny, nearly unmarked door was crammed between a clothing shop and a mom-and-pop convenience closet (I would hardly call many of the businesses here stores. Overflowing closet with a guy with a cash register inside is more correct). I will admit the Ministry of the Interior was a little haphazard looking and missing the crisp government-style functional décor we Canadians know and love, but I got my visa there all the same. And it only took me an hour or so. I was expecting to be there all day.
The best part was filling out the application form. I had to write everything in Hebrew and English. I got my own name figured out a while ago, but how exactly would you spell Doris, Craig, Dwight, Edmonton, etc. in the Hebrew alphabet?
These were by best guesses:
דוריס Doris
קרג Craig
Dwight דוואיט
אדמונטון Edmonton

Others were applying for all sorts of visas and residencies. I overheard one American kid talk about his “proof of Judaism.” I imagine he was applying for Aliyah. Frankly, his keepah and the prayer shawl poking out from under his plaid shirt was proof enough for me. Now I am officially here on an A2 with multiple entries, and my wallet is 300 shekels lighter. Ouch. James tells me he only paid 30 bucks for his in T.O. but then again, he had to go four times to the consulate before they issued it to him.

I saw Jesus yesterday

I saw Jesus yesterday in the old city. He was drinking an energy drink, because the Messiah needs a bit of a pick me up after returning to save mankind. Seeing as I had accidentally picked up someone else’s grocery bag on Friday and had been enjoying ill-gotten pastries, I really didn’t want to talk to Jesus. So I shot this pic from the hip.

Jerusalem syndrome is the real deal, and if the Israelis catch you strutting around proclaiming to be King David or the Second Coming, you end up in the nut house on a good dose of antipsychotics and get a free a plane ticket home. Apparently most of the people who get this are protestant Christians and have come from very conservative, literal-interpretation-of-the-bible upbringings. I will admit that my upbringing was a little more apple pie than most, but thank goodness my parents are evolutionists.

What I want to know is, who sold that guy his outfit? REALLY? Come on!

On another note, Thursday was Einat’s going away party. She has finished her masters and is going to Cambridge for a PhD. We were discussing the posh English accent she is going to get to supplement her Hebrew one. James suggested to the group that talking with an English accent requires not moving your upper lip, i.e., having a stiff upper lip, and proceeded to demonstrate. Amit, in a vain attempt to gain a posh British accent, was holding down his upper lip with his finger and asking everyone “Do I sound Eengleesh?” in his thick Hebrew accent. Assi, our local cynic, replied acerbically “You sound like a sixty year-old woman.” I got a horrible fit of the giggles. Despite the tears of laughter rolling down my face, I couldn’t help but watch Amit’s attempts at a stiff upper lip. It was like watching a train wreck. I have been giggling about this all weekend.

Elvis, the Washing Machine from Hell

The chicken and I did our fist load of laundry in the washing machine that was recently, and reluctantly brought back to life by the guy we are subletting from. We now know why there is a cord wrapped around the machine tied to a tap. It is a life line, for during the spin cycle the machine shakes like Elvis on Uppers. And like Elvis, people just won’t let it die.

The electrical cord is slung from the machine's perch in the bathroom on two cinder blocks to the nearest outlet: across the hallway into the kitchen. This makes the limbo necessary on cookie runs to the kitchen. Also, as we discovered the hard way, you have to make sure the bathroom door is propped open because the violent shaking causes the cinderblocks to move in front of the closed door. And since the door is propped open, you get the full blast of the ungodly washing machine Rock and Roll. I found the soap bar that had been resting atop the washing machine from hell ejected halfway across the room. Altogether, the bathroom is a dangerous place to be in during the spin cycle.

Da Da DA Dah! The Academic Integrity Avenger!

I got a bit of a “Meh” response from the boss on the two papers I found that were fishy. So I sent an anonymous email to the Editors today. Perhaps nothing will happen, but at the very least they will likely check this guy’s papers a little more closely before they publish them. I feel like a bit of a superhero: Academic Integrity Avenger! I should design a costume. I am open to suggestions.

Editors Hojo and Rogers,

Recently, I came across two papers by Srivastava's group in your journals that I noticed had several identical figures. Upon closer examination, much of the text is identical as well. The later paper seems to be a slightly different interpretation of the same results.

Roy, P.; Srivastava, S.K. Materials Letters. 2007, 61, 1693-1697.
Roy, P.; Mondal, K.; Srivastava, S.K. Crystal Growth and Design. 2008, 8(5), 1530-1534.

I felt I should bring this to your attention. I have attached PDFs of the papers.

Sincerely,
A Reader of Materials Letters and Crystal Growth and Design

Mystery Fruit #2

The Chicken’s first foray to the shuk was a little overwhelming for him, but we got our veggies for the week and bought a mystery fruit of which we do not know the name. (Bryan, all-knowing strange-vegetable god, can you help us out on this one?) It was yellow like a pear, but had a bumpy bottom like a red delicious apple. After the pomela experience I was expecting great things. I cut up a couple of slices of the white flesh for taste testing.
This is what the judges had to say:
Judge 1:
“Uck, ech, blech, pthb, pthub, pthub”
Judge 2:
“I don’t know what the heck that was, but it was nasty.”

It was so bitter it sucked every last bit of moisture out of our mouths. Overall two thumbs down for mystery fruit number 2.

