I know how to jump-start the global economy.
It’s quite simple:
In every airport I’ve visited since September 11, 2001 (about 9 or 10 different airports), the security screening procedures are completely different.
In Chicago, you have to take off your shoes, have all of your liquids and gels (no more than 3 ounces, of course), in a 1-quart Ziploc bag, and remove your laptop from its case. In other airports, you may or may not have to do any of these things, in any combination. This is ridiculous. What good is it to make sure a terrorist isn’t smuggling a bomb on board the plane I take from Chicago to Madrid, but when flying the return route, they don’t check any of those things? Obviously, it’s just as I’ve suspected all along: the government has no idea how to protect us from another terrorist attack, and all of these procedures are just a smoke screen to pacify us and keep us from rioting or overthrowing the government or attacking innocent dark-skinned people, or, G-d forbid, not flying.
This reminds me of a picture I saw at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Entitled “The Perfect Traveler,” it was a drawing of a naked man carrying a Ziploc bag.
And recalling that this morning, I had a brainstorm:
Under a new, global policy, you have to fly completely naked. And you can’t take anything with you. No carry-ons. No checked luggage. Nothing. Nada. Zippo. Zilch. No luggage, no reading material, no snacks, not even a Ziploc bag. Snacks and newspapers, even reading glasses if you need them, would be given to you on the plane; the cost would be built into the price of your ticket. The flight attendant would collect your credit card and passport at the gate and return them to you when you get off the plane (so don’t even think about using the old Exploding Passport trick.) Since you can’t bring any cash, you’d have to get money from an ATM when you get there.
And, of course, buy clothes.
And here’s where the global economy comes in: imagine millions of travelers, every day, buying clothes and shoes and coats and toothbrushes and deodorant, in cities all over the world. We’d need hundreds of new businesses, thousands of new factories, millions of new workers. Economies all over the world would rapidly grow.
I really think this could work.
The only thing I haven’t figured out yet is what to do with all the clothing travelers are leaving behind in cities around the world. Flea markets, perhaps? Or clothing the poor and the homeless?
But I’ll let our new President worry about the details. I’ve already done all the hard work.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Yikes- bikes!
RUSH HOUR IN AMSTERDAMThere are surprisingly few cars on the streets of central Amsterdam. Everyone rides bikes. There are literally thousands of bikes. Every block has a hundred or so bikes parked in front of the houses, stores, and restaurants, and in the center of the city there are massive bicycle parking garages, with thousands and thousands of bikes.
Since most people don't have cars, they do all of their errands, shopping, and taking their kids to school by bicycle. It's not unusual to see people with 4 or 5 shopping bags dangling from their handlebars, or piled into large wooden boxes that sit above the front wheel of the bike.
Some bikes have a small front wheel, in order to accommodate an even larger wooden box, in which 2 (or 3 small) children can ride: sort of like a Dutch minivan.
The streets have designated bicycle lanes: not just a white stripe and a picture of a bike painted on the street, like in Chicago, but separate lanes with raised curbs. So far we haven't been involved in any collisions, but since I am not used to looking both ways for bikes when I cross the street, we've had a number of close calls.
Go figure
Shabbos afternoon we went to the Jewish Historical Museum, which lets you in for free on Shabbos if you're Shomer Shabbos. The museum has an extensive exhibit on the history of the Jews in Holland. It explains how the Dutch were relatively welcoming to the Jews who were fleeing the Spanish Inquisition and the pogroms for centuries, and even treated the Jews better than most other European countries in the 19th and 20th centuries--and then completely looked the other way when 80,000 Jews were deported and murdered by the Nazi's. Go figure.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Snow?
As we landed here in Amsterdam and our plane was taxiing to the terminal, we saw about 50 airport snowplows, with their lights flashing, lining up.
I hope that's not a bad sign.
I hope that's not a bad sign.
Dutch
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It's a really good thing that everyone here in Amsterdam seems to speak English, because Dutch is not one of those languages that seems to share enough words with English so that you can more or less figure out what it means. And most of us know how to say basic words like "Hello" and "goodbye" and "thank you" in Spanish and French and maybe even Japanese or Russian, but until today I didn't know a single word in Dutch. Now I know one: "Gracht." It means "canal." Which is not especilly useful for a tourist, since the canals are everywhere, sort of like alleys in Chicago, but you don't really need to refer to them.
