Breakfast in Nablus

Vendors were beginning to display their wares as I slipped into the morning markets of Nablus. Bypassing baskets of spices and stacks of tomatoes and ducking often to avoid scarves hanging from awnings, I soon stumbled across a vendor surrounded by a crowd.

Wedging my way in-between shopkeepers, farmers, and students, I joined the clamor and dropped shekels into his palm in exchange for a plastic cup of thick, Arabic coffee.

As I reached for my coffee, I noticed the circular pans of my favorite Palestinian dessert in a shop next door.  

Men sat crowded around flimsy plastic tables pushed up against walls lined with cracked tiles. Each had a slice of orange pastry oozing out toward the edges of the plate.

Crunchy and sweet on the outside mixing with the rancid sourness of the Palestinian cheese inside, knafeh is said to have originated in Nablus. Served as a dessert, but often available as a breakfast treat, its taste is a pleasantly acquired one.

These shops--set deep into walls of Jerusalem stone--are where locals often congregate around a precariously placed television set as bakers slides circular pans of knafeh in and out of the oven.

Balancing coffee and plate, I found a cracked plastic chair at a crowded table. Men moved to accommodate me without shifting their gaze from the television. As I took my seat, I fell into ranks with my tablemates, shoveling spoonfuls of knafeh into my mouth as fuzzy images flickered across the screen. 

This post has been entered into the Grantourismo HomeAway Holiday-Rentals travel blogging competition. 

A snapshot from a Palestinian wedding

As I sat eyeing the last remnants of labneh and olive oil on my plate, my Palestinian friend waved to me from the dance floor to get up and join the wedding party; all of whom were clapping and moving in a way that I was certain was beyond me.

I reluctantly scraped my chair back and headed to the dance floor determined to dance for as little time as possible.

I danced the rest of the night.

I stopped worrying about the spectacle I was causing with my feeble attempts to move my body the way my Palestinian friends were moving theirs. I couldn't help it. The atmosphere was jovial and light-hearted as everyone stamped their feet and swayed their hips to the hypnotic songs of famous Arab artists. The bride and the groom were placed on chairs and danced around the room and my friend's Grandmother elicited laughter and cheers as she shouted out blessings to family members in attendance. I forgot that I was an outsider and I felt embraced and welcomed into their community. The aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and other relatives of my friend took me in and showed me how they celebrate their lives. In doing so, they helped me celebrate mine.

This photo was taken at the henna party the night before the wedding. The female family members of the groom sang songs as they presented gifts and henna to the bride.


**This post has been entered into the Grantourismo HomeAway Holiday-Rentals travel blogging competition.**

Special price for you, my friend: the art of haggling

I rarely buy souvenirs.

Partly because I live out of a suitcase, but mostly because I'm broke.

These days I have to budget in a cup of coffee.  And no, I don't go to Starbucks. Otherwise this would be a legitimate thing to do. $8 a latte adds up.

British guy doesn't really buy souvenirs either. British guy just prefers to do his day-to-day shopping while we're traveling. Which is why I am very familiar with the menswear shops in Turkey and Morocco. If you want to know where to get the best deals on boxers in Casablanca or Istanbul, let me know.

This is what British guy purchased on our recent trip to Morocco:

• One leather satchel 
• Boxers
• Ceramic spice container
• Argan oil 
• Postcards
• Cell phone case

This is what I purchased:

• Postcards

As you can tell, I'm a real shopper. Not that British guy is either. He wears the same pair of North Face pants every day (ok, fine, "trousers" for all you Brits giggling in the back row). I'm pretty sure he just can't be bothered to shop for things he actually needs unless he's traveling. Depending on where you're traveling, this is not such a bad idea. Shopping in Morocco and Turkey is a lot cheaper than shopping in Europe. But you have to know how to haggle. 

Haggling can be intimidating if you're not used to it. Often Westerners just want to be told a price and then--depending on the price-- either hand over their money or walk away. End of story. Haggling can seem tedious and many people approach it with a bit of trepidation. Here are some steps* to help streamline the process and make sure you get--if not a good price--at least not an over-the-top price.