Tales of Domesticity

My husband is so cheap he wants us to be trailer trash. We went blanket shopping on friday, and instead of the nice duvets, he was drawn to these fuzzy blankets whose patterns tended towards safari. Even the plain purple one made me think of the Trailer Park Boys. I convinced him to spend the extra 30 skeck on a duvet. Then looking for a shower curtain, we finally found some cheap ones. But instead of looking through the stack to find a half decent one, James, in his impatience to end the torture of shopping as soon as possible, grabs the one on top that would have only been appropriate if we had pulled up to the shop in a DeLorean. Again, veto power was employed and we agreed on a different pattern (but as a compromise, it was blue).

We have inherited a rather old microwave belonging to the apartment that has been encrusted with years of goo. In fact, the guy we are subletting from hasn’t used it at all; it is the previous tenant's shame. James felt we should clean it and use it. Actually, after a little Chicken elbow grease, it didn’t look too bad. All hail the house-husband!
Unfortunately, the dampness from cleaning made the number pad stop working so we were still up the creek for warming up last night’s leftovers. Blast. An hour later of drying, the top two rows of numbers work. By morning, it should work like a charm.

Amoral Academic Integrity Scumbag (and that is being nice)

You know what I hate? Cheaters.
Today I realized that there are two papers, in two journals, with identical images. It was the photoluminescence that I first noticed. Then I realized that some the TEMs were the same too. And the XRD. I added a few pics for your judgment.

So what are those images really of? I cannot trust anything in either of those papers now. We have all published results that are extensions of previous results, but that should be a mention with a reference, not a re-publication of data and images. As far as I can tell, there is not reference from one paper to the other. Fishy.

I hope you got tenure, or what ever it was that you were going for. This probably will catch up to you one day.

The Poulet has landed

Just so you know, The Chicken made it here safe and sound tonight. Dorks that we are, we happened to be wearing our matching McGill chemistry hoodies. I think we are well on our way to becoming an old couple wearing matching tracksuits and orthodic shoes.

As of this morning, husband training has commenced; I made him go back to the bathroom and hang his towel up on the hook where it belongs. He just giggled and complied. I wonder how long the novelty will wear off?

Chickens can Fly

The Chicken is on his way! The cheapest flight he could find was though the Ukraine, so at this point he is....wait for it.... Chicken Kiev.
Sadly I did not come up with that myself.

Mumsies (aka The Chicken's mum) just emailed me a picture of The Chicken at the airport. He did not look impressed by having his picture taken at all. I have an odd feeling he was being fussed over as there is a ziplock bag in his right hand containing a yoghurt and a snack. I do my best to avoid getting that look, but sometimes it is necessary to get what you want done (See, I didn't post the actual picture so I didn't incur "the look"!). Mumsies has a thick skin when it comes to ignoring James' looks of death. I will have to study and learn from the master.

Yesterday was a mad rush of chemistry and making my way to a far off shopping centre to buy a pillow and stock up on groceries. Our neighbourhood supermarket is absurdly expensive as it caters to/milks rich anglo-saxons, according to Itzik. "What about poor anglo-saxons?" I asked. Apparently there is no such thing in Israel. James and I are pioneers. We, oddly poor anglo-saxons that we are, will be making epic journeys to the cheep supermarket to buy stuff that the shuk doesn't have.

The New Digs (Part 2)

The kitchen, complete with an open package of Tim Tams. Yes, you heard it first here! Your favorite Aussie chocolate bar masquerading as a cookie is available in J-town!

The view from the living room.

I am happy to say, the place is virtually hair and grime free!

The New Digs (Part 1)

Up in the the top left is the bedroom. Do you see the ugly fleece blanket I bought the other day? Turns out it wasn't an ugly blanket but an ugly duvet cover. Sigh. I wish I could read labels.
The view from the kitchen and the foyer, complete with piano for me to annoy the neighbours.

PICTURES!

Thanks to my hero for the day, Yorai, I have a camera-to-computer cable on loan! So here are a few pics for your viewing pleasure:



Classic J-town: The Dome of the Rock in the old city with cranes in the backgroud

Two sheks for a couple of red peppers (60 cents)?
The shuk is the best veggie shop EVER!

The maple shekel is a perceived security threat!

Lessons for the wise: do not wear your hoodie up on a cool night in Jerusalem. Even if it does say "McGill Chemistry" across the front ( i.e., "I am a big geek"). I just got chased down by a yelling security guard on campus as I was heading home. He checked my ID, checked if my student card was fake, asked questions and let me go. Good thing I didn't have my noise canceling earphones in; I could have been tackled to the ground.

The countdown is on to moving into the new digs. I am super exited about having my own space that isn't covered in hair like Captain Kirk's. No kidding, I don't think the man has ever swept. It is gross. I have made my room into a little hair and dirt free haven.

I went out yesterday and bought The Chicken and I an ugly blanket to get us though the first few nights. I almost bought a nice quilt, but I held off. Quilts are something we should decide on together as we begin to play house. Big fluffy down comforters seem to be the thing around here, but The Chicken, ironically, is allergic to feathers. We will have to make do with fleece, poly-fill, woolly socks and and snuggles.

A loooooooong day for Dr. J

Ugh. What a day. Things didn’t start so well as I broke the first piece of glassware I handled this morning. Oh well, there is no point in trying to pretend I am perfect. I ran my first reaction and it got a little out of hand with the work up and characterization. I guess I am a little too gung-ho for my own good. On the equivalent of a Friday night, I finally turned out the light and locked the door at 9:30. I am pooped and very hungry. Must forage in the fridge. Mmmm orange. Mmmm mystery yummy cheese...