And also, Dutch seems to have a lot of extra vowels, as in "Reguilerstraat" (the street where our hotel is.) I am not sure how to pronounce the street names, or names of museums, etc. Vanna, I'd like to buy a consonant...
Airport pet peeves
My airport pet peeves:
1. Airline employees who are unhelpful and/or incompetent, as in, "Why do you want to change your seat?" or (after I have just completed a 43-mile hike inside the airport, only to discover that I had hiked in the WRONG DIRECTION:) "No, I didn't tell you it was Concourse H; you said Concourse S." (See: "The customer is always wrong.")
2.Unhelpful or contradicting a signs and instructions: "Tram to Terminal S4, Gates H, J, K, L" but since we don't know which gate our flight is at because they won't post that information until 30 minutes before the scheduled departure, we don't know which stop to get off at, or whether we even need to take the tram, and yet we are supposed to check in at the gate 40 minutes beofre departure. (See: "Catch-22")
3. People who get off the escalator and then just STOP and STAND THERE right at the end while they try to figure out the signs, causing me to plow into them suddenly and violently with my roll-on luggage. (See: Phyllis, in the airport, with the suitcase.)
1. Airline employees who are unhelpful and/or incompetent, as in, "Why do you want to change your seat?" or (after I have just completed a 43-mile hike inside the airport, only to discover that I had hiked in the WRONG DIRECTION:) "No, I didn't tell you it was Concourse H; you said Concourse S." (See: "The customer is always wrong.")
2.Unhelpful or contradicting a signs and instructions: "Tram to Terminal S4, Gates H, J, K, L" but since we don't know which gate our flight is at because they won't post that information until 30 minutes before the scheduled departure, we don't know which stop to get off at, or whether we even need to take the tram, and yet we are supposed to check in at the gate 40 minutes beofre departure. (See: "Catch-22")
3. People who get off the escalator and then just STOP and STAND THERE right at the end while they try to figure out the signs, causing me to plow into them suddenly and violently with my roll-on luggage. (See: Phyllis, in the airport, with the suitcase.)
The Clueless American
We had to change planes again in Madrid on the way to Amsterdam. From the airport, you can see mountains in one direction--don't ask me which direction, I have no idea. And I don't know what mountains they are: Alps? Pyranees? (Am I even spelling that right?) I should have paid more attention in sixth grade geography class. or at least lookied at a map before coming on this trip. But I am ashamed to admit that I am of those Americans who is pretty much clueless about the rest of the world.
What was I thinking?
Our flight from Tel Aviv to Amsterdam was scheduled to leave at 6 AM. That meant that we had to leave Jerusalem at about 3:15. So it didn't make sense to even go to bed; we checked out of the hotel at noon and took our luggage to my brother-in-law's house, and after dinner we stayed up talking until 1 AM and then just dozed on the couches until it was time to leave for the airport.
I know there must have been a reason we chose a flight that left at 6 AM, but now I sure can't imagine what that might have been.
I know there must have been a reason we chose a flight that left at 6 AM, but now I sure can't imagine what that might have been.
Falafel
We spent Tuesday afternoon walking in downtown Jerusalem, visiting several art studios, watching the people go by, and eating falafel. The little falafel stand we went to was small and crowded and had no indoor seating; one of those hole-in-the-wall takeout places. Israeli falafel stands apparently are exepmt from whatever health codes the city or State has (if they have any:)the people behind the counter were not wearing hats or hair nets, they handled the food withpout wearing any plastic gloves or even using tongs; and they handled the money and ran the cash register without washing their hands. Since it was warm outside, the doors were wide open, and there were flies, and outside on the sidewalk there were some less-than-spotless tables, and cement planters that people were sitting on, and a few benches, and many stray cats, and a fair amount of trash on the ground.
It occurred to me that in Chicago, it's highly unlikely that I'd eat at such a place-the general unkempt and unsanitary appearance would be enough to scare me away with thoughts of food poisoning. But because it's Israel, I'm more willing to overlook those things.
