my plan for peace in the middle east? more parks.

Every night we were in town, I forced Walker to run laps with me at a park just down the street from our little apartment in Jerusalem.
Around and around the packed park (seriously packed every single night!) we'd circle. Dodging the many strollers and toddlers of Haredi families, coughing through the smoke of people barbecuing, and getting such a kick out of the trash cans which were designed, I'm sure, to be cute, while the reality came off as anything but.
It's all etched into my memory: they sure lived it up hard in the parks over there.
And I think it's the little things like this that really leave an impression of the place.
Because these are exactly the images that come to mind when people ask if I was ever scared while over there.


More of Walker's pictures on flickr.

balcony.

(spice at the shuk).


Below our little apartment balcony there is a clothing boutique.
At around five every day, the very chic owner sets up a small table and two chairs outside the store, grabs a couple of coffees from the café down the street and then proceeds to have various friends around the neighborhood drop by for caffeine and a chat. Waving their cigarettes in the air when the conversation gets particularly animated.
The store's still open mind you, as she occasionally leaves to help a customer.
I like this casual way of doing business.

the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures.

Last night I couldn't sleep.

Walker and I had just eaten an amazing dinner. 

The eating here has been particularly wonderful in general, but last night's was a special adventure. 

We tried to eat at this restaurant we'd heard about in the Shuk that uses ingredients straight from the wonderful market - but it was booked solid (and on a Wednesday night). The host sent us across the street to their tinier, off-shoot of a restaurant instead, promising a similar experience.

It was bar seating only (I have a serious love for eating at bar tops) with the crazy chefs serving and cooking right in front of you and an equally crazy menu translated from Hebrew into gems like "Salmon that makes me think of happy times in Thailand" or "Mussels Hamusta, we win for sure we win."

A generous glass of red wine, beef carpaccio, and deconstructed baklava for dessert, plus sneaking bites off of Walker's plate. Just trust me, it was such a happy accident.

And I'm in the middle of a particularly good book: The Invisible Circus by Jennifer Egan.

And I'm also traveling.

So, Walker + food + the written word + travel = I just get so excited about life.

And stay up all night with the impatient feeling I often get when in a good bookstore: I wish I had the ability to read all of these books at one time and retain all of the information and feeling. 

...except in this instance swap "books" out for "everything in the world."

culture club.

(walker doing the dead sea float - it really is quite the experience).




jerusalem: i love how friday mornings are busy, busy, busy. it's like everyone is out running errands in preparation for an imminent snowstorm. how an entire city shuts down at dusk the same evening, not to open up again for an entire 24 hours. saturday shabbat is certainly not the sunday sabbath in america - forget the lost profits, everything is closed, today we are untouchable. and people running to their family's shabbat dinner with braids of bread and bottles of wine under their arms.

nazareth: i love how the call to prayer washes over a city. especially during ramadan. when i have to remember not to torture people by chugging water right in front of them during the desert heat of the day. the men flipping tiny pancakes in the streets for katayef: later stuffed with goat's cheese or cinnamon walnuts and doused with geranium syrup. kids running wild once the sun goes down. and the most powerful of all, the large group of men praying in the plaza for the breaking of the fast, the neat rows of prayer rugs, the coordinated movements and chanting.

how we plan to make our millions.

implement mint lemonade stands on every corner like they do alongside the Red Sea.
i'm all for cheap, refreshing thrills.

sometimes i get a good feeling.

sometimes i think 25 may be the age of panic.

i mean, there are people my age who are married, getting promoted, having babies, buying homes, contributing to retirement funds, operating on live humans, etc.
and since i want a few of those things eventually too, the fact that it's all so out of reach at present can really make it seem like i missed some sort of bus to the land of comfort and stability -- doomed to an eternal life as one of the main characters in HBO's Girls.
(side note: i enjoy Girls, while also finding them truly offensive and pathetic).

so instead, i'm making myself a fan of the little goals:
- like, the day i can afford to own a really nice blender will be an epic day in my life. monumental.
- or a july with my boyfriend in Israel and Jordan, filled with goat cheese caves, world wonders, writing, and the promise of the best hummus of my life.
- to make the crack pie from Momofuku Milk Bar. (recipe here).
- to understand tax law.
- etc.

thus, my challenge is: not to panic. not to let the panic waste so much of my time. and not to let the panic force me to lose that all-important tool in the life skills kit: perspective.



p.s. some articles i liked:

The Atlantic: Jersey Boys.

GQ: Up From the Streets.

WSJ: Always Dress to Impress.

The Atlantic: Is Facebook Making Us Lonely?

june.

My house was called
the house of flowers, because in every cranny
geraniums burst: it was
a good-looking house
with its dogs and children.
Remember, Raul?
Eh, Rafel? Federico, do you remember
from under the ground
my balconies on which
the light of June drowned flowers in your mouth?
(Pablo Neruda, I'm Explaining a Few Things).