I have been thinking about that kingdom far, far away: Edmonton. Today was my convocation, which obviously I didn’t go to. My old lab mate was also convocating and it would have been fun to strut across the stage with him. Oh well. You can’t do it all.

This weekend will be a bit crazy and very painful to the bank account. I have to pay for two months’ rent and a damage deposit. On top of that, I need to venture to Talpiot to buy blankets for when I move to the new digs on Monday. Stack on a few errands, a dinner at the Boss’ a group meeting presentation Sunday, a meeting with the new landlord and repacking to move, it is going to be a busy one.

The Bronfmans and my Giggle Reflex

Not too much goin’ on here. I have a little Arcade Fire in my ears and I am writing you this post. Chemistry is non-existent because my CHEMICALS HAVEN’T COME IN! Sigma-Aldrich, speed me my chemicals.

Did you guys here about the big heist of the Bronfman jewelry? According to the CBC, they are offering a big reward and there is all sorts of comments on the article about the Bronfmans being greedy pigs. I don’t know about that. I seem to remember that McGill had a giant economics building that the family paid for. Here at Hebrew U, there are several Bronfamn buildings on both campuses, paid for by our favorite Montreal liquor barons. In fact, all the buildings on campus have been paid for by someone from somewhere else. This is a university built by Zionist philanthropy. Each building is gloriously decorated with the person’s name, their city and the university department. Well except Florence Dworsky, she got a food kiosk by the gate. Ohhhh, Dis!

I am proud to say that I am getting better at suppressing my giggle reflex. On Sunday, I was at a mini-conference and in one of the afternoon sessions the Boss sat next to me. Although a few talks were interesting stuff, some of them were a little boring, and I wasn’t the only one who thought so. A prof who saw sitting two seats over from the Boss started snoring. The boss leaned over an gave him a shove to wake him up. Twice. I remained professional and stoic, which is rare for me under such laughter inducing circumstances.

Mystery Fruit #1: The Pomelo

On my latest adventure to the shuk, I went a little overboard. So much so that I have a pressure rash on my shoulder from my overfilled bag of vegetable loot. Amongst the recognizable food stuffs, I bought a mysterious green citrus fruit the size of a small cannon ball. Would it be sour like a lemon? Sweet like an orange? The curiosity was killing me! Tonight, I gave in and tried it. First of all, the peal was so thick that I felt like I was digging for buried citrus fruit treasure. YARR! I be finding’ ye loot ye green-skinned scalley-wag! AVAST! The skin be thicker than a scurvy dog's! I be openin' the sections and tastin' the pink pulpy bits. Well I'll be jiggered! She be tastin' like a sweet grapefruit.

Moroccan Chicken

There has been a request for my Moroccan Chicken recipe from Mel. I have been getting a few requests for it lately, so here she goes for everyone's pleasure.

Some chicken (thighs are good and cheep)
big can of diced tomatoes
can of chickpeas (drained and rinsed- they put a lot of salt in canned lentils)
1/2 -1 onion diced
Some raisins (1/2 cup ish)
1 tsp ish chili powder
1 tsp ish of cloves
2 tsp ish of cinnamon
Stew it all up in a big pot for an hourish or a slow cooker would be good.
In the last fifteen minutes, add diced zucchini
Serve with couscous or rice.

Trust me, my chemistry is a little more exacting than my cooking. There is no -ish in my lab book.

DUDE! This recipe can be kosher. I am going to have to remember this one for pot lucks.

Mel, tuna pasta salad is WAY easy. Can o' tuna (drained), salt and pepper, big dollop of light mayo, diced onion and lots diced yummy things from the fridge (peppers, cucumbers mushrooms etc.) Stir it up and throw it on some pasta.

Humility in the form of a Septagenarian

I am humbled. Last night I went to Shabbat dinner at the neighbours’ again who have the most fascinating friends. There was a woman there whose life story makes my adventure here look like a causal picnic. An expert in Slavic languages (and English and Spanish and Portuguese and Hebrew), she has lived in the US, Argentina, Poland, Portugal the Ukraine and Israel. Her time in Poland and the Ukraine was behind the Iron Curtain and she had a US passport which was simply crazy at the time. She has lived under three dictatorships. “Bungy jumping”, she says, “my life was like bungy jumping”. At over seventy years old, she has made Israel her home and she has decided after all the places she has lived, this is the best place to be. Instead of risking life and limb, she now serenades her neighbours with her oboe playing and is looking for a husband. “It will happen at the right time and the right place” she says.

There was also another couple from Delaware and New Jersey who had recently gotten married. Marlene went to McGill and knows, quite well in fact, friends of the Chicken and mine. So we had a very-small-world moment there in the living room. Jakob, tells me that he hopes that the rest of their life will be in Jerusalem. I can’t remember his exact words but being in this most holy city is deeply important to him.

I asked the table what it was like to come from America and the UK where you are a minority to a place where you are in the majority. They say they are minorities here too, but just in different ways: they are English speakers, recent immigrants, orthodox in a predominantly secular country etc. Fair enough, I thought.

A fascinating night all around.

Today I wandered around for a couple of hours and finally broke down and bought a head covering. It is probably not what you are thinking. The Monastery of the Cross is Greek Orthodox and I went in to see what it was all about. I wore a head covering not because I had to, but because it was the most respectful thing to do.

It is a pretty amazing place. The monastery is early Byzantine and was founded either by Constantine’s mom, Helena, or by the Emperor Justinian. Either way, there were mosaics there that were from as early as the 4th century. The chapel had all sorts of mosaics and paintings of saints from the crusader era and lots of hanging lamps. Outside there were all these little rooms where the monks lived over the centuries. Of course the public wasn’t allowed to go where the current resident monks are.