But the falafel was really good, and only cost 6 shekels, which is about $1.50---and that's all the math I am willing to do.
It occurred to me that in Chicago, it's highly unlikely that I'd eat at such a place-the general unkempt and unsanitary appearance would be enough to scare me away with thoughts of food poisoning. But because it's Israel, I'm more willing to overlook those things.
But the falafel was really good, and only cost 6 shekels, which is about $1.50---and that's all the math I am willing to do.
Israel traffic rules
Israel traffic rule # 1: When stopped at a red light, it's entirely appropriate to honk your horn at the car in front of you a few seconds BEFORE the light turns green.
Israel traffic rule # 2: If you are thr first car stopped at a red light, and it isn't turning green soon enough, just go through it. Who cares if cross traffic is coming through the interesction?
Israel traffic rule # 3: When driving on a freeway or two-lane street, drive exactly in the center of the road, taking upoth lanes, whenever possible, especially if other cars are trying to pass.
Israel traffic rule # 2: If you are thr first car stopped at a red light, and it isn't turning green soon enough, just go through it. Who cares if cross traffic is coming through the interesction?
Israel traffic rule # 3: When driving on a freeway or two-lane street, drive exactly in the center of the road, taking upoth lanes, whenever possible, especially if other cars are trying to pass.
End of part 1 of the trip
If I were interested in doing math, I could figure out how many hours of sleep I averaged per night during the week we were in Jerusalem. I'm guessing it's about 5. But who wants to waste time sleeping?
Jerusalem has changed quite a bit since I was last there several years ago. new museums, new apartment buildings, new excavations, and streets torn up for a new light rail system that's being built. But we were told that the light rail is about 10 years from completion because somehow the people who were making the tracks and the people who were making the trains didn't communicate effectively, so the trains don't match the tracks--or something like that.
Last night we were in a taxi and a car in the lane next to us was going a little slowly--maybe looking for an address--but not THAT slowly--and the woman in the car behind him beeped her horn continuously for 2 blocks. When we all stopped at a red light, she got out of her car and went up to his window and started screaming at him until the light turned green. My Hebrew isn't good enough to be able to understand when people are talking very fast and screaming--which happens more than you might expect in Israel--but I'm sure you can imagine what she was saying.
Jerusalem has changed quite a bit since I was last there several years ago. new museums, new apartment buildings, new excavations, and streets torn up for a new light rail system that's being built. But we were told that the light rail is about 10 years from completion because somehow the people who were making the tracks and the people who were making the trains didn't communicate effectively, so the trains don't match the tracks--or something like that.
Last night we were in a taxi and a car in the lane next to us was going a little slowly--maybe looking for an address--but not THAT slowly--and the woman in the car behind him beeped her horn continuously for 2 blocks. When we all stopped at a red light, she got out of her car and went up to his window and started screaming at him until the light turned green. My Hebrew isn't good enough to be able to understand when people are talking very fast and screaming--which happens more than you might expect in Israel--but I'm sure you can imagine what she was saying.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Friday, Shabbos, & Sunday
Friday morning:
At around 7:30 we met the other family members who are here for the Bat Mitzvah in the hotel dining room for breakfast (again). We tend to sit around all morning; we keep saying to each other, “Why are we always the last ones out of wherever we are?” Maybe it’s just because there are so many of us, but also because we are always talking!
After breakfast, eight of us went to the Menachem Begin Center, which is a new museum that’s only a 5-minute walk from the hotel. We had an audio tour (in English) and it was interesting but about 90% of the museum consisted of going into different rooms and watching short videos about some period in Begin’s life, and although we were hearing the narration in English, the speakers still played the sound in Hebrew at the same time so it was sort of hard to hear. Also since we have been staying up till at least 1 AM every night and getting up at 7 or earlier, I was tired and nodded off a couple of times during the videos. But overall the museum was interesting. They have one room re-created as the Begins’ living room, with the actual furniture from their apartment, and you’re allowed to sit on it. (Kind of cool, to sit on Begin’s sofa!)
