Sarah the Nomad

a new breeze...

2008-09-03T12:52:00.004+02:00

for all of you still checking out this blog while I've been hibernating: i suggest you sway with the new breeze to Sof Ha'olam Smola, my new blog (www.sofhaolamsmola.blogspot.com). My sights are now set on israel - and the new blog will contain some ramblings and articles about my thoughts of israel and the aliyah process from the very beginning.

Sarah is still a nomad, but making her way home... xx

Bollywood Bombshells

2007-12-12T13:09:00.000+01:00

I love this city. I just love it. I love the fact I don't wear a watch and I forget what day it is (at least here in Mumbai I'm allowed to - In Melbourne it's not really the done thing).

I love zigzagging the traffic - having finally mastered the art of crossing the India road amongst bikes, scooters, taxis, rickshaws, trucks and buses. I feel like I've conquered Southern Mumbai - having walked the back streets and main roads for hours, I am familiar with the markets, the fishing docks, and the endless crowded stalls lining the pavement.

But what I love most about Mumbai is the people. They seem happier and content, they make up the massive ocean that overlows this teeming city. This city has culture, a rich history, magnificent architecture, and incredible food - what more could a girl want?

Bollywood. I wanna be a superstar - so where else but Bollywood?

Last year Nechama and I missed the season for Bollywood extras - due to bad timing and pure exhaustion from all our travelling up north. Besides, Mumbai was too expensive to go out - it's noted as one of the most expensive (comparitively) city in all of India.

I lost all belief that I'd be picked up to act as an extra in a film - yet low and behold, on Saturday morning, Sunday morning and afternoon - I was approached by three Bollywood agents wanting me to work for them. How lucky is that.

I turned down the first one - I was to dress in a sari and just say Namaste for an entire evening at an Indian wedding (I already had plans to meet my friends that night, which I was looking forward to - and agreed to the second and third agent. I was to be an extra in an advertisement that, while it was produced in India, it was to be shown abroad. Nobody could tell us what the add was about - we were told at first it was a public service campaign, then part of a series of campaign ads, then we were told itwas an experimental film - we only discovered what it was at the very end of the night. Dodgy.

The ad was set in Paris, on a cold, misty winter's night. We were first hushed into a room and given tea. Then the stylist came in and barked orders at the hair and makeup artists. I was second in line. Apparently, French girls has straight hair, and after oohiing and ahhing at my billowing curly mop, they finally agreed to let me keep the curls. Thank god. To 'crunch' my hair and preserve the ringlets, the hair stlyist pulled back my hair fron my face, and ran a bursh more than a few times through my hair. I didn't mind, for as I said to them at the start - "It's up to you. i'm all yours" - so who was I to complain. Besides, I could always wash it. She spritzed some water/rpduct through it and kept it tied back while the 'makeup artist' - a small man qith a quivering hand and an apron full of paints - woked on my pink eyeshadow and bright red rouge. Apparently French fashion, so they said.

I was one of the first to play dress ups with the wadrobe - because that's exactly how it was, playing dressups and purim with a Salvation Army clothing bin. The stylist kept barking orders to her male minions to pull this sweater out, and these pair of slacks (because thats what the pants were - a loose ill-coloured pair of men's daggy trousers, yukko) and unzip that jacket, and put these multi-coloured socks on to go with high heels.

I was first given a tiny wollen ribbed turtle-neck jumper. I took one look at it and burst out laughing. Holding it against myself, I showed the others (a British couple, an American, two French students and another ditzy Australian lawyer) how it would fit my arm. But I tried it on anyway, and as I emerged form the bathroom with the jumper riding up my waist, pulling at every corners I possess, well, we packed it in with laughter. There was no going back now.

The seocnd outfit I was made to try on was a birght magenta tight short skirt. With ruffles. Truly French fashion. Uh huh. The stylist then handed me a tiny tiny pink camisole and a grey jacket - I was supposedly dressed for work.

Let me interrupt myself here and tell you what I wore (from my own clothes) to the shoot.My pair of jeans (for I knew no pants would fit me), my Converse (with socks) and a loose fitting teeshirt. Fair enough, given that I had no idea what they were going to dress me in.

After I told them my shoe size (and recieved a look of horror) I was told to quickly get out of my extra-tight skirt (to my relief) and keep my jeans and shoes on. Thank god. They tied a chequered scarf around ym neck and pointed my to the set, where men were waving shallow pans of incense around high-powered fans. It was the start of a smokey evening.

I was supposed to be browsing in a bookshop named 'Antique Printed Books' in English. Pity this ad was set in France. The Bakery was called just that (not Patisserie) and the car was on the left side of the road. Hrmm, not so good with consistency there.

The night was made up going back and forth sorting through books while the cmaera was trained on the main couple, who were speaking in French. The woman was a very thin and tall Indian model who had picked up Frnech living in Switzerland, and the man was a French journalist on his first Bollywood experience. It was a mess.

The Indian girl kept mucking up her lines, and couldn't act for her life. It was a very tedious five hours standing in winter clothing under a hot spotlight and thick incense-aze.

Nevertheless, it was a fun experience. The French students kept picking out strange lines - we finally knew what it was about.

Baby wipes.

Weird.

A life without plans...

2007-12-08T15:19:00.000+01:00

I only had one plan when arriving in Mumbai - eat Friday night dinner at Chabad. That was enough for me - and it was the kinda plan that's foolproof. If I didn't meet anyone - at least I would've scored a free meal and heard kiddush in Mumbai. If I did - well, maybe I could score some travelling partners or someone to grab a beer with.

I was successful in both respects: I met an a fellow melbourne boy who I had met at the Belgian Beer Gardnes the previous saturday night, a dutch israel entrepeneur (my age, however) and we all went for a beer at the infamous pub Leopold's after dinner. I've read a lot about this pub from the book Shantaram - but I never visited it last year (overpriced drinks, bad timing). It was fun to be served Foster's beer in a massive cylindrical tube that fits a pitcher of beer. We were later joined by two of the dutch's indian friends (the dutchman's living in mumbai until july) and we all got on very well. After a couple pints we headed down to a shishah bar - we got an insight into Mumbai that would have never happened better a mere 'tourist'.

Today I headed down to the famed Crawford Market - the fruit/veg/spice/pet/whatever you wish market of Bombay. Much like any other market in foreign countries, the produce spills over into the street, insistent shopkeepers yelling their products, beckoning you with curled fingers - 'come here madam, look here'. I became a little bored by it all - the 'market keeper', an elderly man (who I suspected wanting to be paid for 'minding me' against beggars) followed me around from store to store - and so I walked off the beaten trail and stumbled into a maze of streets selling plastics, flashing neon lights, tacky handbags, until reaching the cloth market.

Man, Indian's have gorgeous fabrics. I was tempted to buy some, but those who know my track record for doing things to objects i purchase overseas realise that there's no point. It will be a waste of money and room in my backpack - I won't follow through.

I'm running outta steam. I'll publish more later....

Mumbai Take #2

2007-12-07T12:34:00.000+01:00

As my taxi inched away from the airport last night - I remarked how even though it's been a year since I left this bustling, overflowing, energetic city, it feels like only a month ago. My taxi driver wasn't interested and remained silent.

It was 11.30 pm and the streets were still crowded - people milling about, laughing, sipping chai and chatting in groups. The dogs were still prowling, the trucks still honking, the air was still thick and dirty and I loved every minute of my taxi journey to my hotel with the window wound down.

Walking around colaba it was like nothing had changed - and I wonder what would have changed in a year?

So, what did I do today? I walked. I followed the hoards of Indians getting somewhere and from 11 AM I walked around the South of Mumbai - except I had nowhere to get. Walking in circles, narrowly missing oncoming traffic, getting lost, loving getting lost, turning around, narrowly missing cows and motorcycles (actually, that's pure fabrication, i saw some cows, and bikes as well, but thats about it). I stopped walking at 4 15 PM to get back to my room to get ready for Chabad. Yes, that's right, Sarah is going JewGirl in India. And I love it.

Why walk around with nothing to do/see and with nobody to share? Coz it was an incredible experience - I felt safe, relaxed, and somewhat at home. Wtf? At home in Mumbai? Yes, weird, but true.

anyway, I have to run - but before I go, I have to say, I know Indians stare, but if i made any money on how many stares/comments i recieved today, as well as giggles about my height - i could buy a nice mansion in colaba and live here for a while.

One guy was jogging in a whole sports outfit - he stopped and said, very nice heigh madam, and kept on running. Just to give you a picture.

x

In Transit

2007-12-06T09:02:00.000+01:00

Another year, another adventure, another refreshment of Sarah The Nomad.

This time I'm revisiting old haunts, going back to places where I've experienced the ultimate happiness, and I'm not looking behind me. I'm also travelling alone.

This journey has been a long time in the making. Thanks to my family and friend for helping me get here (finally!) - and now that I'm here, there is a sense of overwhelming calm. Rest. Quiet.

Perhaps it's my stopover in Singapore (where i'm currently writing from) that has given me this feeling. I woke up much earlier than I had anticipated, and since my phone clock is set to an hour later than Singapore's actual time, I walked the streets before most shops had opened. The roads were quiet, nearly empty, and I spent the entire morning listening to Zero 7 walking the streets of SIngapore in the rain. Pure bliss.

Singapore is a shopping paradise. Pity I'm not interested. I would go nuts if I had all the money in the world - designer shops, gucci, chanel, george jensen, prada, ysl - i go gaga just window shopping. But that's the limit of my retail interaction. And man, are those window outfitters talented.

I walked along Zion Rd (loved the name), tried my luck to have a sneak peek at the Raffles Hotel, and admired the local shule from afar. I wondered why, as Jews, therer is this sense of attraction to check out the local synagogues in the countries we visit. Do Israelis do it? Do any other Jews do it? Or is it just me?

This post is really about nothing, just an introduction to the next saga in Sarah The Nomad. The posts won't be plain retelling of my actions, I promise. It's just so hot and muggy and grey in this bland city - I'm spent.

Over and out, y'all.

More mock covers..

2007-10-07T05:27:00.001+02:00

mock covers for visible ink

2007-10-02T14:08:00.000+02:00

let me know what you think, people.

Jew-ing the Urban Dictionary

2007-08-29T15:57:00.000+02:00

here are some of my favourites (and I don't apologise if you find it offensive. I find it funny):

1. Jew Muffin

cheap ass motherfucker

"Ashley wouldnt give me 5 bucks cause she's a jew muffin."

2. Jew Jew

one of those mega-jews

(See also lubavitch)

"Hey TEoS, what is Jew Jew?

Why my good man, they're those boys in hats and suits with the long things of hair hanging over their ears!"

3. Jew Fetish

To only be attracted to jewish women for reasons beyond normal peoples comprehension. People who have the jew fetish usually will be unaware of the problem until it is called on by a friend. After exposed the jew fetish usually befalls large amounts of scrutiny and bad jokes. Unfortunatly for the sufferer the jew fetish is uncurable and will remain forever. Even if the sufferer dates a non-jew he will feel unsatisfied.

"Austin Kennedy was the first known sufferer of the jew fetish and is still unwilling to cope with the problem."

NOTE: I am a proud Jew with a twisted sense of humour - no self-haters here.

2007-07-15T16:00:00.000+02:00

As I trail through the site onlysimchas.com I can only see girls, young girls, young girls in white dresses, these are not women, they are girls as young as me, girls who will learn to love their husbands, girls who frock up in white billowing dresses with made-up porcelain faces and perfect shiny hair, their man wears a big pointy black hat and a white dressing gown and they buzz beneath the Chuppah, quietly praying that the rest of life won't be as frightening as this moment. These are just girls, girls who were once my friends, girls i grew up with, girls i remember from school. Girls.

My mum was my age when she married my father. My age.

I am nowhere near the marrying age – I can’t think of a life more further away than what it is for me right now. I sit on my bed, alone on a Sunday night, no friends with benefits, no partner, and definitely no husband and I’m at peace with that... It's my turn to be single, I'm no bitter 'psycho-bitch' (at least I try not to be) and I'm no needy girl craving for a 'boyfriend'. Ergh.

It's my birthday on Wednesday, and it's real interesting to reflect on the past year - where I was at this time (in war-stricken Israel), the friends I had, the adventures journeyed, the risks taken - and where I am now. I reckon I'm doing pretty well.

So, I've been quite quiet on the blogging front for the past month. Nothing special to report back on - I've been at school four days a week, and I started a new job at a shoe store for extra large feet (like me!). And that's all. I bought a pair of magic boots (they're cute ankle suede high-heeled boots that has mostly led to my number being taken by a boy - note: this does not guarantee a followup phone call) and been frequenting house parties across Melbourne.

I’ve been nursing a bruised ego for the past week – I can’t handle rejection as well as I thought I could (I have discovered that I’d like to be prepared for rejection – when it comes out of nowhere it leaves me sore.)
I headed into a situation expecting a casual winter fling - nothing serious, something to fill in time and someone new to meet (i've been bored out of my brain of late. bored with everything. it's pathetic.) i expected him to be a typical israeli 'man crumpet' - but he caught me off guard and got under my skin. Obviously I didn't get under his. And it's making me crazy. Insane. I'm bewildered at my reaction. Because usually I'm the one in control. Ha. Who woulda thought. That seems to be my line, I like to use that quite a lot. Who woulda thought. I wouldn't have.

Things.

2007-05-27T09:44:00.000+02:00

Things I know I am:

- a reckless driver. Music turned LOUD (preferably rock or dance, but can go the mellow romeo+juliet soundtrack occasionally) and foot slamming the accelerator, I particularly enjoy weaving through the traffic on King's Way in my zippy little Jazz. Fwooosh!

- a nervous flirt. When I notice that someone wants to chat to me and is clearly making an effort, I turn quite shy and to cover this vulnerablity I come across a little coy/arrogant (perhaps?) and answer questions with more questions. Such a complicated typical Jewish girl, I suppose. But I like to think that I stick to my beliefs, and wouldn't bend for anybody in the beginnings of a conversation - especially if neither of us know eachother. But the nervousness persists. Not because I'm necessarily attracted to the other person, but rather I feel that I'm still quite new and inexperienced in the game. Strange perception, quite untrue, but it still exists. The nervous flitter that starts in my stomach but can be heard in my voice and be seen right down to my fingertips. I am so awkward sometimes.

Things I know I am not:

- rude. I am not rude, and moreover I do not like when people are rude to me. There are certain niceties and rules of etiquette that we should use when participating in society. There are certain responsibilities, no matter how superficial, that we still have to people - and I don't care what people say. Civility to your fellow human is not such a big thing to ask for.

- 12 years old anymore. I think I'm kinda over the age where my parents still find it important/necessary to tell me how to dress. My converse sneakers don't always mean disrespect. And makeup is not always required on a sunny sunday afternoon.

Things I am still grappling with:

- the fact that I am Charlotte from Sex and the City. Apparently. And with shades of Samantha (thank fucking god). I've been told recently that I'm a JAP (Jewish Australian Princess) and I'm still somewhat bewildered, and constantly aware of this perception. A friend described me as regal, elegant, and these factors all contribute to one's overall impression of me. But the question is: Is that a bad thing? If not, then why am I still perplexed?

Miss Saigon moved me to tears

2007-05-20T17:39:00.001+02:00

Top Musicals:
Cabaret - Sam Mendes remix, Studio 54, New York City
Wicked - New York City
Miss Saigon - Melbourne
The Boy from Oz - Melbourne
West Side Story - Melbourne and film
Les Miserables - Melbourne, London
The Producers - New York City

List of Current Playlist(StrangeWinterDays):
"No Diggity" - Blackstreet
"Turn Out the Lights" - Nelly Furtado (sounds a little like retardo? hmm never thought of that before)
"Singing in the Rain Remix" Mint Royale
"Sunday Mornings" Maroon 5

Disjointed

2007-05-14T08:51:00.000+02:00

What I Like:

- riding in my car listening to Triple J's Hottest 100 album of 2000. Why? I feel like a dirty teenager with unwashed jeans and greasy hair and I don't give a shit. I'm endeavouring to be as happy as I can be, to live my life the way I want, to not let the complexities of emotions and surrounding circumstance to get me down. I like feeling like a kid. Especially when I sing along to Sinead O'Conner's "Daddy I'm Fine" - the first song I ever heard the word fuck used properly in a pop song. I love it. That song is still empowering. Much like the half-joke I made on Sunday at my family's Mother's Day Brunch. Back in the days of my grandmother's youth, sluts were called 'mattresses' because all a boy had to do was lie down to sleep with the woman in question. My uncle then volunteered that in the 70s he used to call these women 'bicycles' - because everyone got a ride.
And what are they called nowadays?
Strong independent women doing what they want. They don't have to answer to anybody. If they're enjoying doing what they want, with whom they want, when they want - well, quite frankly, that's up to them. Don't you love the valourisation of choice in the twenty-first century? Feminism not only granted some haphazzered equality-like status to women in the workplace and within civil liberties, but it also brought on the high idea of women's right to choose. And I think that's the most important. Judgement calls are only valid if we let them be. Us girls have the right to choose, as well as the right not to be judged for that (perhaps unconventional) decision. This sounds a lot like my essay about Bizet's Carmen. Perhaps that will be exhibited next time.

- my editing class. For the obvious reasons. Each week I feel like I'm studying the English through the angle of a different profession. One moment we are detectives, as I've wrote about earlier. The next moment we are scientists, classifying parts of speech and labelling the parts within that. We put everything in their correct drawer, label every jar that is language. Another moment we are mathematicians, deconstructing complex mathematical structures. Getting the basics grounded first, then we start asking a series of questions - WHat is the verb? What is the object/subject? And if this is so, then how do we find the (insert term here)?
I feel empowered by this knowledge, decisions are made easier. I swear.

What I find amusing:

- the concept of rent-a-crowd for barmitzvahs and weddings. These special occasions should NEVER be subject to the pressure of 'rent-a-crowd'. What makes a simcha so special is the people - not the food, not the band, not the location. I believe that occasions/events such as these should comprise of those who you love and who will love sharing in your happiness. The acknowledgement of this 'rent-a-crowd' pressure by a certain Friday Lunch with the Ladies socialite was deemed hysterically ironic (i'm not sure if that's the right term used there) over the past weekend. Haha.

- the fact that I managed to hurt myself again. It's becoming a pattern - and I'm not sure if I like it. I try to look after myself, but it's not working out for me right now. I sprained my ribs/ irritated my rib joints when moving in (perhaps) a strange way on saturday night. Now the whole upper left section of my torso is in agony, a very strange sensation. With the aid of drugs and physio, I shall overcome. But until that moment - this new awareness of my body is quite unreal. Mmmm.

This has turned into an unintended rant. I like my lists - but I don't think I like this one. Let's see.

vis ink

2007-05-02T06:20:00.000+02:00

a lot.

2007-05-01T16:13:00.000+02:00

i miss india.

2007-05-01T15:52:00.000+02:00

Collection of Unconnected Matter

2007-04-29T08:08:00.000+02:00

It's funny when you rethink all the situations and emotions one has experienced in a certain period of time. Yes, I know this sounds very vague, but looking back on these last couple months since my return from my trip, a rollercoaster of adventures and feelings and moments of 'stuckness', I wonder if I've learned anything at all. I wonder if, through each situation and thought process, I am learning and improving myself and improving the lives of others.

