VC & Desi Conquer: Delhi & Shimla

Warning: This draft blog entry was written 5 days ago and was emailed from a bad browser that didn't include gmail's spell check feature or gmail's address book, so when I was unable (do to browser limitations) to add it to my blog, I emailed it to the few email addresses I could remember (2/5 I typed wrong, anyway) and now I want to cut and paste this and give you my updates for the past five days, however I don't have THAT much time, and the formatting is TOTALLY messed up...so sorry for not fixing it:

Sorry but I can't add this to my blog due to the slow connection andmy lack of time!XOXOWell I'm sorry that I wasn't able to tell you all about my last days on myIsrael-Palestine trip, but I'll get to them soon enough :) [preview: meetingwith Hamas, charged-but-fruitless body search with cute Georgian securityguard in Tel Aviv airport, meeting a cool and mysterious friend from thepast]More pressing blog update: I'M IN INDIA! :)Nearing the end of my third full day in Delhi [note: this was draftertwo days ago, and I'm actually now 24 hours into my stay in Shimla,which you'll read about, below], and feeling a bit exhausted (I amsuffering from a terrible head cold that set in during the three daysI had in Cairo between Israel and India, and I *definitely* don'tthink traveling helped the congestion. I'm not completely deaf, but Iam still quite congested, have patchy hearing, and am coughing upthings that are best not described with too much detail on this blog(speaking of not much detail: I have a LOT to say, but right now Ineed to rush through some recaps before I see too many things toremember, so this blog will be more like bullet points of my vacationwith most of the thoughts, tangents, analysis saved for when I getback to Egypt...sorry!).ANYWAY, this is our last night in Delhi, for a while, ("we" meaning me andDesi -- I was originally to visit him in Bombay, but he's grown quitefrustrated with the sewage-filled construction zone and wanted usto stay in the North), and so I can recap some of the things I've seen.I have to say that you might find the richness of my India blogging to bedisappointing, mostly because I don't have any strong impressions of theplace. I think that when we travel alone, we are more contemplative, andalso enrichen the space around us with our own impressions (we fill in the
have a guide (as I do in Desi) then I think you don\'t do as much thinkingabout the things you are seeing. I also think (and I am not regretful ofthis) that it\'s as much a trip (if not more) about us then about India, andI find myself enjoying talking to him more than I am seeing monuments that,to quote Glam (see my former blog entries about this friend in Cairo) leaveme just "whelmed" (neither over- nor under-).I arrived with little hassle (minus my deafness) at almost 5AM at our rathercrap hotel (La Sagarita, in Sunder Nagar, for all of you future Indiatravelers), and although I was quite disappointed by Gulf Air (we actuallyalmost took off from Bahrain with a woman holding her chicken-pock COVEREDscreaming child in the seat behind me until the passenger next to her and Iboth chimed in...I told them that I\'d never had chicken pocks [I reallyhaven\'t] and the stewardess said that she was aware that they could be verydangerous to adults.Our first day by neither ambitious nor lazy. We had breakfast at what isour CURRENT hotel (just for one night -- and then two more when we are backon the 28th and 29th), a guest house in a large complex called the HabitatCentre (or Habitat World), that is a multipurpose kind of complex thatincludes a lot of NGO offices, conference centers, and an American-stylediner that is...whelming lol.We first went to the Lodi Gardens, which really were beautiful, and it\'swhen an eeriness about our time in Delhi first became apparent: it\'s notthat hot, not that crowded, and things are oddly quiet and empty. Eventoday, in the Old City, it was chaotic in a way that was predictable (and Ithink quite managable), but I\'d say that there have been many times whereboth of us have looked around (especially he, having lived here and having",1]
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blanks of interactions, looks, places we don't really understand). When youhave a guide (as I do in Desi) then I think you don't do as much thinkingabout the things you are seeing. I also think (and I am not regretful ofthis) that it's as much a trip (if not more) about us then about India, andI find myself enjoying talking to him more than I am seeing monuments that,to quote Glam (see my former blog entries about this friend in Cairo) leaveme just "whelmed" (neither over- nor under-).I arrived with little hassle (minus my deafness) at almost 5AM at our rathercrap hotel (La Sagarita, in Sunder Nagar, for all of you future Indiatravelers), and although I was quite disappointed by Gulf Air (we actuallyalmost took off from Bahrain with a woman holding her chicken-pock COVEREDscreaming child in the seat behind me until the passenger next to her and Iboth chimed in...I told them that I'd never had chicken pocks [I reallyhaven't] and the stewardess said that she was aware that they could be verydangerous to adults.Our first day by neither ambitious nor lazy. We had breakfast at what isour CURRENT hotel (just for one night -- and then two more when we are backon the 28th and 29th), a guest house in a large complex called the HabitatCentre (or Habitat World), that is a multipurpose kind of complex thatincludes a lot of NGO offices, conference centers, and an American-stylediner that is...whelming lol.We first went to the Lodi Gardens, which really were beautiful, and it'swhen an eeriness about our time in Delhi first became apparent: it's notthat hot, not that crowded, and things are oddly quiet and empty. Eventoday, in the Old City, it was chaotic in a way that was predictable (and Ithink quite managable), but I'd say that there have been many times whereboth of us have looked around (especially he, having lived here and having
city) and just thought that it was oddly calm...or not calm: subdued.What I\'ll say about the garden/tomb sights that we\'ve seen, in general, isthat what\'s so nice about them (at least when we were there) is that you arein a beautifully-green setting (but sort of simple: nice, sewerwater-fortified grass, with not too much jungle-like business elsewhere)amongst the ruins of kind of no-longer-remarkable tombs/monuments to formerLodi and Mughal leaders that combine to just be really peaceful and unique(in the way that I imagine the combination of the ruins of Angkor Wat in thejungle of Cambodia being a nice combination).We went from the Lodi Gardens to the Purana Qila (word to the wise: becareful when walking down the stairs in YOUR home library, or else you mightend up like poor Sher Shah!) and then Humayun\'s Tomb, which, like mostthings re-done with Agha Khan money, was quite well-kept and beautiful, evenas it started to rain.We drove south to a place called South Extension ("South Ex") and (like inLahore) another Defence Colony ("Def-Con"), where I had to buy like amillion hours in this cyber cafe (where they have ads for "ethical hacking"lol), and then we had dinner with Desi and a friend of his from years ago,who ran into friends of HIS (a gay India guy and his boyfriend, and hislesbian sister and her partner from London -- who was TOTALLY wasted lol) ata restaurant called Aqua (it wanted to be a chic 5-star restaurant hotel,but it was more like 5-star hotel airport lounge confused by the stylisticdirections in which it was being pulled). We attempted to go out afterdinner, but by 1AM everything was closed-down!Yesterday, both because he is a much less intense traveler and because Ithink he genuinely wanted me to rest my cold, we spent a lazy day bouncing",1]
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had quite a negative experience with the generally monstrous nature of thecity) and just thought that it was oddly calm...or not calm: subdued.What I'll say about the garden/tomb sights that we've seen, in general, isthat what's so nice about them (at least when we were there) is that you arein a beautifully-green setting (but sort of simple: nice, sewerwater-fortified grass, with not too much jungle-like business elsewhere)amongst the ruins of kind of no-longer-remarkable tombs/monuments to formerLodi and Mughal leaders that combine to just be really peaceful and unique(in the way that I imagine the combination of the ruins of Angkor Wat in thejungle of Cambodia being a nice combination).We went from the Lodi Gardens to the Purana Qila (word to the wise: becareful when walking down the stairs in YOUR home library, or else you mightend up like poor Sher Shah!) and then Humayun's Tomb, which, like mostthings re-done with Agha Khan money, was quite well-kept and beautiful, evenas it started to rain.We drove south to a place called South Extension ("South Ex") and (like inLahore) another Defence Colony ("Def-Con"), where I had to buy like amillion hours in this cyber cafe (where they have ads for "ethical hacking"lol), and then we had dinner with Desi and a friend of his from years ago,who ran into friends of HIS (a gay India guy and his boyfriend, and hislesbian sister and her partner from London -- who was TOTALLY wasted lol) ata restaurant called Aqua (it wanted to be a chic 5-star restaurant hotel,but it was more like 5-star hotel airport lounge confused by the stylisticdirections in which it was being pulled). We attempted to go out afterdinner, but by 1AM everything was closed-down!Yesterday, both because he is a much less intense traveler and because Ithink he genuinely wanted me to rest my cold, we spent a lazy day bouncing
(althuogh I *hate* buying jeans that don\'t fit perfectly). I justrealized that people (like me) are so silly, because when we try onclothes we basically look at ourselves in a million different angles:"No. No. Fat. No. YESSSS! I\'ll take them!" and when we hit onthat magic angle then we think: "Ok, now these TOTALLY work!" which isso stupid, because in reality you can\'t, like, scoot into a roomdisplaying yourself to onlookers at that ONE angle that makes you looklike John Abraham (google him -- hot Bollywood it-guy). The jeanswere in Connaught Place, and while we were there we met with anice-but-unfortunate-looking boy Desi had been chatting with online.I thought that we should give him at least an hour ofcoffee/conversation/polite goodbyes, but Desi thought that, especiallysince he was 15 minutes late, 15 minutes was enough and we had ourquick goodbyes. We also bought a new memory card for my camera (Desiengaged in some skillful bargaining that I want to blog about more ifI had time), and then went to a colony called GK-1 ("colonies" areneighbourhoods, often with a gated entrace, and self-sufficient inintent in the way the blocks in Islamabad are) where I bought someIndian clothes in a place called FabIndia! :) We had dinner at aSouth Indian place (and were basically the ONLY foreigners there) andthen went out to a bar/club that is gay on Saturdays that I don\'tremember the name of!(transition to short discussion of that, which is as unsatisfying tome in terms of how I have to rush through it as the rest of thisblog...I really think when I go back to Delhi at the end of my tripI\'ll do proper updates and narrate some of these things better)We met Desi's friend from the night prior with his boyfriend at a",1]
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around mostly doing things for me. I bought a new pair of jeans(althuogh I *hate* buying jeans that don't fit perfectly). I justrealized that people (like me) are so silly, because when we try onclothes we basically look at ourselves in a million different angles:"No. No. Fat. No. YESSSS! I'll take them!" and when we hit onthat magic angle then we think: "Ok, now these TOTALLY work!" which isso stupid, because in reality you can't, like, scoot into a roomdisplaying yourself to onlookers at that ONE angle that makes you looklike John Abraham (google him -- hot Bollywood it-guy). The jeanswere in Connaught Place, and while we were there we met with anice-but-unfortunate-looking boy Desi had been chatting with online.I thought that we should give him at least an hour ofcoffee/conversation/polite goodbyes, but Desi thought that, especiallysince he was 15 minutes late, 15 minutes was enough and we had ourquick goodbyes. We also bought a new memory card for my camera (Desiengaged in some skillful bargaining that I want to blog about more ifI had time), and then went to a colony called GK-1 ("colonies" areneighbourhoods, often with a gated entrace, and self-sufficient inintent in the way the blocks in Islamabad are) where I bought someIndian clothes in a place called FabIndia! :) We had dinner at aSouth Indian place (and were basically the ONLY foreigners there) andthen went out to a bar/club that is gay on Saturdays that I don'tremember the name of!(transition to short discussion of that, which is as unsatisfying tome in terms of how I have to rush through it as the rest of thisblog...I really think when I go back to Delhi at the end of my tripI'll do proper updates and narrate some of these things better)We met Desi's friend from the night prior with his boyfriend at a