Let's say you're in Morocco and you want a leather satchel.** You find one that looks nice and you enquire as to the price. The guy asks 800 dirham (roughly 80 euro or 100 USD) for it. That sounds like more than you should be paying, but you don't really know for sure. Here's what to do:

1. First off, halve his price. Whatever the asking price is, chop it in half. In this case, counter him with 400.
2. He'll probably come back with 600.
3. Sigh heavily.
4. He'll say 550.
5. Make a face.
6. He'll drop it to 500.
7. Shake your head and make a sound that conveys you still think it's too expensive.
8. He'll drop it down to 400.
9. Walk away and repeat until you have a sense of what a reasonable price is.

The best thing to do is to shop around. This will allow you to gauge what the market price is which can be one of the intimidating things about haggling. Often you've been in the country for less than 24 hours. You can barely remember what country you're in, let alone what the standard price is for a leather satchel. Go to other stalls in the market places that sell leather satchels and go through the same thing. If you can't get any of them lower than 400 dirham then chances are that's a pretty standard price for it.

Don't worry about haggling for food or hotels. DO haggle with taxi cab drivers and when shopping for anything other than food or other basic items. Basically anything you find in a grocery store, you won't need to haggle for.

If haggling really intimidates you, having a friend along to go back and forth with can make the process a little less painful. See below.

British guy: What do you think about this satchel?

Me: It's alright. I guess.

Vendor: It's 800 dirham.

British guy: 800? Hm, what do you think?

Me: I don't know. That sounds like a lot.

Vendor: Ok, ok. For you, 600.

British guy: 600?

Me: That's pretty much 60 euro. Do you really need to spend 60 euro on a leather satchel?

Vendor: It's handmade and lined with camel skin. I can give it to you for 500, but no lower.

British guy: I do like the look of it. It's perfect for carrying classified documents around.

Me: ::makes disapproving and unconvinced face::

British guy: Well, how much would you pay for it?

Me: I don't know. Probably not more than 300.

Vendor: Ok, ok. Student price. 400.

Et voilà. Or keep haggling if you're still not satisfied with the price.

A good haggler is somewhere in-between the individual who accepts the first price and the individual who will stand for hours arguing over pennies.

If you still think haggling really isn't your thing, you can always hire a personal shopper. 

And of course, it goes without saying that you should always purchase items from shops that have been previously endorsed by President Obama.

Egyptian Spice Market, Istanbul, 2009

*These steps are from my own experiences living in the West Bank, Palestine and traveling through other areas in the Middle East and North Africa. It's not meant to be a comprehensive guide to how people haggle around the world. Just the regions I've been in. If you have any stories or tips from your experiences in these or other areas, definitely post them in the comments section or drop me a line and I'll include them in the post.

**With leather bags in these areas, I would recommend choosing one that is a little bit more expensive. Often the local tanning process uses a urine-base which is fine in an arid climate, but when you get it home you'll start to notice that it smells like something died. The smell can also result from the hide being poorly preserved before the tanning process. So with leather products, I'd invest a little bit more time and money to make sure you get something that won't have all the passengers on the plane ride home looking at you in disgust. 

My favorite Palestinian beer (and it's not just because it's the only Palestinian beer)

It's that time of year again. The time of year where everyone is Facebook-ing and Twitter-ing: "HURRAY! OKTOBERFEST!" and then "Meh....hungover...." Or maybe that's just my friends...

I suppose that since I lived in Germany it would be reasonable for me to now write about the time that I went to the Oktoberfest in Munich. I could. Because that night involved a variety of fun incidents. And by fun I mean not fun. At all. We were a bunch of broke exchange students who thought that we could save a few dollars by staying up all night instead of staying at a hotel like not students  adults  normal people who prefer to spend their money on a hotel rather than beer. Or those very fortunate people who can afford both beer and a hotel. Lucky bastards. It ended up being a disaster. The individual responsible for holding onto our train tickets thought it would be a good idea to take Ecstasy, not tell anyone and then wander off alone into the night with said train tickets. A few of us then wandered to the movie theatre to see Broken Flowers just so we could sleep somewhere warm for two hours before finally giving up and retiring to the Munich train station to spend the rest of the night on the floor. 


Incidentally if you're ever stuck in Munich for a night with nowhere to sleep (for some reason, this has now happened to me twice), I recommend taking the subway to the airport and sleeping there. This is likely illegal, but more comfortable than sleeping in the underground, the train station or a movie theatre. Trust me on this one. The line between vagrant and poor student is a fine one, and that train station is drafty. 