After the museum we went back to the hotel and got ready for Shabbos. Then we went to a shul in Yemin Moshe about a 15-minute walk from here. It was small and beautiful in the uniquely Jerusalem style, a fairly new (or newly renovated) building, so that there were no broken stones or worn-looking seats, but still retained the style of a very old shul. The davening was just slightly different in a couple of places; and actually that’s one of the things I like about traveling--going to a different place and seeing how they do things.
After we got back from shul, we had dinner. The hotel had set up one long, long table for us in the dining room, and we were loud and probably drowned out other peoples’ conversations at their own tables, but we tried to be considerate and only one other group seemed to be annoyed. And after dinner---I bet you can guess what we did—sat and talked until midnight.
Shabbos day:
The Bat Mitzvah (of Norman’s sisters’ granddaughter) was in a shul about a 20-minute walk from the hotel. It was a beautiful sunny, cool morning; the weather had been gorgeous here, which is great for us tourists but a worry for the country, since there is already a water shortage, so I wouldn’t mind if it rained. The Bat Mitzvah was lovely, with many family members participating, and a lunch afterwards. Later we walked back to the hotel and spent the afternoon talking and taking up at least half the hotel lobby (the other half has been taken up all week by several Christian tour groups, some of whose members are wearing Kipot and tzitzit—they told us, when we asked, that they “follow Torah,” but they don’t appear to be Shomer Shabbat, so I don’t know much about it. They are extremely supportive of Israel, though, even if their political views are more right-wing than mine.
After Shabbos we made Havdalah in the hotel without setting off any of the smoke detectors or sprinklers! And then 26 of us went out for pizza. (The Bat Mitzvah girl’s entire meal consisted of 2 chocolate milkshakes.) Midway through the meal Norman told me to look under the table. I did, and saw that one of the cousins had brought her dog—it’s a Maltese, and tiny, and it was poking its head out of her bag. The waitress didn’t notice until one of the kids did and was a little too loud about it, but the cousin who owned the dog just winked at her and the waitress just smiled and didn’t tell anyone.)
Sunday morning:
I woke up at 6:15 and opened my eyes to the brilliant red sun just climbing over the horizon, and jumped out of bed and grabbed my camera and took several pictures. It always amazes me how rapidly the sun rises and sets during those few minutes when it’s near the horizon—you can get a real sense of the earth turning at those times; while during the rest of the day it just doesn’t appear to move so quickly. Although that may be because we don’t usually start at the sun in the middle of the day, and there’s no nearby horizon against which to judge its movement.
We got up and sat in the dining room again until they kicked us out at 10:30 and then different groups of us sat in the lobby or went for walks or other excursions. There is a large patio next to the hotel, where you can see all over southeastern Jerusalem—mostly the Arab village of Abu Tor, which is more or less right below the hotel (we are on a hill) and which I could walk to in 5 minutes; close enough to see people walking and be able to determine their gender and approximate age. And farther up past Abu Tor is the separation barrier, which is probably a couple of miles away, and from this distance looks like a gracefully curving ribbon. But I know it doesn’t look like that up close, and people here have told us about the very mixed effects this wall has had on the country—both a blessing and a curse.
This afternoon we walked to a nearby park (Independence Park, I think) and 2 little Arab kids peed in the fountain and then stripped down to their underwear and went swimming. (Personally, I would have done it the other way…)
Later, we went out for falafel. When I went to pay, I discovered that my wallet was not in my purse. My first reaction was that I’d been pickpocketed, but I mentally retraced my steps since leaving the hotel, and I was almost positive that my wallet must have fallen out of my purse while it was in the safe in our room. And sure enough, that’s where it was, in the safe. So, a few nervous moments, but everything turned out OK in the end.
At around 7:30 we met the other family members who are here for the Bat Mitzvah in the hotel dining room for breakfast (again). We tend to sit around all morning; we keep saying to each other, “Why are we always the last ones out of wherever we are?” Maybe it’s just because there are so many of us, but also because we are always talking!