I have just refilled the rocket boosters with a hearty meal of tuna pasta salad à la Janet. Good things to know: fish and eggs are not “meat” instead, they are “parve” which means neutral so I can use any plates I want.

Cleaning Day

I cleaned out “my” fumehood today only to discover that lab policy is that any one of the twenty group members can use it at anytime (and they do), and no one believes in labeling their stuff here. So that means I will be punished with squatters and their mysterious dirty beakers for having a clean hood. I am not impressed to say the least. I miss my old fume hood.

During the cleaning, I got rid of a box of dirty pipettes. Later a student asked where his box of dirty pipettes was. I said I had thrown it out (with all the other glass waste) and he said he had planned to clean them before chucking them out. “It’s not a big deal,” he said “you just polluted the holy land.” Thanks Buddy.

Today is the three week mark of my stay in Jerusalem. The third week is always the worst for me when I move places. I get culture shock even when I move across Canada. Surprisingly, despite my grumpy post, this week hasn't been too bad. I was expecting the worst. Maybe it is that I have something to look forward to. The Chicken arrives in less than two weeks! And my own apartment! And the chicken is arriving! And I will get to cook for real! And the chicken is arriving! WOOO HOOO!

לו, גנת לו פוה

After one and a half weeks of straight reading and one and a half hours of talking to my boss, I have a project! The boss picked my brain on everything that I read, heard my idea, picked it apart, okayed it and then asked for copies of all of the papers I downloaded and read. I just counted and there are 96 of them. And those are just the ones I kept. My brain hurts.

On Saturday, I was working on my Hebrew and memorizing the subject pronouns (I, you, he, she, them or je, te, il, elle…) I read that She is He (היא) and He is Who (הוא) and promptly started swearing. In the last few days I have resigned myself to the confusing linguistic fate, especially now that I have learned a great new phrase.
Say it with me now: Loh, who loh poh.
It means: No, he’s not here.
This fun to say phrase is useful because most of my interactions in Hebrew involve the phone. Tomorrows’ phrase for the day will be “call back later.”

By the way, can you find my name in the title? Hint: the letter that looks like lamda is called gimmel.

Today, Israelis vote in their new mayors. In Jerusalem, it comes down to the incumbent religious (as in Orthodox) mayor whose posters sport a cartoon of himself waving and looking friendly with his white beard and happy smile. The guy with the blue posters in the one all of the non-religious folks seem to be rooting for. And finally, there is the guy with the yellow posters who, according to my labmate, is very rich and is wanted for arms dealing in France. He sounds like and A-1 candidate to me.

I hope everyone sported a poppy today.

Beware: My first potentially offensive post.

Tonight I feel relieved and a bit trepidatious. After a week and two days straight of reading, I think I have finally nailed down my project. But I am not going to tell you what it is. If I told you, I would then have to kill you, and since you are all so far away, that would be difficult. So best to keep my mouth shut.

In a way, science bites the big kahunas as there are absolutely no assurances. I have no idea if my ideas will work. All the reading in the world only gives me a good guess. It could be straight forward, or it could, literally, be impossible and leave me and my post doc career in a puddle of inconclusive results and low self esteem. And let’s not forget another round of me telling my boss I couldn’t do it. I am searching for that fine balance of having some confidence it will work and yet make something really new and different and exciting so I can get it published, ideally in a big journal. Then come the accolades like a high citation count which is like the Oscars of science (“You like my science! You really like my science!”) which, in turn, leads to employment. Employment is good.

On that note, tomorrow I will bravely grab life by the horns and present my idea to the boss and order the chemicals. Semiconductor research, here I come!

Did you hear about the brawl in the Holy Church of the Sepulchre today? It made the BBC and the CBC news (http://www.news.com.au/story/0,27574,24627868-401,00.html) but didn’t even garner a glance by the media here. Apparently, Christians can’t even get along when they are completely surrounded by Jews and Muslims. This church is in the centre of the old city and is where the tomb of Jesus is and where he was resurrected. There is a church every fifty feet around the old city and the Mount of Olives. Yet no one knows for sure exactly where the holy events happened, and to me it doesn’t really matter. Do you think God would have forgotten me if I had never made it to Jerusalem? Aren’t the teachings the most important thing anyway? Apparently not to some, namely the crazies today and not to mention the crusaders.

Hold on, I am waiting for the lightning bolt.

They say Jerusalem makes you way more religious or way less. I’d say it is just making me way more sarcastic. I have to keep my mouth shut around here, so I am using this blog as an outlet.

By the way, I am sorry my posts have gotten boring the last couple of days. My life is working itself into a routine. Hopefully soon I will have something better to write about than work and dirty sponges. At the same time, my scalp has sprouted new grey hairs since I left for Jerusalem, so perhaps a little routine and boringness is in order.

Sunday, yom rishon

I feel much better now that I cleaned the kitchen, which incidentally is Kosher and I have been learning the rules. Captain Kirk is not so clean. I found a bottle of Cif, a.k,a. Vim, at the grocery store and used about 1/3 of it on a tiny kitchen. I got rid of some black sponges, bought two new ones and labeled them M for meat and D for dairy. Yes, being kosher goes that far. Now, I understand the kosher rules to be mostly about hygene, and of course avoiding the cruel and unusual cooking of an animal in its mothers milk. But the black sponges, despite one for meat and one for dairy, were unholy. They had to go. I am with the locals on this one, cleanliness is next to godliness.