went to the bar which was very "down market" as far as most Indianswould be concerned), and as soon as we walked up the stairs I saw akind of handsome (although way too young/fresh-faced, and skinny) guychecking us out with his friends, and I made eye contact. Desi and Iwent over to them, and as it turns out he had met Desi at a party afew weeks ago when he was in Delhi; I sort of thought his friend wascute, but we found out that the place was JUST about to close. We(read: me ... but Desi could have totally done it for us, so I can\'tclaim to be the transportation hero) got them to take us to an"underground" party in a market nearby, and as we were leaving (minusa brief interlude with a supposedly well-known fashion designer fromBombay who was interested in...everyone...and made a weird referenceto going to Cornell) a guy who ALSO met Desi, as the original had, atthe same place a few weeks ago, chatted him up and got directions forhis friends to go to the party.We proceeded to the next party, where we were surprised to find theboyfriend of our friend from the past two nights (he was also at thefirst bar), and mostly the same people as the first place (\'tis alwaysthe case with supposedly "secret" or "private" parties lol). The onlyguy there, other than the one who was the friend of the one weorignially saw (who disqualified himself by being a bit too drunk anda bit too unclear in the directions of his ambitions for the evening:me, the designer, n\'importe qui?), who I thought was hot was a guy wefound out was Muslim (not sure why I think that\'s relevant) who Ithought looked really Iranian (except with blue eyes). I was GOING togo say hello, but then this UGLY guy literally walked up to him, spokea few words with him, and they started MAKING OUT! I was kind of",1]
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restaurant near the bar, sat with them for a few minutes, and thenwent to the bar which was very "down market" as far as most Indianswould be concerned), and as soon as we walked up the stairs I saw akind of handsome (although way too young/fresh-faced, and skinny) guychecking us out with his friends, and I made eye contact. Desi and Iwent over to them, and as it turns out he had met Desi at a party afew weeks ago when he was in Delhi; I sort of thought his friend wascute, but we found out that the place was JUST about to close. We(read: me ... but Desi could have totally done it for us, so I can'tclaim to be the transportation hero) got them to take us to an"underground" party in a market nearby, and as we were leaving (minusa brief interlude with a supposedly well-known fashion designer fromBombay who was interested in...everyone...and made a weird referenceto going to Cornell) a guy who ALSO met Desi, as the original had, atthe same place a few weeks ago, chatted him up and got directions forhis friends to go to the party.We proceeded to the next party, where we were surprised to find theboyfriend of our friend from the past two nights (he was also at thefirst bar), and mostly the same people as the first place ('tis alwaysthe case with supposedly "secret" or "private" parties lol). The onlyguy there, other than the one who was the friend of the one weorignially saw (who disqualified himself by being a bit too drunk anda bit too unclear in the directions of his ambitions for the evening:me, the designer, n'importe qui?), who I thought was hot was a guy wefound out was Muslim (not sure why I think that's relevant) who Ithought looked really Iranian (except with blue eyes). I was GOING togo say hello, but then this UGLY guy literally walked up to him, spokea few words with him, and they started MAKING OUT! I was kind of
the Muslim guy, and THEN (I need to comment on this whole eveningmore) my guy\'s totally dirty dancing with a crossed-dressed thing,fake bra strap and all. I later went up to him and told him I thoughthe was gorgeous but had bad taste (which didn\'t stop him from TOTALLYgiving me the stare down when we were leaving -- when tends to be a"get what you can before you walk out the door" kind of speed-dating,I\'ve found out), and I basically spent the evening there REALLYenjoying myself dancing with the two original guys and their friend(they are kind of a trio) and our friend\'s boyfriend. It was a bitawkward in the sense that there were DEFINITELY competing designs(that they even joked about in front of me), but what was even weirderwas that, in the end, everyone was happy as long as they gotSOMETHING. I felt bad for Desi that I wasn\'t interested in going homewith them, and we had a good discussion back at the hotel about whyand what that means -- I should talk more about that, later, but as apreview that doesn\'t represent my point of view with any sort ofcompleteness: being with someone for only one night is fine, but thenI want my night with that person to be might night with that person,and I require a certain exclusivity in their "gaze." I don\'t want tobe what they go home with because I\'m decent enough and the closestperson to where they are standing when it\'s time to go home, and inthe same way that I expect people talking to me to make eye contactand not be looking all over the place, I feel the same way if someonewants to be romantically/sexually/whateverly involved with me, nomatter how short the lenghth of time. In sum: I found it tacky andoff-putting and sad (not for me, but for them) that Desi could makeout with one guy at the bar while two guys teased each other about",1]
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grossed out, especially at the wild ass-grabbing of the ugly dude tothe Muslim guy, and THEN (I need to comment on this whole eveningmore) my guy's totally dirty dancing with a crossed-dressed thing,fake bra strap and all. I later went up to him and told him I thoughthe was gorgeous but had bad taste (which didn't stop him from TOTALLYgiving me the stare down when we were leaving -- when tends to be a"get what you can before you walk out the door" kind of speed-dating,I've found out), and I basically spent the evening there REALLYenjoying myself dancing with the two original guys and their friend(they are kind of a trio) and our friend's boyfriend. It was a bitawkward in the sense that there were DEFINITELY competing designs(that they even joked about in front of me), but what was even weirderwas that, in the end, everyone was happy as long as they gotSOMETHING. I felt bad for Desi that I wasn't interested in going homewith them, and we had a good discussion back at the hotel about whyand what that means -- I should talk more about that, later, but as apreview that doesn't represent my point of view with any sort ofcompleteness: being with someone for only one night is fine, but thenI want my night with that person to be might night with that person,and I require a certain exclusivity in their "gaze." I don't want tobe what they go home with because I'm decent enough and the closestperson to where they are standing when it's time to go home, and inthe same way that I expect people talking to me to make eye contactand not be looking all over the place, I feel the same way if someonewants to be romantically/sexually/whateverly involved with me, nomatter how short the lenghth of time. In sum: I found it tacky andoff-putting and sad (not for me, but for them) that Desi could makeout with one guy at the bar while two guys teased each other about
then be TOTALLY willing to go with me in the end, and then Desi andone of the two guys who were my potential matches could make out whilethe other one turned to me with a "so I guess that means it\'s you andme" kind of attitude. I\'m not the Virgin Mary, and I don\'t expect amarriage declaration the first night (or ever) but even "fun" for mehas certain boundaries.ANYWAY, the next day we moved to the Habitat Centre from La Sagaraita(where we\'ll also be staying when we get back), got my train tickets,saw the Old Fort, attempted to see a Jains temple (but were toogrossed out at having to take our shoes off outside ont he streetamongst running raw sewage and live [we think] fowl), and had dinnerat the Italian place where we\'d met the couple the night before(Azurao?), where I had the best garlic bread of my life and a nicedesert wine while waiting out a rain storm.Our trip the next day (yesterday) to our current hilltown locationnorth of Delhi was as painless as 9+ hours on trains can be, andalthough the "toy train" that takes you from your Delhi-Shimlatransfer point at Kolka was TOTALLY over-rated, Shimla is REALLYbeautiful and I think out hotel (the Hotel Commbermere) is asteal...I\'m so prone to judge cities based on my hotel! lol We havebeen taking it easy (things close REALLY early) and although it\'s ahuge tourism center, most are Indian, so we are enjoying strollingaround without being harassed and without having to rush from onemonument to another. Other than a run-in with two officers and abitchy advocate, today, at the High Court (Simla is the capital of thestate of Himchal Pradesh), things have been really relaxed, and I\'mquite happy (especially since I\'m better, although only very slightlyand I\'m mostly joking, since I know he\'ll read this, than Desi at",1]
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their fight over me, the Muslim guy could make out with two people andthen be TOTALLY willing to go with me in the end, and then Desi andone of the two guys who were my potential matches could make out whilethe other one turned to me with a "so I guess that means it's you andme" kind of attitude. I'm not the Virgin Mary, and I don't expect amarriage declaration the first night (or ever) but even "fun" for mehas certain boundaries.ANYWAY, the next day we moved to the Habitat Centre from La Sagaraita(where we'll also be staying when we get back), got my train tickets,saw the Old Fort, attempted to see a Jains temple (but were toogrossed out at having to take our shoes off outside ont he streetamongst running raw sewage and live [we think] fowl), and had dinnerat the Italian place where we'd met the couple the night before(Azurao?), where I had the best garlic bread of my life and a nicedesert wine while waiting out a rain storm.Our trip the next day (yesterday) to our current hilltown locationnorth of Delhi was as painless as 9+ hours on trains can be, andalthough the "toy train" that takes you from your Delhi-Shimlatransfer point at Kolka was TOTALLY over-rated, Shimla is REALLYbeautiful and I think out hotel (the Hotel Commbermere) is asteal...I'm so prone to judge cities based on my hotel! lol We havebeen taking it easy (things close REALLY early) and although it's ahuge tourism center, most are Indian, so we are enjoying strollingaround without being harassed and without having to rush from onemonument to another. Other than a run-in with two officers and abitchy advocate, today, at the High Court (Simla is the capital of thestate of Himchal Pradesh), things have been really relaxed, and I'mquite happy (especially since I'm better, although only very slightlyand I'm mostly joking, since I know he'll read this, than Desi at
For those of you wondering about I\'m faring, gastronomically, sinceyou know I love Indian food, I am sad to say that I\'ve only hadsamosas ONCE (although I\'ve had 3 or 4 daal-enriched meals), and amnot even getting the chai masala that I love so much! As is my cursein Egypt (with my taste for felafel), and in Afghanistan (with somemilk/wheat/rice kind of dishes) I tend to like the simple food that isbasically street food (or peasant food, as some have jokingly toldme), which means that a lot of nice restaurants don\'t serve samosas :( We found a pretty chic place to go to tonight, though (relatively,speaking -- ARE in a hill town 9 hours outside Delhi!) so I\'moptimistic about dinner tonight, though :)I\'m sorry to race through all this, and want to put on the back-burner:1. More on the night at the bar2. More on how Desi and I navigated Delhi (from beggars to bargaining)3. More on what I think about the historical sites we\'ve seenXO to you allVCPS: Desi has told me (and I have gotten similar feedback from 1 or 2more of you, which constitutes about a third of my total blogreadership, lol) that the name "Veiled Chunk" grosses him out. Is"Gelatinous Fun" better? CAST YOUR VOTES! :)PPS: Waitlisted at Stanford, and totally don\'t care (except thatPookie is hilarious in his congratulatory tone...I think we\'ll need totell our non-couples counselor in NYC that he doesn\'t ALWYAYS have tobe silver-lining oriented with my life lol)PPPS: I can\'t use gmail\'s spellcheck feature on this browser. Sorry!",0]
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ping-pong, which we have played in the rec center in our hotel.For those of you wondering about I'm faring, gastronomically, sinceyou know I love Indian food, I am sad to say that I've only hadsamosas ONCE (although I've had 3 or 4 daal-enriched meals), and amnot even getting the chai masala that I love so much! As is my cursein Egypt (with my taste for felafel), and in Afghanistan (with somemilk/wheat/rice kind of dishes) I tend to like the simple food that isbasically street food (or peasant food, as some have jokingly toldme), which means that a lot of nice restaurants don't serve samosas :( We found a pretty chic place to go to tonight, though (relatively,speaking -- ARE in a hill town 9 hours outside Delhi!) so I'moptimistic about dinner tonight, though :)I'm sorry to race through all this, and want to put on the back-burner:1. More on the night at the bar2. More on how Desi and I navigated Delhi (from beggars to bargaining)3. More on what I think about the historical sites we've seenXO to you allVCPS: Desi has told me (and I have gotten similar feedback from 1 or 2more of you, which constitutes about a third of my total blogreadership, lol) that the name "Veiled Chunk" grosses him out. Is"Gelatinous Fun" better? CAST YOUR VOTES! :)PPS: Waitlisted at Stanford, and totally don't care (except thatPookie is hilarious in his congratulatory tone...I think we'll need totell our non-couples counselor in NYC that he doesn't ALWYAYS have tobe silver-lining oriented with my life lol)PPPS: I can't use gmail's spellcheck feature on this browser. Sorry!