A cycle of convoluted thoughts pepper this blog, a 'collection of unconnected matter' and I oft wonder - where does that leave me? Where exactly am I going? Am I the person I would like myself to be? Are any of us? A friend recently told me that through a late night conversation he "saw a real sad side of me", a facet of me that I usually conceal not to frighten others, not to frighten myself. But I think we all have this sad side of ourselves, and choosing to expose it depends on us. It's funny, because that particularly night ended the 'sadness' I had been experiencing since I came down with glandular fever.

Glandular fever produces various side affects in people - exhaustion, restlessness, lack of concentration, aching muscles, sore glands, temperature, and depression.
What I thought was the annual April apathy and madness I sometimes descend into (and posted about previously) was (I think) encouraged/produced by my glandular fever. I lacked motivation, I lacked enthusiasm, I lacked the passion I so often seek and express. A cycle I worked hard on to break, to smash up all the negative thoughts and consequent anti-social actions - which, I might proudly add, I overcame with success. But that Friday night when my friend saw that 'sad side' of me was the slow ending of this melancholy. I had finally thought myself out of the bad, the sad, the madness that had enveloped me for a while. Too long a while. But starting afresh is always renewing. And I've come to realise that it's upon ourselves to make that change. Others can help us see the way, or make us feel even more bitter, but we have to work on the rotten from the inside out. Once the clutter is arranged in some order, some progress is made.

To really take control of your life, that's one of the hardest things to do. To be happy and satisfied with your every action, your destination, your journey to that destination - I think that's one my biggest wishes for my life. A big birthday wish. A lifetime wish, a lifetime workshop - for nobody really wants to achieve perfection, otherwise there's no room for improvement.

To disconnect from life - I think that's one of my biggest fears. I may live to be average, to finally grow up and not realise my 'potential', I may remain single for the rest of my life, but I don't feel as frightened from those 'fears'. To disconnect from life - to not care, to stop thinking, to feel like a transparent blob hovering through the everydayness of life - no thanks. Nisht for Sarah.

spilt milk

2007-04-23T10:03:00.000+02:00

The sea was like milk foam. Spilt milk. The white creaminess of the salty foam looked delicious as it washed over the black rocks that jutted out forming mini Oreo-islands. It was breathtaking. I think the reason why I was so surprised at the beauty was because the milk foam belonged to the sea spray of Nobbies, Phillip Island. That's right, Nobbies' Nuts. When I used to think of Phillip Island, I remembered the Penguin Parade we witnessed during a class excursion in Grade Four. I thought of the ordinary name Cowes, and the lack of seals slapping themselves silly at the Nobbies rocks. I thought of a remote place that belonged to my childhood, and completely disregarded its potential for appreciation in my adulthood.

It's funny how things work like that.

Scribbles from Editing Class 101

2007-04-17T08:02:00.000+02:00

I feel like a detective - learning the training to dive into complex sentence structures and identify the grammar construction of our language.
We piece the puzzle together with each new class - a new pearl to unravel the secrets embedded within communication.

I feel like a builder - learning the materials and tools for construction. Laying the foundation - solid, of course - and during class we build together the walls, windows, ceilings - the limitations, the exceptions - "you gotta know the rules to break 'em."
Layer upon layer, we work hard and we work long. Peeling the verbs, subjects, direct and indirect objects away from the core, we reveal some inner truths of our language.

Grammar girl is our goddess.

Frozen Music

2007-04-12T09:21:00.000+02:00

Music allows us to pause the present for a moment and feel full with the memory bubble that's created upon listening to it.
It's so wonderful that there are songs out there that allow us commonfolk to express our 'feelings' - especially when words seem inadequate. Songs capture a glance, a shyness, a whoop of joy, a relief, a place of comfort - that sparks memories within us that we tend to put away for a while. Whether they are songs once shared by lovers, by friends, by heartache, by family, by grief - or songs that remind us of a time with which we are familiar. I think it's quite beautiful.

Current songs of currency:

"Dream about you: Mark Sholtez"
"So Happy Together: The Turtles"
"Apple Candy: Ben Lee"
"Book of Love: Peter Gabriel"
"Move On Up: Curtis Mayfield"
"Alright: John Legend"

These songs are important to me because they encapsulate a whole range of emotions, felt along wide spaces of time in various parts of the world. I wonder what YOUR current songs of currency are. Let me know. I enjoy allowing sunshine memories soak through me via the beauty of music. Perhaps it feels a little like love.

Rosamond Purcell - lovely photos for your enjoyment

2007-04-11T07:03:00.001+02:00

An inspiration.

2007-04-04T16:27:00.000+02:00

This is an excerpt from an address by Israel President Ezer Weizman to the Bundestag and Bundesrat of the Federal Republic of Germany on the 18th of January, 1996. It was written by Israeli novelist Meir Shalev. I came across this while exploring my new Haggadah, attached to the paragraph 'Bechol Dor VaDor - In every generation'. I wish everyone a pesach kasher ve sameach.

"It was fate that delivered me and my contemporaries into this great era, when the Jews returned to and re-established their homeland. I am no longer a wandering Jew who migrates from country to country, from exile to exile. But all Jews in every generation must regard themselves as if they had been there, in previous generations, places, and events. Therefore, I am still a wandering Jew, but not along the far-flung paths of the world. Now I migrate through the expanses of time, from generation to generation, down the paths of memory.

Memory shortens distances. Two hundred generations have passed since my people first came into being, and to me they seem like a few days. Only two hundred generations have passed since a man named Abraham rose up and left his country and birthplace for the country that is today mine. Only two hundred generations have elapsed from the day Abraham purchased the Cave of Makhpela in the city of Hebron to the murderous conflicts that have taken place there in my generation. Only one hundred fifty generations have passed from the Pillar of Fire of the Exodus from Egypt to the pillars of smoke from the Holocaust. And I, a descendant of Abraham, born in Abraham's country, have witnessed them all.

I was a slave in Egypt. I received the Torah at Mount Sinai. Together with Joshua and Elijah, I crossed the Jordan River. I entered Jerusalem with David, was exiled from it with Zedekiah, and did not forget it by the rivers of Babylon. When the Lord returned the captives of Zion, I dreamed among the builders of its ramparts. I fought the Romans and was banished from Spain. I was bound to the stake in Mainz. I studied Torah in Yemen and lost my family in Kishinev. I was incinerated in Treblinka, rebelled in Warsaw, and emigrated to the Land of Israel, the country whence I had been exiled and where I had been born, from which I come and to which I return.

I am a wandering Jew who follows in the footsteps of his forebears, and just as I escorted them there and then, so do my forebears accompany me and stand here with me today. The sharp-sighted among you may be able to discern them: a retinue of prophets and peasants, kings and rabbis, scientists and soldiers, craftsmen and children. Some died of advanced years in their beds. Others went up in flames. Still others fell by the sword.

Just as memory forces us to participate in each day and every event of our past, so does the virtue of hope force us to prepare for each day of our future. "

Deconstructing Sarah

2007-04-04T16:09:00.000+02:00

1. The tonsilitis that I thought plagued me was diagnosed as glandular fever. Goody. I suppose that explains the serious melancholy of the last post - and since I have been in bed growing restless and crazy. It's amazing where the mind takes you when your company has been countless episodes of Law & Order and your nuclear family. I love them, but I need to go out, man!

2. It's quite pathetic when you watch Foxtel over and over and realise that you've already seen the episode of Law&Order/Crossing Jordan/ Law&Order:SVU etc etc. I watch way too much television. Which brings me to

3. I think I hate the way glandular fever affected me because it produced a concentration span of a goldfish - I became quickly bored with television/movies/conversations - to the point that I had no energy to read. I couldn't READ! What good use is an editor-in-training who can't read?!?! I felt helpless and quite miserable for a time there.

4. But now I'm over it. The misery. The self-sorrow. I'm slowly getting better and realise that getting better takes time. A lot of time. Which I've never quite disciplined myself to take. To the detriment of my health. And I chase my own tail and the never ending vicious cycle produces me with more ailments (which I am confident I can overcome) and well... I'm not making any sense anymore. I'm up past my bed time.

5. I like lists. To be specific - I like lists of words. Perhaps a forthcoming posts will be just that. But not numbered. I do not number my word lists.

6. Is vulnerability an art? Can it perceived/decontructed/theorised as art? The ability to expose oneself - one's fears, one's weaknesses, one's neurosis, one's strange habits - does that take courage? And to what degree do people show and conceal these vulnerabilities? Is one able to tone a certain weakness down, or keep it in check, consciously? What strength does that require?

7. Who reads this?

8. Do I care?

9. I think I do. And I had to answer that because nine is my favourite number in the 1-10 range, and so I must have nine points. None have to make any sense. But that's ok. This is my blog. And I'll write what I want to.

cripple

2007-03-27T06:39:00.000+02:00

Beware, beware, the Ides of March - Beware!

The Ides of March have come and gone, but still the months of March/April hold their breath as the rest of the world gradually ebbs away, in pieces. Bit by bit, piece by piece, square by square, moment by moment, the waves come crashing down again as the sea welcomes the winter and I find myself lost. Again. What is it about March/April? The pre-Pesach jiitters? The heave of anticipation to clean out your system, flush the dangerous or the old or the unused or the resented out in order to breathe in a new warm day? Perhaps the realisation that it is already near April. The first quarter of the new year is already up. Time's up. Stop what you're doing, and reflect. What, reflect on this past since since the last Pesach? Since the beginning of the Jewish new year at Rosh HaShanah? Or what's been going on since the beginning of the secular year, the first of January. And now it's already near April.

They say time flies when you're having fun. Maybe that's why this week has crawled. Snail. Turtle. Old granpa behind the wheel on Carlisle Street. It's lurched forward, pushed by the various films I watch on my laptop in my bed as I disgust myself in the mess of my room, the stench of old clothes and India and unopened boxes. It's disgusting and I don't do a thing about it.

Maybe as soon as this tonsilitis is kicked, the autumn cool sunshine and bare trees will warm me again. Man, I'm praying that it will.

This Single Life

2007-03-22T09:48:00.000+01:00

I think my mother has finally understood.
I think I have now seen the light.
And even though I'm loving every minute of this single life - the acceptance of my mother that, yes, it IS quite hard meeting people, ahem, meeting JEWISH boys, who have balls and the courage to take an interest in Jewish girls - has had an interesting effect on me.

That was one very long sentence. Pardon me. It's as if now, everything will be alright. She understands. And, hopefully, my grandmother will eventually understand, and might even stop asking me, "Nu, Sarah, you've been home for over three months now, where's the boyfriend?" No, I don't have pressure within my family or friends, as much as I joke about, and I have been fortunate to have experienced a wonderful long term relationship, but now that I'm single, this "single life" is equally fascinating and confusing. The more I learn, and the more things I do to 'make myself known to the world', the more confused and frustrated I become. No, not frustrated, just disappointed. Yes, disappointment hurts more than frustration. Because any sliver of hope that one might have, is lost.

Another fleeting thought: while I may love being single and this single life (friends, flirting, parties, uni, concentrating on what i like to do and how fabulous living life is) I may get tired of it all. Not long how far away that might be. And by that stage, as they say, all the nice men are either married or gay. And in the Jewish world, it seems as if it gets harder the older you are. Men become MUCH more picky (as if they can afford to be!) and women, well, we just are sad and eat more and get fatter.
No, i'm lying, That was cruel. But sometimes true? I might be having too much fun at the moment and let life slip me by and before I know it, I'll be nearing thirty with no relationship since the one of my university years sitting in a bar in new york sipping cosmo cocktails with my girlfriends wondering where all the men have gone and realising this would be a FANTASTIC tv show.

But right now, I'm having too much fun. Is that a bad thing?

It's been a while. Yes, it has.

2007-02-16T08:20:00.001+01:00

I've finally rediscovered my creative juices - now they're pumping through me like never before. And I'm so excited. My mind is racing a million miles a minute like I've just guzzled six cups of espresso and I can't sit still. I'm so excited.

I started school again on Monday - an event, or milestone (as my father would like to see it as) that I met with both anxiety and apathy. I suppose those too are mutually exclusive, but it was a strange feeling running through me when turning up to the first introduction lecture at nine thirty that Monday morning. Toured around the RMIT campus I felt that I was back at school again, class excursion to the library, to the cafe, to the bookstore, with an orientation guide that was too dificult to understand - for all reference points on our tour he just pointed us to the direction of "read the handout I gave you" and prayed that we did.

I made friends instead.
We were bored and all felt that we were back in primary school. Fun.

After the orientation and the mandatory (FREE) barbecue was over (the veggie burgers were very unappealing) I had three hours to spare before another class meeting - and it was hot. Very hot. And as much as I ADORE socialising/networking - not in the mood. It was Monday, and it was before 4 pm. You know what THAT means :D

Cheap flicks at the Nova cinema on Lygon Street. Yes! Airconditioned bliss.

Tuesday though made me happy. My first subject was Editing with a soft spoken woman who encapuslated warmth and I was a happy girl. Tough class though. We were given a grammar test and me, thinking hey this stuff should be easy, was stumped. Mmm, I have so much to learn. But I suppose I have time.

I could go on about my other class but I think I've lost the momentum. Alana is stressing out about what to wear to shule (synagogue) - it's gone from being a house of worship to a house of fashion - all about the shoes, darrrrrling.

Thank god I'm not into that anymore.

Thank god. Yes, I engaged in an argument with some Brit friends of mine about the fact I was atheist for about half an hour. Which, after ten minutes convincing myself and them that I no longer believed in any aspect of god I turned around and realised -

"I'm a liar. A complete liar."

What the hell was I thinking?

Anyway, back to why I'm just so excited and happy and grinning like a kid who just gobbled a massive choc fudge cafe - this morning made me glide down Swanston Street (actually, that's a lie too, I was strutting. Listening to Justin Timberlake I felt like sex on legs). I met this fabulous girl who finished her Bachelor of Creative Arts a couple years before me, back in the day when it used to be held at the Victorian College of the Arts (and no longer at Melbourne University) who was in the same year as Lally Katz and Claire Bowditch (infamous pearls of melbournians known for their theatre and music respectively) who, like myself, LOVED melbourne and loved telling the world all about it. She's also the co-editor of Is-Not magazine, a bunch of other publications and her boy is the art director of Monument magazine - how INCREDIBLE is that?

After reminiscing about Creative Arts and the new direction (or lack thereof) the course is taking, she asked if I wanted some work as an editor or editorial assisant or fiction writer or contributor to her fiefdom of melbourne magazines - to which, after confessing my lack of self-confidence, i readily agreed. (I know that that does NOT make any sense - but I'm completing wiritng this at 12.40 am after falling asleep on a friend's couch in the middle of a dinner party. I am the height of manners quite presently, and also half asleep)

So yes. Sarah's back. And she's loving it all.

2007-01-23T11:09:00.000+01:00

is it so bad that i check my own post for updates?

thoughts on a love tape (pinker tones)

2007-01-18T08:23:00.000+01:00

"I don't want nobody baby, but you! There's something about your body that got me thinking bout nobody but you!"

Nothing like dance music on a grey muggy afternoon in Melbourne. Gets your otherwise lethargic juices finally pumping! Nothing like sitting at a computer trying not to dance to the dance music, while attempting to type with long nails (yes people, Sarah finally took the plunge!) - it just doesn't work as well.
Nothing like getting your ears pierced at the ripe age of twenty two. And a half. Nice mid-birthday present for myself.
Nothing like awkward situations which enourage instant intoxication. In back bars and across the globe. Why can't we all be friends?
Nothing like having a summer crew when all your regular friends have flown away overseas. I think these might become my regulars too. Nothing like a mashing of friends from all over the shop. Mmm.

"When the lights go down in your town. And the band begins to play. You can feel the energy coming. From the people lest they say...."

Nothing like laughing so hard about a situation that's actually not as funny as you thought.
Nothing like pining over misspent hours watching golf and singing about a corn dog and dipping my little toes into rockpools at dusk. Nothing like little toes. Do I have anything little?

Nothing like a crappy post like this one. Enjoy.

All I want for Christmas is a little bit of rain!

2007-01-06T10:47:00.000+01:00

It's been a while. I've settled back into the mediocrity of Melbourne, and while I'm not here to complain about it (actually I've had a jolly good time) my heart still soars back to my days of adventure.

Oh, how sappy! Come on! I suppose I can keep blogging about life here in Melbourne, for the multitudes of foreigners that read this thing (the random americans/canadians/israelis - thanks for your support) and I do have a couple stories up my sleeve to entertain you. In a sec...

Culture Shock - they always warn you about it, they try and keep you safe from it, but it always seeps in through the everydayness of your home town and the familiarity of family and friends. What the hell is Culture Shock anyway?

Do I have it?

If I had it, am I over it?

Yet?

This time round, when coming back home to Melbourne, I prepared myself both emotionally and spiritually. Here I am, having one of the most exhilirating and adventurous years of my life all but over, a newfound awareness and confidence about me - having to hit the beige of familiarity and homeness, where nothing changes. Ever.

I felt like one of those Shnatties (Shnatti - an 18 yr old Australian Jew who spends a year in Israel with the Youth Movement of their choice after graduating from high school) - people asking me, "Is it hard to be back?" "Have you settled in yet?" "What was your favourite part?" (To which I have no answer, I loved every chapter of my year) - What do I say?
HECK YES! I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE FOR VERY MUCH LONGER!!!!

But then I truly sound like a spoiled and overindulged Jewish princess. And perhaps indeed I am, but one doesn't have to tell the world about it. Anyway, enough with this rubbish.

It's hard to get back into routine - to be honest, what I miss about travelling is meeting new people everyday. Tht's what kept me going on the days I felt blue. I met someone interesting who could take my mind off travelling alone, and things weren't so bad anymore. But in Melbourne, I'm noticing that while most things haven't changed, there is a heck of a lot that has. I've been meeting and going out with new people every week. So I suppose in essence I really haven't stopped travelling. Oh, and the fact that I'm home alone for a month to housesit doesn't hurt either.

Love this independence.

Ps - Droughts stink! Sarah and Global Warming bring you SUMMER

Long time, no write...

2006-12-27T06:11:00.000+01:00

So now I'm back at home. It's been a while since I punched those keys in frustration venting about my loathing of these machines. But I'm back - to fill you in on those last few weeks, and some reflections of my time abroad - throughout the year.

United States, England, Greece, Israel, India.
Wow. What an adventure.

Where to start...

I'll backtrack a little, and catch everyone up on my magic last couple weeks in India.

