When (I Was) in Rome

I wrote this post on my way to Paris earlier this morning, but before we move on to that lovely - albeit rainy - city, I must, must, must tell you that I loved Rome. Forgetting the incident of the deceptively expensive coffee and pastry that I ordered for breakfast this morning at a local cafe, I absoluuutely loved it. I will graciously forgive Rome its single indescretion, since it is very clear to me (though it was less clear at the time) that the surprisingly price of my simple meal was only the city's most transparent way of expressing its sadness and frustration at my parting. Really, Rome, I get it. You don't need to explain yourself to me. But maybe give me a little warning next time. I can arm you with ancient tissues from an ancient bath house - and I can arm myself with extra euros.

In my 9 days in the eternal city, I saw many of the sights: the Coloseum, the Pantheon, the Cistine Chapel (no St. Peter's - it closed early on Christmas Eve, the nerve), the Roman Forum, the Arch of Constantine, Trajan's Column (the real one *and* the replica), the Spanish Steps, the opera by the Spanish Steps (best accidental find), the Villa Borghese, the Jewish Ghetto and museum, the Trevi Fountain, the Christmas market in Piazza Navona (which was surprisingly inferior to London's markets: London's were more artisan-y, while Navona's sold mostly mass produced Christmas tree ornaments). I window-shopped a ton, though truly shopped very little. I probably tried on half of the brown leather boots in the city of Rome, however. I was seriously tempted on multiple occasions, but the mental image of my small hiking backpack that had thus far managed - quite miraculously - to meet both Ryanair and Easyjet hand luggage policies held me back. (Think I made the wrong decision? Me too. But there's always Paris...)

Rome is beautiful for its enchanting mix of old and new. Ancient ruins rise up out of the ground in front of your metro stop, and modern businesses find their homes in centuries-old buildings. The faded colors of the plaster facades make for a charming - and charmed - backdrop to any photo, where in other cities such signs of age might cause one to characterize the place as derelict. The sunsets there are golden, adding to the general sense of majesty.

Rome is actually much smaller than I'd thought originally. I can't decide whether the map drawers needed more practice; if they were simply so proud of their city that they drew it as it seemed through their love-drunk eyes; or whether my map was part of a general map scheme against tourists to make us buy more metro tickets. Either way, on my last day I managed to walk by and through most of the sites my friend and I had toured throughout the week, and I still made it back to the hostel in time for the advertized pizza and pasta "party." The great capitol of the ancient empire felt homier that day.

Cue the breakfast scene from this morning, draw in a flight and a bit of waiting time, and fast forward to now. 

I. Am. In. Paris. (With my Bubbe!)

And you will 'ave to 'ear about eet later - because I am le tired and must go to sleep.

Bon nuit :)

Little Londontown

After a year-and-a-bit-long hiatus, I'm back :)
I kind of figured that I couldn't get away with going on a semi-solo Eurotrip without writing about it somewhere.  Neither certain family members - nor I, for that matter - would forgive me.
It's funny to be here.  On the one hand, there's this sense of urgency to do something, to stick to a schedule, to find my way back without glitches and before sunset.  On the other hand, there is this overwhelmingly liberating sense that none of that is necessary.  There is no plan.  I can see what I see and get lost when I need to; there's no schedule to keep.  Only the darkness detail is somewhat more than minorly important, but even that is just a rule that I am creating for myself.  I could break it if I wanted to (my nerves and sense of self-preservation would probably less than allow it, but still - it's the principle, I say, it's the principle!).
Today I walked around Camden Town.  It took me a while to get there - figuring out the correct bus stop; figuring out which side of the street to look down first before crossing; figuring out if it was safe at all for a right-side-of-the-road-oriented American to be crossing the street here under any circumstances - but in the end I did it.  I did it!
It was funny, but now that I'm in a country that speaks my "mother tongue" (with strange accents, mind...), I kept wishing that someone on the bus would just speak some Hebrew - just a little bit of Hebrew!  Then I could ask them for directions so much more easily...
Wait, what?
Yes, my friends, you heard it here: Ariel feels more comfortable sitting on a bus full of Hebrew speakers than on one of those buses' very red, very tall, English speaking doppelgangers.
I should get over that, you say?
No I should not!  I retort.
I like Hebrew.  Fin.
Tomorrow, off to do the "Alternative London Walking Tour."  Then, seeing a dear, dear Brandeis buddy!
Cheerio :)