Emergency Update

Well I'm sad to announce that I have broken my own record and lost ANOTHER phone.

It's the oldest story in the book: boy is wearing tight jeans and doesn't want to look weird with his phone stuffed in his pocket, boy goes to secret underground gay part in a Delhi marketplace (Gk-2), boy sets phone on bar and walks away, phone is stolen.

SO -- you can't call me until 6 May *at the earliest* and I think 7 May is much more realistic.

I've drafted a begining update to my blog about India (sorry that I had to skip the end of my Israel-Palestine trip and my return to Egypt, but I promise to get back to it), but I don't have time to add everything I want to, now!

I'm in Delhi tonight and then Desi and I are traveling to Shimla (Simla) for 2 night and then Chandigarh for a night, at which point we'll be back in Delhi for two more nights and I'll update you, then.

Be patient (and get together a drive for a new phone for me, maybe -- I totally cannot support this habit!).

XO

VC

VC Speaks Out: Unhealthy Israel

As I was sitting in the Haifa train station (having just made the flop joke about how I was the only civilian), I started to think about the setting before and what it said about the healthy Israel I was borderline-enchanted with.

Now, I don't think I need to blog about what lies beneath when it comes to Israel's health and how it's bound-up in the occupation of Palestinian territory. When you're talking about water, for example, and the health of Israeli agriculture, and related health of the Israeli economy (that subsidized health care...the chain reaction continues), and the sources of that water (to use but one example of resource theft), then I think it's clear that the health of Israel is built upon some pretty unhealthy behaviour.

That's not what I want to talk about.

I want to talk about Israeli people -- parents, and children. When these kids go home, in their army fatigues and with their rifles, and their parents welcome them home for passover, what do they say? What do they think? I'm sure that there are a range of opinions, ranging from uneasy resignation to a mandatory-enlistment system in a country that does need to be deterringly-strong in the face of hostility from regional neighbours, to pride and encouragement of the youth's brave defense of an expansive Jewish state. Personally, I have a hard time thinking that my mother would be proud when she saw me in the fatigues and with that rifle. I'm sure she'd be thankful that we could live safely and worship freely, and would be proud of my attempts at responsible decision-making in a context that is posing really difficult challenges to young soldiers, but would she think: "I am proud to see every son and daughter of Israel be trained in the use of automatic weaponry" -- I don't think so.

I have made jokes in emails (if not on this blog) about how mandatory military service has done a body good in Israel. I think that it changes the whole character of the society, though. The Israeli's that I've talked to surprised me with their fear and orienalization of Palestinians. I was expecting, amongst upper middle class youth, a kind of international, progressive understanding of the situation, and have been instead repeatedly treated to "you can't trust them" and "they all want to kill us" and "there can never be peace" warnings from most of the people I've spoken to.

You'll notice, in Israel, that everyone has really good posture. I mean it's striking. I imagine your average, undisciplined, whiny, chubby boy going off to the army in Egypt and what he comes back as -- a more angered, slightly less-chubby, still-undisciplined, still-whiny boy. In Israel, the same boy comes back a fit, tall-standing, disciplined soldier. It didn't occur to me until I was walking home from the train station a few days ago that the mandatory military service in Israel is unlike any other because of the nature of Israel and the Israeli army. There is mandatory military service in Switzerland, Egypt, and a host of countries across the globe, but Israel is totally different.

Every Israeli youth can guarantee that he or she NOT ONLY enlist in one of the most powerful, sophisticated, and historically-successful armies in the world (on par with, or exceeding -- when scaled for size, history, resources etc. -- even the US army), and that person can also guarantee that his enlistment will take place during a time of war (or occupation, or whatever you want to call this).

Israel is a place with happy dogs and fit people, a thriving art scene and amazing food, but it's also a place where all of its citizens take a physical stake in the defense of their way of life, and, I might add, in 60 years have not managed to secure that way of life to a degree that slouchy fat people can sleep easy knowing they are safe.

Maybe my point isn't making sense, but what I mean to say is that a lot of the health that I see in Israel comes from what I consider to be the unhealthy (or in the very least: concerning) militarization of the society. It's eerie to me when I see all these gorgeous 25yos to think, first: "Wow she is REALLY fit! He has GREAT posture! I bet their parents were, like, escaped Jewish Soviet Olympic swimmers, lol" and then I think: "No, wait. These are not inherited bodies. These are TRAINED bodies, and they are trained to fight."

I know it sounds a bit severe, but that's what's so odd about being here...even crossing through the checkpionts...the violence here, even the oppression of Palestinians, is somehow muted...subtle...and therefore able to survive decade after decade. It's organic to the society, now, in a way that I don't know if it can be disincorporated as holistically as it was incorporated in the first place. That's what worries me about this situation -- this is how things in Israel WORK.

VC

VC Speaks Out: Healthy Israel

There is something distinctly healthy about Israel and it's people.

Public spaces are manicured, men are manicured, even DOGS are manicured. The food seems to always be fresh, the weather good, and the people, pets, and parks, just healthy in general.

To start: the food. There is nothing striking about Israeli cuisine -- it's not unique in any way, from what I've observed. It's not like going to France or Italy where you have distinct and intricate national cuisines. What makes the food here so good is that whatever it is you ARE getting, it will be VERY fresh and well-done. You can taste it in things as simple as the breads and cheeses, but like I said in my blog entry about Big Mama's, I saw it with the pasta as well, the food here is just GOOD.

Connecting food and people: NO ONE HERE IS FAT. I mean, no one. Like -- not a single person. I looked around at Big Mama's, which was PACKED, and out of maybe 100 people ranging in age from 19 to 60, NO ONE was the least bit out of shape (let alone fat or obese).

Imagine the carefree and healthy glow of Mediterranean people, like in Italy, combined with Soviet Union Olympic everything genetics, and that's what Israel is. I always knew Israeli's were hot, because we had so many at Columbia, but I feel like all my friends (eh-HEM, Dr. Juicy!) looking unsuccessfully for Mr. Jewish USA should drop it and just come to Israel. I have to say that the people, although perfectly-formed, all have a bit of a hard edge to their look (there is a severity to their features, bodies, AND style -- with dreadlocks and kind of grunge/funk being particularly in...all with a military aftertaste) which makes the men particularly hot and the women a tad masculine (I know you thank me for my generalizations lol), so for all you men looking for cute Jewish girls in NYC -- stick to NYC (I heard Park Slope has at least one really hot one), but SERIOUSLY Israeli men are hot. I can't even rave about it enough lol.

To expand on the idea of a healthy society, though, I tried to think about why it is that I wasn't annoyed by the children in the art museum's Kadishman exhibition, why I didn't feel a tinge of annoyance when the waiters at Riff Raff smoke and talk loudly in a language I don't understand, and why even last night I wasn't annoyed/threatened by the masses of Israeli (and other) youth, and I think that it's because there is a placidity here, and a kind of ease of social interaction (that comes with the logical observance of basic social norms -- eg: respect to others and their personal space, pleasantness in customer service, etc.) that is totally lacking in Egypt. In Egypt, children aren't as well-behaved, the waiters talking loudly are not talking with a cadence that indicates calm or jovial conversation, but rather argument/frustration/complaint, and the youth are not free, they are aggressive. I felt a similar thing in Afghanistan: for all the supposed fierceness of a constantly-warring nation, there is NOTHING aggressive about the way people deal with each other in normal social interactions, and while the argument could be made that in Egypt, I'm the aggressive one, it's because I'm responding to a palpable aggressivity in the society that has everyone scrambling over each other for recognition/service/entry, etc.

I also decided that you can judge the health of a society, in part, by its stance on pets (correcting for cultural differences, of course): all the dogs when they are being walked (and EVERYONE seems to have dogs!) in Israel always have a smile, and I feel like I can really see why so many people came here to build (as they continue to do) a really well-functioning society.

Now, I'm functioning only on the healthy, and the unhealthy deserves a LOT of attention, too (I plan to blog about that next), but for now this is what I was thinking. It's similar to the feeling Curie and I had in Carthage, which is that you can go to Israel and be just sort of middle class and lead a PERFECTLY happy, relaxed, dignified, and comparatively worry-free life -- the same CANNOT be said of Manhattan, or Cairo. I think I crave a place where people can just relax into their lives and just live and interact in a kind of easy and non-defensive or survival-oriented way (ironic, since this state was BUILT upon the notion that they had to defend themselves and survive or face extermination...again).

VC

VC Speaks Out: Palestine and Palestinian Men

Ok I'll start with sort of jokey comments about my time so far in Palestine and then, hopefully later, say some serious things about my time in Israel.

I have to say that my experience in Palestine, so far, has been (as I expected) that we are dealing with a rather boxed-in but still educated and cosmopolitan in many ways people. I think it really says something that your average street person, here (and I have spoken with many...because as some of you know, I get lost easily...and I don't mean like tourist-guide kind of people who interact with foreigners a lot) speaks MUCH (MUCH MUCH MUCH) better English than your average Cairo Grand Hyatt or AUC employee...I mean you can't even compare.

I also have to say, to my great disappointment, that Palestinian men are perhaps the most straight men I've ever seen...which is say because they really are hot. I don't know why it is they tend to gay-ify when the emigrate outside the occupied territories (I mean the ones in Jordan and Egypt usually trip the gaydar) -- maybe they are just too angry, here, to be interested -- but I have not really gotten vibes or glances or even passing curiosity from ANY of them. I mean it's more straight than...well...like I said, anywhere I've ever been.

Earlier this evening, when I was walking to the cyber cafe after dinner, a huge SUV pulled-up onto the sidewalk in front of me and I saw some hot men in it. I immediately flashed back to Afghanistan, in which case the situation would have meant: "Wow! Panjshiris -- Abdul, should we talk to them? We KNOW they want to talk to us!" (and they WOULD!), but in this case they not only paid NO attention, but horrified me by having a woman, WITH HER FACE SHOWING, sitting with them in back.

{This whole section is tongue-in-cheek, of course}

I don't know about my readers, but I find societies that allow women to appear in public with their faces showing to be TOTALLY barbaric...so inconsiderate to the dominance of homosocial space that we come to depend on in the Middle East. To make matters worse, women walk around here totally uncovered (although mostly in black), wearing fashionable and even tight outfits (unaccompanied by men!). I don't know what happened to all of the zeon-pink nylon higabs and frumpy denim skirts that characterize Cairo, but also missing are the corresponding cat-calls. Odd: a society in which women are enfranchised and NOT protected from the "gaze" of men is ALSO one in which men are resultantly more respectful of women as people who have the right to walk, unharassed, in the street? VERY INTERESTING.

So, yes, I have a crush on a gas station guy, everyone here is straight, and if it weren't a bit boring (I don't even see coffee shops, anywhere!), I'd probably really like it here.

VC

VC Acoids Lactating, Sees Bethlehem

So, after making my way home, indulging in Riff Raff for a second and second-to-last time, resting, and talking to the Moo, I decided (since it had been more than 3 hours since my late lunch) to have dinner. True to form, Lonely Planet was wrong about the location of ALL the restaurants I was interested in, but I did manage to find the pasta joint I was craving, called Spaghettim, and have a really nice three-cheese ravioli with, compared to what they had at Big Mama's in Tel Aviv, a pathetic excuse for focaccia. Since it was the end of Passover, there were Jews EVERYWHERE drunk off their asses (literally -- I saw a boy tending to his father COLLAPSED on a rock outside the Jaffa Gate). I have to say that the New York City JAP factor (and the equally-annoying male counterpart acronym) was kept to a minimum, and I was treated to seeing Jerusalem just really alive and booming (personally I liked it quiet with everyone inside hiding from yeast, but I can appreciate a dynamic city when I see one!). The streets were packed, my restaurant was stylish but nicely not crowded, and I had a nice night.