The Magic of Hampi

My first afternoon on the "other side of the river" (as labelled on the menus, apparently its close to official) took me to visit a nearby lake. We had met a friend of Nechama's close friend in an internet cafe (My, it's such a small world out there) who invited us both to swim at sunset. Nechama wasn't feeling the greatest and had a snooze, but I felt like some exercise and walked the four kilometres through massive antiquated pillars and isolated villages and fields dotted with labourers and herds of sheep and cattle and stray dogs and girls with short haircuts wanting to slap me high fives with blue ribbons and school uniforms and there i was in my thongs and aladdin pants and john legend pumping on the ipod and a bottle of water for the cool.
This walk was one of the most picturesque and calming walks I've ever experienced. Everything was so beautiful in the late afternoon sun - all was golden. By the time I arrived at the boulders lining the lake, the local police were ushering the few Israelis lapping up the sun to leave, as once the sun sets the Indian men frolick at the lake and cause disturbances for other tourists. But Daniel (our new friend) and I took a short dip in the green water, enough to freeze our socks off and become scared of the potential crocodiles smacking their lips hungry for their next meal. (I recounted the crocs Nech and I saw in the lake at Ranakpur, Rajasthan, which made us both a little nervous). After drying off I was offered to ride on the back of one the group's bicycles - I refused, for having the back of a bike up my ass isn't on the list of things I'd love to experience - I also wanted to walk home in the pink dusk (my favourite time of day).
I was halfway home when I was offered a lift by a fellow Australian girl I had met the day before, and, since it was near dark, I hopped on the back of the scooter as it wheezed throughout the hills back to the guesthouse. But, alas, I have the greatest luck, and thinking that I had already done my exercise for the day, had no idea what lay ahead.

Her scooter broke down. And we had to push it up hills back to the shop. Fun.

I suppose now that I remember my time in Hampi, I did quite a lot of exercise, it kept me quite fit. I like it. Walking to the lake, pushing scooters up hills, cycling through the hills on the other other side of the river (I'll get to that soon), walking up the million steps to the monkey temple... phew! The most exercise I had done the entire year!

That night out new Aussie friend of a friend Daniel invited us to a party he was hosting, and we met a new group of Israelis who became our pals for the rest of our stay in Hampi. Two of the group are Indian Israelis, two play guitar, and they all play Yaniv, a card game which is quite addictive. And one looked like a gay sailor during our shabbat meal (he was wearing a blue and white striped top and white pants. White pants people - in INDIA! How did they survive?) They were all so lovely. We ate Hummus and drank Turkish coffee with them and argued philosophy all through the night.

One day during our stay in Hampi Nechama and I rented bicycles to ride throughout the green hills and explore the 500 yr old ruins and temples along the way. Well, we didn't realise how much work it was going to be! This time we pushed our bikes up the hills (even the rickshaws had trouble with the steepness - it wasn't just our unfitness!) and took some breathers in the shade of the temples. They were incredible structures.

We had just gotten off the small boat from the main side of the river when we notived that it was just near sunset. We quickly scrambled to the Monkey temple to get prime veiwing and happened to meet the Israelis from the previous night. Together we schlepped up the millions steps to this supposed gorgeous vantage point. But not without some excitement. We were on our way to a monkey temple, for Christ's sake!

At the head of the contingent was a random Israeli hottie (whose name eludes me) who began to shriek. What the? A grown man shrieking at... a monkey. The monkey was sitting there having all the time in the world to nibble on his banana. Now, why on earth were we frightened of the monkeys? Rabies, of course. I had already been in one Indian hospitcal, and I had no intentions of returning to another one. The Israeli hottie ran down the stairs, past us girls and hid behind Nechama. Then Kobi, a typical arrogant and wonderful Israeli, grabbed a tree branch (complete with leaves and insignificant twig branches) and climbed up the stairs to confront this monkey who was in our way. Kobi hissed at the monkey, and the monkey looked at him for two seconds, dropped its banana, bared its fangs, opened its mouth wide and hissed back... ARGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

We ran for our lives.

What to do?! We wanted to go up to that temple, quick, before the sun set. The only two guys in our small group, Kobi and Nameless Hottie, stupidly thought that more bananas might appease this rabid monkey. DUH! I don't think so! But no, nobody would listen to two Australian girls... We don't know anything. After taking the plastic bag of bananas out of a backpack the feral monkey lunged for the bag and we all yelped and ran down some more steps. Let's just say we were scared shitless.

We were soon rescued by an Indian boy perched on a higher rock who shooed the gathering group of monkeys and allowed us to complete the exhausting climb up to the temple. Whoa.

So that was a little bit of Hampi, people. Hope you liked it. xxx (more's on the way...)

Mental note - Sarah is fabulous!

2006-12-08T09:48:00.000+01:00

You see, I did write a post. A wonderful post. An update in a most atriculate manner detailing the magic of Hampi. Oh yeah. That was a couple days ago, before I lost all patience with computers here in India.

There I was, happily typing away, pounding so damn fast on those keys to the sounds of John Legend, remembering my times back in Hampi. On and on and on and on - wonderful post, if I may say so myself. But then again, they always say that about things that are 'lost'. And so, suddenly, the computer switched off. It just went brain dead. The power was still working - it was only my computer. Problem computer.

And I wanted to kill it.

All lost. Everything. I could try and write it out again, letting you know about the peachy pink sunsets we enjoyed perched atop a monkey temple, or relaxing with a guitar and card games with our Israeli friends, or hiring a bicycle and huffing and puffing about the temples strewn amongst the hills of Hampi. I could tell you now about the trance scene in Goa, the constant doof doof, aging hippies twisting out on drugs on the beach on lazy sunny afternoons, spending Shabbat meals with Chabad.

But I don't have much more tolerance for computer around here anymore. So i'll write a longer and more descriptive post later on. Peace.

Ani Lo Medaberet Ivrit - Maspik!

2006-11-27T12:16:00.000+01:00

Achoti! Achoti!

Apparently I look like an Israeli.

Mah Nishma! Achoti! Sababa! Ma Inyanim!

That doesn't bother me so much.

Maybe because Both Nechama and I have crazy curly hair. Or that perhaps we look like dirty cheap Israelis with our flashy blue and pink shitcatchers (or aladdin pants, for the shopkeepers), our chirping anklets with bells on them, and we want things for cheap. Hum.

I have been eating Hummus every day though. For breakfast. Shame there's no herring and smoked salmon in India. Then I'll really feel overdone.

We're in a gorgeous village named Hampi, a town strewn amongst Hindi ruins that are over 500 years old. The first two days we spent on the Hampi Bazaar side of the river, in a crumbling guesthouse surrounded by Kashmiri shops selling the same wares. We were too exhausted from our travelling, so we've decided to get some rest before exploring the temples of Hampi by bicycle. Yes, that's right kids. Sarah is going to ride a bike again. What, first time in four years? Uh oh. I thought I had to leave my fitness behind when I finished trekking in the Himalayas. Now what's this about bike riding?!

This morning we moved over to the other side of the river to a more relaxed and friendlier cluster of guesthouses and restaurants showing nightly movies. Oh, and 85% Israeli. Hence the Achoti! Achoti!

I could get used to it.

On the way to Hampi

2006-11-25T14:49:00.000+01:00

We made it! We have finally left the building! I am writing to you from Hampi, Karnataka (a state away from Kerala, for all youse following my travels carefully along the map) but boy, did it take forever to get here. As depicted in my previous post, we had trouble leaving Varkala. We just didn't. Spending $1.50 per night on lovely accomodation, we had some interesting encounters during our stay. The first, as also described in Nechama's blog (www.porgylovestruck.blogspot.com) was the Kerala Coffee House Boys. These suave but cute Keralan boys lived the life - working short hours waiting tables at the hangout 'Kerala Coffee House', drinking themselves silly in the late hours of the night, performing as the Cheeky Monkeys (acoustic versions of Hindi and old classic Rock songs), and, of course, gorging on innocent Western women during their spare time. And oh, the drama! Since we had been in Varkala for quite some time, we learnt the leanings of such boys, and warned a woman that lived in our guesthouse to be wary. That's all. What a ruckus did that cause! Nechama had both the drummer of the Cheeky Monkeys and the 'girlfriend' confront her about this alleged warning, and we recieved some dirty sneers from a group of French women, all who were involved with these womanisers. Not that we have a problem with the womanising - we just wanted to inform these ladies that they weren't the first (as the boys always promise) and nor will they be the last.

But let's just say that when we left Varkala, we left some unexpected broken hearts. Whether it was a Kashmiri salesman who simply sold Nechama a bracelet, or a Nepalese waiter in my favourite restaurant (this was all unknown to us until our final day - where secrets always unravel in despair)... And it was time to leave.

So we left! The breezy train ride from Varkala to the traffic hub of Cochin was an easy task, we were just warming up to a long and gruelling journey ahead.
a fifteen hour journey. on a bus. a local bus. crammed with sweaty, spitting Indian men. and we, two lovely white women travellers. fun. did i say, fifteen hours?

An overnight journey is always difficult. But this one I believe was one of the most challenging journeys I've ever experienced. Sitting on a hard bench, being squashed by the conducter as he collects the new passengers' fares, attempting any sleep, constantly stepped over by other passengers (usually Indian men wearing local garb, which is a towel wrapped around their legs... I'm sure very fashionable, but I didn't want to have a bar of it as they hopped over my legs), behind us was a man resembling Elephant Man, making putrid noises with his mouth which sounded awfully similar to vomiting, however there was no residue (only dry retching -we're in the clear!)... and all of this happened in the first hour! I don't have to elaborate on the next fourteen...

We arrived into Banglore (the capital of Karnataka) dishevelled and absolutely exhausted. I was miserable, overtired, and all I could think of was the first place to get a bed. Once we finally negotiated a reasonable price for half a day's rent, I went STRAIGHT to sleep. One thing everyone should know (if not, learn quickly) : nothing, NOTHING gets in the way of Sarah and a good sleep. Otherwise she turns into Fruma Sarah from Fiddler on the Roof, howling and screeching :D a role I know well.

That evening Nechama and I decided to go all out and splurge at a swank Chinese restaurant - entree, main and even dessert (yes! toffee apples reminiscent of Silky Apple days!) - at a round cost $12 (and yes, the service was wonderful). We were warming ourselves to another overnight journey, but this time it was in luxury - a 'deluxe' bus to Hampi.
*Deluxe - upholstered seats that push back to a semi'lying position. True style. I was in heaven.

So yes, now I am Hampi - another Holy city of India, not necessarily searching for any spirituality, just here to have a look around and have a good time. Coz that's what it's all about.

Totally addicted to... Varkala

2006-11-21T13:50:00.000+01:00

I did promise pictures - but alas, not today.

Every day Nechama and I tell eachother we're leaving Varkala the following morning. It's time to go. Really, we should move on. We were supposed to leave this paradise on Sunday, onwards to Periyar (a wildlife sanctuary and surrounding tea/spice plantations) but our itinerary keeps changing with the weather. What keeps us here at Varkala? The weather has been pretty awful - heavy rains and grey clouds and milky seas and some more rain. The beach isn't as calm or as inviting as Goa - the waves crash above our heads and after five minutes I'm ready to get out and sunbake (in the few minutes of sun we have). The current is very strong and I feel that I have just completed a work out each time I attempt to swim. The shops that line the promenade (if you can call it that - perhaps a boardwalk made of rock that hugs the cliff face) are filled with the same junk as every other one we pass over. Colourful bags, sequined shoes, bedspreads, pashminas, trinkets galore - same stuff, different store. So why the hell are we here? Still? After more than a week?

It’s the people, man. And, as they say, it’s the people that make the place.

When we arrived to Varkala, the village on the cliff was quite empty. We recognized some of the regulars, some people I remembered from Cochin… We enjoyed the sunshine – although during the hottest times of the day, I would bury myself in the shady cool of internet cafes and cafes, striking up conversations with the random Indians that worked there. But now, after a week and a half, we seem like old timers, waving to shopkeepers and waiters and other tourists. Regulars. Ha.

Each night we agonise over what we feel like eating for dinner - Thai? Italian? Keralan? One night we opted for a cooking class in the Kerelan style of Thali - and ate our products for dinner! Curried vegetables, Tuna Moli (a sweet vegetable gravy with fresh tuna), Coconut Cabbage and a fried vegetable which is only known as Lady/Witch Fingers? A little like zucchini. Mmmm. Man, that's all I ever do is write about the food. One restaurant makes incredible Thai food and Nechama and I keep going back for more - last night we were so ravenous at 9 30pm we raced to the cafe, didn't even bother sitting down or looking at the menu and ordered ourselves a great dinner. We've become a little too 'regular' in this place as well, making friends with the Nepalese Hebrew-speaking waiters - it's hard not to, since the village is so small.

Talk about routine. After dinner we meet up for drinks with a gorgeous British couple, an Assyrian Swede, an Irish couple, and a Kerelan journalist who now works in Dubai. It varies from night to night, but each day we keep telling each other that yes, tomorrow we'll leave, tonight's our last night - but we end up staying, can't be bothered packing up - lethargy at large.

I think we might leave tomorrow. Or the next day. Who knows.

Lazy Days

2006-11-16T09:17:00.000+01:00

Ok Alana and Mum, here is another post for your veiwing pleasure... But I like the comment encouragement - keep it up! Well, to be honst, i can't really write much about where I am at the moment, for that is in Verkala, still in Kerala (the state), on a beach. Amen. The guesthouses and huts and restuarants are on a rocky cliff overlooking the sea, and the beach is a couple hundred steps below (only fifty, but when you walk up it after a long day in the sun with sandy wet feet squidging in thongs, it feels like forever). Life around here consists of lazy afternoons reading Douglas Adams, and deciding where to go for dinner. Thai or Italian? Indian or Chinese? Tough choices.

So let me get back to Cochin. Far more exciting. Cochin is a city/village that one can lose oneself in. And if it hadn't been for a time limit, well... my new address could have very well been Fort Cochi, Cochin, Kerala, India... at least for another couple weeks. The pace is slow and lazy, the sunny afternoons melt into pink dusks and the fish is just so tasty! Yes, that's right, I thought I was fished out in Greece, but no, Kerala has the best fish in all of India (which should be easy, as its one of the few states on the coast of the Arabian Sea). How did I spend my time in Cochin. Well, one day I organised myself on a day trip to the infamous Backwaters of Kerala. These are tiny canals and rivers that bend between villages and lush jungle - it was so peaceful and relaxing on the houseboat that I fell asleep! Since I missed out spending overnight on a houseboat with Nechama and the Brits we met in Goa, the daytrip was my special time. Pity though, that the rest of the group was made up of couples - and I was the only single traveller! Each couple would whisper between themselves, careful not to disturb the quiet. We ate lunch of banana leaves and drank the milk from coconuts freshly cut from the palms in front of us. It was a nice relaxing day.

The next day was too hot to walk around, so Nechama and I indulged ourselves and had tea at a gorgeous teahouse named Teapot. Now, this shop was so tastefully decorated, the layout and menu so nicely designed, that we felt that we were transported back to Melbourne, or Europe, or America. It was wonderful. When Nechama asked the owner if he had spent any time outside India, he said no, that he's never left Kerala. Well. We met somebody yesterday from Fort Cochi and when enquiring about Teapot, apparently the owner had spent quite few years abroad. You never can know what people are really like around here. Or anywhere, I suppose, but I feel that I'm not as lied to in other places as I can be here in India. Not that I mind. For I'm lucky I've been long enough here to catch them out. It's the package tourists that come from Britain for a two week splurge in India and then shipped back home that really get caught out. We met some Brits that were on their way to Thailand via India - they wrote Nechama an email saying that they found Thailand to be SO MUCH CHEAPER than India... What the?? Even Vietnam is cheaper than Thailand, and India's cheaper than that!

But I'm not here to talk about money. It's all in the attitude. As I will explain to you now.

I never really finished telling you about our wonderful travelling partner throughout Rajasthan. She was a Brit who constantly compared India to England. Yes, that's right. It's impossible to compare India to ANYTHING! Especially England. Worlds apart. Perhaps the only thing in common with the two countries is cricket. But I guess thats what most Commonwealth countries share. And i think i'm beginning to like the game. (Gasp!)

So our new friend was roadtripping around Rajasthan with us- but she didn't have the right attitude. That's all it is - what makes or breaks a trip. Apparently religion and religious symbols intimidate her (then what the hell is she doing in India?!?!!?!?!?) and she doesn't like to be pressured or have people invade personal space when touting... Erm... Welcome to South East Asia, baby. To cut a long story short - we ended up in a hospital in Udaipur, babysitting this clueless toddler. After eating all the same food, sharing the same snacks, we tried to rack our brains how she got sick and we didn't. Especially this young un here with the sensitive tummy.

And you know what? It's all about the attitude.

Oh, and luck.

Udaipur was beautiful though - the palaces, the markets, the hotels in the middle of the lakes... Labelled the most romantic city in Rajasthan, I wholeheartedly agree - it was absolutely beautiful.

Next time - I promise pictures.

Coochi Coochi Cochin

2006-11-12T17:23:00.000+01:00

Why India indeed.

I've since returned the the "Country that God Gave" (according to the many slogans wallpapered on the walls of churches and schools around here), far away from home.

Far away from the surreal surroundings of my time in Melbourne.

Our family's strong closeness defined my life. Friday night dinners will never ever be the same. But nothing will ever be the same. Not for me, not for my mother, not for my aunty, not for my cousins, not for my Zaida. He was everyone's uncle, everyone's friend. He had a special name for me - Denise (Da Niece) Kim Sarah Hannah - and the day I was born he stopped horse riding. (Aparently. Ruth told me they went riding on their honeymoon. And i danced at their wedding. Hrm.) He filled me in on the ins and outs of the Hecht family when my mother just couldn't remember. He invited me into office to share lunch when we bumped into eachother at Beth Weizmann. He was always there to help us and support everyone in the family. He was David. My Uncle David.

I also want to thank all of you who helped our family throughout this tragedy. Thank god I have never been in this situation before, and it was so incredible to see and experience the magic of our friends and community during this time. I don't think I will ever forget your support.

But now I'm back in India, in Cochin to be exact, and it still feels surreal. I know that it shouldn't and that man, I couldn't wait to return, but now that I'm back - every emotion I suppressed has found a little hole in my skin from which to pour out. Or seep. It depends on the time of day. It's also difficult to return to a place that it challenging to travel in, after becoming comfortable with the everydayness and ease of Melbourne life. In Melbourne i never have to worry about the water I use for my toothbrush, nor of squat tiolets, or bug infested beds (well, that depends on how often I clean my room!), or people that want to cheat you. Life's easy, and that's the way we like it.

But life here in Cochin in easy as well. I have now met up with Nechama and it's wonderful to be on the road again. Cochin is a city in the south of India, in a state named Kerala (famous for the Keralan backwaters - little canals through lush jungles). It is quiet, quaint, and very beautiful. The houses are painted in fabulous yellows, greens and pinks - some are over 200 yrs old, built from the portugese era. Bouganvillea billow from the high walls and the cracked paint while school kids in blue uniforms play cricket in the parade grounds outside my first hotel. Life is slow here in Cochin. I like it.

On Friday I went out and about in the area - my suave rickshaw driver Sabu took me to the laundry where men and women wash the clothes of nice hotels. Rows and rows of white linen bustled in the wind, while men slapped teeshirts on the ground to get all the dirt out. I also visited a ginger factory, where the produce is exported all over India, and even to Japan. It smelt amazing.