Save a Child's Heart

It's amazing how much kids can affect you.
Yesterday, I started volunteering at SACH (Save a Child's Heart) - a humanitarian organization based in Azur, whose mission is to bring children with heart problems from all over the world to Israel to get the surgeries and treatments that they need (but aren't available in their home countries).  Most of the kids there don't speak English or Hebrew, but that doesn't seem to matter at all; the language of fun and playtime is pretty much universal.  Anyway, you'd be surprised how well some of them seem to have picked up the languages.  Most of the children at the Children's House are there with their mothers, and while others came with nurses.  Our job as volunteers is to play with the kids in the House and, on days when we're assigned to the hospital, to visit the kids that are there pre- and post-surgery to brighten up their days.  The moms also need friendly faces, we've been told: some of them have been here for months already, and it's hard for them to be away from their countries, families, languages, and cultures for so long.
The diversity of cultures in the House is pretty cool.  Most of the children there right now are from Africa, and quite a few of their mothers are dressed in what I assume is traditional African garb: colorful, drape-like clothing that forms a hood around the head and falls down to about their ankles.  In the hospital, we'll apparently see more Muslim families; they generally don't stay in the House, since their homes are not far away in Gaza, etc.  I haven't had a hospital shift yet, but I'm sure it will be an interesting experience.
One of the full-time volunteers brought his guitar to the children's house, so there was a constant stream of sometimes-identifiable, always pleasant music yesterday afternoon - even when the boys, who did not actually know any chords, were jamming away.  (They sort of just plucked random strings and made serious, in-the-music-zone faces - which would have created something pretty jarring had they been hitting the notes with all their might, but the way they were doing it softly actually made for a nice background hum.)
It appears that the organization is very well known in Canada - 4 of the 6 or so volunteers I met yesterday were Canadian (I could pick them out right away - voice inflections, vowel pronunciations...when it comes to sniffing out Canadian accents, I am like one of those bomb-detecting German shepherds, or those labs they keep in 30th St. Station to find drugs.  105% accurate - that means that even if you're not Canadian, chances are you actually are.  Don't mess, I know my stuff.)
Unfortunately, I can't go back to SACH until I get a bit of paperwork sorted out; which, thanks to Israel's lovely bureaucracy, will likely take a bit of time (plus, next week I can't go in anyway - major internship crackdown week!  Get ready for more entries in the Raichel blog, summerbackstage.wordpress.com).  After only one day at SACH, I feel that loss of time with the kids as a tangible hole in my day (existence too strong?) - they're so sweet, so strong (despite their physical fragility), so friendly that they've already made a huge impression on me.  Hopefully I'll get to go back sooner rather than later, and make up the lost time before I leave!
Now, off to run in the increasingly hot morning - gotta blow off the steams of frustration.
Adios.

The Day My Dreams Came True, My Life Found Meaning, and Hespan Became a Real Language

Eso fue la experiencia más מגניב de mi חיים עד ahora.  Asistí a una קבוצת שיחה para practicar mi ספרדית, y todos los חברים היו ישראלים.  Entonces, מה זאת אומרת?  Eso significó que todas las clarificaciones--של משמעויות, למשל--fueron en עברית.  También los נושאים היו conectados a la vida israelí cotidiana.  האמת היא שהייתי הכי confundida linguísticamente que he estado אף פעם en mi vida, pero היה שווה completamente.  בעצם, encontré la משמעות של mi חיים.  Fue מ–ד–ה–י–ם.
I came home on such a language high that I'm ready to propose double language classes as the healthy and legal solution to the world's drug problems.  Seriously, Whoever Will Listen--the U.N., the National Guard, the President, Mexico, The Slums--send your drug addicts and drug lords to Diburimos.  Drug trafficking will stop, violence in the cities and across the borders will meet its end, there will be no more crack babies.  The world will be a better place!
Now is the time for all of you to ask two questions: 1. What the hell does that thing (aka Paragraph One) mean? 2. What on this dear earth of Mother's is "Diburimos"?
To answer question 1, see the translation below:
That was the coolest experience of my life so far.  I went to a conversation group to practice my Spanish, and all of the group members were Israeli.  So, what does (did) that mean?  It meant that all of the clarifications--of definitions, for instance--were in Hebrew.  The topics (under discussion) were also connected to daily Israeli life.  The truth is that I was the most linguistically confused that I have ever been in my life, but it was totally worth it.  Basically, I found the meaning of my life.  It was a-m-a-z-i-n-g.
(Redundant?  Sorry.  The redundancy disappears when you alternate languages each time you have to write the word "life.")
To answer question 2: "Diburimos" is the Spanish conversation group program run by המכון לידידות אמריקה, the American Alliance Institute.  They have multiple Diburimos levels (I went to "Superiores" :) ), and you can join the group without being enrolled in any of the Institute's classes.  I spoke/listened in a group made of myself, two elderly women, two middle-aged-elderly men and one late-twenty-something muchacha, under the elocutionary (what??) guidance of Estér, our lively Diburimos guide from México.  My Spanish speaking skills are definitely not what they once were (I think they peaked in high school under the meticulous instruction of Señor Leven), but the fact that I could understand la gran mayoría of what the Superiores said--and chime in every few minutes myself--means that I might still get it all back.  Fingers crossed!

