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