The front loading washing machine is right now cleaning my unmentionables and the spin cycle sounds like it is going to lift off. Must go check…
Yep, everything is A-O-K.

Work is going well, I think. I have been reading for a week straight trying to figure out what material I am going to try to make nanosized. Every time I think I am close to a decision, I find more complicating factors which manifests as more hunting through the literature. Basically, I really don’t want to pick the wrong material to work on and a) waste good paper making time b) look like an idiot in front of the boss in one year’s time. Maybe I should just pick one and hope for the best.

A long post for a busy day

Today I fell in love.
I made it to the Shuk which is the key big market in the city famous for its abundance of yummy fresh veggies and fruits at bargoon prices. There were fruit I had never even seen before. Being the vegi-phile that I am, I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. Sadly, I had gone to the grocery in the morning and stocked up on veggies so I refrained. Don't worry, I'll be back. Weekly.

It was Friday (which is the new Saturday) so the place was PACKED before the Sabbath started at dusk. People were shopping and haggling, empty cardboard boxes were flying through the air, guys with trays of bread on their heads were heading through the crowd and men were yelling out their wares. The only phrase I understood was “banana, banana, banana!” I overheard two American women and one said “I can’t buy under this pressure! Too crowded!” I took this as a a challenge. I got cashews and some tasty chocolate filled croissants (7 sheck for eight!) and even a pillow. You can buy anything at the shuk.

This evening, I just went to my first serious Sabbath dinner at the neighbours'. Don’t ask me how I ended up there but it was an education. First of all, I realized as I arrived at the door with some other guests, that I was inappropriately dressed so I ran back to my room to change into dress pants and a suit jacket and heels. Even then, I wish I had a dark skirt. Amongst the religious, women wear dark skirts, white shirts with dark cardigans or a dark shirt. But they didn’t seem to mind my pants; Captain Kirk had warned them that I know nothing of Jewish tradition.

The neighbours and their friends were mostly ex-pats from England, Wales, Persia and even one from Toronto and were all very friendly and nice. Between eating, talking and running after the army of toddlers about, they answered all of my naïve questions. I quickly realized that these folks were intellectuals and knew their Judaism inside and out. Several were studying at what I gather is basically theological college, and one lady taught Jewish studies. One of the guys had studied as a cantor for two years. There was a lot of singing and he demonstrated the difference in music between two traditions of Judaism. One is influenced from the west (clearly in the minor key) and the other from the east (with all the warbles you would expect form middle eastern music) .

The angels were welcomed to the table (by song), we washed our hands, wine was drunk, hallah bread was eaten, the kids were blessed (more singing) and then soup and chicken and potatoes and rice and ice cream and apple crumble (my tummy was singing). Blessing came at the end of the meal (more singing), then we washed our hands again. The dinner discussion was varied but there were theological questions discussed. I asked lots of questions but wisely stayed out of character and kept any of my opinions to myself. Not that I really had time to digest what was going on and being said to have opinions. I now know about a medieval French commentator on the Torah. And why God put “h”s, or rather the letter ה, in Abraham and Sarah’s names. And what succa huts are all about. And why some men wear bug, fuzzy, hockey-puck shaped hats on the Sabbath. Don’t get me wrong, the conversations did not all centre around religion. One girl really wanted to know about electrons jumping around. She had loved chemistry in high school and was fascinated by my research.

Get this. The light was off in the kitchen and I finally figured out why. They forgot to turn it on before the Sabbath started this afternoon and so it has to stay off until tomorrow at dusk. No flicking switches on the Sabbath.

Anyway time to crawl into bed. Nothing will be open tomorrow so I will sleep in and then work on my Hebrew. Good night. Lyla tov.

My Map Stinks

Every newbie to every city has a perpetual look of intense concentration on their face. They are either a) trying to visually memorize everything so they don’t get lost b) trying to figure out where they are c) trying to figure out where to go d) the look is not from confusion, but from indigestion problems resultant from changing diet.

Lucky me, I have not had a problem with d) but have frequently had the look of a, b and c. And I discovered this morning that it is not all my fault. My map sucks.

I bought a map from Chapters before I left. All of the street names are in English (which is fine ‘cause all of the street signs are in Hebrew and English), but the map is only of the very centre of the city. It is missing lots of important stuff, which has been confusing enough, but I have been learning to deal. But this morning, as I was making my way to Captain Kirk’s, I noticed an even bigger problem with my map (and the source of my geographic confusion about the university): IT IS MISSING A FOUR LANE HIGHWAY that runs past the campus. Now, I can forgive the odd typo. But a giant highway? I have attached a pic (courtesy of wikipedia) to emphasize the absurdity.

You may be wondering why the maple shekel has not been posting her own photos. Well, because as some of my stuff was in transit across Canada, some reprobate halfwit pilfered in one of my packages. The handy little cable from camera to computer is now gone along with my computer satchel, USB camera, life jacket, frying pan, and three copies of my transcript. It is all just annoying. When I buy a new cable/card reader there will be more photos, I promise. In the mean time, if you see someone wearing a yellow life jacket, video chatting with a T-fal frying pan, hit them over the head with the frying pan.

Oh and two posts in one day? This one is for you Mel.