This morning, I checked out of my hotel and made my way to East Jerusalem's Arab bus station, where I got on a bus for Bethlehem (where I am now) and made the official (well, sort of official) cross into Palestine. OOPS! I forgot to say: I woke up, went to Riff Raff one last time *VC sheds a tear* and THEN got on the bus for Bethlehem lol.

I checked into the group's hotel (after all, I'm meeting 40+ AUC students led by Shakira tonight), Paradise Hotel, and proceeded to sight see!

First, the checkpoint: No. FIRST first: The wall.

I'd been waiting to see the ICJ-declared-illegal "security fence" for a long time, and I was also eager to see post-checkpoint Palestine, because even "Palestinian" East Jerusalem is still very much Israeli (Israeli police, no checkpoint, Hebrew everywhere, etc.).

The wall, which really does cut Bethlehem (picture gorgeous farmland and olive trees and then the people who work on that land divided by a really grey, and not in a good minimalist way, HUGE wall), and our hotel, on the very beginning of Manger Street (the name is awful, I know), is JUST beyond the wall. Unfortunately, this does not make it JUST beyond the checkpoint, and after a hassle-free rush through the checkpoint -- they didn't even look at my passport since they don't really care what goes IN to Palestine, so much as they care about what comes OUT into Israel -- I had to struggle a bit to find the hotel (vent about Sharkira's organizational execution elsewhere).

The hotel was a pleasant surprise, and I think Shakira and the crazy fez-wearing Japanese friend we'll be tripling with until I leave Sunday morning (they will stay for 5 days), will get along well. I hereby name crazy fez-wearing Japanese girl: Feziko.

Since they group isn't arriving until 9PM (and I actually just got a message from Shakira that they are stuck at the boarder -- with Egypt? But they left at 6:30AM and should have crossed 8 hours ago and been at the sea all day!?...I don't get it), and since we are supposed to be in government meetings tomorrow in Ramallah (yes: I came all the way from gorgeous Jerusalem south to poor Bethlehem just so that, in the morning, I could turn around and go back north THROUGH Jerusalem to Ramallah), and since Shakira couldn't give me, as of last night, any clear idea about what is happening, I decided to do the Bethlehem thing on my own.

Of course I first went to the Church of the Nativity (a LONG walk from the beginning of Manger Street, let me tell you!, I don't know how Mary did it with Jesus inside her...actually I should read the Bible on that one, because maybe they wheeled her in a cart or something), which was...I hate to say it (see later blog entry comparing paintings and holy sites) a BIT disappointing. Ok, so this is where Jesus was BORN. The most spiritual thing that I felt was the confusion I had when, for the second time on this trip, a weird light was flashing IN the LCD of my camera that, neither time, would show in the photo. This one lasted so long that I could physically track it with the LCD and see where the borders of its origin and termination were (it looked like a laser beam, steadily projecting across the room, with a clear stream in it). I will say this about the church: the columns are gorgeous, as they are actually painted (I don't think I've seen this directly on a column in that way, before). There is a really funny thing, though, where there is cross of finger impressions (five) in one of the columns that of course EVERYONE has to kiss and put their hands in and pray. What I found so humorous was that no one could quite figure out which finger when in which hole (you think about it! 4 points and one in the center and see how you'd put your fingers), and pushy believers would show other people how it was done, and then themselves struggle in their demonstrations (I got a photo of a poor guy being instructed by like 3 people how to stick his fingers in the holes). Personally, I have a hard time believing that a faith premised on the birth of a child without Joseph sticking anything anywhere would be SO focused on the technicality of where people should put their fingers.

I then took a bus from the Church of the Nativity (skipping the spot where Mary first lactated, scared that I might, myself, be so overcome with religiosity that I might lactate, too! and can you imagine all the Catholics who would try to kiss the miracle! YIKES!) to a nearby town called Beit Sahur, where I visited the Shepard's Fields (I don't know what shephards, though! I know Joshua was one!) and a really odd church with some pretty good mosaics.

All in all, Lonely Planet was right on when it described Bethlehem which is, unfortunately, a bit of a pit. I mean this is Palestine, so this is what I expected -- you can see why people compare this to apartheid...in fact that brings me back to the wall: the graffiti on the wall once you get to the Palestinian side is really interesting, mostly people from different cities saying: "We from City X support the Palestinians!" Two noteworthy comments (both of which I'd seen in photos before) were: "Jesus shed tears for Jerusalem...we shed tears for Palestine" and "End apartheid!" There were also a TON of slogans about walls vs. bridges to peace.

I'll skip-over my many cute encounters with people (needing to be given directions here or there or whatever) and just say that I was ENORMOUSLY helped by the bus driver to and from Beit Sahur, as well as a gas station guy (who is TO DIE FOR in terms of looks) near the wall, who helped me navigate and find my cyber cafe, tourist spots, etc. After coming back from Beit Sahur and attempting (but failing -- due to the Jewish holiday, as it's on the other side of the wall) to visit Rachel's Tomb (which I kept calling Rebekkah's Tomb, and which, as you would imagine, made no sense to anyone), I had dinner at a pretty nice Arabic restaurant across from my gas station lover (lol such a joke...I got ZERO vibe from him...which I'll blog about shortly, I hope...resisting all temptations to make jokes about the pump, of course), and had tahina (unfortunately with green things EVERYWHERE in it!) and then came here to this cafe.

Ok I'm hoping, depending on how my blog stamina is, to write about things I've thought about and not just update you about where I've been, so let's see how that goes...

VC

VC Saved From Lightening Strike, Sees Jerusalem

So -- last time I left you, I was using a cyber cafe in a guesthouse in Jerusalem and was off to bed. I actually didn't make it ALL the way to bed right away, as I saw that the city was alive quite late and I took a stroll through a park by Jaffa Gate that I had admired earlier during the day. Very enjoyable :)

Ok so to get you up to speed, yesterday centered around me returning to Riff Raff Sandwich Bar and eating the same thing I'd had before and loving it just as much. Ok, not really...I mean I did do that, but it would be unfair to say that it was the HIGHLIGHT of my day. It was kind of a day crammed with holy things, as I set off early for the Abbey of Dormition (where Mary fell into her eternal sleep), the Coenaculum (Site of the Last Supper) and King David's Tomb, and Mt. Zion. I have only a few observations, because I found all of them summarily disappointing:

Latin American Catholics will touch ANYTHING they think is some kind of holy relic, and as if the Abbey of Dormition wasn't bad enough because it's SPARKLING in its Disney-like renovations, their trouncing around photographing and kissing everything kind of ruined whatever enjoyable moments were left there. I will say that I found the whole Dormotion complex (especially the crypt) really aesthetically appealing, but more in the way the SoHo Prada was before it burned down (see my former blog about that) than in the way I expect a really old and holy place to be. I was thinking they should offer dormition cots and blankets for sleepy pilgrims to imitate the holy mother in her sleep -- why not?

King David's tomb was also extremely anticlimactic (even though I'm really into tombs...like even of random German monarchs and stuff), in part because I was distracted by the fake yammukah I had to wear on my head (they provide them at the entrance), which is LITERALLY a cardboard frenchfry holder (like the kind you'd get at the beach or at a movie theatre, but NOT the kind you'd get in a fast food place, which is more vertically-oriented), as well as the fact that the tomb is cut in half by a "wall" that separates the men and women, or in my case, separated me from a man and woman SCREAMING at each other on the other side (how that's not forbidden I don't know) and them constantly scooting the wooden wall-on-wheels closer into my chamber. The whole thing is covered in velvet cloth, and I felt really unable to connect with the decaying corpse underneath :(

As for Mt. Zion...well...it's more like a little hill where all these commercialized complexes are than a real mountain, and my experience of it was basically hiking back through the King David toilets to a piss-stenched field where Palestinian youth had gathered (you see the PHYSICAL concept of marginalization very clearly, here) and me looking out over some garbage and homes and saying: "Ok, so this is Mt. Zion."

Don't get discouraged that my whole day was a waste, though, because I did have a really nice experience after that when I went to the Western (aka: Wailing) Wall. Because it was SUCH a holy day (passover) we weren't allowed to take photos or leave notes in the wall, but I had a note (more like a list of prayers) that I'd written in the morning that I sort of read over and reflected-upon while touching the wall (for the record: we also had to wear yamukkahs at the Wall, but they were MUCH nicer!). After seeing the tunnels under the wall (which I think I wasn't supposed to see since I'm not Jewish), I ascended to the Temple Mount (aka: one of the huge controversies in the world).

Basically the Temple Mount is where Abraham was WILLING to sacrifice Isaac but didn't (so they say -- most religions have a slightly different version...some say it wasn't Isaac..some say he was actually killed...pick the one that tastes best for you), and is under Palestinian control even though it's in Jerusalem. There are a lot of interesting parts to the Temple Mount complex (although even it felt a little flat, honestly), but two of the most important ones, the Al-Aqsa mosque and the Dome of the Rock (the golden-domed complex that is where THE alter was, supposedly) were both ruined by the experience I had with the guards.

Now, there are SOME sites that I consider to be so holy for a particular faith that I don't think I should be barging in -- like the Kabbah at Mecca, or the Baghaii shrine in Haifa, because I think the only people who go there are pilgrims, and pilgrims are saying: "I have committed to living my life according to the practices of this religion and, for that reason, must visit this site." I think that for REGULAR places of worship, places that are not the explicit focus of a pilgrimage, we should have more free reign than that. I don't think I'll every be persuaded to follow a particular faith or read a particular book, but I do believe in God and pray (at least sometimes! lol) and I think that visiting a place like the Dome of the Rock should not be out of my spiritual explorations.

To make a long story short, I went to the Al-Aqsa mosque, which I didn't really care about anyway (mostly because I can't figure out what's so special about it...otherwise I'd tell you!), and was turned away as I approached and was told "Muslims only." I then told the guy, in Arabic: "You don't know if I'm Muslim or not, do you? You saw me and say I wasn't allowed, but you didn't even ask if I was Muslim or not." I then walked away. At the Dome, however, I was a bit more persistent. I was too slow to get out the Islamic hello and slip my shoes off, so I think he thought I didn't know to do both of those things and therefore wasn't Muslim, and so he asked me: "Are you Muslim?" I knew this would happen. I told him I didn't know. I told him (this is all in Arabic) that I wanted to go inside and look and pray, and that I wasn't 100% sure if I could say I was Muslim or not...did he mean in my heart or in my practice? I told him that I didn't go to the mosque every day -- did he? At this point a crowd of like 12 people (oh what a symbolic number! ;p j/k) has gathered and some people are shouting to him: "He speaks Arabic, let him in," to which he relied: "He won't say he's Muslim!" He asked me if I knew how to pray, and I said yes, and then he asked again: "So are you Muslim?" and I said to him: "What do you want me to tell you? 'There is no God but God, and Mohammed is his prophet?' " and he said "yes" and I said, "Well I can say that, but I still don't know if I'm Muslim. I have studied the Koran and the law, but I came to Jerusalem to see and understand." He said that I couldn't enter, I told him "shame on you" (except in Arabic you use the word "haram" which is more religious than "shame" -- it's like "sin on you") and he gave me the Islamic goodbye.

I was a bit angered by his controlling of my religious identity when, as we know, that is a category of identity that is SO flexible. All the men who entered that day who cheat on their wives, or sleep with men, or drink alcohol, or all the women who don't cover their hair, or don't do any number of the things they are required to, all THOSE people are allowed the agency over their faith to say: "I do notdo XYZ things, but I can still identify as Muslim to a degree that makes my entry into this place permissible." What about people who question their faith? Is there no room for them? Do you have to pompously assert your religiosity in speech and not in practice? I found the whole thing ridiculous. Ironically, the next thing I visited on the temple mount ("visited" meaning: "Walked up to it, thought a bit, and took a photo") was the Dome of the Chain, which, to plagiarize from Lonely Planet, is the smaller version of the Dome of the Rock, where Solomon hung a chain from the dome and those who swore falsely while holding it were struck by lightening. I thought about the fact that there would be a LOT of lightening-struck bodies on that temple mount of the chain were still there, but I wouldn't be amongst them lol.