But my most memorable moment of Friday was Friday night - Shabbat. God had a good idea when he created Shabbat. I think it's a most perfect method to measure the weeks - and also, its a very special time for family - whether it be one's own, or the Jewish family. The reason I am in Cochin is because of its Jewish history. Once upon a time, thousands of Jews lived in this area - it's disputed whether they arrived during King Solomon's time, or after the destruction of the Second Temple, or if they are part of the ten tribes that King Nebuchadnezzer transported when carving up the kingdom after the destruction of the First Temple. Or they arrived with the merchant trading in India. One thing that we can all agree on is that there is a strong Jewish heritage in Cochin - and I am infatuated. This is what led me to the oldest synagogue in the Commonwealth - it's over 500 years old. (It sure beats Ballarat!) One must take their shoes off before entering, not beause of any holiness etc, but because the floor is made up of hundreds of Chinese porcelain painted tiles - and no two tiles are the same. The oil chandeliers are from Europe - and I was very much reminded of the shules in Tzfat, Israel.

So where shall I begin...
It was bucketing down - a very fast and fat rain, the most annoying - and my rickshaw driver dropped me at the beginning of the street that leads to the shule. After arriving absolutely soaked, I was told that there weren't enough men for a minyan. The leader of the tiny community opened the Aron Kodesh for all of us to see, and then hurried to close it. He was hungry, and there was no time to waste if there wasn't any prayers. Someone poured some wine into plastic cups, and an Israeli said Kiddush on the Bimah. The wine was awfully sweet and somewhat fizzy (?) and most people left soon after that. I was soon talking to an Israeli/Indian girl who invited me and another British couple to her and her husband's home for Shabbat dinner. Boy, what a night.

The husband was born in India, his mother is a Pardesi, a White Indian Jew (apparently there's three different types, a little like Ashkenazi and Sephardi) and he made aliyah to Israel more than twenty years ago. He returned to India seven years ago because his mother was very old and getting quite sick. His wife was born in Israel, but to Indian parents - and they both speak Hebrew, fluent English, Hindi, and some other Indian dialects that have eluded me right now. Their home is decked out in 'Jewish' attire - lots of Hamsas, prayer posters, Breslev 'Nachman' slogan stickers, pictures of Moshe and Rav Kook. He slaughters his own chickens for he doesn't trust the mashgiach of the current Shechter, he makes all his own liquers and spirits (and proceeded to make me get drunk even before we started the meal. "Here Sarah, you must have more of the Irish cream I made. I made it - everything in this house is 100% kosher, and you must drink - its Shabbat!") and he is a very devout man. It's incredible. So far removed from the POlish shetle life I am used to hearing about.

Ok, I must run. Will elaborate later. God bless. xxx

Why India? (not a real post either)

2006-11-02T23:23:00.000+01:00

Since returning unexpectedly back to Melbourne due to the tragic passing away of my Uncle David, not only do people keep asking me questions, but with each question I have one more for myself. The most common question that I am asked is - "Why India?" Exactly. Why do I want to leave my family again, and why would I want to a country like THAT? And that's a toughie to answer.

I was contemplating writing about this surreal week and all the challenges my family faced, but I'm not sure if that's appropriate for this site. This blog is my travel diary, and I feel that while I want to express to you readers (even though most of you are my family!) about how much I love David, and how much I miss him, as well as the pain and grief my mother, aunty, grandfather and cousins are experiencing - I don't think that is my place.

Why India?

I suppose living in the cushy comforts of Caulfield it's quite difficult to see why any normal Jewish girl should want to leave and complete her GAP year in a country that is supposedly infested with filth, diseases, poverty, unhealthy food, rabid animals, drugs, gurus, and, heaven forbid, israelis.... I understand that my reasoning for returning to this paradise won't suffice - but I this is an integral part of growing up and making decisions for oneself. Moreover, I really love that country. No, not to live Nana, don't worry, but the Indian people are enveloping, their culture seductive, and the land is a fascinating terrain to explore. I don't know when I'll return to visit again. As this week has reminded all of us - who knows what's around the corner.

Can we backpeddle a little?

2006-10-21T10:23:00.000+02:00

Ok. Now here's a REAL post. I promise. Now I have all the time in the world because this sun is just too hot and (as displayed in the previous post) it's just making me crazy. Where shall I start? Currently, we're still here in Arambol (we don't really want to leave) and Nechama and I desperately need this week for rest and relaxation. The past month had been so busy, and at times so stressful, that Nechama's immunity levels went down and she became ill (she's all fine now, except for a little sunburn). So this place is perfect for us. Each day we try a new restaurant, and introduce Israeli food to our non-Jewish companions (which they now LOVE) and talk on the beach by candlelight until the early hours of the morning. Quite some paradise.

The first day here we hired some scooters and explored some of the jungle/village area surrounding Arambol, and spent the afternoon on a deserted stretch named 'Paradise Beach'. It was nearly that, with the lapping waves and the fine sand, and except for some local Indians that began shooting birds in the sky (that scared the hell out of us - a shotgun on the beach? what the?) it was a near perfect day. And that was just the first!

But what I did miss out on telling you about was of our experiences in Rajasthan and Mumbai. I know that I must be repeating myself over and over again. But now with more detail...

Our camel safari in Jaisalmer was a special night as well. Waving goodbye to our driver (he wanted to join us, but we needed a break from him) we trotted off into the sunset on our camels - and I had a beast of a camel. He was HUGE. But not only was he a good size gamal, he couldn't control his bowels. First I thought maybe he just had fruity farts, but after a while (and being told by Nechama) I realised that my lovely beast and I have something in common - unpredictable tummies! Thankgod I have been ok so far. So we watched the sunset sitting on sandunes, taking glamour photos of ourselves in the pink and purple light, and then made a fire to give us some light in the dark. But in the end we didn't really need a fire, for the moon was nealry full, and it lit up the entire sky. It was so luminous it was difficult to even see the stars!
After eating dinner out under the diamond sky (and it was delicious too - I'm not the biggest fan of Rajasthani food, a little too dry and overwhelmingly spicy (and not in the good way) but this was tasty!) the boss of the camel drivers/camp took us to a nearby village where traditional Rajasthani dancers were twirling around a fire. Nechama went by motorcycle, an Kate and I bumped along on a cart pulled by a trotting camel. It was so much fun, with the wind whipping about us under the bright night sky. We were the only Westerners around (which has chanegd dramatically since arriving in Goa) and the only other tourists were drunk Indian men dancing with the Rajasthani dancers and making delightful fools out of themselves... If only ther wives were about....

That night we slept under the stars and the next day headed back to Jodhpur for one last time. In Jodphur we attempted to explore a Maharaja's palace that was converted into a hotel - and what a majestic hotel! The museum housed some lovely art deco pieces, and the entire building was an interesting combination of art deco, mughal and 19th century british architecture. Not that I know anything about it - but it kinda worked. Sort of. It actually was a little bit gross in size and style. But I wanted to see the hotel, a place where guests pay US$1400 a night for a suite, or more, so we pretended that I was interested in looking at hotels for my parents who are planning to come to India in December. Yes, I know, that sounds pretty far out there, but I told the lovely lady who stopped us in the main lobby that "My parents are interested in coming to India, but unlike myself (we were dressed in sloppy teeshirts and fisherman pants) they are looking for luxurious hotels to make their stay more comfortable. It's their thirtieth wedding anniversary, and I want to give them a special present during their stay in India." I even gave her some artificial dates of my parents expected arrival (thanks Mum and Dad!) and we found ourselves wandering through some corridoors of this exclusive residence. I'm sure she knew that we were bullshitting, and there was a waiter in the restaurant who gave us a smug look as if to say , "Yes, I've seen you allll before, I know EXACTLY what you're up to!" but we were glad that we had the opportunity to have a little bit of a sticky beak.

That night in Jodhpur we went to the Marwar Festival, a gig put on by the Rajasthani Tourism Department displaying traditional Rajasthani dancing and songs and turbaned moustached men singing off key. It was quite enjoyable, boring at times, but wherever we go, there's always an adventure to be had. First we sat in the local area at the back, but we couldn't see the stage and we kept receiving looks and jeers from the Indian men.
**(Side note - Indian men can be such perverts. Well, not perverts, but when they see Western women, most of them, just see sex objects. It's quite sad. While the women are expected to be demure and modest and keep to the rules, the men have no rules - just don't bring home the tourist to your wife. But you get used to it after a while and use the advantage to bargain or find out a yum place to eat. Yes, that's all I care about. Food. But the food here is INCREDIBLE! I love it! Sure, you can get crap food, and sometimes we have been unlucky. But I'm trying to work my way through the Punjabi cuisine (my favourite type of Indian food... its what we know back home as Indian - full of flavour, full of spice)- we'll see how it goes.)**
Then we sat with the Western tourists, but after watching a dance and a half we were a little bored and hungry. So we ate these lovely dishes off the side of the field - but spicy as hell! One was bread with this vegetable curry-esque (sabji) called pav bhaji, and the other was dry noodles, tomato, coriander, saffron, masala, chips, and peanuts called puri, and it was so tasty we went back for more. So there we were, sitting by ourselves devouring this delicious cheap eats, and some boys are sitting near us, and, of course, ask our names and where we're from. We responded politerly, and then one friend left and returned with three icecreams. He handed an icecream each to us, said "Have a good night" and left. That's all. No more conversation, no innuendos, nothing wanted in return. yum! unexpected, but free icecream! we stayed until the fireworks display was over (i LOVE fireworks... thankgod I'm in india where fire crackers go off ever couple hours at night!) and made our way home. But accompanying us back home a group of Indian college students (all boys, of course) decided to join us. "Where you from?""What you study?" "Are you sisters?" Do Nechama and I even LOOK like sisters?! They were harmless enough, but we decided to take a rickshaw back home (we were walking along the road) when the group turned into a mob of teenage boys. But we are superwomen. We can handle anything. Almost.

From Jodhpur we drove to a Rainforest hideaway resort called Ranakpur. Ranakpur really doesn't have much, aside from a lovely dam, gorgeous rainforests, and a Jain temple thats over 1000 years old. Maybe I'm wrong about the years, but I'l update it if its incorrect. But this temple was breathtaking. So intricate, such detail, walking through the complex in bare feet, our soles skimming the cool marble floor while we took ridiculous photos of ourselves in yoga poses. But Ranakpur was where our lovely roadtrip turned a little sour...

no time for that now. will update soon. love to all. shavuah tov. xxx and yes mum and dad, i'm still alive ;P

(not a real post)

2006-10-15T16:03:00.000+02:00

Written about half a week ago...

Man. What a day. What a couple days. What a difference a shower can make. Man.
Nechama and I arrived in a little beach village in Goa, named Arambol - such a stark difference to the bustle and craziness of Rajasthan and Mumbai. Life turns much slower here - and I think it's what we both need.

We're currently staying in a tiny room above a German bakery a little off the beach - no hot water, but we do have a lovely fan that makes our lives that much more comfortable. After the refined treatment we have recieved during our roadtrip of rajasthan,we are going to be 'slumming' it during these next two months - and boy am I excited! No, seriously. This is the life.

Written this morning on an empty stomach...

This place is too seductive - we might never leave. The relaxed and sleepy pace of Arambol, the endless stretch of sand and warm clear water - how can you go wrong? We met back up with the British trio we bumped into at McLeod Ganj (Dharmasala, in the north of India) and now have a chilled little group of brits, irish, aussies and the lone argentinian.

I'm going to get some lunch now... i'll be back.

I Love Mumbai

2006-10-14T15:25:00.000+02:00

I've lost twelve kilos. Yes, you heard me. Twelve kilos. Can you believe it? I can.

I spent two hours today at the Mumbai general post office arguing over the customs declaration of my precious baggage. Two hours filled with pleading, grateful smiles, batting eyelids, millions of questions as to why I can't just send home my old clothes and books and for the supervisor(who was standing there overlooking our arguments) - but, the end result was pleasing. I finally shook off those terrible twelve kilos. Ahh, now my backpack is wonderfully lighter (albeit still a little heavy - i don't want to know how much all my bits and pieces weighed before we arrived to the GPO).

I am in Mumbai/Bombay - one of my favourite cities in India so far. This incredible metropolis has it all - the sophistication, the slums, the thudding heat, the chaotic traffic, the suits bustling to work every morning, the crowded markets filled with junk and vegetables and jewellery and kitchen utensils, the department stores, the glitterati of Bollywood - and I love it. Nechama and I have been taking a slower pace since arriving here as we are both pretty run down after some little adventures that has taken us hostage over the past few days like a bad dream we never awoke from. But first I should backpeddle a little and explain briefly what I have been up to for the past couple weeks.

From Pushkar we went to the Blue city of Jodhpur - in which a maginificent fort (and within it extensive museums) dominated the landscape. In nearly every city from Delhi to Udaipur there are forts built by the Mughals - which can get sometimes quite repetative. But the fort in Jodhpur was worth it - we explored the tiny corridors and hidden rooms that were sectioned off for preservation purposes (we can't read english, we say in israeli accents!) and the rooms filled with mughal art and armory (yes, still with the swords) - trying to get that perfect photo for this post. Shame I cant put any up now, but it's coming. It will.

Jodhpur is called the Blue City because the rooftops of the houses of the old part of Jodhpur are painted this bright colour that form a blue sea. It's gorgeous - much more impressive than Jaipur (which is called the Pink city - but isn't really that pink... more like a burnt terracotta).

My gosh my memory is fading - so many things happened in so many days, they seem to melt into one another and when the time comes to write it down and share it with you, it all eludes me.......

In Jaisalmer we toured this ornate havelis (houses built in the 19th century for wealthy and/or important people, i put up pics and explain better later) and also endeavoured a camel safari... how appropriate that my camel had bowel issues, we trotted and heaved ourselves along the indian desert for a couple hours listening to the harmonies emitting from behind me (and smelling his 'perfume'). We watched the sunset atop some sand dunes and slept in the 'million star hotel' under the night sky... ok, i'm rushing now because nechama and i want to avoid this crazy documentary film maker we met this afternoon at a market who took us out to lunch and wrote his email address for us in invisible ink. Yes, i know i sound like i have drunk too many special lassis, but I will update this post asap... and describe to you the bad dream... wow, do i sound dramatic. keep you posted xxx

Purring in Udaipur

2006-10-10T18:08:00.000+02:00

A post filled with stories, so she asks. Well here you go Alana, I'll try and cram as many interesting incidents into this one post wihtout boring the shit out of you, and also without incriminating myself... ahem.

I'm am writing from a gorgeous city named Udaipur, and I must admit it is one of the most beautiful cities of Rajasthan, and perhaps for most of the trip (excluding Dharmasala. That was magic. But enough about that!) It is (what a surprise, like Dharmasala) a hill station set in the mountains of this province, Rajasthan. The terrain varies across this province - from dusty polluted cities, to an oasis in the middle of the desert (Pushkar) to camel safaris in the sand dunes of the real desert, to this hill station of Udapiur, and all its majestic palaces.

But stories, she asks? Ok, let me pull some from the furthest corners of my memory... Pushkar evoked a series of different emotions from Nechama and I. This was the place we spent Yom Kippur - I find fasting difficult in Melbourne, especially towards the last couple hours - but here? In Pushkar? In the middle of a frickin desert? No water? What the? We arrived the day before the festival, and shopped within the sprawling marketplace and got cheated by Brahmin 'priests' promising blessings for our family in return for a nice donation. "But I don't believe in your god" - that doesn't work either, for "everyone's gods are the same -it's just different ways to reach up there" was the reply. Laden with flowers, rice, red and saffron coloured powder I threw caution (and the 'gifts') into the holy water of Pushkar. I understand that I prombably commited idolatry, but in my heart I didn't believeI word I was saying. The ideal situation the day of Erev Yom Kippur. Such a heathen I've become.

The meal before the fast was relaxed and comforting - most of the Israelis wore white and we ate in the back garden of the Chabad shule. The services were quite nice, a little different from Shira Hadasha but what can you do.

But stories - hrmm... that night we met up with an Indian who we previousdly met in Jaipur. He was a funny guy, 31 years old but acting like a little boy - he had just discovered alchohol three months ago. Now he's on a mission to drink for the next three - because "it's so much fun!" Excited and jittery like a toddler discovering a new toy, we learnt that he had smuggled meat and whiskey into the town (as Pushkar is a very holy city, no meat, alchohol or eggs are allowed to be brought into the city). He revelaed to us that six years ago he used to read palms, and then proceeded the read Nechama's palm... We have never been so freaked out. So apt, and we gave nothing away. I am usually quite cynical in situations like this - but when he was massaging her neck to get the 'bad energy' (or STRESS) his hand became white and his arm numb. It was freaky!

Ok, gotta run. Thinking of you all xx

Roadtripping Rajasthan

2006-10-03T15:09:00.000+02:00

Living it up on the Royal Tour of Rajasthan... I swear we are being spoilt rotten and I LOVE IT! So. Where to start. It's always a problem of finding out where to begin, because the days seem to melt into one another and I can't believe I've already been in India for four weeks. Nearly. But still, four weeks. Long time, man. So, where did we really begin...

Agra, aside from hosting the majestic Taj Mahal and a lovely fort (there's forts in every city around here) didn't have much more appeal, and so we quickly left after taking one hundred thousand photos of the Taj to be on our way to Bharatpur. Bharatpur, you say? Where the hell is that?! Almost nobody we've met has heard of it, but its a village in the middle of nowhere that houses a UN Heritage listed National Park and Bird Sanctuary. And now I can't believe I can't remember its name. Against my instinct we went to the Bird Sanctuary in the late afternoon (I remembered from feeding the birds in Port Douglas that the best time is in the morning... I should learn to speak up more, eh) but we managed to spot some lovely owls, mountain lizards (they're few and far between), spotted deer, turtles, antelopes and a heap of cows (but what's new, we're in india!)

The next day we made our way to Jaipur, where we spent the afternoon at the Amber Fort, exploring the many hidden corridors and openings to give way to spectacular views. It was the end of a special Hindu festival (a couple days before Disharra/Ramen) and the fort was crammed with people - women in saris of lime, magenta and saffron, kids shouting and ducking in between the adults. The heat however made it a little unbearable to stay more than an hour - by the time we reached the bottom of this spectacular fort we were wet (like we had seriously just taken a shower) with perspiration. I will put up some pics of this when I get the chance ( I know I keep saying this, but time is short around here.. when I arrive in Goa I will have all the time in the world..) That evening we met a New Yorker who had been lied to by yes, the one and only Nazir, the travel agent in Delhi. Enraged and shaken at being scammed (for New Yorkers are too smart to be scammed!:P) we bought some drinks and some takeout and had a party in our hotel room. Cheap whiskey (AUD$1.10!!) and beers aren't for the light hearted in India -the bottle shops close early and we had the make the most out of it!

The next day we explored the City Palace in the suffocating heat (which, we learn now in Jodhpur, really wasn't so bad compared to here) and this is where I learnt of my fascination with armory and weapons - who knew? Sarah is obsessed with swords. After many power shortages and moments spent in desperation standing in front of fans, we left - I would write more, but there's nothing much else. (Can you tell the heat is getting to me?)

Alright, I have to go, but there will be a more extensive update very soon. Yom Kippur in Pushkar - well, I've never hated fasting and standing up in shule more than that... but that's for another time. Keep those comments flowing - I love hearing from you too! xxxx

Jumping Jaipur is where i am!