To boldy go...to Kiryat Moshe

In a few minutes I am leaving to meet Captain Kirk to see if I can rent a room in his apartment for two weeks while I wait to take possession of my apartment. I wonder if he will speak like he types. You be the judge from his emails:

DEAR JANET... I WONT BE HOME TILL 9 PM THIS EVENING...
PERHAPS IT WILL BE EASIER THURSDAY MORNING BEFORE 10 AM...
I LIVE AT 58/2 SEDEROT HERZL IN KIRYAT MOSHE...

and a later email:

DEAR JANET...
9:30 AM WILL BE FINE... SEE YOU THEN...
BEST WISHES...

GERSHON... SHEMESH

See? I think Gershon Shemesh must be Hebrew for William Shatner.

Food and Housing

The maple shekel has found a place to live! YEA! However, I don’t get to move in for another three weeks. I think I am going to move back to the Austrian Hospice in the old city and hang out with the Nuns for 23 US bucks a night, rather than the 70 I am paying here at the Belgium House/ Faculty Club place.

The chicken and I will be living in Talbieh, on the top floor of a 4 floor apartment building. We have a great view of the city, two balconies, two big rooms and a kitchen, and not to mention a piano. Since I couldn’t be bothered with a TV, I will be spending a good chunk of my time playing the ‘ol black and whites and torturing the neighbours.

On the way back from my meeting with the new landlord I strolled my way through campus to have a four star meal. I carefully chose from the vending machine menu my entré (cookies to go with the plain yoghurt in my fridge). Mood lighting came from the street lights along the campus pathway which did not dull the view of the city from our lofty campus perch on the hill of Gi’vat Ram. The flower arrangements were provided by the two trees with the giant stinky flowers that look like cream coloured trumpet bells pointing to earth. Dinner entertainment was provided by the territorial maneuverings of the highly educated and very abundant campus cats.

How, you might ask, is Janet of the legendary gut sustaining life on such a meager diet? Do not fear, dear reader, for campus food is subsidized! For the cost of Ho-Ho’s special soup, I am chowing down each lunch time on a giant plate meat, veg and carb at the cafeteria with my like minded labmates. If cafeteria food doesn’t keep the weight on, nothing will.

Do fatigues make me look fat? Maybe I ate too many Bamba Crisps.

Israel is a nation of immigrants. Sound familiar? And just like Canadians, most of their favorite foods originated somewhere else. Instead of our culturally hijacked perogies and roast beef, Israelies have taken hummus and falafel as their own. We immigrants don’t steal everything. By our very nature we are enterprising, creative and adventurous folks even when it comes to food. We Canadians can be proud of the Nanaimo bar, butter tarts and everything maple (including, this here blog, the maple shekel!). Recently, I discovered a uniquely Israeli treat: Bamba crisps. Looks like a cheesy but instead is peanut buttered flavoured. Sounds gross? Not so. Those suckers are strangely addictive. I’ll be sure to bring some back for you to try. My lab mate invited me over for a gathering with some friends on Saturday and introduced me to Bamba Crisps and some of the other local chemists and significant others.

I am giving them a cultural education too. After hearing a local correctly use the phrase "your cup of tea," I felt it was necessary to teach them a better phrase: "whatever floats your boat" They were amused by the rhyming.

Going to a new place and meeting new people is, at first, about finding similarities in your experiences. The littlest things can be the beginnings of a conversation (and hopefully, friendship) like milk being sold in bags, the common experience of horrid exams, and great chocolate cake recipes. Today, I unexpectedly discovered that my rather surly labmate, who swears he isn’t a nice guy, loves the Trailer Park Boys.

My lab mates have lead very different lives than my own – far more than the city-country split I have been living with for a decade. Every single one of them has spent at least two years in the army (many more than three) and consequently, they are all at least a few years older than you would expect for their education levels. I am one of the younger people in the lab, and yet I am the post doc. Which goes to show their dedication to getting a graduate degree. Frankly, at 29, I am pretty much done with this living in near poverty and school business. And yet, many of them at my age are at the beginning of gradschool.

No kidding, I was a wordless observer to a nonchalant conversation today amongst my academically inclined colleagues about which weapons are easy to fire. What was I to say? My gun experience is limited to shooting a BB at a margarine container in Ashley’s back yard when I was fifteen.

I can’t imagine being forced into anything, let alone the military (I am not so good with taking commands), but they grow up knowing this is part of life and it seems to be perceived as a rite of passage towards adulthood. In fact, I feel a little left out of the club because I didn’t spend time in the military. Oh well. Maybe it is for the best; the Chicken tells me I don't look good in cammo.

Heck, I can do this!

Today, I was very productive. I got up, had a shower, ate breaky and headed for the lab. When my boss told me that his students work Friday mornings, what he really meant was that he wished his students worked Friday mornings. The place was dead. So I went to the mall.
This may seem like a minor achievement, but finding the right bus and making it there with no hassle or mistakes with no help was a big deal for me. I managed to buy a cell phone (at the office depot), buy a SIM card (at the Orange cell phone provider) and buy a prepaid card (at a booth). Of course, this was complicated because I wanted the cheapest possible deal. Frugalness is part of my genome. Plus, really, what do I need a contract and a big plan for? Who am I going to call?

I also found these awesome stickers for my keyboard which have the Hebrew letters on them. I have spent the afternoon working on memorizing my numbers.
One, Two, Three
E-had, Shnime, Shlo-sha
אהד שנימ שלושה
Handy trick, eh? Although, I haven’t yet figured out where the comma goes when I change to the Hebrew keyboard. Baby steps. Baby steps.