There are lots of little columns and domes and things on the mount (although it's still a bit sparse, which I think is supposed to contribute to the centrality of the Dome of the Rock...so that it's not competing for attention), but the other thing I saw that I really liked (just the thought -- the actual thing is not that cool) are the stairs of the Scales of Souls leading up to the Mount on all sides, which (according to LP) are believed by Muslims to be the spot on Judgment Day where scales will be hung and souls will be weighed.

After the Mount, I went to the Gethsemane Church, that has the olive fields where Jesus first expressed his angst over sweating blood (that would freak me out, too!), and which was one of the most tasteful (although still brand new) churches I've seen. There was a (I've seen many) Philipino congregation having a service there, and they were singing their hearts out (that is a country of singers! Just look at Lea Salonga and Monique Wilson!) and it was really nice. I also visited Mary's Tomb, which was also anticlimactic and weird (as I felt the priest was a bit over-interested in my experience there), and then walked home through what WAS the City of David and is now an impoverished Palestinian-Israeli village.

I will have to blog about the rest later, as my time in this Bethlehem cyber cafe is about to run out, no ATMS are open for me to get money to buy more time, and I have to pee so bad I could die.

XO

VC

EDIT: My cyber cafe had a restroom that I used, and the boy behind the counter pointed me to an ATM that works, so now I have a full wallet, an empty bladder, and will finish updating my blog! (and then blow my new cash on junk food...helping the local economy, you know!)

VC Survives Attack, Sees Haifa

My second day in Israel was a bit of a disaster (which was thankfully rescued by a really nice evening). I got a late start and was assaulted by a taxi driver. I thought about not blogging about this, because I don't like to carve bad memories into e-stone, but it was kind of an important occurrence. I got in the taxi to go to the bus station, and I realized JUST as we pulled away (less than one block...) that my money was in my other bag. I asked him to stop the car so I could get it, and he said he had to do this huge circuit (like we'd literally gone 25 meters) around like half of our area of town on these one-way streets, and I knew it was a scam (Tel Aviv is very developed and international, but the taxi drivers are notorious). Not thinking much of it, I just said to him: "Wait here, and I'll be RIGHT back," knowing that my guesthouse was literally almost right behind us...like less than a 3 minute walk and in sight of the car...well before I knew it, when I was opening the door, totally unaware of any tension at all, I feel him tugging on my backpack and screaming "Give me money!" and before I knew it he was physically hitting me. I'm not kidding that I was SO stunned I remember thinking: "Oh my god, I'm actually in a fight and someone is striking the side of my head" before I even reacted! It was causing a scene because I was half out of the car and we're both screaming and I'm clearly being attacked and he even knocked my glasses (which were like $150 at my favourite new department store, Beyman's, in the newish Four Seasons in Cairo) off my face and underneath his seat. A woman intervened, trying to call the police, and I just kept saying "Of course I'll pay you!" but he was totally hysterical. The solution we worked out (to make a long and upsetting story slightly less long and upsetting) was to have him make a U-turn back to the guesthouse, which as I said required 3 car lengths of driving, and wait with my glasses held hostage for me to return with the money. I was SO shaken as the woman negotiated the solution and he was still screaming at me that I started to involuntarily choke up, and she was like "Just try to calm down..welcome to Tel Aviv taxi drivers" at which point I managed a "I'm live in Cairo, I know!" as he drove away and I help back tears. It was one of those bad, embarrassing, and just overall crappy experiences where you HAVE to cry to get over it, because it's so upsetting that you can't stop thinking about it, so finally when I paid and got in the next taxi, and had my glasses back on to hide my upsetness, those tears ROLLED. The taxi driver must have thought I was insane, because we were making pleasant conversation (so I could distract myself) about some Israeli guy who has been in prison for the past 20 years (I couldn't understand why), interspersed with me totally crying. Oh well!

I made it to Haifa late, experienced the TOTAL carelessness with which the Lonely Planet chapter on Haifa was written, and as a result ended up at a bus station way out of town and nowhere near ANYTHING. I made it on a bus to the Stella Maris Carmelite Church (google it yourself, I didn't get the big deal and even the supposedly-good ceiling was a total disappointment) and was then TRICKED, by Lonely Planet and religious zealots, to THINKING I'd seen Elijah's Cave when I actually hadn't. Basically, in Stella Maris church, they have an area they CLAIM is the place where Elijah hid from King Ahab and Queen Jezebel after slaying the 450 priests of Ba'ai; (see Kings I: 17-19) [that's TOTALLY stolen from Lonely Planet...that Haifa chapter had to be good for something if not its maps or schedules!], but it's not. Lonely Planet had the cave on a hill in a location that I totally couldn't find, so I kept climbing up and down this huge hill looking for it (even taking a photo of another totally random unrelated monument), and even asked someone at Stella Maris where it was, who told me that the one in the church IS the cave, and only Greek Orthodox people think it's the one on the hill I couldn't find, which he also couldn't point me to. I left Haifa a disappointed, but for the fact that the taxi driver who took me to the train station was the polar opposite of the one I'd met in the morning in Tel Aviv, as he took me to the train station even though he wasn't on shift (I flagged him driving home) and accepted the 20 shekles I had, despite the fact that the fare is like 30-35.

I took the train home, which was MUCH nicer than the bus (and the same price), except for the fact that you can't enjoy the gorgeous Israeli countryside because the windows are have this weird tinted/dirty thing going on. Really unfortunate, since it's a beautiful train ride. It was a bit weird, because, and I am not exaggerating, I was one of THE only civilians on a train full of young soldiers, and I even got a couple photos of the train station where there is literally no one in sight NOT wearing a uniform (many carring huge rifles) -- I tried to joke with a coffee girl at the train station, saying: "Am I the only person NOT in the army, here? Where are all the other people?" but she explained (not connecting with my humour) that they were all on their way home for the holiday. [Remind me that I want to talk more about the oddness of the military culture, here]

I went to dinner at my new Top 5 favourite restaurant, called Big Mama's, which served homemade pasta etc. and where I had my first real focaccia since Rome more than a year ago, and *the best* pasta (4 cheese, of course) of my life. The cheeses were not my favourite, although they were really fresh, but what was so amazing was how fresh the pasta was. I want to blog about this more when I have time, but the food in Israel is UNBELIEVABLE fresh.

I then visited the oldest part of Tel Aviv (which is very SoHo-ish...kind of re-done, manicured style on top of historical landmark buildings) where the "founders" (4 of them) and the "intellectuals" (only a few more) literally carved up Tel Aviv according to a map they made in the sand on the beach and said "ok, how will we make this city?" I loved it in this part of the city,and would totally buy a home there if I could. Really architecturally interesting, and a great atmosphere.

I woke up super early this morning and, determined to do Haifa properly, checked out of the hotel adn took all my stuff BACK to Haifa, where I learned that although a beautiful hillside-terraced city (idyllic in many was in the way a lot of South Orange County is...felt very similar in an odd way), it's SUCH a pain to navigate when your guide sucks and you don't have a car. I was hell-bent on seeing the Baha'i gardens, which really were magnificent, and was even offered entry to the Shrine of the Bab because the people working there thought I was Baha'i. When I refused to go in (even though I really wanted to!) they were confused, and were also distraught that they'd already secretly clicked their headcounter thingy when I walked past, and were sad to find out I wasn't Baha'i and was just another tourist. You need to google it or see my photos, but these gardens were breathtaking. I mean...such harmony, and SO well-maintained. It REALLY was an experience just to walk through that environment...I mean a kind of transcendental experience, if it's not too cheesy to say that. I then located Elijah's Cave for the NEXT time I come back (who knows when that will be), but didn't push myself to see it, since I was rushing to make the last trains before Passover started (and I'd be stuck, unable to get to my home for tonight in Jerusalem), and, as I did for most of the past two days in Haifa, spend a lot of time walking around to no end to do simple things like enter the train station.

I took the train back to Tel Aviv and then to Jerusalem, where I am now, and where I made it to my more-than-decent hostel with minimal hassle (the taxi driver was an Arab Israeli, still Muslim in fact, and we had fun speaking some Arabic...GORGEOUS eyes!). I then walked to the Old CIty just to get a peek for tomorrow's tourism, and wandered all throughout the ENTIRE thing -- from the New Gate and the Christian section, through the Armenian section, the Jewish section and finally the Muslim section. I really want to write more, but am eager to publish this so I'll cut it short, but I'll just say that I need to talk, tomorrow, about my total befuddlement with the holy site visitation process, here, and want to also blog about the embarrassing time I had at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with two more bits of irony:

1. The bus driver in Haifa defiantly BLASTING Christian rock music (in English) as Jewish passover began.
2. A guy, today, in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre CUTTING IN LINE (a big line) in front of everyone else to touch Jesus's tomb. I actually started laughing out loud, which is when I knew I had to get out of there.

Remind me that I also want to talk about my anticlimactic exit from Damascus Gate into East Jerusalem, and the AGAIN amazing dinner I had (just now, at Riff Riff Sandwich Bar -- smoked turkey and Swiss panini!).

Well I know some of you have ALSO read the letter I got from Yale telling me that I'm going to be either accepted or, more likely, waitlisted, which I think was really considerate of them to let me know.

It's nearly midnight, so I'd better run, but expect a post from me tomorrow night telling you about my night tonight and my day tomorrow in Jerusalem. I will also hopefully get to talk, at some point, about the food, the army, and the men ;p [army men as food ... just kidding]

VC

VC Sees Tel Aviv

Well I struggled to get out of bed after only a few hours sleep, but I hit the pavement early and went straight to the Tel Aviv Museum of Art, via the rather anticlimactic CIty Hall and Rabin Square. I couldn't tell if the City Hall was just under REALLY tight security or if the whole barbed wire facade was a kind of dramatic theme -- having now seen the City Hall in Jerusalem, where I am, now, and the fact that it's only minimally protected, despite being just down the street from the oft-bombedZion Square, I think it was just a decision they made (there is a lot of that "building as dramatic historical reference" thing going on in Germany...one really cool building in Dresden reminds me a lot of this City Hall, because they kept the old Communist architecture to remind them of what it was like when Germany was divided).

It would be impossible for me to rave about the Tel Aviv museum enough. If you are into traditional impressionism (which I am) then they have a great collection, but for me, having been spoiled by NYC, I wasn't here to see more Renoir. What I thought was fantastic was the collection of Jewish painters from France, a children's exhibition of Kadishman called "Draw Me a Sheep" (and the kids were so cute I wasn't even annoyed!), and an installation exhibit by Ilana Goor.

[I wish I could write more, but I'm stretching the generosity of a guesthouse manager in Jerusalem at a house that's NOT the one I'm staying in, who is letting me use his internet for free because the place I was looking for is closed]

I then walked down through the main shoping area down King George V street (the names in every city here -- Tel Aviv, Haifa, Jerusalem -- they are all the same!), and through the Yemenite Quarter, where I saw the couple I blogged about before. I was a bit disappointed by the Yemenite Quarter, because usually when you have a kind of named community area like that (like when Curie andI visisted Albaycin in Grenada -- the local gypsy community) it's a REALLY unique experience apart from the rest of the city...the Yemenite "quarter" was really more like a bazar though (and not a very good one), and there wasn't even Arabic on the signs lol.