After breakfast, eight of us went to the Menachem Begin Center, which is a new museum that’s only a 5-minute walk from the hotel. We had an audio tour (in English) and it was interesting but about 90% of the museum consisted of going into different rooms and watching short videos about some period in Begin’s life, and although we were hearing the narration in English, the speakers still played the sound in Hebrew at the same time so it was sort of hard to hear. Also since we have been staying up till at least 1 AM every night and getting up at 7 or earlier, I was tired and nodded off a couple of times during the videos. But overall the museum was interesting. They have one room re-created as the Begins’ living room, with the actual furniture from their apartment, and you’re allowed to sit on it. (Kind of cool, to sit on Begin’s sofa!)
After the museum we went back to the hotel and got ready for Shabbos. Then we went to a shul in Yemin Moshe about a 15-minute walk from here. It was small and beautiful in the uniquely Jerusalem style, a fairly new (or newly renovated) building, so that there were no broken stones or worn-looking seats, but still retained the style of a very old shul. The davening was just slightly different in a couple of places; and actually that’s one of the things I like about traveling--going to a different place and seeing how they do things.
After we got back from shul, we had dinner. The hotel had set up one long, long table for us in the dining room, and we were loud and probably drowned out other peoples’ conversations at their own tables, but we tried to be considerate and only one other group seemed to be annoyed. And after dinner---I bet you can guess what we did—sat and talked until midnight.
Shabbos day:
The Bat Mitzvah (of Norman’s sisters’ granddaughter) was in a shul about a 20-minute walk from the hotel. It was a beautiful sunny, cool morning; the weather had been gorgeous here, which is great for us tourists but a worry for the country, since there is already a water shortage, so I wouldn’t mind if it rained. The Bat Mitzvah was lovely, with many family members participating, and a lunch afterwards. Later we walked back to the hotel and spent the afternoon talking and taking up at least half the hotel lobby (the other half has been taken up all week by several Christian tour groups, some of whose members are wearing Kipot and tzitzit—they told us, when we asked, that they “follow Torah,” but they don’t appear to be Shomer Shabbat, so I don’t know much about it. They are extremely supportive of Israel, though, even if their political views are more right-wing than mine.
After Shabbos we made Havdalah in the hotel without setting off any of the smoke detectors or sprinklers! And then 26 of us went out for pizza. (The Bat Mitzvah girl’s entire meal consisted of 2 chocolate milkshakes.) Midway through the meal Norman told me to look under the table. I did, and saw that one of the cousins had brought her dog—it’s a Maltese, and tiny, and it was poking its head out of her bag. The waitress didn’t notice until one of the kids did and was a little too loud about it, but the cousin who owned the dog just winked at her and the waitress just smiled and didn’t tell anyone.)
Sunday morning:
I woke up at 6:15 and opened my eyes to the brilliant red sun just climbing over the horizon, and jumped out of bed and grabbed my camera and took several pictures. It always amazes me how rapidly the sun rises and sets during those few minutes when it’s near the horizon—you can get a real sense of the earth turning at those times; while during the rest of the day it just doesn’t appear to move so quickly. Although that may be because we don’t usually start at the sun in the middle of the day, and there’s no nearby horizon against which to judge its movement.
We got up and sat in the dining room again until they kicked us out at 10:30 and then different groups of us sat in the lobby or went for walks or other excursions. There is a large patio next to the hotel, where you can see all over southeastern Jerusalem—mostly the Arab village of Abu Tor, which is more or less right below the hotel (we are on a hill) and which I could walk to in 5 minutes; close enough to see people walking and be able to determine their gender and approximate age. And farther up past Abu Tor is the separation barrier, which is probably a couple of miles away, and from this distance looks like a gracefully curving ribbon. But I know it doesn’t look like that up close, and people here have told us about the very mixed effects this wall has had on the country—both a blessing and a curse.
This afternoon we walked to a nearby park (Independence Park, I think) and 2 little Arab kids peed in the fountain and then stripped down to their underwear and went swimming. (Personally, I would have done it the other way…)
Later, we went out for falafel. When I went to pay, I discovered that my wallet was not in my purse. My first reaction was that I’d been pickpocketed, but I mentally retraced my steps since leaving the hotel, and I was almost positive that my wallet must have fallen out of my purse while it was in the safe in our room. And sure enough, that’s where it was, in the safe. So, a few nervous moments, but everything turned out OK in the end.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
The first day
Thursday
I went out for a walk early this morning and didn’t get lost. Maybe tomorrow I will try venturing a little farther.