My favorite number is five, ha-mi-sha. The “ha” is super throaty and it is really fun to say. Ha-mi-sha may be second only to shi-sha, six. Can’t you just see six old Arab men sitting around with those big colorful pipes smoking shi-sha?

Today, I also managed to avoid being scammed by a cabbie. My butt, his meter was broken. 40 shekles to Rehavia from the mall? You must be kidding! You think I am a sucker 'cause I am German? (They all think I am German for some reason. I thought the freckles were more telling.) I got back out of the cab and got in another, who’s driver asked me why I switched. When I said “lo mon-eh” (no meter), Mohammed, my new driver, drove up and gave the guy a piece of his mind. It turns out it is illegal for taxi drivers to not use their meters and the ones who play by the book apparently really hate the ones who don’t. There was a lot of honking and yelling in a mixture of Hebrew and Arabic involved.
Just so you know, it turns out it was just over 30 shekles to Rehavia.

It is dusk on Friday night, so Shabbat has started. The boss has just called to invite me to dinner and tomorrow I am going to a labmate’s house for lunch. Besides getting to know people, I am looking forward to eating something besides the lonely stale pita and hummus I have in my hotel room fridge.

Shabbat Shalom!

Housing for important people

This evening I went to go look at an apartment in Talbeih, one of the nicest neighborhoods in Jerusalem. I had a hard time finding the apartment and I needed to call the dude, Walter, to tell him I was a little lost and consequently very late. But payphones in Israel only take cards which was news to me. So I had to find a store. Using my cartographic spidy-sense, went up this street to where I thought there might be stores. Unfortunately, after a couple of blocks, the street was blocked off and a secret-service looking guy came out to see what I was doing loitering and looking confused with my map. He was very nice and helpful and so I waved my hand at the road block and asked him “So, does someone important live on this street?” He looked at me strangely and said “Yes. The Prime Minister.” I had stumbled on the Israeli version of 24 Sussex Drive. Oops.

I eventually made it to the store, bought a phone card and outside met David, my first genuine J-town creep. He said I “look spiritual, my face and eyes look spiritual.” I told him, “no, I look lost” and promptly made an exit from the situation. (I know this guy was wierd, but I thought you would like to know, that for the most part I feel really safe here walking down the street- safer than I felt in Edmonton)

Anyway, I eventually called Walter, a Swiss born philosopher, and saw his fabulous and reasonably priced apartment. It looks like this might work out for a sublet while he is in Europe. He would be leaving behind all of his furniture, dishes and even his piano (YEA!!!). No papers have been signed yet, but we have an oral agreement and I will keep my fingers crossed.

So it looks like “number one” (a.k.a. me) and the “number one minister” (a.k.a. the Prime Minister) may be living in the same general neighborhood. Spiffy. Put the number one Chicken in this mix and that is a lot of important people living together.

A Business Proposal

Today was dreary and rainy. I had to take the bus to the other campus in order to be told about an inordinate amount of paper work I need to do. This is my favorite part. I need to get my visa extended. This will involve making an appointment (over a perpetually busy phone line) with the Ministry of the Interior. When I go, I will have to bring lots of letters and papers including evidence that I have an apartment. As well, I need to fill out scads of paperwork in order to get paid, for which I need a bank account. I shouldn’t get a bank account until I know what neighborhood I am living in. But wait, let’s think about this for a second. How am I going to pay for my still hypothetical apartment if I don’t have cheques? I’ll need a bank account for that. Beyond the circular argument problem, I still haven’t found a place that is not a hovel and is within my budget.

But this is besides the point of this post. As I was busing it though the streets of J-town on a drizzly day, I noticed a lot of plastic bags, shower caps and produce bags on a lot of big black hats. As you know, I am one for economy, but I think the orthodox population might jump on the chance to step up their rainy-day fashion statements.

Someone should find the supplier of those nicely fitting, very spiffy rain covers that the Mounties wear on their hats. Buy a few cases in Canuckistan, throw them in a suitcase and sell them here. I didn’t see a single well fitted hat cover today. You could make a killing! Buy them for 3 bucks a piece sell them for 15 shek (“made to withstand even Canadian weather!”) and make a 6 shekel profit. Multiply that by 7.28 million people, times 25% (Orthodox and Haredi folks) and divide by two (men only) that gives 5.5 million shekels (1.8 million CAD)! Perhaps I will supplement my apartment budget this way.

The Viennese waltz, box springs and TV remotes

Just so you know, the old city of Jerusalem is everything you would expect it to be. Except smaller. Three major religions have their most holy sites all with one square kilometer. Besides the many religious sites, it is comprised of narrow, windy and confusing streets providing a sensual onslaught of all things for sale: spices, meat, clothing, candy, veggies, giant trays of baklava, shoes, tacky religious icons, and a surprising number of TV remotes. But outside the gates is another story; it is a busy modern city perched on a series of hills. Busses are zooming by, cars honking, everyone is on their way to work in the cement jungle. And now, I need to find an apartment in said jungle.

Sadly, many of the apartments in the areas around the campus have been bought by rich Americans, fixed up, and are being rented out as short term “luxury apartments” to religious tourists and are way out of my price range. However, there seemed to be a few half decent places on the internet within our meager budget.

Today, assisted greatly by my labmate and car owner, Itzik, I went to see three apartments. I have one word to describe them: slummy. As an example: one promising place was described as large, two bedrooms and furnished. When we saw it, it was old, dirty and the furniture dusty and 40 years out of date. A room was still full of the previous tenant’s stuff. The bed is just a mattress on the floor, described the slimy rental agent as we came into the bedroom. I asked “where is the mattress?” He responded “This is the mattress.” I said “that is not a mattress,” and he insisted that it was.