2006-09-29T17:06:00.000+02:00

Well, well, well. Another long awaited post (or so my mother and grandmother tell me!) has just begun. I'm writing from Jaipur, the capital city of Rajasthan (another province in India). Well, what a story do we have here. Dharmasala proved to be such a quaint and peaceful village. We actually stayed 6 km away from 'the' DHarmasala at the tourist hangout McLeod Ganj, on a ridge a little higher up on the mountain, beside the Dalai Lama's residence and the current location of the Tibetan Govoernment in exile. Our lazy days were filled with mostly eating, laughing with new friends, more eating, getting involved with more Kashmiris (we can't seem to avoid them at any cost!) and visiting Buddhist temples around the area.

Our first night in McLeod Ganj (M.G) we happened to meet a British trio from Bristol who had also been scammed by Naz in Delhi yet when refusing any more of the company's 'services' were treated EXTREMELY badly - from people walking and running on the roof of their boathouse in the middle of the night to scare the bejesus out of them, to being excommunicated and not being included in any of the other customers' activities (including the big party/feast at Bashir's house). We had some stories to swap over dinner that night alright. That day we also managed to meet a lovely Kashmiri selling shawls who embodied the true hospitality and warmth that others (namely the Karnai family) severly lacked. We had tea (I've never drunk so much tea in my life) while we waited for the rain to stop pouring. Other days we met our Israeli friends at a Tibetan cafe with a melancholy owner and his absolutely ADORABLE white fluffy puppy (he was still mourning the death of this puppy's sister - a customer dropped it and because she was so young it haemorraged and died.. poor thing) and beer gardens and rooftop terraces sipping hot lemon tea with ginger pieces (although that is the healthiest way to be that still didn't stop me from getting a cold. In Rajasthan. In this heat! Argh!)

We arrived in Agra after a very very long train trip (20 hours - the train was delayed and it was SUPER slow) and we were met by Kate, a British girl we met in Srinigar who is travelling with us for the next two weeks, and our driver, Kuljeet, a Sikh sweety who is our driver for our Royal Tour of Rajasthan. And how royal is it. For what we payed for (which was really so reasonable and not so expensive in temrs of convenience) we are staying in gorgeous hotels with hot water and lovely staff - sometimes I say "How did we get this?" But I know why. And so do you. It's sick. Bashir still says to me "So, when am I seeing you in Goa?" Sick sick sick.

Agra is only a stop to see the Taj Mahal. It was as majestic as it is in the pictures, and I will put some on when I next have the chance. The story behind it is so tragic and romantic - the Sultan built it for his wife to enshrine and commemorate her forever. Sigh.

Anyway, I must be off, the next installment will hopefully be tomorrow. Shabbat SHalom to all, and be safe.

Picture Perfection - not!

2006-09-25T13:09:00.000+02:00

So, it's showtime girls and boys! Some scrumptious photos for your enjoyment. Instead of blabbing on forever and ever (as I have done in the past couple posts) I shall just list the photos and let you know about the location, perhaps even a little story....

1. The Trekkies
Me and Zuni (aka Nechama back at home) cuddling upto avoid the chill. It got to minus at night time, and so my furry jacket (next picture) proved to be quite useful.

2. Furry Jacket
Giving a cheeky grin!

3. Zuni, Myself and Remi aboard Raja and Sultan

4. Zuni and myself in front of Visha Lake (our final destination of the trek)

5. Remi (our guide), Zahur (we called him Pokerface as he couldn't hide his emotions during the endless games of Rummy), Manzur and Rashid cooking up a storm!

6. The Trekking Gang all together!

7. Bashir's party preparations

8. The meat mallet production line at Bashir's house

9. Slaughtering of the goats before our eyes - the Halal way of course!

10. Kashmiri peak hour (just a glimpse!)

11. Kashmiris smiling for my camera

12. The Boathouse...

We're leaving our quiet little oasis of Dharmasala today for Agra to see the Taj Mahal. This is such a special place - I recommend anyone that is considering travelling to India to visit this hill station. It puts you at peace.

Kashmirimiri

2006-09-23T09:26:00.000+02:00

So, now back to the Boathouse. What the hell were Nechama and I involved in. Man. Because of Bashir's good feelings towards me we were invited to a feast he held to thank God and to commemorate his late father. The day before the feast we had the privilege of visiting Bashir's house to see how they prepare the food. What we did indeed see was the Halal slaughtering of two goats, the livers/stomach/gizzards/furs of the already slaughtered sheep, and ten men sitting on the opposite side of the yard in a row with meat mallets, tenderizing the meat. Pots were bubbling with yellow and white and green liquids (saffron, yoghurt and spinach perhaps?) but the mood was unusually subdued and methodical. Inside the house there was some chaos going on - people looking for eachother, for other utensils, serving tea, finding more carpets to roll out beneath the tents pegged in their yard. I have never seen an animal slaughtered before. And i think, to be quite sure actually, I don't want to see it in the future. The water that followed along the drain by the house ran red. Like the ten plagues.

The feast the next day was a treat. To say thankyou a small group of tourists (Nechama, myself, a British girl Kate with whom we are travelling Rajasthan and an older Danish couple) brought lollies from the local store and shared it with the scores of children running around the place. Once they all got their fare share, some adults approached us and asked us for some sweets as well. Even the men who spent the night cooking the feast asked us for some - which we gave them gladly.

I think that's th eonce thing that I don't think I will get used to in India. The caste system. Or no, perhaps not the caste system, but by the way people (Indians) who have travelled to the West, and have experienced freedom of choice and abolishment of slavery in other countries, still treat their servants with no respect at all. And i think it hurts when one becomes friends with Indians in a lower caste. As soon as someone from a higher caste comes along and has the right to order our friends around - then it becomes EXTREMELY uncomfortable. We especially became good friends with our guide, Remi, our waiter Shaban, and our driver, the gorgeous looking Fayaz (who was the only one our age and played pop music (along with Kashmiri trance) in his jeep). And when someone like Naz's brother (you remember Naz? The oily travel agent from Delhi who sent us to Srinigar from a previous post? Well, his brother is just as oily. And doesn't like it when we don't find his jokes funny and can't really get into the jokes we share with the rest of the group) comes in and the dynamics shift dramatically - it's a real shame. I suppose I ought to get used to it, but I know it's going to be very difficult. I know I even feel so uncomfortable when Pani Mirka is cleaning up around me - I feel I have to help her (and I do, Mum :P). I think it's all about respect. Respecting and appreciating those around you, no matter their relationship to you.

I'm getting a little too sentimental there, pardon me. Now, I haven't written a word about the Trek. I've mentioned the Boathouse a couple times, but not the Trek. Well, we gained Remi's and Fayaz's trust and hope for a good time during the trek. Nechama and I ventured out into the Himalayan mountains for a four day/three night trek to the Lakes Krishna and Vishna, in the direction of the Pakistani border. (I wasn't supposed to tell you that, in case anyone got worried, but now I'm safe here in Dharmasala out of harm's way.) It was Nech, myself, Remi (guide) and three horsemen who took care of the food, the horses, the equipment and the tents. Their names were Manzur, Zahur and Rashid. Manzur was only trekking with us to replace his brother who usually travels with Remi and he wasn't born to be a trekker for the rest of his life. His understanding of English was the best and he could also read and write which was much more than anyone else we had met (aside from Bashir and those of that echelon). I will try to add photos asap, when I can get to the computer that holds them (it's been busy these past couple days).

We hiked through mountains and herds of sheep and cows and gypsy villages (where we were invited in for tea a couple times - I must admit I'm not so partial to sheep's milk. But it is rude to refuse hospitality, and so, like a good girl, I accepted everything gladly. This incident also occured in Bashir's house where we were invited for dinner on the first night of our stay in Srinigar. Bashir kept telling us of his mother's magnificent custard, and that we must try some. Well, when it was served, and his mother served very large portions, it tasted of scrambled eggs and watery sugar/maple liquid. It was awful. Nechama couldn't bring herself to finish it, but there I was, quickly shovelling it down my throat so the faster I ate, the more I didn't have to endure - and when asked- "do you like it?" I replied "Of course! I wouldn't eat it if I didn't like it." Urgh.)

We played cards for hours on end (Rummy, mostly) when the weather became freezing (it startedto snow as we were walking back, and most nights it was minus degrees) and learnt some Kashmiri words and sayings. The horsemen called Nechama 'Zuni' after the moon (she was very very white, and then during the trek she got burnt and became quite pink) and also Lo-Kariel, which mean an Auto-Rickshaw that carries fruit. Why? Because she kept falling over like a Lo-Kariel, this way and that - nothing stopped her from falling. We had such a wonderful time - it showed me that I can cope with high altitudes and cardio stuff (even though I haven't exercised in god knows how long!).

We're going to part ways now, I have spent too much time letting you know what's going on right now with me, and it's a gorgeous day outside. So toodle doo and goodbye to you! And if you like what you read, or have anything to say about it - give me a buzz! Stay safe and Shana Tova

Shana Tova! Happy New Year!

2006-09-23T09:03:00.000+02:00

Shana Tova to all, by the way. I hope this year brings everything you want it to bring - along with lots of successes, happiness, and a year of health and peace.

Wow. Has Dharmasala affected me that bad? :P Just kidding. This town is absolutely beautiful. It is so relaxing, so quiet yet fascinating at the same time. There is so many things to learn, people to meet - the colours of the fruits in the markets, the shawls dyed magenta, torquoise, olive, marmalade. The smells of Indian, Tibetan, Israeli and Italian cuisines ( you can get pretty much anything you want around here - perhaps except for Chinese, it's a sensitive topic around here). Nechama and I have met some lovely Israelis who are very down to earth and find Nechama hilarious - it's funny how I tend to meet people much older than I. They're all in their late twenties and are friends from work - they worked at the airport together - yes, they were those who asked you questions like "Why do you know Hebrew? WHo packed your bags? Where did you spend your time in Israel? You live in Melbourne? What school did you go to?" And it was interesting comparing notes on the Israeli system of profiling and the American/British/Australian method.

All of us were quite disappointed by the Rosh HaShanah service and meal provided by Chabad on Friday night. The Rabbis were out of touch with their audience, and, like Chabad rabbis like to do, they kept talking and talking and talking and telling more stories and more stories and talking and ooh, maybe we'll make HaMotzi now on the bread, and talking and talking and yes, let's wait to dip the apples - well, to cut the story short, Nechama didn't eat since lunch at 12 30. By the time of any sight of food it was already 8 30. (We were told to come at 5 30... ahem.) So Nech was ravenous and when she gets hungry and when she's hungry she becomes extremely hyperactive. Which, I must say I'm sorry for, was quite difficult for her, and most people were speaking Hebrew around her and she couldn't catch it. The best thing about the dinner was (aside from meeting the chilled ISraelis) was the chicken. I didn't realise how much I missed it. And here I go again talking about food. Jesus.

We wanted to wait long enough to taste some of Pazit's honey cake (one of the Israelis baked it the day before at Chabad) but we just had enough of stories about God etc (I know, I sound like a real heathen, especially during ROsh HaShanah, but when I didn't want to concentrate on intensive listening to the Hebrew, Nechama couldn't understand, and our Israeli mates were bored out of their mind by the 'bullshit' (their words) - it wasn't the most condusive environment. So we went back to Pazit and Eyal's room and had some of the honey cake she brought from Israel. Now, that's style. The rest of the night was lovely. So I completed most of the customs - i ate apple dipped in honey, lots of deliciously sweet pomegranate seeds, yuk gefilte fish (Mum yours blows this one out of the water!), Tzimmes and honey cake. While it can never compare to the extravaganza Nana puts on every year, it was another new and interesting way of spending the Chag away from all the family.

Enough stories to write a novel...

2006-09-21T07:03:00.000+02:00

The Boathouse.

Now here is a story in itself. Each day we piece more and more of the puzzle to reveal an intricate and tangled web of lies, deception, influence, corruption and family politics. Even this morning, here in Dharmasala (we travelled again yesterday to another town in another province - this hill station houses the exiled Tibetan government and is the centre for all things 'spiritual'...

Dharamsala attracts many Jews in general and Israelis in particular. It is especially known as the center for spiritually oriented groups, most of which deal with meditation and energy healing. Many of our fellow Jews—'a holy people and a nation to G-d’—find themselves in monasteries and other places of idolatry studying and practicing things that oppose Judaism. From my own personal experiences I have learned that to have the maximum impact it is crucial to meet fellow Jews at the place of their spiritual search. This is the main reason we have established the Chabad house in this so distant location. - Rabbi Dror Shaul, Chabad Dharmasala

- this is where we're spending ROsh HaShanah, amongst the 'idol worshippers' and Jew Opposers.... woot! We'll wave our Tibetan prayer flags at the sounding of the Shofar.)

Anyway, where was I...

This morning I waved goodbye to Nechama at 7 30 and took advantage of an extra hour of sleep (she's an early riser, and I, naturally, like to take advantage of sleeping in an much as possible, even if its only till 8 30) and she went awandering the town and had tea with the manager of our hotel, who, as it turns out, is ALSO Kashmiri. They were discussing the filthy deception and cheating of tourists by the Kashmiri Mafia that was The Boathouse. Our Boathouse. But don't be alarmed yet. We, due to our special influence, were treated most delightfully, and actually weren't cheated at all... But more about that soon.. First, PHOTOS!!! I'm sure you're dying to see, eh.

Now, back to The Boathouse. We took the opportunity to go to Kashmir on what was a very good deal - flights, accomodation on a nice boathouse, brekkie and dinner included - what could go wrong? We were met at the airport by Bashir, who, we found out later, was the manager of the Travel Agency we were using in Kashmir. Once ushered into the Boathouse, we were given a full breakfast of eggs and Kashmiri bread and tea and biscuits and fruits and preserves and butter. "You eat breakfast and have a rest" - we were dead tired as Nech was still jetlagged and I hadn't slept so much in the previous days - "and then we can discuss what you can do here in Kashmir. Yes?" Bashir said to us. Ok, sure thing, anything goes once we rest.

After our brief snooze, Bashir met us in the dining room of the boathouse and got straight down to business - informing us about available treks in the Himalayam mountains, where else we want to go in India - "perhaps we could organise you a package for here and Rajasthan as well?" We were open ears - there's no harm in listening. Soon in about five minutes Bashir had a neat package sorted out for us including everything from the treks to camel safaris to hotels to transfers to trains to god knows what else. And the special price? Ahem. No way. We were NOT paying that ridiculous sum.

After some tears and some harsh bargaining we managed to squeeze a very reasonable amount for the package from Bashir. Later, we discovered the 'real' reason for our special price.

Bashir is in love with me.

Mind you, this man has a wife and a young child with autism and is 34 and very unattractive and Muslim (and he knows I'm Jewish - hello? Culture clash?) but apparently it's the done thing. Yes, that's right - the done thing. In Kashmir, and, I've heard across most of India, Western girls are viewed as possessing one thing - the freedom to sleep around. As more and more Kashmiris/Indians are exposed to Western culture, the more they see the green on the other side. And, while gaining the confidence of the guides and servants we began to learn about the ins and outs of such 'contracts' - the men don't love their wives, most of the guides and servants only see their family once a month (if that) - the men want something, and the girls want things too, according to them. Our guide for the trek we did (I can't believe I haven't even reached that part of our adventure yet!) became our close friend and was able to trust us with information and expression of his feelings – a freedom which wasn’t very easy around the prickly environment of the Boathouse. He now is in love with both his wife and a Swiss girl. But he is a realist as well. He understands that he lives between two worlds, opposing traditions and values, and he's just trying to make the best of it. I suppose. It's a very hard life in Kashmir. Aside from Bashir and his family (more about that later - I know, the suspense is great, isn't it!) who are filthy rich (and filthy being the operative word) most Kashmiris live in extreme poverty and because of the caste system it's very difficult to make a better life for yourself. One of servants/waiters, Shaban - I also gained his trust during our discussion of God and faith and learning more about Islam - used to own his own business and have some money for himself. He became very sick and spent all of it on medical bills, etc, and now he can't achieve the lifestyle he once had, and works as a waiter - he calls himself a servant - we told him he's not a servant, he's our friend - on the Boathouse.

It's such a difficult life. How lucky we are. How lucky.

Incredible India

2006-09-20T09:05:00.000+02:00

The post you've all been waiting for? Where is this girl? Is she still alive? Has India consumed her whole? Has she melted into the populous landscape crammed with humans, rabid dogs, wily rickshaws, cows, herds of goats/sheep, gypsies, rubbish and ponies? And that was only the traffic during Kashmiri peak hour!

No, I'm still here, still alive, exploring the ins and outs of Kashmiri culture until yesterday, where I boarded a jeep for a fourteen hour drive down to Amristar, the Sikh capital that lies in the heart of the province Punjab. But before I let you know about the beauties of the Golden Temple that makes Amristar so special, let me fill you in on what has been going down in Sarah's world for the past ten days. Phew. We have a long way to go.

My first day in Delhi was interesting, to say the least. I met Nechama in the dark of our hotel room and promised we'd have to talk right after I slept for a couple hours. I hadn't slept for over two days (awake all day thursday/thursday night/friday (in transit)/friday night) and was completely and utterly exhausted. Mind you I only did get three hours of shuteye, and then we were off to explore India's capital city.

My first reaction was of a mixture of things - the streets weren't as dirty as I had been warned, there weren't as many people as I had expected, and the heat wasn't so strong. What happened?? But soon, as we neared the centre of Connaught circle, the men began to hassle us, the beggars were doing their job, and all we wanted was to find a place selling prepaid Indian sim cards for our mobile phones. We were led from a crowded Telephone store to another quiter backdoor gig, and then when the storeowner (it was more like a corner crammed with telephone cards nestled between two bigger shops selling spices) asked us for our passports and id photos we became quite hesitant. (Little did we know that this is mandatory for prepaid sim cards here in India. Or perhaps maybe for Foreign Nationals.) SO the helpful guy from the first Phone store took us to a nearby travel agency, and he said they might have some sim cards left over from other tourists. This is where we met Naz.

Naz welcomed us in, and we were quite weary about this whole get up, but to be honest I was anxious to leave Delhi as soon as possible and begin exploring the rest of this country, so I was willing to listen to what Naz had to say. "Where you guys from?" "Australia." "Aww, alright vegemite! Hola Hola Coca cola!" He said with an oily smile... gross. He was young, spent some time in Oz a couple years ago ("Aw, I lived in Fizroy and Box Hill.. you live near there?" "No, St Kilda." "Aww yeah! The Stokehouse, roight! Yeah, I loved St kilda. BUt I lived in Box Hill. Yeah, alroight vegemite.") So we listened to what he had to say (and got an Indian sim card for our cell at the same time) and soon we had a trip planned to Srinigar, Kashmir for the next three days. Kashmir, for those who might not remember, was an extremely disputed territory between India and Pakistan - militants were smuggling in weapons and grenades - it wasn't the safest place in the world... But that ended with Pakistan's President Musharraf (thank god) and now 'the problem' (as Kashmiris call it) has gone and its safe and quite. What does Kashmir have that both India and Pakistan want? The breathtaking Himilayan Mountains... that's right, Nechama and I were about to spend ten days in the Himlayas... wow.