So, I could write about that in detail. My experience at that Oktoberfest is postworthy, but I am going to defer it. Because I would rather write about the Oktoberfest in Taybeh. 

Mmm, beeeeer

Taybeh is a small town outside of Ramallah in the West Bank and it also happens to be home to one of my absolute favorite beers. 

I had been a fan of the beer since my first visit to the region, and when I found out a few friends were planning on heading to Taybeh for the Oktoberfest, I was eager to tag along. It meant going through one of the more notorious and unpleasant checkpoints, commonly referred to as "The Container," but I couldn't turn down an evening of music, friends and Taybeh beer. 

I lived in a small town outside of Bethlehem, and I was self-conscious about purchasing alcohol. Generally grocery store purchases have extreme potential for awkwardness (please see this blog for a very accurate portrayal of that awkwardness). The potential for awkwardness increases when you have only a few stores to choose from and all of those stores are owned and staffed by very genial Palestinians who will remember you and say hello to you on the street, stopping to ask if you are settling in nicely to your new home. This will cause you to think that if they remember you, they probably also remember what you buy. Purchasing toilet paper and feminine products just got about 50 times more awkward. 

Also...during my first few weeks I had a little trouble figuring out which white package of salt-like substance was table salt. It took me 5 tries. As evidenced by the photo below. The table salt was kept in a different section from the rest of the spices which is why it took me 5 tries to find it. I didn't think to look next to the flour and sugar. 

Is this one salt? This one? No? This one? What about this one? Dammit.

So my grocery store trips were always an adventure and I was slightly self-conscious about buying what I felt might be perceived as copious amounts of beer. Yes, I lived in a predominantly Christian town and drinking is socially acceptable, but I didn't want anyone thinking I was an alcoholic. The problem is that Taybeh beer is really good beer and it was really hot outside and sometimes I had a long day and just needed a beer. And by sometimes, I mean every day. 

One evening I went into the shop and thought I would just go ahead and purchase 4 beers at once instead of my customary one a day purchase. As I walked up to the counter with my 4 beers and a bag of chips, the shopkeeper asked if I was having a party. Lightbulb flickered. I responded, "Yes. Absolutely. I am definitely having a lot of people over, and I am 100% not planning on drinking these all by myself." From that point on, that was my technique. Anytime I purchased more than one beer at a time, I made sure to mention that I was having people over. That way I looked like more of a good hostess and less of a raging alcoholic, which is always a good thing. Please see Miss Manners for more detail on this subject. 

The material point of all of this being that I really love Taybeh beer and was really excited to go to the Taybeh Oktoberfest. 

Saturday evening rolled around. My friends and I piled into a shared taxi and headed to Taybeh via the only road available for Palestinians...the Valley of Fire. I'm not making that up. I'll post about it sometime. People often ask if I was ever afraid for my life while living in the West Bank. The answer is, no. Except for when I had to take the bus to Ramallah via the Valley of Fire. 

It took us a little longer than normal to get to Taybeh because whoever is in charge of city planning decided that the eve of a big festival would be the perfect time to rip up the only road going into town. But eventually we did arrive, and it was absolutely fantastic. The beer was delicious, the music was fun, the people were great. There were a number of troupes performing traditional dances and I, for one, absolutely adore Palestinian folk dance performances.* The culture, the costumes, the music....it's spell-binding. 

This style of dress is my favorite. 

At around midnight, we decided it was time to head home although the party was still going strong. We had a long drive ahead of us and we were all exhausted. 

Not far outside of Bethlehem, we rolled slowly toward the Container checkpoint. I was sitting in the front seat and everyone handed their ID's to me as we approached the Israeli soldiers standing guard at the checkpoint. I rolled down the window and handed one of them our ID's. He flipped through them, handed the Palestinian ID cards to a fellow soldier and asked me where I was from. 

"I'm American," I said, "from California."

 "Ohh, California," he responded and he turned to another soldier who had sidled up beside him. He smiled and then with a heavy Israeli accent he began softly singing.

On a dark, desert highway. Cool wind in my hair 

The other soldier joined in. 

Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air. Up ahead in the distance, I saw shimmering light. My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim. I had to stop for the night

And then both of them were standing there, a full moon hanging heavy over a shadowed desert landscape, singing loudly and off-key. 

Welcome to the Hotel California. Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place) Such a lovely face. Plenty of room at the Hotel California. Any time of year (Any time of year). You can find it here.