I then walked down the boardwalk along the edge of the Mediterranean (one of the only places other than Jerusalem where I've actually seen Muslims that were clearly, you know, Muslim) to Jaffa (the joint city to Tel Aviv where it all began), which was GORGEOUS. It felt a bit like Byblos, in Lebanon, except Byblos is one of my favourite places on earth, so it's not fair to compare anything to it, really. I was hoping to eat at the Taj Mahal Indian restaurant, there, but it was closed, so I wandered around, went to the HapiSgah Gardens, and then went to ANOTHER gem of a museum, which is Ilana Goor's house (the Ilana Goor Museum) [I also went to a gallery that featured only seascapes, which I usually hate, but it was pretty good, too]. Jaffa is very commercial/touristy (in that old-town world heritage site restored kind of way), but I really loved it. The Ilana Goor museum is incredibly well-done, and I've decided that I want the interior of my home done by her, and the outside to be done by the Bahaii people (see my next entry about Haifa).

I walked back to Tel Aviv and got my haircut before dinner, where the gorgeous -- like almost all men here -- hairdresser of Tunisian descent proceeded to tell me all about how Arabs can't be trusted. Racial bias aside, he gave me a great cut (dry -- like Sasoon). I then had dinner at a place called Taste of Life, which is run by the black Jewish community that ONLY eats, like, wheat...I mean I had wheat falafel and wheat chocolate and a wheat vanilla shake, so go figure.

VC

Egypt to Israel: VC Gets Body Searched -- Twice

To get you all up to speed: I'm visiting Israel and Palestine for a week, then going back to Egypt for a few days, then taking of for a few weeks in India (it's hard being a Chunk ;p). The madness began last night, on my El-Al red-eye from Cairo to Tel Aviv.

Because I'm in a Tel Aviv cyber cafe and am anxious to get to dinner and get this blog published as fast as possible, I'm going to cut things short and not describe every fascinating detail of my El-Al flight experience last night from Cairo to Tel Aviv.

A few observations, tips, thoughts:

For anyone who thought VC would be good in the CIA, you are totally wrong. There were a number of reasons that I was flagged for El-Al's extensive security check – purchasing my ticket at the last minute, not having confirmed hotel information with me, traveling with no money (I knew I couldn't change Egyptian points and the Tel Aviv airport TOTALLY has ATMs!), etc. – but I think far and away my worst statement to the initial examiner was, when asked why I chose El-Al (they ask you similar questions over and over, and "I don't like riding buses," and "I didn't want to take the bus with 40 American class mates" rephrased in a variety of ways didn't satisfy them, so I ended up saying (nothing thinking AT ALL about how bad it would sound): "I'm actually really curious about the El-Al security system...I wanted to experience it first hand."

Oops.

So just for those of you (which is, I think, everyone reading) who aren't familiar with El-Al, it's the safest airline in the world because it needs to be, and because they are VERY rigorous in their screening processes. You can't even get in line to check in until you have BEEN INTERVIEWED (everyone must do this) by security officials (read: hot young Israelis lol) in front of what looked distractingly similar to a music stand. They basically ask you probing questions about the nature of your trip ("well if you are going with friends then why would you go alone, by yourself, with no money or hotel reservations, only to meet them a day and a half before you leave?" – "well if you had to fly early in order to make your India flight then why can't you produce a ticket to India?" – "Isn't it possible that Arab friends who knew your Israel itinerary might try to...") and if you, like me, compound AUTOMATIC red flags by incriminating answers to their questions, well then it's a MUCH longer process (read: 1.5 hours). I was interviewed by several people, didn't even do my own passport control, had everything taken from me, dumped out, variously ex-rayed. I teased my original interviewer that after I told them I wanted to see the security apparatus first hand she was just trying to impress me, but anyway, I was red flaged awii (Egyptian for "a lot" or "super duper").

Interestingly, behind me the line pre-interview were who I *thought* was an American diplomat (black passport, but it ended up just being a leather case) and his boyfriend, along with about 9 Luis Vuitton valises, and we had a kind of rapport the entire time. Well actually this happens to me a lot on trips (I'm sure Wong recalls the guy we met flying from New York, who I thought was gorgeous and she thought looked like "a boxer with his face punched in" who we saw ALL OVER Egypt, from top to bottom, AND was on our return flight, despite not being on our tour or anything) – but anyway, Mr. Black introduced himself once I finally made it through security and I now know that his name is Randy and he's from LA (I also know that he's overly-tan and has a boyfriend with bad taste in luggage, but they are both REALLY nice). Anyway, today when I was in the Yemenite Quarter going down a crowded market street I ran into them again! I realized that I totally blew my chances to spend a fun afternoon with cool people reaching out to me, because in the market he said things that should have been cues to sort of engage them, but I was nervous and didn't catch on. He said things like: "Yeah I'm also flagged because my name is so common...I was detained for 3 hours on my original entry to Egypt" but then I failed to follow up with the "what IS your name?" There was a similar opportunity to introduce myself to his bf and their female friend (who I'm guessing lives here), but I did an awkward and rushed wave goodbye and headed off to Jaffa (see next blog entry).

Ok so I covered my security fiasco and the duo I met (RANDOM: I just realized that the Kundera book I'm reading is about these two people who ALMOST met but didn't...I mean they met like I met Randy but they never were TOGETHER...and then they went into exile and meet in the airport on their way back home more than 20 years later...) – what else was there? Ok well El-Al is a bit ghetto (although super safe), however the crap seats and tv situation were TOTALLY compensated-for by the fantastic cheese sandwich (wow fresh bread and cheese...Israel is known for this, actually), and they give you these ridiculous frog pens that CANNOT write and have such fine points they tear the immigration cards and so my immigration card is filled out in bright orange pen (my colour of choice for the aforementioned Kundera).

The only other thing, which was TOTALLY hilarious, was that the huge El-Al screen in the private El-Al lounge in Cairo, as we were waiting to board, was playing music videos, and to everyone's shock what video were they playing? Ramadan super-star (from last year) Sami Yusuf's "Muallam," which for those of you not in the region or not aware of this guy, is a song that catapulted him to fame because it's ALL about how the Prophet Mohammed taught us all the right path, etc. – I mean it's the most Islamic pop video one could ever create...pretty funny given...you know, the fact that we were sitting there in the Israeli lounge waiting to fly to Tel Aviv.

I'm afraid that I'm not going to have time to blog about what I did today (I'll do that in the AM before I start tomorrow), but I'll just say that my guest house is decent enough and I've had an AMAZING day (fingers crossed for the part of it which remains, which will now include dinner...which I'll blog about tomorrow).

Safe, sound, and surrounded by hot Israeli's (forced military service does a body good!),

VC

Technical Difficulties & The Hybernation of VC

Dear beloved reader (aka: my mom and a few others),

I'm really sorry to have not written for a month, now. More sorry for myself, actually, because of the set of circumstances that have kept me from blogging and because this is such a useful and fun project for me.

To make a long story short, my computer is broken and is in NYC for repairs. It would be difficult (and boring) to describe everything Curie has done to get my warranty recognized and my computer repaired, so let's keep our fingers crossed that I'll have it before I get back from India.

Speaking of --> I'M GOING TO INDIA!

As we all know, Desi has been living in Bombay* and I will be going in late April to spend a few weeks, there. The itinerary is not hammered-out, yet, but I do know that I'll be flying from Cairo to Delhi on 20 April on Gulf Air and returning on 6 May to Cairo from Bombay. I'd wanted to pay a visit to Dubai, and then fly from Dubai to Kabul and travel through the Khyber Pass to Pakistan and then down to the closing of the border ceremony, going from Lahore (Pakistan) to Amritsar (India), but in the end my itinerary is already crazy and has Desi quite stressed. Instead, I'm ONLY seeing India, with an airport stop in Bahrain (I'll tell Michael Jackson everyone from the VC blog says hi).

Speaking of travels --> I'M SPENDING EASTER IN JERUSALEM!

Shakira is the assistant to a rather well-known AUC professor and activist (perhaps most sadly known for the lasting effects to his health of the torture he experienced in an Egyptian prison), and he wanted to go to the Occupied Territories to meet with government people. He opened the trip up to students, and I'm going! It will NOT be an easy trip -- a lot of checkpoints and bureaucratic hassle, but I think that the opportunity to meet the kinds of people we'll be meeting with is a once in a lifetime (for a 24yo, that is, not for like Kofi Annan...) opportunity.

I don't know the exact dates for the trip, yet, because they will be leaving at the end of the second week of April and will be coming back overnight on the 19th/20th. I think that I will come back with the group, but I would like to maybe go to Israel early just to have some time alone and in vacation mode before the more hectic travel sets in...perhaps just a few days in Tel Aviv and Haifa.

The good news is that we have the support of the governments involved, and I'm not too worried about safety. The bad news is that we have to take a bus, and it's something like 18 hours from Cairo. I think that I'll fly to the Egypt/Israel border (Taba) and cross, there, but it will depend on the price of the flight (the INSANELY-priced flights from Cairo to Tel Aviv are more than $1,000!).

It will, of course, be quite hectic to be traveling around Palestine, take an overnight bus, and then just hours later fly to India, but I'm hearty lol.

You know, I'd wanted to make some comments about the experience of not having a computer, how my attitude about Egypt has been changing, etc. but I think this is a good start for now.

I want to quickly, and colourfully wish Curie a happy 25th birthday, today (28 March). I also want to apologize to the people (eg: Pookie) whose birthdays I wasn't 100% certain of.

Well I should go, but I'm happy to be back, and I hope I didn't lose too many readers (especially since each reader I lose represents like 25% of my total readership!).

Miss you! ;)

VC

A Palace and Men Galore

Ok I had the craziest dream last night.

I remember it beginning in the theatre. I’m not sure if I was watching a movie or if it was some kind of awards presentation or concert or what, but it was in a theatre and I was wearing a nice black sweater. There was a kind of handsome early 40s man sitting next to me (kind of light hair and not SO much my type, but very warm and nice chiseled face) who started talking to me and, to my surprise, kind of grabbed my arm while we were talking – like to see if I’d pull away.

The dream is really scattered so you have to try to follow.

So I’m not sure what kind of community this is that I was living in … like maybe some kind of academy or something (I remember feeling like we were all professional students, or at least a lot of us were) and I lived in this huge old building that was, rightly called, the “palace.” You know when you are in a dream and you realize that an element has been recurring? Well that’s the palace for me. I went “home” and discovered that my room had been moved and saw the guy from the theatre down the hall…like if I was standing in my room with the door open then I could look down a long hallway and see his room, and I remember that we kept stealing looks. I was really disoriented that everything had moved, probably to make room for him, and I remember thinking how silly it was that I felt lost in my own house just because my bed had moved one room over (and as it turns out it hadn’t, but that’s not an important detail). When I was walking on the grounds one of the administrators/attendants (like someone who worked there and who treated me with respect but was himself middle-aged and also obviously a character of some weight in the community) asked me if “Robert _____” (don’t remember the last name) had moved into the palace where I was living, and I remember thinking that I knew the answer was “yes,” because I’d seen him in his room, but calling where I was living “the palace” really threw me off. When he walked away, the history of the building came back to me (it used to be a palace) and that’s when I realized that building had occurred in other dreams.

The dream (unfortunately) moves away from what could have been a pretty hot romance lol, because we were all assembled in the palace and it was announced that there would be a competition akin to one of those dinner party mystery games. Robert was looking VERY handsome in his tuxedo, and we had this kind of silent flirtation like “this would happen but right now we are competitors” going on, and of course everyone had growing suspicions about the role everyone else was to play in the game. The dream lost a bit of coherence in this part because I just remember going up in a very modern elevator, after our roles were announced, with the game master (who himself was playing), and he was given a clue about me to the effect of “don’t trust him because he has knowledge things that other people don’t and has done all of this before” or something like that, but, true to his warning, I knew that he had received that clue about me and could kind of read the situation. We had this sort of odd conversation in this long elevator ride that would be fitting for some kind of experimentalist French play or something where I was trying to figure out my own clue, and where I should get off the elevator, and he was trying to feel me out to see exactly what his clue meant – like saying to me that I must already know the solution to the mystery, and me saying that I didn’t know what the solution was, yet, but I knew what it wasn’t. It was very weird. The elevator stopped, and I thought for a minute it was broken, but then it was clear that I had to climb out of the elevator through a false passage into one of the chambers of the palace where there was this smokey room full of black dancers dressed as 1920s flappers. I had some kind of test with them that I don’t remember, but I do remember sort of grinning, at that point, because it was clearly going to be a very interesting game, and it was fun to see them a bit dazzled by my sudden appearance from a secret passage.