It was an old box spring. Lying on the floor.

And for the privilege of sleeping on it, I would need to pay 4000 Shekels, or about $1300 CAD. Not to mention the $350- 400 of municipal taxes and utilities I would need to tack on. These apartments make my hovel in Edmonton look like a castle.

I did learn a useful tidbit today. James and I are ideal tenants because we are likely to pay all of our rent and we will leave after two years for sure. Apparently it is really hard to evict a tenant here. I will have to exploit this point.

Itzik was horrified by these places. He says we will keep trying tomorrow. Maxie has found a good place so I will stolidly remain optimistic.

On a good note, my labmates seem friendly, the lab well equipped and I am SOOOOO ready to get going on my project. Today, I learned some exciting (but secret) things about the preliminary work already done by a PhD student that I will be working with. My fingers are itching to set up some reactions.

It is my last night in the Austrian hospice and there is a concert upstairs for all of the Austrian ex-pats. I am listening to live big band music in the old city of Jerusalem. Weird.

Good Lord, what have I done?

My second night in Jerusalem was not a good one. I got into a big stew about “I don’t belong here”, “What the hell am I doing here”, “I am too old for this”, “I can’t do this”…etc. I stewed so much that I couldn’t sleep, gave myself a wicked headache and a tummy ache to boot. My imagination ran wildly through the dark hours in my hostel bed. In the morning, it was all I could do to force down a bowl of fruit cocktail without throwing up. I took another body and jaw clenching nap and then later in the morning my heart gained some courage and told my aching tummy to get a grip. I decided the word for the day was “plucky” and I got off my butt and wandered the streets of the old city. I figured I have to take ownership of the place and get out there and explore. Make it my city. After three hours of wandering, sight seeing, and gaining some much needed confidence, I felt much better.

The hero of this day was my hostel rommie Maxie (short for Maxiemiliane) from Germany. She too is studying at Hebrew U (a different campus though) and arrived three days before me and is in much the same boat. I think she figured out what was going on and did her best to be sympathetic and encourage me in her own way. She brought me pistachios. You can always win my loyalty with food.

Welcome to the Maple Shekel

Hello all to my crazy adventure of a little Dorset girl in the holy city: Jerusalem. I arrived a few days ago on a plane that was so old I was gripping the ashtrays in the arm rests. I made my way through the night to the Austrian Hospice (truly an oasis in the chaos of the old city) and only got slightly scammed by my taxi driver (I was haggling for the first time ever, how good could I be?). I had a life-reviving shower and blissfully crawled into my domatory bed. Is seemed like only seconds after I layed my weary head that I was woken up by an Arab man loudly singing though a speaker pointed directly at my window. The pre-dawn call to prayer was the most beautiful and haunting thing I had ever heard, and I was enchanted by the voice in the dark - well, for the first five minutes. After twenty minutes, I decided not to look for an apartment in the Muslim quarter.

Well there is entry one of several crazy adventures. Get ready for posts on, forging for food in the old city, the Holy Church of the Boogers, om-pa-pa music, slimy rental agents, and other great adventures yet to be had.

Your pal near the centre of the universe,
Janet

A Forward: How it all started

It was spring in Edmonton, Alberta. I was working hard writing my thesis chapters to complete my PhD. On an otherwise unexceptional Sunday evening, during one of our nightly phone conversations, The Chicken put is foot down.
We had been living apart for nearly six years for schooling. Yet that night was the night James decided it was time I figured out where we were finally going to live together. "Hen," he said "you have to get on finding a post doc."

I sighed, cause I new he was right and spent the next two days sending out half a dozen unsolicited application packages to profs in the US. On a whim, I e-maied one to Israel, to a seriously Big Fish in the little nanochemistry pond that I work in. I figured my email would get the Index Finger Salute (delete button) but heck, why not?

To my utter surprise, there was an email in my inbox the next morning. The Big Fish wanted to set up a phone interview a couple days later. I got all dressed up and professional looking for a little confidence boost for my audio-only interview, likely strangely juxtaposed with the 1970s floral couch I was sitting on. All went well, because by the end of the day, the Big Fish had made me an offer.

Then I had to tell The Chicken.

I was expecting a veto, but he simply said "Sure, I'll go to Israel!" We decided it would be a great adventure and hopefully a scientific boon for me. It had all happened in five days.

Then I had to tell my family back home and my friends in Edmonton.

It was so unexpected, my Mom was speechless for at least ten seconds. My Dad had to have it said to him twice before it registered. After assuring them Israel was safe, they immediately started planning their visit with me as tour guide.

Friends in Edmonton would ask, "So are you moving back out east to be with James?"
"Well, not 'out east' per se, but rather to the 'Middle East', " I'd respond.
Then I'd get a confused look."You mean, like, Winnipeg?"

My PhD supervisor had the most unique response when I said where I was going and for whom I was going to work. "Holy Sh**!"  he said. "Really? That's great!" Then he looked over his glasses, pointed his finger at me and said "Don't f*** this up!" His confidence in me clearly knew no bounds.

In October, after defending my thesis, touring Alberta with my parents, going on a fantastic horseback riding trip, hauling all my stuff across Canada to store it in my parent's basement, and enduring tens of horrified "You're moving to JERUSALEM? Is is safe?", I left the comforts of home behind and flew with British Midlands from Toronto, connecting in London, to the abyss of the unknown.

January 10, 2011