I was torn between being amused by this unexpected spectacle and being saddened by the significance of the words they were singing and their particular relevance to this situation. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. I smiled wearily. I was semi-drunk, exhausted, slightly car sick, they had semi-automatic weapons and I'm not exactly a fan of that song.** But there was nothing to do but sit and listen to the performance in its entirety. Two Israeli soldiers, their weapons slung over their shoulders, belting out an Eagles' ballad. 

Though I had spent a fair amount of time in Israel and was familiar with its side of the story--its sorrows and shortcomings--and knew that my Israeli friends had served in the army, Israeli soldiers nonetheless made me nervous. Numerous unpleasant experiences with the Israeli Defense Forces had left a bitter taste in my mouth. But in this moment, I felt like I was watching two kids dressed up in soldiers' uniforms, simply singing a song they liked in the middle of the night in the middle of the desert. Somehow I found this heartbreaking. They sang the entire song. I clapped--the staccato sound echoed across the valley. They handed us our ID's and we continued on. 

*This is a really, really poor quality video of one of the dances. It was taken with my little pocket camera and is only to satisfy the desperately curious. I tried to take a better video but I was distracted by a handsome Palestinian dancer on stage had had too many beers am a terrible photographer ....I'm not really going to come out on top here no matter what I say so I'm giving up. 

**No offense to Eagles' fans. It's a good song. It's just that people have a habit of singing it to me when I tell them where I'm from. Their enthusiasm has unfortunately dampened mine.

           

كنافة or kanafeh or knafeh or kunafeh or...nevermind. Just look at the picture.

This is كنافة or kanafeh (or knafeh or about 500 other spelling variations you can find on google. I'm going to stick with two and call it good). Anyway! It's my favorite Palestinian desert. Word on the street is that it's native to Nablus (a town in the north of the West Bank), but you can find it pretty much anywhere in the Levantine region as well as Egypt. Actually I'm pretty sure you can find variations of it across the Middle East. I know for sure I've had a similar version in Turkey. 

Kanafeh, Nablus, 2009 

It's a pastry filled with soft goat cheese, and though some have said it's definitely an acquired taste...I am always up for a slice of kanafeh with some Arabic coffee on the side. 

Here are some pictures of it being made in Nablus. I apologize for the poor quality. The only thing I can blame it on is that I had either had waaaaaay too much Arabic coffee or I was so excited to eat the entire thing by myself share it with my friends that I couldn't keep the camera steady. It happens. Frequently. (Please note, I do not recommend eating an entire pan of kanafeh by yourself. I think it might send you into cardiac arrest). 

Last year the largest kanafeh ever was made in Nablus (it was an attempt to make the Guinness Book of World Records). I was going to go, but then I didn't because I was too busy updating my Facebook page doing really important things. Actually I did end up going, but by the time we got there the entire thing had been eaten already and I was so disappointed that I still don't like to talk about it. 

Reminiscing: My time in the Middle East- Part 2

Continuing with some older e-mail excerpts and photos from my time in the Middle East....This one is dated July, 2009.

Beit Sahour, 2009 

When you’re as white and as blonde as I am, standing out in the Middle East isn’t hard to do. Neither is making a spectacle of yourself. I continue to do both on a daily basis. Today I got stuck in a gate at the checkpoint between Jerusalem and Bethlehem. I am probably the only person in the history of this conflict to get stuck in that checkpoint without the help of an Israeli soldier. (The dialogue went something like…Don’t worries, guys. I got it. You look busy. I’ll just detain myself…). They have a series of revolving gates that are just big enough for one person to walk through. They only go forward. If you try to push them back, they lock. Well I went through with two suitcases and my laptop bag and my bag got caught in the gate and I tried to push the gate back and my bag got stuck, essentially imprisoning me. The man behind me was laughing too hard to help, but it was nice to have an appreciative audience. After what seemed like an eternity of intense swearing and pushing I managed to get through, much to the dismay of the very bored Israeli soldier in the booth watching me. I think he was sad that the entertainment didn’t last longer. So that was fun.

Bethlehem Checkpoint, 2009

The other thing I don’t recommend doing is wearing cheap plastic flip flops on slabs of stone. You’ll probably slip and fall in the market in front of the entire town of Beit Sahour. I did. It’s my way of making friends in foreign countries. Normally I use my outstandingly clever wit to entertain people (ha), but since I’m about 3 million light years away from mastering Arabic I have to resort to getting stuck in checkpoint gates and falling down steps. So far, so good. I made three new friends today because of my complete lack of physical grace.