The dream totally changed gears, I’m not sure how, when I made some kind of emergency visit to my mother, who I was shocked to find out had remarried. Not only had she remarried, but she became the third wife of an Iranian man living in Dubai (like I said, the beginning part of the dream with Robert was the best lol). I entered into this setting of domestic chaos, as one of the children of the second wife was getting married and there was a huge celebration that my mother wasn’t invited to (being sort of the black sheep who was resented and looked down upon by the first two wives who were better in rank and because they were Muslim). I was totally puzzled as to why she would enter into that situation, because I thought she was fine single, and being married hadn’t even changed her life substantively. She kept her place in California and he occasionally visited her. She was only in Dubai for this celebration that she wasn’t allowed to officially be part of. When the party guests returned to the house, and in my mind I was thinking of how to make her husband answer for making her a pariah and treating her like some secret mistress, and while I was also trying to figure out why my mother had made such an awful decision, they wanted her to perform some kind of ceremonial dance with the daughter who was getting married (which was mysteriously like a pairs figure skating spin, so I’m clearly watching too much Olympics!) and my mother caused a huge scene by refusing. The problem was that she was so emotional and this huge drama was caused, but she wasn’t interrogating her husband in a productive way, and I intervened to really grill him on how things turned out this way. I remember telling her: “You still have your place in California…we can just go home and forget about this.” I also gave her a funny speech about how unjust it was that if they were going to exclude her from the ceremonies, then he could at least send her on an all-day shoe shopping trip to compensate. I’m not sure exactly how the dream ended, but I think I persuaded her to come back to California with me.

OH! I almost forgot – when I was in Duba,i someone from the palace called (Robert?) and I remember saying: “This will sound crazy, but my mother became the third wife of an Iranian man but she doesn’t even live here, here being Dubai….” and I said I’d have to call him back. I also almost forgot about another kind of interesting part – during the whole scandal about my mother refusing to perform the dance, she was SLOWLY claiming her place in the house and insisting upon mingling with the guests (awkward but bold) and we were sitting at this bar when I heard two guys (kind of hot brothers) speaking Dari to each other (and of course since it’s a dream, I could understand it). I immediately knew that they were Tajiks from Afghanistan and was waiting for them to make their way closer to my mother and I so I could introduce them, surprise them with my knowledge of Afghanistan and my Tajik friends, and finally have SOMEONE (my mother) get to see how hot Afghan guys are. I remember they both had really, like, almost blond hair, and were young (like my age) but muscled in that way that you might not notice at first but then when you realize what their bodies are like you’re like “wow, he is BUILT!” The hotter of the two brothers, interestingly, when he saw me (before I even had a chance to approach) said to me in Dari: “You are Tajik!” and I told him no, but that I knew what he was saying and that I’d predicted that he and his brother were from Kabul, which they were. He told us that they had just moved to France two years ago, and I woke up when I was asking him why France, as he spoke such good English (his brother did not).

That’s my dream!

VC

Gross Olympic Update

Ok I know you all want to hear about Istanbul and my 24th birthday, but guess what? I feel like blogging about my favourite German biathlete and then I might even blog about belting divas and the already-long-passed Grammy awards. SO THERE!

(all my photos of Istanbul are on my phone, and I can't load them onto my PC until I get back to Cairo, so you can wait until then for me to give you the WHOLE picture, literally, of my Turkey trip)

Just wanted to say the while it might SEEM as though Gross is not having a very successful Olympics, as the first two races were one by Germans and neither of those Germans was my Ricco, but I'd like to point something out to his doubters (who totally don't read my blog, in fact I've never read negative press about him, so he might not even *have* doubters, but LISTEN UP anyway!!):

In the first race, he finished 11th, while the German who would win the second race finished a pathetic 17th, and missed THREE targets (to Gross's one), and in the pursuit race today missed FOUR targets (the winner only missed two, although I should qualify my bashing of this guy -- Fischer is his name -- that he is skiing with INCREDIBLE pace, as he still won bronze, today, missing four targets and finished less than 16 seconds out of gold, so he skated A LOT faster than the gold medal winner...BUT THIS IS BIATHLON -- if you want to ski fast then go to cross-country...this is about skills...like...for hunting bears and stuff...and Gross can totally hunt bears and Fischer can't -- he can just ski really fast AWAY from the bears!). As for the German who won the first race, he didn't even compete in the second one (or didn't place in the top 30, which are the only results I have).

When I spoke to Ricco on the phone (I came to Istanbul, rather than spending my birthday with him in Italy, because he has to stay with the German team and they don't like me very much because some of the things I've said about Gross's teammate-competitors on my blog...) I told him just to focus on the 7.5km relay, since I think he can win another gold there, and the 15km mass start is just bonus, and if his back hurts just don't even bother with it.

So that's it for my update about Ricco! Take if from me: the man is a consistent performer who knows how to use a rifle :)

VC

Growing Up and Moving On

Edit: Ok I’ve written this entry and it’s SO all over the place that I want to diagram it for you – Account of three people I was jealous of in college and why, broken up by a discussion of how I used to feel about myself and why, the fact that I got over it (with a recent anecdote to prove it), and then a return to the main point of the blog, which is me chuckling at the expense of one of my former objects of jealousy (no offense to him intended!).

I was sitting here, between quite impressive pairs short programs from Torino, thinking about college and a few of the people of whom I was TRULY envious (there were only like three). One of them, an American guy (French father) from Beverly Hills ended up, oddly enough, becoming a friend of mine. He was a cyclist/track frat boy who appeared in GQ (it was a really boring article about Ivy League frat boys) who I was absolutely awful to our first two years of college. He was loud, show-offy, and I found him totally despicable and quite jealously-worthy. I remember my girlfriend sort of trying to coach me through my moments when I'd, like, seize-up if he got in the elevator or otherwise flaunted his "better in every way-ness" (she was EXTREMELY tolerant of all of my mental issues...most of which I am thankfully over!).

Two VERY bad moments related to him:

I was on my way to econ class (when you see how many of my bad memories relate to economics you'll probably understand why I sought solace in art history and ditched so many econ classes!) and I saw him in the distance. To contextualize, between the ages of, say, 16 and 22 I wasted a good portion of every day finding things to hate about the way I looked (from body, to skin, to body and skin, to hair…) and THANK GOD I managed, I think really with the help of a really supportive ex of mine, around December 2003 to just WAKE UP and stop losing my life to wishing I didn’t have one. I think about SIX YEARS of sometimes grave misery and how pointless it was and it’s just really sad…there were times when I had to have a no mirrors policy, because that was the only way to let myself forget about how I looked.

To contrast that with my current relative stability (and I didn’t think I would blog about this, but it’s relevant here as a positive point, rather than a description of something negative), a week ago today Shakira and I had brunch with someone who I don’t think either of us will be seeing again, who showed up to meet us at the Four Seasons totally plastered (to the point that he was spilling wine, falling down stairs grabbing onto people, etc.) and swinging wildly in mood between feeling like it was ok to sexually harass me (I’m talking physically grabbing me in front of people in the restaurant and making EXTREMELY inappropriate comments about the ONE time a LONG time ago that he got so lucky…) and being extremely mean and diminishing. Imagine someone wiping his drunk hand down your face, telling you that you are sexy and beautiful, and then following that up with something like: “I don’t know why I think you’re so sexy when you’re actually sort of ugly.” That is NOT an exaggeration. It was a literal laundry list of my faults, and Shakira sat there in shock while I was basically dismantled. Now, to be clear (since I totally have a backbone and quite a lot of ‘tude), if it had been just the two of us, me and the Ass, I’d have thrown a drink on him and walked off after one nasty comment. The problem, though, being in a group three is that the perfect 10/10 model for social gracefulness and class kind of undergoes a paradigm shift – when you’re one and one, you should be boldly confident and storm off…when you’re there with a guest, you need to keep it under control, be placating but firm, and basically demonstrate that you are impervious to the other person’s nonsense for the duration of the encounter (rise above it) because what does your friend do when you storm out? Storm out, too? He made an ass of himself and, in his drunkness (and his insistence to pay even when I gave the waiter my card) cost him almost $400 at brunch, so too bad for him! Anyway, a little over two years ago my OWN obsessive self-condemnations would have done me in, let alone someone making a laundry list of all the worst things I tell myself, but that day, I handled myself PERFECTLY. I wasn’t even upset after the brunch (although I was a bit surprised someone could be so ugly…and I’m referring to him, of course). I admit that later in the evening my defenses wore down a bit and I maybe did some snickers binging for comfort, but I wasn’t about to walk in front of a bus, and I can still look in the mirror and at reality without having to blink or feel bad about it (I am what I am! The end!), so that is HUGE progress.

Anyway, that’s not the point. I’m not physically perfect; I’m great in a lot of ways. Less great in others. Sometimes I’m confident. Sometimes I’m less so. Usually, though, I’m as balanced as I should be and that’s FINE at almost-24.

Back to the story : ) So I’m walking to econ class, and I see him in the distance. Trying to avoid a self-hate trigger (but I’m sure staring madly from afar), I tried to dash up the stairs in front of me so I could turn the corner to class before him and have him out of my sight-line (and also in 2nd place in some kind of neurotic car race to class I’d subconsciously constructed between us…that’s healthy: “You’re hot and oblivious to my jealously, but I’m the winner because I can walk faster!”). Unfortunately, I wasn’t paying attention to my feet, and SOMEHOW my impeccable balance abandoned me and I fell into such a heap on the stairs (which is weird because it’s only like 4 stairs!) that I remember three people rushing over to me to see if I was ok. My leg was bleeding THOUGH my pants and this funny (and very typical, if you know Columbia’s Registrar’s office) sort of big black woman just said to her friend, amazed that I was still ambulatory: “If that had been me, I’d have stayed down.” I was DETERMINED to go to econ that day. I remember that I’d spilled something on myself at lunch and it was the perfect reason to ditch class (I can’t go LIKE THIS!) but I’d told myself that no matter what I was going…well I guess obviously after my fall I didn’t go.

For the second awful moment related to him, he and his friend (who, oddly enough, is one of the characters in my Arabic book! HOW WEIRD IS THAT!? -- they did a new DVD edition last year with new actors and HE is one of them!) were sitting outside the steps to the International Affairs building where we had econ class, and being "elevator peeps" (a phrase coined by another friend to refer to the people we've seen in the elevators in the dorms hundreds of times and seem to shadow but who we don't know) when I walked past him and his friend, anticipating in my head some kind of humiliating and jerkish comment (even though he had NEVER interacted with me before, nor had I ever seen him insult anyone...this was just my insecurity demonizing him and inflicting senseless dread upon myself), and he said: "Going into class already?" What I would later find out was kind of an insecurity -> eagerness on his part I interpreted to mean "You ugly nerd are you going into class 20 minutes EARLY? HOW LAME!" and so I looked at him and said, in a snotty voice that did not at all reply in turn to his rather civil tone: "Yeah. I am. If that's alright with YOU." Sort of taken aback, he just said: "Um. Yeah." (Poor thing, he must have been totally confused by my attitude!). I then proceeded to give him the DOUBLE bird (the finger with both hands) and said "THANKS!"