That afternoon we took a tour of Delhi with someone from Naz's company - photos will be on the way. And that night we enjoyed one of the most delicious meals in India so far at Naz's house. His servant cooked it for us (the caste system is still difficult getting used to) and we ate on the floor with our hands. OUr first real meal in India, and here we were eating at someone's house, eating homecooked meals and learning another way of eating entirely. There's a certain method of scooping the rice and pushing it into your mouth with your thumb. Since I am left-handed, this is sometimes an embarrassing question I have to ask my host if they mind (since my right hand is retarded) and it's always been ok. My way of eating with my hand actually proved quite successful when last Sunday we were invited to the house of the Kashmiri Manager of the travel agency for an annual feast he provides for his family and friends. The food was full of saffron that happened to smear everyone elses faces except for mine. Maybe I'm just too polite? Mum, you would have been proud. One older man next to us, a tourist from Denmark, managed to get the stuff all over his mouth and cheeks and even his nose! Then he proceeded to make Nech and I laugh till we cried for he kept calling himself a chinaman for all the yellow all over his face. He looked a hoot.

(By the way, Kashmiris slurp their drinks and soup, to the point that my mother would walk ouit in absolute disgust. But since I have learnt so much from our slurping escapades around the Ramler family table, I have managed to be the quietest tea-drinker in Kashmir. Another gold star for me! Yay!)

The next day we boarded a flight to Srinigar, where once we landed we were taken to these houseboats on Nageen Lake. Only once I spoke to my mother I realised that this was also the setting for the beginning of Salman Rushdie's novel Midnight's Children, and the way he describes it (and the way it is ) is absolutely magical. The houseboats were first used by the British when they had their influence over the area, but it was acutally the Mughal empire that ruled over this part of India, and the Brits weren't allowed to own any land. So they built houseboats that sat by the banks of the Nageen and Dal Lakes. Our bedroom overlooked the lake and we could watch the small boats (Shikaras) ferry people across the lake. Every morning the flower man would come past our boat as we ate breakfast on the roof, and try and sell us flowers and seeds to take back home. Once he got the hint that we weren't going to buy a thing, he woulod bring us gorgeous purple flowers every morning as a present. "Still no want to buy seeds?" I couldn't tell him often enough that I couldn't bring anything like that into Australia. We also encountered Mr Delicious, a man selling fudge brownies and cookies and walnuts covered in chocolate and lemon icing. We bought some to try and they were actually disgusting. No offence, Mr. Delicious. A man processing film and all things KODAK would also pass us by each morning. His Shikara was bright yellow with the red KODAK splashed across the side. So this is where were stayed for the most of the past ten days. Picture it. I'll come back later to let you know on the characters of this place. Right now - is just the backdrop.

In transit...

2006-09-08T15:23:00.000+02:00

I'm not usually one to complain about the high level of security measures airports are taking nowadays - I fully appreciate their efforts and thoroughness (i suppose) in their checks... however, I now LOATHE Heathrow's security 'precuations' (which most of their 'random' checks are a load of rubbish anyway) because they are just time wasters for both the personnel and the passenger. I can't tell you how many articles I've read in the wake of the thwarted terrorist attacks comparing Israel's security techniques of profiling compared to the random ass plucking out of who knows where and, oh, do you mind taking off your shoes as well sir, technique of other Western airports. Mmm, so random I get checked EVERY time.

Anyway, enough ranting about that. So, to be honest, I didn't really write about anything on my last post. And, I haven't really written about anything during my time spent here in Israel. But that doesn't mean that I haven't been having the most wonderful time. Actually, the lack of writing means that I don't really have much to whine about. For most of my time I spent in Midrasha, and I suppose writing about that would be like writing about the same old stuff that goes on in Melbourne. And, as any writer must question when putting their thoughts out there -who cares??
I made some amazing friends from both the States and Canada - making me even more excited to try and get there as soon as possible. I know, sad isn't it. I haven't even finished one trip and already I'm planning to go on another. But that's just me dreaming. Ha. To be in Israel in the summertime is absolutely divine. Oh my gosh. Heaven. So many people strolling the streets late at night, the beaches are packed, the seawater is warm enough for your toes... The last couple weeks I spent visiting family and friends in the north and getting my stuff ready for India.. Well here I come. this is running out (the net) and i used my last pound. I'll do a catch up from a more afforabel computer in Hodu. Wish me luck! xxx

yes, I am still here...

2006-08-29T09:10:00.000+02:00

It's been a while. Not sure exactly why. But when reviewing what I have (or haven't written for that matter) quite a bit has happened. The real problem is where to start. I suppose I often have this issue - I hate trying to remember what I did over a month ago in London and writing about it as if it's fresh in my mind. It's not. And that sucks. Because my memory is pretty crap. And that's the whole reason for this blog. To remind myself later on what I actually have been doing with my time.

Also, I seemed to have dropped off the radar completely. Off the side of the earth. And for those who I haven't contacted recently I am most sorry. This place seemed to have consumed me.

So where am I in the world, Carmen Sandiego? I'm enjoying my last week and a half in the Holy Land. I can't believe how quickly it's all gone. It's strange the first weeks of arriving into Israel, I felt like such a tourist, hesitant to speak the language, but now not a day goes past when I don't speak Hebrew. Um, I actually have to go start packing up my stuff in my apartment, so I'll continue this post later on... xx

2006-08-06T18:39:00.000+02:00

Israel A.F destroys Hezbollah's rockets launchers

2006-08-06T18:34:00.000+02:00

yalla ya Nasrallah - song from Israel

let me know what you think of this... catchy tune, but does it really raise morale around here?

2006-08-06T18:09:00.000+02:00

Daily Show: Do we feel it only at the pump?

2006-08-06T18:05:00.000+02:00

The Daily Show - Officially A War

Tears for Fears remix? Jon Stewart is so apt.

Ha'am im a Tzafon (The Nation is with the North)

2006-08-06T17:50:00.000+02:00

My first REAL post in Israel. Considering that I hadn't written a PROPER one during my time spent in London, and I had writing about an experience that happened over two weeks ago, I shall put up some pictures for your entertainment and let you choose your own adventure!

Over the course of my time spent here in Israel, I have experienced a range of emotions - from the resentment of being simply a 'tourist' uncomfortable speaking Hebrew (which I have now overcome with success, thank god), to the fear the gripped me two weeks ago about to head out for a great time in Tel Aviv, only to recieve a number of phone calls warning me to stay inside for there were terrorists on the loose (they were caught, thank god), to a feeling of overwhelming happiness studying at Pardes and meeting new and fascinating people from all over the world (well, the majority are from USA and Canada - I can't seem to get away from them!). The learning that I am doing here in Pardes is feeding a hunger within me that I have neglected for quite some time now - a hunger for Jewish texts, Jewish intellectual discussion, it's filling a void within me and I've never been so excited.

Walking home on my first day my body was tingling - here I am, in Jerusalem, surrounded by students who are as eager as I am about learning, students from all different kinds of ideological, social and economic backgrounds, our hunger fuelled by enthusiastic teachers who accept us no matter where we come from, no matter what we believe, part of a small community for a short period of time, and here we are in Israel, no matter what obstacles lie before us.

I am so happy.

The classes are extremely intense, one must concentrate for each 2.5 hour class, not allowed to slack off in any instance for you are kept in check with your chevrutah partner when you study texts. (Chevrutah is a situation where you study the text closely with another person, keeping the other honest to the text and providing dialogue, rather than studying it alone)....

Being here in Israel, especially during this tense and difficult time, has made me so proud of the Israeli people, their strength and determination to rise above and unite no matter where one comes from. So many across the country are opening up their homes to refugees of the North, and still tourists are coming to visit Israel, and everyone tries to continue their lives as normal as they can. I'm sure the news at home portrays Israel as a menacing beast, intent on killing as many Lebanese civilians as possible, the country is a war zone, unsafe, but that is so far from the truth... Or perhaps the truth I believe in, I feel, is more unbiased and both sides are accounted for... I don't know, I'm going to stop writing now. Maybe I'll add more to this post later today.

If you want so see some humour, check out on youtube.com the daily show (jon stewart) regarding israel. This is one of his first ones...

Daily Show: Is Israels Response Disproportionate?

Notes after Yad Vashem

2006-07-26T18:58:00.000+02:00

Today's experience of witnessing my own handwriting lending testimony to those members of my family who were murdered in the Shoah will (hopefully) never leave me.My handwriting. My history.

So often I don't feel Australian. In America hell yes I did, for I was unique, and my upbringing seemed so foreign to those American students. When comparing the simple things, it was the subtle differences that made me feel special.
Yet nor do I feel the connection to Israel anymore. I, a jaded tourist perhaps, wandering thw rold, appreciate and enjoy travelling throughout this country - but then I am just that: a tourist. I don't feel comfortable anymore speaking the language that I onced dreamed in. What has happened?

Viewing the Jewish life in Europe previous to the War made my eyes prickle with tears - I was instantly overcome with emotion. Looking at the tiny black and white faces grinning at the camera lense, children waving and beckoning at the movie camera lense - I wanted to bawl right then and there, at the very entrance of the museum. I find it interesting the way I experienced the New Museum at Yad Vashem this afternoon. I tended to skim over the historical facts that I could recite by heart - the Nuremberg Laws, the burning of the books, Krystallnacht, the layout of the death camps and the crematoria. Is that bad? I didn't care much for the video footage of thousands of Nazis at a rally in Berline, nor of Hitler giving his speeches about the Jewish 'vermin' - complete with enough spittle to last a lifetime. What moved me most throughout each exhibit was the artwork displayed that was created during those horrific times. The feelings they conveyed touched me much more than the number crunches, and the graphic images of corpses in mass graves. The testimonies of survivors, their voices cracking over certain words, certain memories. That's what moved me. The tales of survivors surviving their survival after the Shoah - struggling to rejoin society, with the burden of their grief, experiences, losses and nightmares.

I wept when I found a scan of a document I filled out on behalf of Papa two years ago on the Yad Vashem database of the victims of the Shoah. There were many documents. His sister, Giza, a 'cosmetician'. Matylda. Cylka. His father. Even Helena. I wept as I clicked from document to document - these special people, these members of my family, my past - a past that has made me who I am today - were finally chronicled in Yad Vashem. In my handwriting. I've never felt more proud. I've never felt more connected to my history than this afternoon. Wow.

The Yad Vashem museum was one of the best I've ever been to. The memorial park definitely needed this new museum - it gives so much weight to the other monuments in the complex. Not only for those who have never been to Yad Vashem, nor for those unfamiliar with the history of the Shoah, but its important for those who, like myself, teeter on the obsessive when it comes to Holocaust studies. For those who have visited Yad Vashem prior to the opening of this New Museum. It reminds us where we came from, and, as one exits the new building, it reminds us where we are right now. As one leaves the exhibit you are on a sheltered balcony overlooking the valleys of Jerusalem, the sun dazzling, with an open view of the afternoon sky. The Jewish people are here to stay.

Take that Nasrallah.

A Taste of the Greek Islands...

2006-07-25T21:59:00.000+02:00

These are more pictures of my time island hopping between Mykonos, Santorini and Ios.. Unfortunately I forgot my camera battery charger in London, and so only had limited use of the camera. I resorted to buying a throwaway camera during my time in Naxos, but I think I managed to have a little battery time..let me see....

Mykonos

This is the gorgeous port of Mykonos...one of my favourites...
And the infamous windmills...

Me and Elliot!

Me and Amanda!

My last night at Mykonos - my Greek friends!

Lovely pics of picturesque Santorini...

Posing amongst the antiquities...

2006-07-23T16:48:00.000+02:00

Anyone for pictures?

2006-07-16T23:46:00.000+02:00

Yes, it's been a long time since I've posted anything up on this blog... Well, by anything I mean photos, and I've been told that it's much needed. Now I have two choices - whether to go back to my old posts and redo them with pics, but then I question the logic of that, since nobody will really go backward and go hunting for them. So here, may I present to you, Sarah;s slideshow of what she's been up to since...well....
WHAT SARAH HAS BEEN DOING SINCE PENN!

Like it?

Here goes...

Road Trip...with Daddy

Go go go Israel!

2006-07-16T14:29:00.000+02:00

yo everyone! I'm in Israel! And i'm still alive :)

Funny though, my mum told me not to go on buses.. but i don't think how that's going to stop things falling from the sky on me.. meh, at least the buses will be moving, if i was walking, well.... i'll be careful in haifa, no worries :)

so, if you are concerned or just want to talk to me, i have an israeli cell number... sorry, a 'mobile' number.. I may have no acquired an american accent, but I certainly have some of their vocab permanent in mine... and i love it!

So, if you do want to reach me for any reason, and send a text perhaps? For a special day maybe? Haha, I am so vain. Just keeping in touch, that's all. Email me and I'll send you it. I was just about to write it online, but then again I don't particularly want weirdos harrassing me... not my thing, really.

Stay cool y'all.

Neighbourhood Bully

2006-07-13T21:31:00.000+02:00

This poem/song, written by Bob Dylan, was brought to my attention by ICJS. Thanks, Ralph and Ronit.

Well, the neighborhood bully, he's just one man,
His enemies say he's on their land.
They got him outnumbered about a million to one,
He got no place to escape to, no place to run.
He's the neighborhood bully.

The neighborhood bully just lives to survive,
He's criticized and condemned for being alive.
He's not supposed to fight back, he's supposed to have thick skin,
He's supposed to lay down and die when his door is kicked in.
He's the neighborhood bully.

The neighborhood bully been driven out of every land,
He's wandered the earth an exiled man.
Seen his family scattered, his people hounded and torn,
He's always on trial for just being born.
He's the neighborhood bully.

Well, he knocked out a lynch mob, he was criticized,
Old women condemned him, said he should apologize.
Then he destroyed a bomb factory, nobody was glad.
The bombs were meant for him.
He was supposed to feel bad.
He's the neighborhood bully.

Well, the chances are against it and the odds are slim
That he'll live by the rules that the world makes for him,
'Cause there's a noose at his neck and a gun at his back
And a license to kill him is given out to every maniac.
He's the neighborhood bully.

He got no allies to really speak of.
What he gets he must pay for, he don't get it out of love.
He buys obsolete weapons and he won't be denied
But no one sends flesh and blood to fight by his side.
He's the neighborhood bully.

Well, he's surrounded by pacifists who all want peace,
They pray for it nightly that the bloodshed must cease.
Now, they wouldn't hurt a fly.
To hurt one they would weep.
They lay and they wait for this bully to fall asleep.
He's the neighborhood bully.

Every empire that's enslaved him is gone,
Egypt and Rome, even the great Babylon.
He's made a garden of paradise in the desert sand,
In bed with nobody, under no one's command.
He's the neighborhood bully.

Now his holiest books have been trampled upon,
No contract he signed was worth what it was written on.
He took the crumbs of the world and he turned it into wealth,
Took sickness and disease and he turned it into health.
He's the neighborhood bully.

What's anybody indebted to him for?
Nothin', they say.
He just likes to cause war.
Pride and prejudice and superstition indeed,
They wait for this bully like a dog waits to feed.
He's the neighborhood bully.

What has he done to wear so many scars?
Does he change the course of rivers?
Does he pollute the moon and stars?
Neighborhood bully, standing on the hill,
Running out the clock, time standing still,
Neighborhood bully.

May Israel be blessed with peace again.

London.. Whoa...

2006-07-11T00:49:00.000+02:00

So. Here I am, in good ol London town. And I haven't written a post about it. Yet.
Here goes, eh. I arrived in the city last week, in the middle (or the near end) of a very strange heat wave. A heat wave in London! Weird! I was dressed appropriately for the London weather I had been anticipating - jeans, tee and converse shoes(with socks of course). Sitting on the tube on the way to the hostel (and it was a long ride - delays pushed it to two hours and forty five minutes..yukko) I wanted to dive into my suitcase and change into shorts and thongs! It was crazy heat. That night I caught up over (my second EVER in my life, quite a surprise to all, but considering my disdain for Starbucks) Frappacino with Yocheved, and together we planned the next day. It consisted of having a sticky beak around Camden Town and market, and spending a lovely afternoon in Greenwich. I know I've mentioned our time in Grennwich once, but for those of y0u that don't pay the most attention, let me remind you what we did:

It was a splendid sunny afternoon, and Yocheved and I took a walk from the tube station trying to find our way to the Observatory... via 'Cutty Shark/Stark'(I really can't remember now), just an old boat planted in the middle of a square, and past (and through!) the Royal Maritime Museum -that's right, a museum dedicated to the Navy and those things related to British influence in the waters of the world. Well, amen. Both of us were somewhat interested - it actually provided some fascinating information believe it or not, but we soon become bored/tired and decided to head on up towards the real reason why we came to Greenwich. And what obstacles lay in our way! There was this hill, a steep hill that I'm sure most found trouble walking up the angle, and this was our welcome to Greenwich Meridian Time Line. Some welcome. When we finally made it to the top, we took some delightful pictures in front of an old clock, along the actual line that divided the world into time zones. and then wandered around the museum for as long as our attention lasted us. I'm going to post some pictures of that very soon. (i promise!)

However, on our way down from the Royal Observatory, the heavens decided to open up and rain down plump heavy raindrops that soaked us through to our skin. While not being especially cold, we wanted out of that weather for a short while. After it cleared up, and we entertained some indoor retail therapy, we boarded a boat that cruised down the River Thames in the grey sunshine. Delightful.It was actually quite insightful, one of the crew got hold on a microphone and pointed out to us tourists the various landwarks in possible view along the river. Lovely. We didn;t have to do that Hop - on - Hop - off tourist trap of a bus that most people like us would perhaps take.

That evening I watched the soccer on tv and the cuaght up with Shira briefly. I needed some quiet nights after the crazy times in Greece.

On Wednesday, the weather went psycho. Sunny, rainy, windy, calm - Mother Nature was being VERY tempermental, or perhaps just MENTAL. I went out with Tim for lunch, haven't seen him since he left to work in London... And then Yocheved and I went to the Cabinet War Rooms, the hidden passages beneath the ground near 10 Downing St where Churchill and the British Goverment worked from during the Second World War. It was such an interesting museum, I would highly recommend it to anyone that ventures out to London. Perfect rainy weather activity!

A Grecian Goddess walks into a bar...

2006-07-06T23:33:00.000+02:00

Ios - an island of hedonism, Dionysus and all things Greek. A.k.a PARTY TIME!

And that is all.

No, not really, I shall let you in on what I was up to in both Ios (the name of the last island Amma and I travelled to, also the name which Amma constantly forgot. "Where are we again?" she would often ask me... it was really funny for a while... But then we became concerned... ) and Athens.

We arrived in Ios in a delusional state (we had no sleep the night before) and as soon as we got off the ferry we searched for a little sign advertising "Francesco's" - a hostel that we had heard about, for they promise to provide vegemite on toast for brekkie. Gold! Amma and I were having too good a time in Santorini to book accomodation, so we prayed that there was still room. Thankfully, there was, and there was also room for our new Argenitinian/Canadian friends as well. We were also blessed to share our room with a Canadian girl, with whom we had SO much fun with. Party on Wayne. I'll post the hilarious pictures in a short while.