SUNRISE OVER JERUSALEM
The hotel has a huge breakfast buffet—even if you only ate one bite of each thing, it would take all day.
At 11:00 we went to Yad Sarah, which is an organization that provides all kinds of services to elderly and disabled people. (It’s like The ARK times 10 million.) They provide physical therapy, art & music therapy, services for disabled children, vocational training, etc., as well as maintaining a comprehensive medical library so that people can come in after they’ve received a diagnosis, and a volunteer doctor will sit down with them and explain all of the details, what to expect, how it will affect their families, etc. They also have an enormous inventory of assistive medical equipment that they lend or give to disabled people, things like wheelchairs and canes and hospital beds and scooters, as well as adaptive scissors and toothbrushes and sock-pullers. Plus they have a medic-alert system : people can register with Yad sarah, and their information is stored in the computer. They were a medic-alert bracelet that has a button the can push if they need help, and an alarm goes off at Yad Sarah’s office (which is open 24 hours) and a volunteer will answer and then send whatever kind of help is needed. Although they said that 27% of their calls are from disabled or elderly people who live alone and just got frightened or lonely or just wanted someone to talk to. They have about 20 locations all over the country, and 6,000 volunteers, many of the full-time.
We (with the Israeli contingent of the family, we were about 30 people in all) were there for a dedication ceremony for a wheelchair-transport van that Norman’s uncle arranged to donate, with funds that he and his brothers had set aside for Tzedakah in Israel. Yad Sarah will use it to transport people not only to their building, but also to doctors’ appointments, etc., and to deliver meals. After the ceremony they served us lunch in their cafeteria, which serves free meals to all of the clients and volunteers and employees.
I went out for a walk early this morning and didn’t get lost. Maybe tomorrow I will try venturing a little farther.
SUNRISE OVER JERUSALEM
The hotel has a huge breakfast buffet—even if you only ate one bite of each thing, it would take all day.
At 11:00 we went to Yad Sarah, which is an organization that provides all kinds of services to elderly and disabled people. (It’s like The ARK times 10 million.) They provide physical therapy, art & music therapy, services for disabled children, vocational training, etc., as well as maintaining a comprehensive medical library so that people can come in after they’ve received a diagnosis, and a volunteer doctor will sit down with them and explain all of the details, what to expect, how it will affect their families, etc. They also have an enormous inventory of assistive medical equipment that they lend or give to disabled people, things like wheelchairs and canes and hospital beds and scooters, as well as adaptive scissors and toothbrushes and sock-pullers. Plus they have a medic-alert system : people can register with Yad sarah, and their information is stored in the computer. They were a medic-alert bracelet that has a button the can push if they need help, and an alarm goes off at Yad Sarah’s office (which is open 24 hours) and a volunteer will answer and then send whatever kind of help is needed. Although they said that 27% of their calls are from disabled or elderly people who live alone and just got frightened or lonely or just wanted someone to talk to. They have about 20 locations all over the country, and 6,000 volunteers, many of the full-time.
We (with the Israeli contingent of the family, we were about 30 people in all) were there for a dedication ceremony for a wheelchair-transport van that Norman’s uncle arranged to donate, with funds that he and his brothers had set aside for Tzedakah in Israel. Yad Sarah will use it to transport people not only to their building, but also to doctors’ appointments, etc., and to deliver meals. After the ceremony they served us lunch in their cafeteria, which serves free meals to all of the clients and volunteers and employees.
Arrival
The trip here was uneventful—which is exactly how you want a journey by airplane to be. The plane itself was a little old and tired-looking, and not particularly spotless-the pillow I found on my seat had someone else’s hair on it (I threw it in the overhead bin.) But the important parts of the plane, such as the engines, seemed to be working just fine.
Since we were flying on Iberia Airlines, all of the announcements the flight attendants made were in Spanish, of course, but the stuff they say in those announcements is pretty routine—where the exits are, how to fasten your seat belt, and what to do in the event of a sudden loss in cabin pressure. But it sounds so much nicer in Spanish—it’s a pretty language. The sound reminds me of the way marbles feel when you roll them around in your hand.