Luckily for me, he didn’t see my fall on the steps, and he didn’t really remember that I was the guy who was such a bitch to him outside class, when, two years later, we had accounting and finance together and, for whatever reason (read: His gaydar subconsciously beeping when he was around me, even though I didn’t even know I was gay, and him doing, and it is subconscious – poor guys – the “I am uncertain of my sexuality and don’t know it yet, so I’m oddly drawn to someone gay, even if he doesn’t know it yet, because I internally crave exit from the closet I don’t yet know I’m in and might never be able to leave” that I now have seen SO MANY TIMES…especially in Cairo!) he always wanted to sit next to me. He decided that our distant French ancestry, and the fact that the region his family name is from and my family name is from are next to each other in Central-South France that we were “brothers” and we became decent friends. It was an awkward dynamic, in that I was always confused and skeptical of his being friends with me, self-defensively condescending (although less and less so as time went on), jealous, and not wanting to grudgingly admit that we were total opposites but could be really good friends. I remember filing daily reports with friends who I expected to be equally stunned at the odd phenomenon: “And today, he actually TOUCHED MY CHEST and said that I had impressive pecs! I mean WHAT IS THAT? He’s gay, right?” Someone should have told me *I* was lol. In the end, he called me a few times while I was working at my law firm and he was working at a real estate firm, but we were bother really busy and I ended up not calling him back. Still hope he’s well, though, and wouldn’t mind catching up with him sometime (although I do hope, if he is gay, that he doesn’t struggle with the closet his whole life, as I suspect he may).

He’s #1. #2 and #3 insecurity people from college were an inter-related pair, because they comprised what I’ll call the “gorgeous European haute-bourgeoisie library-dwellers who are all econ majors and smoke outside the library while talking on their cell phones and planning trips to each others country villas and Ibiza.” Ok so anyway, there was a GORGEOUS (in the “sometimes gorgeous model and sometimes sort of brutish” way) Italian guy and his differently-but-equally gorgeous “roommate” (I now look back with skepticism), a French guy who, for all the Italian was the kind of six-foot beefy, was more of a slight super-defined but facially PERFECT (like picture the head of one of the Roman senators in the Met Museum) French guy. The Italian lived on my floor Freshman year, and I’m trying to remember why, exactly, I’d ever had discussions with the French guy. It’s really odd that I can’t remember in what context we’d spoken… my girlfriend’s best friend had slept with him…and of course I was made uncomfortable by rumors of his four hour marathon “only stop to get a drink of water and keep going” abilities [Ewww! Yuck!]…and I knew another girl who used to go and flirt with BOTH of them and come back to tell me about hanging out with them in their dorm room with them both only wearing boxer-briefs!...but why I ever spoke to the French guy and in what context really escapes me. Anyway, I do remember exactly HOW he spoke, and I do remember being invited, through a mutual friend (WHO? This memory gap is so weird!) to go clubbing with him, and I also remember that he was doing XTC…and I didn’t go…I also remember that what I hated MORE than the fact that he got to be French, and have really tan and freckless skin and REALLY blue eyes, was that he was one of those people with such defined triceps that they ALWAYS looked flexed (mine are now quite nice, for the record ;p).

Well anyway, the whole point of this blog entry WAS going to be that I googled French guy, just to see what he was up to, and I found something that TOTALLY made me laugh. I mean, let’s be clear: when we really grow up and gain confidence in ourselves, we don’t need to look down on others to get over our demons. If I’d googled him and he’d become a French youth ambassador or Olympic biathlete or something (speaking of: my Ricco didn’t win today but we are wishing him luck for later in the Games!), then I’d probably think “Wow, good for him!” but this did make me laugh…a lot…because it’s EXACTLY how I remember him. I guess what you should take from this blog entry is that you now know a LOT more about my “down” times in my late teens/early 20s, and you also will get to read a hilarious idiotic comment (although I make no profession of an ability to judge his OVERAL intelligence) by someone who (used to be) gorgeous and who I (used to be) really jealous of. Follow this link, and look for the quote by someone from France (do a cntrl+F search for “France”) and look for the guy with the initials J.F. (don’t want to say his name, because it feels kinda mean).

VC

Kwan's Health Uncertain

Blog readers, we need to send our collective strength to Michelle Kwan, who might have to drop out of the Olympics (NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and is, I hate to break it to you, suffering from "YET LAG."

VC

PS: It occured to me that yahoo might fix the typo really soon, so just in case you think I can't spell (well actually, I can't, but that's not the point) yahoo news described Michelle Kwan as having "yet lag."

Strange Dream

I just remembered a dream I had last night. Very odd.

I was going to Shakira's flat, and while it's true that her flat is in the area that is next to AUC but quickly becomes VERY lower middle class housing within a few blocks, in my dream it was like it turned into an informal housing slum. I remember that the streets were sort of like cobblestone and totally dark and I was almost slipping on the pavement as I walked, thinking about how pitch black it was and how surprising it was that I'd never noticed how close she lived to the brick boxes with no water or electricity that you see so much of on Cairo's margins. I then realized that I'd somehow missed the turnoff to her house and had walked past it into this area, and when I turned around I also realized that I'd been walking in and out of the gutter (which was just a shallow depression along the side of the street -- and not how Cairo is in real life). It wasn't traumatizing or anything, but I did have mounting anxiety about how dark and late it was and how unfamiliar I was with the area.

I went upstairs to her flat and here is where the dream really changes. I visited with someone in real life who does not exist, an African-American guy whose relationship to Shakira I don't really recall. They sat me down at a table (almost like a botth at a diner) and introduced me to someone who I recognized (after a few minutes) as American rapper Dr. Dre (I think that was him). We were all playing it cool and not saying anything about Dre, until for some reason we decided to go to another location and the guy who sat me down and introduced me to Dre sort of asked: "Do you know who he is?" and we laughed about how I'd recognized him but was not making a big deal out of the situation or asking questions, and he and Dre said they appreciated that. It wasn't clear to me if they were lovers or something, but I remember that we were all just sort of happy and easy-going and it was like they were relieved to find another friend (like Shakira) who could be really down to earth and know the secret. It was funny, too, because they told me that when Dre first met up with this guy, they would pretend, when in public in the US, that it was this other guy who was famous (just to distract people) and Dre was his personal assistant, and so he would like shout orders at Dre in public, like: "And I told you I wanted that NOW!" so that people would never think to really look who Dre -- a servant, basically, in the lie -- was, but then he'd have to run up to Dre and whisper: "Wait, what is it that I want?" and Dre would give him direction about how to manage the public and this fake celebrity lifestyle.

A friend of mine from college who, in real life, I'm not in touch with was also there, and we decided to go back to my flat that I was sharing with her. I remember there being some scary moments leaving Shakira's flat in the elevator (which IS true to real life) and that it started rocketing from the top floor to the ground level without stoping and I actually jumped out into the shaft (it's one of these open-shaft elevators, like the old-style wooden ones, so you aren't really trapped at the bottom -- you just open the door to the metal cage and get out), and counted my blessings that I'd escaped that elevator, again (this was totally triggered by my odd experience with it yesterday...I swear to God one day that thing is going to kill someone).

It gets weirder. When I left the flat I was aware that they were watching from the balcony and sort of, like, smiling and commenting about their new friend, and I started doing this thing, which I can only describe as half flying half walking, running (it's like skipping or bounding, but I get more height and distance and can REALLY jump like 20 or 30 meters at a time), and when I realized I was doing it in the dream, to get back to my flat, there was such a familiarity in the movement (like I could control it well and it was just a very familiar way of moving) that I realized that it's something I've done in OTHER dreams! It was also weird because I passed through all kinds of terrain getting back to my flat, including snow.

At some point when I was bounding along back home, Shakira and this college friend appeared in seperate cars and told me that we should drive back and try to pick up cute guys in THEIR cars on the way back. I said ok (!), and got in the car with Shakira, while I remember this college friend sped off in her piece of junk can and Shakira and I sort of laughed and rolled our eyes. There were NO hot people ANYWHERE, and then as soon as I said that comment (and of course in the dream I said it loud enouh or telepathically enough that my college friend could participate in the discussion even though she was in a seperate car off in the distance), this car with two REALLY hot guys appeared, we made contact, and basically did the "follow us" thing and they were all coming back to our flat to hang out.

The dream ended when I got back to the flat and I saw that Shakira and the college friend had left a huge mess with old pizza boxes and things lying around (I remember that the mess wasn't mine, because I'd just cleaned in the morning for the maid to come), and I was like scrambling along with them to try to make the place look presentable while one of the guys was using the bathroom.

That's all I remember!!

Weird, huh?

VC

Quranic Gardens

No Comment.

Hingis: Yay, Gaydar: Nay

Amazing news! Hingis DESTROYED Maria Sharapova in Japan this morning in the semis of the Toray Pan Pacific Open (or something like that). You can read this article for more info, but basically she crushed one of the most dominating players on tour, and it's like this child prodigy is making an equally prodigious return to tennis. Talk about a learning curve! -- Every week it's like she's 20 times better than the last week. She surprising even me (and I'm like her biggest fan other than her mom).

I was a little concerned that Sharapova might pummel her (she's one strong girl), and I was worried that it might be doubly humiliating for Martina because of a comment she made when she announced her return like 4 weeks ago about how she wanted to play Maria more than any other player on tour because she didn't see what all the hype was about (she said something like: "Watching on TV I can't see what's so special about her game, so I want to play her and find out"). Martina has never been one to shy away from controversy, so everyone who hates her (which is a LOT of people) jumped on the chance to say she'd put her foot in her mouth, but I think she was just being frank: Sharapova doesn't have great volleys, forward-backward movement, or variety of shot, and she has basically no strategy other than "hit it really hard to wherever my opponent isn't standing." Anyway, Hingis killed her!! :) [you can check out this article for a cute photo of Hingis, a reference to her controversial Sharapova comments, and a funny description of her win over Sharapova as a physical and mental "beat-down" lol]

In totally unrelated news, I've deleted my gaydar profile. There are a lot of reasons, but I gues the most important one is functional: I am not interested in sex; I don't want a relationship with anyone but Pookie; and I already have too many friends (although not in Cairo) to properly stay in contact with right now, so "networking" is not really a reason to be online. I've found myself checking the site less and less frequently, and totally disinterested in the people who contact me, so the site has no purpose for me at this point. I think if I were to say "I'm so proud of myself" or "I feel like this is a new phase" or something then it would mean that I was investing a lot in the site in terms of what I was hoping to get out of it that I wasn't...this is hardly a watershed moment...but I did feel like it was worth blogging about just in this little paragraph, because I think that it does kind if point towards my imminent return to NYC (that for a while seemed impossibly far away), and my final decision that there is really nothing worth me exploring in Egypt as far as any kind of gay community is concerned (and "meeting people through friends" is not really an alternative entry point to online networking as it would be in other places)...which is fine :)

Still chunking on and plugging away!

VC

PS: (just to be controversial) --> Any thoughts on burning of embassies as a form of free speech?

My New Lover

Provocative blog title but I totally do not have a lover (especially not a NEW one...ewww).

I do want to say, though, that the only good thing about this whole defamation of the Prophet cartoon scandal THING (since it's clear that no productive dialogue is going to come about, or even articulate monologues, for that matter) are CONSTANT images of the Danish Prime Minister super hottie Anders Fogh Rasmussen in the media.

Why no one is talking about his hotness in their news reports is beyond me! He's definitely the hottest state head at the moment by far.

I'm thinking that if Pookie and I don't have a puppy by the year 2010 (HEY! I'm giving him FOUR YEARS to work it out!) then I'm buying a one-way ticket to Copenhagen. I can tell Foggy is a dog lover ;)

VC

Edit: I forgot to say (related to the topic of the cartoon scandal) that I think Jack Straw has NO spine. He's worse than Blair. I cannot stand the kind of egg-shell walking he engages in and think that his speech about how inapprioriate the reprints were and how the UK tastefully decided not to do that is ridiculous. I can't stand the US government for its irrationality and lack of diplomacy, but I can't stand the UK even more because it's BOTH the scared puppet of the US and the spinless uber-diplomat. Basically, both countries really disappoint me in terms of their highest levels of government at the moment.