So basically there's not much to do in Ios aside from getting browner on the beach and partying. I was cool with that. According to sources in London I have returned 'black' (no small feat might I add) and I can't stop checking myself out on the tube comparing my lovely tanned arms to the pale limbs of the British. The Argentinians actually all live in Calgary, Canada, where they migrated about six years ago. Amma and I were actually quite lucky we formed a great group with these guys and our other Canadian roommate, and we all had a lot of fun going out that night.

Ours days on Ios were fun and relaxing - I can never get enough of the beach, and this beach was quite beauitful. We were originally challenged to a game of volleyball by the Argentinians (Amma put us girls up to that, I confessed that I had NO idea how to play... just because I'm tall doesn't guarantee that I know how to play all the 'tall' sports!) but thankfully we didn't get around to making the biggest fool of ourselves. That afternoon some more people from the pervious hostel in Santorini came to Ios, and we all had one big party in one of our rooms, going nuts with the camera, taking the weirdest photos of us all. These picture I must post, but I will get them when I am emailed them myself. Amma and I kept laughing and looking at them for days afterwards.

So there's not much else to say about Ios - I'd rather the photos show you what fun we had.

But Athens, now that's another story... But I'll keep it on this post! Yay!

Most people didn't like Athens. My cousins couldn't stop bagging it. Everyone told us we could 'see' it in a day. My, what a different experience Amma and I had. After shlepping Amma's suitcases up the hill and far away to our hostel, we quickly got changed and decided to explore downtown Athens. It is so pretty! We kept oohing and ahhing at the cute little cafes and bars lining the streets - they were packed - and the different angles we could see the acropolis illuminated in the night... but we were exhausted after a full day of travelling, and went to sleep in our boiling hot hostel. Actually it was so difficult sleeping in that heat, I don't know how I got up the next morning.

The next day we decided to "Go Asian!" or... GO ANCIENT! yeah! By the time we left the hostel, the heat was already beating down on us, and became unbearable. We kept having to have mini-breaks in the shade just to rest and keep us going for the whole day. We toured the entire Acropolis site and I was impressed with my lack of knowledge of Ancient Greece. We never learnt about it in school - my only point of reference was my cherished Children's Encyclopedia of Greek Myths... but even that doesn't help me when trying to grasp the significance of the Pantheon. We didn't have a tour guide, and the heat was getting too much, but I did appreciate the stunning architecture of the site. I was glad to remember some of the little snippets of architectural history I learnt from Rob over the years... it was all coming back to me - ionic columns etc.

That afternoon we explored some markets and then went back to the hostel for a nap. The heat just drained us, and we had no more energy for anything more ancient...

That night we went back to the Monstiraki Square to a delightful restaurant that could have felt at home in Melbourne or New York city. The decor was so right on and gorgeous, and so were the waiters! The food was cheap and yum too - we couldn't have gone to a better place. We loved the restaurant so much, and we told the waiters so. They then took us to the upstairs of the place and showed us the bar that's usually open during the summer (but it was closed as it had rained that afternoon) and it was there that we had a most spectacular sight of the Acropolis. Shame my camera ran out of battery just at that minute, but I'll post some pics of it when Amma sends me the rest of our photo collective.

So yes, that was Greece for you. Oh, let me add in some interesting happenings:

Greece, where women(Amma and I) got hissed at like cats - what the?
Greece, where we carried around deoderant and a change of shirt in our bags - never in my life had I done that! What a dirty bugger!
Greece, where it's impossible to be in a rush to go ANYWHERE - because the Greeks just don't care.

Um, I actually had some funny stories but they're not coming into my head right now. Do apologise. So that's all folks! As my dad says, another great chapter in Sarah's travels this year. But with each chapter is some sadness of leaving it, and excitement of an apporaching one. So let me leave you with this - I'm loving London right now, catching up with Shira and Yocheved and Tim.... and I am SO excited about Israel - Alana, here I come! :)

God bless xx

god bless? what the hell am i on? this isn't me! god bless? wtf?

Fools riding horses

2006-07-06T11:13:00.000+02:00

Only in Britain can a program like "Fools riding horses" can actually make it past production and onto television airing during prime time right after the six o'clock news. "Fools riding on horses" shows people in their best attempts at an equestrian course but failing hopelessly, often falling head over heels and being run over by horses. Question: Who the hell rides horses nowadays anyway? And equestrian? Who follows that? Only in England, eh. Only in England did I go to the National Maritime Museum and they proudly displayed posters boasting themselves as hosts for the equestrian events in the 2012 olympics.

(Note: When would Sarah usually go to a Naval/Maritime Museum? Do I really care about boats and sailors? Aside from Sailor week in New York? Well, Yocheved and I were on our way in Greenwich to see the Royal Observatory and the Meridian Time Line and happened to stumble across this large building (with free entry, of course. When you're travelling, you'll grab at anything that's free.) It turned out to be quite interesting, seeing as the British Empire grew due to its naval prowess and trade.)

So that's right, I'm in the UK now, but I won't stop my tales of Greece and their magical islands.
Tomorrow. Sorry.

Santorinininininini

2006-07-04T19:31:00.000+02:00

Wowee. Was Greece a bit of a ride, eh. Uh oh, I've been hanging round Canadians too long and have adopted that 'eh/ay' that hangs by the tip of the ending of each sentence of agreement. Whatever. These posts aren't making any sense any more. So now I'll try and put it all in order.

Santorini. Santorini was absolutely beautiful. The island itself is actually made up of volcanic rock, it was formed by a series of explosions that took place thousands of years ago, and have been evolving ever since. The villages are all located at the top of the island, whitewashed houses with blue-domed churches hug the cliff face of the island, providing some spectacular photographs at sunset. On my second day in Santorini, Amma and I took a tour of the nearby active (ish) volcano and the hot springs nearby. Man, it was so so hot, and walking along that damn volcano reminded me how much I need to see the inside of a gym when I get back. Regularly! That day we certainly built our calf muscles, that's for sure. Some people from the hostel were also taking the tour, and we formed a great group that actually carried over when we travelling to the next island of Ios. But more about that later.

I do actually have som great pics from the volcano (it was not so active - the last action seen, and I mean explosion etc with lava and molten rock, took place in 1956. Now it just has sulfur residue and steam evaporating from a little hole in the ground.) however you will have to wait some more, because I don't have the cord to connect my camera to a computer right now. From the peak of the volcano we had a most magnificent view of Santorini and the surrounding sea. It was absolutely gorgeous, but I guess I can't really convey its beauty without the photos.

Afterwards, we cooled down (or tried to) by dipping into some hot springs near the volcano. It stunk of sulfur and actually stained my bathers - which just gives me an excuse to buy another pair! The brochure promised us that we'd have a mud bath, but it was no mud, just poo-like shapes of sulfur clumps/globs and certain spots where the water was warmer. It was fun just getting into the water, because of the damn heat.

Loving that heat though - due to the great Greek sun, I now apparently am 'black' - loving this tan, I say. I've never been this brown before IN MY LIFE! Seriously.

After the quick dip the ferry dropped us off at an island to have some lunch and a donket ride. The guide told us that there were restaurants at the top of the island in the main village, so we all grabbed a donkey and giddyed up the steep steps to the village perched on top. Restaurants? What restaurants? The whole place was deserted! Except for one with a great panoramic view (the name of the cafe was actually Panorama Cafe) there was NOTHING. But we only learnt that after wandering around the ghost village for half an hour in the vain hope of finding some remnants of civilsation. There were signs advertising hotels and cafes and pools, but when we finally reached them, they were empty derelict buildings - the pool was used as a rubbish dump.

So we killed time in this restaurant (we had three long hours... in a town with no residents!) and then hopped back onto the ferry to the village of Oia on the northern tip of the main Santorini island. Now THIS time we needed that donkey ride. Geez. We walked up all those steep steps - I don't know how many hundred of them there were - we stopped counting, and we also managed not to get crushed by passing donkeys carrying other tourists laughing at our beet red faces huffing and puffing up the path. But it was definitely worth it. Tourists flock to this village for the sunset - and boy does it put on a good show. Thanks, god.
Honestly, imagine waking up at sunrise and every day living your life seeing this most beautiful sunset shower your village in gold and pink. It was magic.

That night we partied like no tomorrow in the bars on Perissa beach. Amma and I have decided there's soundtrack of 2006 that we cannot escape. I'll burn you all a copy when I return to Melbourne. But the sad thing was, it was every dj from each bar knows the soundtrack, and plays it accordingly. We heard the exact same songs from one bar to another. I like good music, and sometimes even repitition, but ifI hear the Black Eyed Peas 'Pump It' one more time... I'm going to shoot the Dj.

The next day we took the party to Ios - the three Argentinians from our group joined us, and we were in for some South American fun!

More on that in the next post tomorrow. Stay safe! xxx

Sideways

2006-06-27T21:36:00.000+02:00

So, in Santorini. Considered one of the most spectacular. And what do I crave? Israel. Already. These Greek islands are so reminiscent of Israel it's sometimes scary. The music they were playing at the restaurant I had dinner at could have been Israeli folk songs if one just swapped languages. The food we eat - lots of cheese, olives, fresh produce, fish, meat (well, not me, but the 'we' is in general terms), the way we look (Us jews and the greeks/italians look quite similar, i think... well, just in my experience.), the landscape. Meh. Just an observation.

I'm writing all these posts now(as in, day after day), because I'm still in Fira (the capital of Santorini) alone and there are no English channels on my television in the hotel. I'm not sure if they speak english anyway. Amma finally arrived today (YAY!) but due to email confusions she is staying at Perissa beach, on the other side of the island. Seeing as Santorini is famous for its wine, I sampled some tonight at dinner(yes, a table for one...again. But to be honest I'm starting to really enjoy it. I'm on my own schedule, I don't have to really compromise anything, and I get loads of great attention from the greeks. I mean, greek men. I'm loving it. Ha.)

So yes, back to the wine. I think I may have had a little too much at dinner. Hence that this post is all over the place. And back again. So Amma is asleep on the other side of island (she had a rough time getting here - it took her three days!) and I think my beds calling me as well... Tomorrow we're going to climb the volcano, have a dip in some hot springs, and view one of the most beautiful sunsets. And that means an early start boys and girls.

Today we sat on the beach, where instead of golden sand, we had hot black pebbles. Since Santorini is an island of volcanic rock, there are no real typical beaches. SO even once you go into the water, you are walking on rock, not sand. And boy, did that pose a problem for Sarah the Kultz. Slippery ross, rock covered with algae thus making it very very easy to slip and fall into the water (which is freexing when you first step in).

I did have straight hair this morning. I blowdried my hair last night for the first time in two weeks. Yay for styled hair (I am SUCH a jap, but come on, it's fun, no?). And withint one second of slippery footing, I got dunked and now my hair is a jungle of ringlets. Mergatroid all over. From the picture books? Mergatroid's garden. Sorry if my spelling of Mergatroid is totally off. I blame the wine. And my laziness.

OH MY GOD theyre playing one of favourite songs in this net cafe! Krystal! What is that song you and your sisters sang for me in your kitchen? The spanish song! So beautiful! Once I find the name, i'll put a link to it here on this blog so that you can all have a good listen to it.

Wow, another tangent so off the topic. I suppose that's me. Going all sideways for the sake of it. Why go straight when you can go sideways?

One fish, two fish, green fish GOLD FISH!

2006-06-26T22:08:00.000+02:00

I can't believe Totti faked that penalty and got away with it. I can't believe we lost on a shitty call like the one the ref pulled from his bum. I can't believe it. I'm in shock. And the rest of the Murphy's pub where I watched the game in Santorini was in shock too. What the hell? Those damn Italians, so sneaky! Well, it was an experience sipping cold beers in this stinking hot 'Irish'-ish pub on the Greek island of Santorini packed with fellow Aussies and a small group of older Italian women. And I mean packed. Luckily I arrived early (I didn't really have much else to do, I had dabbled in some shopping, I already ate a late lunch at 5 pm, and I was alone for Amma isn't arriving until 4 this morning. She missed her boat this morning.) and I scored a stool at the bar. Awesome. Nevermind that the big greek girl who was our ever pleasant (NOT!) bartender that evening had some serious attitude shoved up her bum, and that the beers were the most expensive I've ever bought (and they were local too!) but I was excited to see the Australia vs. Italia match. Game on.

We all know the result, so I won't bore you with the details. It was nice though to watch a game being commentated in English - the past have all been in Greek. But it was a great place to be - we were all going nuts! I love this game! Meanwhile I was texting dad and he let me know he's watching the game all the way in China - booyah! All across the world, every boy and every girl.....

Random thing occured today on the way over to Santorini (I miss Naxos already! So many tourists, such expensive living!). Me, being Sarah, is not the one who starts chatting to strangers I meet and make delightful small talk. Small talk ain't my thing. It's mum's specialty. Everyholiday we have she's bound to meet someone and keep in contact with them for a very long time. But me? haha NO. It's not that I don't like meeting people, it's just that I SUCK at small talk. Really suck.

But I was chuckling when I couldn't help overhear the people in front of me and they noticed me smiling. We began to chat and it turned out that the guy just graduated from Penn, and they were taking a trip after a Birthright trip to Israel. I thought they were Yidden when i first saw them, but, like my USUAL self I wouldn't say anything. Anyway, the girl and I spoke for the rest of the trip - such lovely people, and we were talking about all kinds of things. Her family sounds a little like mine, in that they like to take great family holidays to crazy places - and she doesn't want to stop going on them!And neither do I...

So yes, maybe some things have changed while I travel alone. I no longer care if maitre dees smirk when they ask, table for one? I no longer fear the difficulties of small talk. And I must admit, seeing a movie all by oneself is quite a liberating experience. Thrice.

And I can't stand having any more fish. I'm all fished out. Too bad I'm living on ISLANDS where all there is to eat (and I mean good food, not crap) is FISH. Tonight, for the first time since I arrived in Greece, I succumbed to what I actually wanted to eat, not what I had to (when in greece, do as the greeks?) and ate Italian. It turned out to be yuk anyway. Now i'm back on track with the fish and tzatziki. Not that you really care about my eating habits. But I feel like sharing them with you anyway. Enjoy you week, my friends.

In love with Naxos

2006-06-25T22:07:00.000+02:00

I now understand why so many travellers fall in love with the Greek Islands. They are seductive, enveloping, they take you to a place so far away from the rest of the world that it's so easy to forget it even exists. I can imagine melting into an intoxicating landscape while the world rages and festers with its 'clash of civilsations' and the approaching global warming crisis, its bustling cities with bustling people who have bustling lives that keeps them going on and on and on and on....

Well, I can imagine because this has been my life for the past two days. And how slow these days have felt - but in a great way. These two days on Naxos have felt like a week's worth of a dream. This island is so romantic and quaint and magical that I am sad to leave. Naxos wasn't on my planned list of places to see, islands to 'hop', but I am so grateful to have a quick peek through my friend Amanda's Lonely Planet guide to the Greek Islands. The authors gave their favourite routes and islands, and nearly all of them mentioned Naxos. Why, I'd never heard of it before. Mykonos, Santorini, Crete, Rhodes, Lesbos (ok, the last one I knew because I love the name) - but these are islands that were once still authentic and not as touristy as Naxos. Not anymore. But Naxos has been a highlight of my year long trip so far.

This morning I had booked myself on a bus tour of the island, and had to be at the main square at 9 15 in the morning. Quite early for a Sunday morning - but that's what time the bus left, and I didn't want to keep anyone waiting. I had a short and quick breakfast in the pension I'm staying in - the woman who owns the hotel doesn't speak a word of English, so between the two of us nodding and pointing and me attempting to try my hand at some Greek (to no avail) it was a fun conversation. She laid out the works for this included breakfast (sometimes I feel I'm the only person staying at this hotel, I never see anyone else around) - cereals, orange juice, fresh bread, Greek (and probably homemade) yogurt with honey, tomatoes, olives, cheese, meats, eggs, coffee, and home baked butter cake. I'm sitting by the window, trying to finish my cereal as fast as I can (when using a teaspoon, it's not the easiest thing to manage) and I hear something sizzling in the kitchen behind me. She's probably making herself some eggs or something, I thought. But then this wonderful lady came out and brought me a toasted sandwich. Yum! Toasted cheese and ham! Just what I love in the mornings! I tried to tell her that I don't eat ham, and I felt bad because I'm not sure if she understood me and I just left and very delcious-smelling toastie sitting there getting cold. Oops.

The tour took the group (I must admit it's so strange being a tourist now. In both Philadelphia and New York I hardly felt like a tourist at all...Now it's all coming back to me - the placard signs, the opportune Kodak moments, the mass toilet stops... ahhh). So yes, the tour took the group first to Halki, a village in the centre of the island. Naxos is the biggest island in the Cyclades, and used to be (in Ancient times) one of the more important islands. In Halki, we visited a Kitron distillery - Kitron is a liquer made from the leaves of the citron tree. Is a citron an etrog? Anyone? Anyway, its unique to the island of Naxos. There was a time where they exported it to the rest of Greece and even other countries of the Mediterranean, but now it only stays in Naxos.

Damn. I grew my nails so beautifully long - so long that I don't remember the last time they've been like this. And now, out of sheer boredom - not stress, not anxiety, just something to pass the time while reading or sitting on a bus, the long nails of my right hand are no longer. And on my left, my left hand being more precious (I write with it) it's two down and three more to go. Terrible. Terrible!

Whoa, that was a bit of a tangent. Confessions of Dangerous Nail Biting, I'm sure. So after Halki we drove a church that was built in the 6th century. One of the frescos painted onto one of the walls of the church featured King Solomon, along with Mary, Jesus, St Catherine and St John - a strange inclusion with no explanation, according to the guide. She also told me of anmother fresco featured Socrates in the mix, from the 9th century. Weird, huh. From there we went to another village that was built near a marble quarry - all the houses were made of marble, the streets were paved in marble. Sitting in a cafe sipping an iced coffee overlooking a Naxian valley - I could not have been more at peace. The world is so beautiful in those situations. The streets were gorgeous with billowing flowers and cracked paint peeling from the bright blue window shutters and doors hinged open only a little to reveal the knowing eyes of the old women staring out at the street from the shadows.

Long sentence. Ew. That afternoon we also stopped at a marble statue of the Greek god Dionysus from ancient times - BCE.. but I can't remember which century. 7th i think. The tour made me so excited to see the rest of Greece, to hear people speaking of the myths that occured between these islands - the stories of Dionysus, of Arachne, of the Minotaur. This is where it(allegedly?) happened. The stories that came from one of my favourite books of my childhoon -the children's encyclopedia of Greek myths. And now I'm here. Wow.