We had to change planes in Madrid, and when we arrived at dawn, and the first thing we saw was mountains—well, they were small mountains, but certainly not like anything we’re used to seeing in Chicago. The airport itself was also beautiful—lots of glass and sweeping curves.
The next leg of our flight was also uneventful. The only interesting thing was trying to identify one of the components of our Kosher meal. Along with the curried chicken with rice and the applesauce, there was a can, a little smaller than a typical can of tuna, and labeled in French. And in spite of having studied French for a total of seven years in high school and college, I had no idea what was in the can. After reading the ingredients, we decided it might be chopped liver, especially since there were crackers. But it also came with instructions that said it had to be heated, and included two plastic bags for double-wrapping the can. So we decided to open it.
It looked a little bit like dog food. But we never did figure out what it was. Needless to say, we didn’t eat it.
MYSTERY FOOD
We arrived on schedule in Tel Aviv at about 4 PM. On Iberia, the passengers don’t applaud when the plane touches down in Israel.
The hotel is incredibly beautiful. Everything is made from Jerusalem stone, and the bathroom has colored tile mosaics, and from our window we have a view of the Old City walls.
Since we were flying on Iberia Airlines, all of the announcements the flight attendants made were in Spanish, of course, but the stuff they say in those announcements is pretty routine—where the exits are, how to fasten your seat belt, and what to do in the event of a sudden loss in cabin pressure. But it sounds so much nicer in Spanish—it’s a pretty language. The sound reminds me of the way marbles feel when you roll them around in your hand.
We had to change planes in Madrid, and when we arrived at dawn, and the first thing we saw was mountains—well, they were small mountains, but certainly not like anything we’re used to seeing in Chicago. The airport itself was also beautiful—lots of glass and sweeping curves.
The next leg of our flight was also uneventful. The only interesting thing was trying to identify one of the components of our Kosher meal. Along with the curried chicken with rice and the applesauce, there was a can, a little smaller than a typical can of tuna, and labeled in French. And in spite of having studied French for a total of seven years in high school and college, I had no idea what was in the can. After reading the ingredients, we decided it might be chopped liver, especially since there were crackers. But it also came with instructions that said it had to be heated, and included two plastic bags for double-wrapping the can. So we decided to open it.
It looked a little bit like dog food. But we never did figure out what it was. Needless to say, we didn’t eat it.
MYSTERY FOODWe arrived on schedule in Tel Aviv at about 4 PM. On Iberia, the passengers don’t applaud when the plane touches down in Israel.
The hotel is incredibly beautiful. Everything is made from Jerusalem stone, and the bathroom has colored tile mosaics, and from our window we have a view of the Old City walls.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Fashion-challenged
I never thought I'd hear myself say the words, "I wish I were a man." But last night, while packing for this upcoming trip, I did.
No, I don't have any deep-seated gender issues. I'm perfectly and thoroughly happy being a woman--except for one thing: fashion.
I never know what to wear. I feel as though I have some sort of learning disability when it comes to clothing--a sort of fashion autism. I just don't notice what other people are wearing, the way autistic people don't notice other people's facial expressions. Of course if someone showed up at the office wearing a bathing suit, for example, or dressed as a clown, I'd notice. But the more subtle things--skirts vs. dresses, layers, and the dreaded "accessories"--about these I am completely clueless.
Nevertheless, I somehow managed to produce two daughters who are extremely knowledgeable about what looks good, what is stylish and what isn't, and what I shouldn't wear because it makes me look like an old lady (I admit, I do have some clothes that are at least 20 years old, not only because I haven't noticed when they've gone out of style, but also because I hate shopping.) When my youngest was in high school, she used to look me up and down as I emerged from the bedroom each morning. On the days when she said, carefully, " Is that what you're wearing to work?" I'd say,"Well, I guess not!" and go back into the bedroom , followed by said daughter, who would kindly and patiently re-dress me, so that I would be sufficiently presentable for the outside world (and not look like an old lady.)
My son, on the other hand--he's a guy. No further explanation needed.