"Diburimos," by the way, is a marvelous invention of Hespan that even I--an experienced Hespan speaker, just ask mi Abba--never thought to compose: it combines the Hebrew word דיבור (speaking) with the Spanish "we" verb ending -imos in a single word.  Give or take--since technically דיבור is a noun, "the act of speaking"--"Diburimos" is Hespan for "We speak"/"We are speaking."
Genius.

One Day/Day One in Tel Aviv

This city is TEEMING with people--all of whom, apparently, I know. 
Ok, slight exaggeration.  But I did see five people I knew today while walking in Tel Aviv, only one of whom I'd planned to meet.  The others (one Moshava, one Brandeis, two Haifa) were quite happenstantial (new word--you like?), and made the world seem much smaller than I know it must actually be. 
I learned that bus 25 will take me WHEREVER I need to go--Rabin Square, Dizengoff Center (To do what?  להזדנגף, duh);
I taught a Russian man who owned a bakery that the word he was searching for that went with "gentlemen" was "ladies"--of which, in his eyes, I apparently was one (he made a point to say so while handing me my orange juice and kindly shaking my hand);
I saw the woman who sang "Shir LaShalom" when Rabin was killed--she's still street performing next to the Carmel Shuk and Nahalat Benyamin, same as she was four years ago when I last saw her;
I discovered that I am not as directionally challenged as I'd thought.  I made it home okay!
Tonight I ate my weight in keish and pashtida, all the while being thoroughly entertained by a senior sefaradi man who had an insane talent for keeping a straight face while making insane comments.  This was a dinner with Zeev's side of the family, and I very much enjoyed myself!
Moral of the story: great first day.
Must. Go. To. Sleep.

NOT Gonna Call This "Goodbye, Haifa."

Today is my last day in Haifa.  Is it possible to viscerally miss a city?  I haven't even left yet, but I'm already feeling nostalgic over the imminent loss of the ethereal view from the mountaintop, the perfect pairing of greenery and white stone (some flowers, too) that characterizes this place, the way the sky-blue Mediterranean seems eternally caught in your peripheral vision.  Don't get too sad, Ariel - you'll be back.
Yesterday, I had two very special guests to show around my city for a final hoorah.  We started the day at the beach (three days in a row at the beach = my ring tan is forming perfectly.  I know you were dying to know), walked through Merkaz HaCarmel, and then sat down by the Louis Promenade to take in - what you may have guessed by now is my favorite part of Haifa - the view.  We met a few Christian missionaries, were sort-of-not-so-subtly told that Jesus saves, and went on our way.  Rose and Hillel left, I went home to pack, said a few tearful goodbyes, went to sleep, and now here I sit: bags downstairs, room empty but for the few things I'll still be needing until 2:15.  Awaiting my next adventure: Tel (okay, Ramat) Aviv.

The Post I Started Writing a Month Ago, and Never Finished

Hi!
Long time no write.  Things have been rather crazy around here - when was the last time I posted here?
If I remember correctly, I promised to tell you about the International School's trip to the north and about Yom Ha'atzmaut in Haifa.  Since they were so long ago, I'll do it quickly:
TRIP TO THE NORTH! - If you were ever curious as to whether it would be fun to sleep outside when it's raining, I can quench your thirst for knowledge here and now: It's not.  Granted, it makes for good stories later.  Waking up at one o'clock in the morning, feeling rather confused as to what those wet drops are that are falling on your face, looking up and having the misfortune of having another one of said drops fall straight into your eye, realizing through the foggy thought process that is the grogginess of interrupted sleep that, wow, it is raining.  You have no possibilities for shelter other than your sleeping bag (holding up surprisingly well, I might add - you are definitely more fortunate than other people in the group in that regard at least), and you conclude that you'd do best to try and go back to sleep if you don't want tomorrow's hike to be a living hell.  You'd cry, if you weren't sure it would turn out to be rather funny tomorrow (you have a knack for recognizing future "Remember when THAT happened?" moments - didn't you know?).  Plus, you're one of the lucky ones: your EMS mummybag seems miraculously able to keep out the water.  The International-School issued sleeping bags are not so kind to their now conscious inhabitants.  With that smug thought, you embrace the raindrops and fall back to sleep.
(Yes, I am fully aware that I started that paragraph saying that it sucks to sleep outside when it's raining, and ended it with a hint of positivity - contradiction, you may claim?  Stream of consciousness, I declare.)
YOM HA'ATZMAUT IN HAIFA! - To describe this experience, I will say two words: Shiri Maimon.  If that means nothing to you, watch and learn: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LUFO8KjOrBU&feature=BFa&list=AVGxdCwVVULXcAkPdClPu4htwrEmvrHcxw&index=4 .
(In case that was a little too obscure, I'll say a little more:


About 1 month later:
I was going to say a little more, but never got around to it.  Now going back to it just seems a little anticlimactic...living in the past, you know?  Best to live in the present.