The reason I was in the checkpoint in the first place is that Lufthansa lost my luggage in Germany (what gives Lufthansa? Favorite airline ever messes up for the first time!). Luckily they were able to track it down and then deliver it to Jerusalem. Since Israelis technically aren't allowed into the West Bank (it's complicated), I had to walk through the checkpoint, pick up my luggage, and walk back through. Other than that the trip over here was…well…the plane didn't crash and the wine was plentiful so how bad could it have been?


My place is really nice if not a little too spacious for just me. A lovely furnished apartment, complete with a poster of 2-Pac. The flat is on my friend's family’s property, and as soon as I put my bags down on Tuesday night my friend ushered me upstairs to the family home and introduced me to everyone. Her mother sat me down at the kitchen table and immediately started setting plates of food in front of me. I think I might have eaten my weight in stuffed grape leaves…which is good because I'm scared to use the stove in my apartment (I have to light it with a match, and for some reason this frightens me. I really think I might blow something up...and by "something" I mean me) and since that night I've been eating cucumbers and tomatoes almost exclusively. 


Overall things are going well. I'm adapting and making friends easily enough. It's a small town so I feel like everyone already knows me or at least of me. I get a lot of stares walking down the street which makes me feel self-conscious and vulnerable, but I'm slowly getting used to it. The children's stares are my favorite. Although they do look terrified. I sometimes have that effect on people. I love just wandering down the narrow streets and feeling the weight and significance of the history on all sides of me. Sometimes I wander into the church of the Nativity and just watch people come and go. Today is Friday so mostly everything is closed, and the plaza in front of the main mosque is full of people and parked cars. 


As I conclude this e-mail, I am looking out over the desert as the full moon illuminates the landscape. I can make out the crescent moon identifying the mosque and the lights from the Israeli settlement across the way flicker with a hesitancy of being that their owners never show. The church of the Nativity rises up behind me. The shadow of the cross falls across the square. The landscape struggles to exude a peace that its inhabitants have very rarely known. 

Bethlehem, 2009

Reminiscing: My time in the Middle East

While walking through an eco-festival in Grenoble yesterday morning, I noticed a booth selling Palestinian crafts. Hand-carved wood figurines of camels and shepherds, beautiful handmade shawls, and bottles of olive oil. It made me miss the region so I thought I'd take a few posts to highlight some of the adventures I had while staying there. I first encountered Israel and Palestine in January 2009. I stayed in the region for a month participating in a project for my graduate school. I loved it. And as soon as I returned to the States I made plans to go back. And I did. For nearly 7 months I lived in Bethlehem working for a joint Israeli, Jordanian and Palestinian environmental NGO. It was an amazing experience and the region and the people (both Israelis and Palestinians) made an indelible mark on my heart and world view. 

Tel Aviv, 2009

Here is an excerpt from an e-mail dated July, 2009

I'm getting ready to set off for Palestine so I thought I'd just start the "i'm still alive" e-mail updates now.  I've crammed just about everything I might need (and plenty of stuff that I probably won't) for the next 7 months in two bags, and I'm sitting here staring at my passport and rehearsing the story I've got to tell the Israeli guards at the airport, but somehow I can't wipe the bemused look off my face when saying that I am a devout Christian who is there to see the Holy Sites...again. I think of the Greek Orthodox marching down the streets of Jerusalem. Their somber faces and billowing black gowns are how I picture the devout, and it is not a category I wish to fall under. My devotion has less of the severity that comes from kneeling uncomfortably on hard surfaces for too long and more of the passion that comes from laughing hysterically while dancing under the stars of a glorious desert sky. I am excited, albeit a little nervous, to be going back. There are things I have missed and moments I look forward to experiencing again, but not enough time has passed for me to forget the difficulty of life there and the powder keg frustration of a people under occupation. I know that if things go wrong, it will happen too quickly for me to react. There is no escaping that vulnerability. When the Israeli jets fly low and fast, my heart stops with the knowledge that my innocence is irrelevant. My location is not. But since I'm sitting here with my ticket, my passport, and every intention of going...I try not to think about it too much. 

Bethlehem, 2009