At no time does this handicap become more of an issue than when I am packing, especially to go someplace where the climate and/or the culture is different. On this trip, we'll be in Jerusalem for a week, and then stopping off in Amsterdam for 4 days before coming home. By checking weather.com, I already know that the temperature is supposed to be in the 60's in Jerusalem all week, but when we get to Amsterdam it will be in the 40's and probably raining. Therefore I need to take both summer ( or spring) and winter clothes--basically, all the clothing I own. A heavy coat and a light coat. An umbrella and sunglasses. My fleece lined Crocs and my regular ones. And so on.
Then I looked at what my husband was packing: besides the pair of pants he'll wear on the plane, he's taking two pairs of pants (one for Shabbos); 12 T-shirts; a couple of flannel shirts; a pair of shoes; and a dress shirt for Shabbos. Some underwear and a pair of pajama pants.
That's it.
Being a man is SO much easier--a pair of pants and a shirt EVERY DAY! No earrings, necklaces, scarves, tights, hoodies, or footwear options; the only two categories are "Shabbos" and "not Shabbos."
See what I mean? It's so easy for him, but I have to consider what shirts go with which tops; whether I'll need to layer, depending on the weather; whether a particular outfit is too fancy or too causal (and don't even get me started on the exact definitions of those terms); and so on.
And, as I explained above, I am not at all good at this.
As he watched me put yet more things into the suitcase, he asked me, "Why are you taking so much stuff? Not counting the time we'll be on the plane, we're only going for 12 days."
I didn't even try to explain. He's a guy--he just wouldn't understand.
No, I don't have any deep-seated gender issues. I'm perfectly and thoroughly happy being a woman--except for one thing: fashion.
I never know what to wear. I feel as though I have some sort of learning disability when it comes to clothing--a sort of fashion autism. I just don't notice what other people are wearing, the way autistic people don't notice other people's facial expressions. Of course if someone showed up at the office wearing a bathing suit, for example, or dressed as a clown, I'd notice. But the more subtle things--skirts vs. dresses, layers, and the dreaded "accessories"--about these I am completely clueless.
Nevertheless, I somehow managed to produce two daughters who are extremely knowledgeable about what looks good, what is stylish and what isn't, and what I shouldn't wear because it makes me look like an old lady (I admit, I do have some clothes that are at least 20 years old, not only because I haven't noticed when they've gone out of style, but also because I hate shopping.) When my youngest was in high school, she used to look me up and down as I emerged from the bedroom each morning. On the days when she said, carefully, " Is that what you're wearing to work?" I'd say,"Well, I guess not!" and go back into the bedroom , followed by said daughter, who would kindly and patiently re-dress me, so that I would be sufficiently presentable for the outside world (and not look like an old lady.)
My son, on the other hand--he's a guy. No further explanation needed.
At no time does this handicap become more of an issue than when I am packing, especially to go someplace where the climate and/or the culture is different. On this trip, we'll be in Jerusalem for a week, and then stopping off in Amsterdam for 4 days before coming home. By checking weather.com, I already know that the temperature is supposed to be in the 60's in Jerusalem all week, but when we get to Amsterdam it will be in the 40's and probably raining. Therefore I need to take both summer ( or spring) and winter clothes--basically, all the clothing I own. A heavy coat and a light coat. An umbrella and sunglasses. My fleece lined Crocs and my regular ones. And so on.
Then I looked at what my husband was packing: besides the pair of pants he'll wear on the plane, he's taking two pairs of pants (one for Shabbos); 12 T-shirts; a couple of flannel shirts; a pair of shoes; and a dress shirt for Shabbos. Some underwear and a pair of pajama pants.
That's it.
Being a man is SO much easier--a pair of pants and a shirt EVERY DAY! No earrings, necklaces, scarves, tights, hoodies, or footwear options; the only two categories are "Shabbos" and "not Shabbos."
See what I mean? It's so easy for him, but I have to consider what shirts go with which tops; whether I'll need to layer, depending on the weather; whether a particular outfit is too fancy or too causal (and don't even get me started on the exact definitions of those terms); and so on.
And, as I explained above, I am not at all good at this.
As he watched me put yet more things into the suitcase, he asked me, "Why are you taking so much stuff? Not counting the time we'll be on the plane, we're only going for 12 days."
I didn't even try to explain. He's a guy--he just wouldn't understand.
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