But my time in Naxos wouldn't be complete without tonight's meal. I couldn't resist the warm and joking nature of the 80 yr old fisherman I spoke to last night who wanted me to eat at his restaurant. Even though I wasn't in the mood for more Greek food, I didn't really want to have a hand at the non-greek cafes, especially on an island like this. I wanted authentic Greek, not some Chinese-Thai-Indian place or a Tex-Mex cantina (for this is about as far away from Texas as one can hope for! Even Australia has some Texan elements - desert, hill country, hicks. Here, the locals are charming, there are NO mexicans (but are there any in Australia?) and the closest tourist I've met from Texas is an annoying family from Louisianna on the tour I took today.). So I ate at Gregory's restaurant by the port, on the main drag (the owner/fisherman is named Gregory). Now, if he wasn't married and proudly wearing his wedding band, serving in the restaurant with his wife and a man of similar age, I would say that he was flirting with me. He bought me a glass of wine, and made sure I had enough fish to last me for the rest of my stay in Greece. At the end of the meal, I was served small plums from his garden - so sweet and delicious, it was the perfect dessert.

I planned to go to the open air cinema this evening, after dinner, but they were showing a film I have already seen - the Inside Man. Brilliant movie. I love Denzel. Apparently he is so good looking because his face is symmetrical. I think that's a load of crap. But nonetheless, he still makes us girls melt when he's on screen.
I asked Gregory where exactly the cinema is, and he said it's not playing tonight. I know that wasn't true, because I had the flyer in my hand. You come meet me here at 12, he said, and we'll have coffee and I take you to see music. Greek music.
But I had the movie, I told him, and it would finish at 1.
No, you come at 12, and I'll show you Greek music, beautiful music, the best music from Naxos and we'll have coffee, yes? He said. And offered me a cigarette. I declined on the cigarettes but decided that this was an experience to remember - being treated by a Greek fisherman my grandfather's age. I wonder what he was doing during the civil war of Greece. Mmm.

Anyway, it's not 11.55 pm,and I'm going to meet this Gregory and see if this music is as great as he says. Don't worry Mum, I'll be careful, very careful, but I'll be in the company of this man and his wife, and probably their sons. It's a happening sunday night here at Naxos. And I thought I was having a quiet one.

It's all Greek to me!

2006-06-24T20:46:00.000+02:00

This is too good to be true. Here I am, alone, young, an enthusiastic explorer with no real specific expectations where my travels will take me. I was asked most recently whether this trip has been what I thought it would be. Had it lived up to my expectations? Was I disappointed at all? Was I surprised at my attitudes along the way? I replied that I didn't have any expectations - after all, the few months before departing Melbourne I was petrified and in absolute denial that I was leaving home, family, friends, and a city I am so proud to call home. I fell in love with Melbourne as soon as I discovered that I would be away from it for a year. And what a year it was.

Perhaps I did have expectations of some nature - that I was throwing myself in the deep end, going to study in America alone, and then travelling the world (sometimes alone, sometimes not) but this was something I have done before, when I participated in Marva (Army program) in Israel. Socially, emotionally, intellectually challenging myself along the way around the UNited States, Europe, Israel and India.

But then, my friend inquired, if you don't have any expectations, what do you have to look forward to? I look forward to the day I'm living, and tomorrow. I look forward, let's say, right now, to have an incredible time in Greece. What I'll be doing there, I hadn't set out until I arrived in the island of Mykonos. I look forward to meeting Greeks and talking with the locals. I look forward to tasting as many Greek tasty healthy dishes before I get sick of the cuisine and revert back to the ol trustworthy asian/italian food (unfortunately I think I have already arrived at that point). If I don't have any expectations, certain situations end up surprising me and I have a most fantastic experience.

Let's take last night for example. Dean and Elliot left Mykonos at lunchtime, and so had my friends from Penn. I had one last night on this island, and I hadn't done any shopping at all. Most stores were either overpriced American/European designerwear that didn't appeal to me, or tacky souvenir stores that sell the same trinkets and postcards by the hundreds. But I wanted to make my way through the winding whitewashed streets and explore little boutiques of copied antiquities and handwoven linen products and handmade jewellery. Since I hadn't slept so long the night before (Dean, Elliot and I were trying to catch the Australia vs. Croatia game, which wasn't aired live since the Brasil game was on at the same time. After a couple bottles of wine, the owner of a portside restuarant granted our wishes and kept his cafe open until the halftime. We managed to catch the entire game, not however before we were told of the result - we were actually told of the result ten minutes before the Brasil game ended. Some people just enjoy ruining the fun. By the time we finished watching the game, we headed off to bed - but Dean and I wanted crepes, and Elliot wanted a gyro. The boys were regulars at this gyro joint and whenenver they walked inside, the guy who served up the gyros knew their orders before they could say it themselves. But on Thursday night, he had something special for us - a riddle. And if we worked it out, he would give us a beer from the fridge. We were staring at the riddle for a littlle bit, and after our bottles of wine, we culdn't really make out what it meant. "I'll give you the entire fridge!" he said. But if not, and he had to tell us, we would then buy him a beer. Sure. No problem. The riddle went like this
I-T-U-I-U-B-M-A-B
What does it mean?
Somehow, I figured it out, "I'll tell you if you buy me a beer." Not the smartest of riddles, but entertaining nonethless. This left us going to sleep on Thursday night at around 4 or 4 30 perhaps... In the morning. And I had to get up early to go over to my friends hotel on the other side of the island to say goodbye to her and to pick up a lonely planet guide she leant me for the rest of the greek islands.)

What a paragraph and all in brackets! And so, the conclusion was, for all of you that couldn't be bothered reading what was INSIDE the parentheses, i just described why I hadnt slept much.

And so, I was planning to have an early night last night, my last night in Mykonos, for during the past week, I hadn't slept much at all. Fending off sleazy Greek men during dinner ( I swear, they all came out of the woodwork once I started walking the streets alone, without the cousins. Funny.) I decided to explore the shops until they close - midnight. Then bed. Very early night in Mykonos, but I had to wake up early the next morning to pack and leave for Naxos, where I am now.

So. In the last store, I bought myself a beautiful necklace, my first nice present for myself, and the store assistants and I started chatting. They were a brother and sister duo, around my age, and this was their family-owned business. I bought the necklace, thanked them and went next door to the cafe the boys and I had been the previous night (to watch the soccer) to have a cup of coffee and do some more people-watching. (And boy, is the people-watching absolutely fascinating on Mykonos. Wow. Fashionable Italians, scruffy Australian backpackers, club promoters decked out in slutty angel/demon outfits promoting a Ministry of Sound party held on the beach that night - I love it.) I'm on my way home, and I bump into the brother from the last store I visited, and he invited me to join his sisters and their friends for some dinner at, what they believed, was the best pizza place on the island. Already full from the coffee and dinner that I finished only an hour before, I said sure and I'll have some more coffee. There were six of us in the end, and they were mostly Mykonians, except for me and a friend visiting from Madrid. Even the guy from the internet place I used during the week turned up to hang out. I would say its a small world - but its a pretty small island. After some coffee and tasty tiramisu we went to a bar to dance the night away. And I thought I was having an early night. Yeah right. I had such a fun night with these people, and I wish I could stay longer in Mykonos, it would have been great for them to show me round the Mykonian way.

So, right now I am in an island called Naxos, in the Cyclades. It's between Mykonos and Santorini, an island to which I'm heading on Monday to meet Amma. We'll be there for two days, and then onto Crete. Naxos, I was warned in Mykonos, would be VERY quiet. I have not found it so dead, its a Saturday night, and the people (mainly Greek/Italian and Swedish tourists) are out in force. This afternoon I sat on the beach outside my hotel, and got deliciously burnt - I was attempting to even out my sunbaking, as I was very brown on the front of me, but white on the back. A little like the time I went to get a Mystic spray on tan, and I forgot to turn around so they could make it even (it was a terrifying machine). Just like what happened to Ross on Friends, the tv show. If anyone remembers that episode. I hadn't seen it until after my Mystic tan situation, and it depicted my results quite accurately. Anyway, the trouble with travelling alone in the fact that you don't have someone to rub the sunscreen onto your back. Now, I don't think it's so appropriate to go up to a complete stranger on the beach and ask them to sunscreen your back. Nah uh. Not for Sarah. But, silly girl that I am, I decided to lie on my tummy and get brown regardless. I hardly get anything - tan or burn, so a little colour wouldn't be so bad. Well, I was an idiot and forgot that sunbaking in THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY is BAD no matter what you do. People BURN in the middle of the day. And I had been sunbaking in the late afternoon sun anyway, where it wasn't so harsh. So, this lovely writer now has a SUNBURNT back (OUCH!) and nobody else to rub on aloe vera (my aloe can only cover when I could cover when I first applied sunscreen. Damn.) I usually am SO careful - spf 30+, tee shirts, hats, I used to sit on the beach looking like a wrapped up granny I was fearful of getting burnt. Haha, now it bites me on the bum. Or on my back. Ow.

This evening I strolled through the streets of the Hora, the main town, and was invited to have some Ouza (liquer) with a fisherman/restaurant owner for he loved that I was from Australia. I didn't know if it was rude to refuse such an invitation, but I didn't feel like eating at his restaurant, and I didn't want to feel that I had to buy dinner there, and as much as I like conversing in difficult english with an eighty yr old fisherman, I wanted to find a cute place to eat and read my book as the sun set over the port. And that I did. I'm reading Hilary McPhee's "Other People's Words", an account of the McPhee Gribble publishing company and the state of publishing in Australia during the 60s and 70s. Loving it. It also makes me very excited for the upcoming course at RMIT that I'm doing when I return to Melbourne.

Ok, the lady from this net cafe is ready to close,and I need to go to sleep now anyway for I am waking early tomorrow to go on a tour of Naxos. I think Ive had enough beach burning for the weekend. I hope you all have a great week, and that you are addicted to the World Cup as much as I am. I know it's easier to follow it for the time differences aren't as bad, but it's great tellie veiwing. Oh, to be in Fed Square to watch the Japanese or Croatia match. Man.

Goodnight.

Filling in the blanks?

2006-06-23T17:55:00.000+02:00

I have written many beginnings of posts, but now they are recounting what has happened to me weeks ago. It eels so far away. I shall return to them when I am in the real mood to write and feel that I can write mybest - but here, in Mykonos, the sun has fried my brains and I honestly can't be bothered.

So what have I been up to here in the Greek islands. I arrived on Sunday from London, where I had a most fantastic time with my South African friend from Marva, Shira, and headed straight to Mykonos to catch up with my cousins Dean and Elliot. We stayed in an apartment in the heart of the Mykonos Chora (Town), and cooked ourselves eggs for brekkie every morning with fresh bread and fruit and vegetables. This was the life. The first day we went to the beach and I managed to get a little brown. I'm working on it. Trying my darndest. Paradise Beach, the beach we often went to, was a beach one imagines when they think of Mykonos - lots of tanned lithe Europeans, lots of gorgeous gay men, lots of topless women, lots of banana lounges and umbrellas cramping the beach, and Euro Techno Dance music blaring from the bars that sit behind this lovely jungle of people. Shame i didn't take any photos. It was quite an experience.

Tuesday night we went out for some boogying down in a nightclub called Space,but because it's still low season, there weren't so many people there. But that didn't stop us from getting on down! Woot!
Early Wednesday morning I went with some girlfriends from Penn who also were in Mykonos to the island of Delos to sightsee some ancient ruins - the birthplace of Apollo, according to Greek mythology. It was awfully hot, and I was suffering from a not-so-nice hangover, but I still managed to have a good time. I'm going to post some photos when I can download them onto my computer. Another time, perhaps.

Ok, the sun's influence has gotten to my head by now and the holiday fever has kicked in - I really can['t be bothered writing anymore. I'm sure you don't mind. This post is quite crappy anyway. I'll be more fun the next time round, I promise!

xxxxx

Ride em Cowboy!

2006-06-21T22:11:00.000+02:00

Man. Now where shall we start? Texas, that's where we were before I went into hibernation mode. Well, in terms of blogging. Living? Well, that's another tale. OK, so on my last night in the good ol' Lone Star State (sorry Jen for not dropping in! Next time, I swear! And there'll definitely be a next time!) Krystal and her sisters and I went out to this cute fab Mexican place for some divine Tex Mex - my last great mexican food for the rest of the trip.. oh, and my last mexican meal for a long time... Once you have TexMex, you can never go back.

(Man, I'm always on about food. Give it up, Sarah. Seriously.)
That was really lovely to just sit and chat with Krystal and her sisters - they're absolutely gorgeous! We then said goodbye, and Krystal and I hit the town. She's never been out in San Antonio where she's been 21... and we went to a club that suited exactly what we wanted. Named Polyester, the disco (and yes, it really was a disco) had many different levels, each playing music and decked out in a particular era. Even the drinks had names that belonged to a specific decade. We liked dancing in the 80s room, it was pretty bigs, and there were rubix cubes hanging from the ceiling, and great cheesy music. The nineties level was funny - took me back to my youth.... man, do I even sound old? Youth, pfffft. I'm still in the middle of it! There were cutouts of Beverly Hills 90210, songs from Salt N Peppa, and videotapes playing OJ Simpson's car chase - and a white jeep was in the middle of the dance floor, just in case one felt like they wanted to drive OJ's car. We has a lot of fun. I have photos of the night on my computer, which I'll upload later when I get to London. So keep checking this post!

The next day I flew to Los Angeles to meet my daddy. Good ol Gazza. It was so incredible to see him. I missed him (and mum, but I have to wait until August to see her) so so much. I thought that I would be fine travelling solo, being away from home, having a hand at some sort of independence, but living away from home made me realise how much I love living at home. Maybe I'll even stay there for a while. (I can see Mum getting excited already!)

So yes, Road Trip with Father. Perhaps I shall dedicate a new post just for that? How about that... Ok. Well, this one shall be updated in about a week and a half. With photos. If you are indeed so desperate to see some lovely pics, and you are attending university, log onto facebook and there are some photos there...under my Post Penn album. www.facebook.com check it out. it's taking over the nation. And to look me up, all you have to do is type in my name, and i'm there! Friend me and then you can see what I really look like! Ok, this is the end of this post. God bless.

It's been a while...

2006-06-19T20:41:00.000+02:00

Man, has it been a while. Texas, California, Philly, New York. Boston, New Haven (Yale), London and now Greece. Phew! I would write more, but I can't right now... for reasons I shall explain a little later on. Just making a point of saying that yes, I am alive. I am having an amazing time. Just caught up with the cousins, looking forward to a fun week.

I am alive. I am! Just look at this post! So random...

Texas Hold 'em down

2006-06-07T00:07:00.000+02:00

It's always interesting watching movies you first saw when you were a kid, ten years later. Sitting on the train from Philly to Boston (a comfortable 5 hour ride) I had the pleasure of watching Corrina, Corrina on my laptop. I think it's even made my top movie list, to be honest. The music is absolutely superb (jazz, rock n roll and a touch of gospel - my lovelies!), the acting by Whoopi Goldberg and the little girl, um, Tina Majorno or something, is so good, and it can brighten up your day no matter where you are. Well, it does actually matter, you have to have some time up your sleeve to sit and watch the film... but aside from that.

And living here in the States has made me more aware of how much I 'get' in films pumped out from Hollywood - all the American slang and references to American products that I otherwise would never had known. A little like a line in Ben Folds Five song Army - "Got a job at ChickFila" (which is pronounced Chick-Fill-'A') - what the hell was that? Filla?? Well, in this lovely country they sometimes pronounce things a little different to what us cultured Aussies say - such as a fillet of chicken. I don't know about you, but I pronounce it as it is written, none of this French rubbish. It's fillet, complete with the 'et' at the end. But no, here in America, they say it like the French, fillAAAAA (like the letter A). Weird.

So, I haven't finished writing about my travels across Texas country. You know that Texas was its own country for a while, and then it was annexed to the United States in the 19th century - it is the only state that is allowed to fly its flag as high as the American flag - because of precisely that. Kids who go to school in Texas are required to study Texan history both in elementary and high school. Crazy huh. And, one can also major in Texan history at the University of Texas in Austin. Nuts! They're right when they say that it's a completely different part of America.
On the Wednesday of my week in San Antonio, Krystal and I took a road trip to a nearby town called Fredericksburg, a quaint German town an hour out of the city. It really only had one main street, which we walked the length of in the bright Texan sun, and made our way through the pretty (or pretty kitsch?) quilts and cowoy hats and patriotic aprons and a beer brewery.

One of the most memorable stores though was a shop advertising that it sold fudge. Doesn't every girl love some homemade fudge from weird towns in the middle of nowhere? Well, this girl does. (actually, that's a lie, I'm not so keen on fudge, I'd prefer something savoury any day, or ice cream. But it's so uncommon, one just must get it when they go to little towns like this one) But when Krystal and I walked in, the walls were lined with such a variety of salsas and mustards and spreads and preserves and salad dressings and herb infused olive oil and they even had cobbler (you know, the pies? Berry or peach cobbler? Is that how its even spelt?) in a jar. How ingenious! And tasty too! So Krystal and I, unabashed, walked around the store (that stretched forever) sampling this and that. Little baskets of crackers were stationed at various points, encouraging the customer to just try. But the saleswoman gave Krystal and I dirty looks, because we had our lunch in that store, before buying anything! And they were all so delicious, probably grown in their backyards in the little towns neighbouring this tiny town. We felt bad, so we bought some fudge and some dressing for that night's salad. For all our sampling, we only spent seven dollars. What a cheap lunch!

The next day we slept in (I still hadn't recovered from my crazy week during Finals. Most people don't sleep because they're up all night studying... Unfortunately that wasn't my excuse)and were supposed to go out on Krystal's dad's boat. The weather wasn;t so suitable, so we postponed it until the Friday, and that afternoon I got my first haircut in America. Now, why on earth would I waste your time with details about my haircut?? Probably because it was such a different experience (but not as weird as Rob's shave in Vietnam, which was complete with an ear cleaning and head massage.. Say wha??). On Krystal's recommendation, I went to the hairdressers her family use..."Visible Changes", a huge salon... in a mall. In a mall! Now, I know I sound like a snob here, but I've never been to a hairdresser in a shopping centre before... I know that's where my Dad first started getting his hair cut (and he still uses the same girl) but I'm used to small salons with about four hairdressers, including the shlepper apprentice hairdresser who mops up the hair and brings you coffee. But even when I booked my appointment (I was desperate, my hair had, over the six months of freezing cold weather, getting frozen, not used to Philly water (I'll use any ol excuse!)) I was asked what level I would like: An art director, an expert stylist, and advanced cutter, or a junior cutter (there were many more levels but I can't remember them right now). I didn't want to spend so much money since I was travelling for the rest of the year, and wouldn't really have so much time to look after it, and one never knows how much it all adds up to, since you have to tip everyone here, including hairdressers... So I just asked for the junior cutter. I deserved the cut I got, I suppose.

Her own hair wasn't so attractive, but then again who am I to comment on the hairstyles of Texas.. but she had a fringe that was frouffed up and straightened out in front so that one would see the fringe before her. Her hair also looked a little like sheitel. No joke. But she was far from being frum, she was a gorgeous inexperienced Mexican woman trying to make small talk. I suck at small talk. So we were dancing around the awkwardness for a while, until I couldn't be bothered and trailed off into silence. Man, even as I write this I know I sound like a most horrible customer, but, as I said earlier, it was an interesting and new experience for me. I just asked for a small trim, just to get rid of my ratty ends and that's it. And to keep the layers I already have in my hair. Please. But now my hair is all the same length, except for at the back, where there looks like I have a kind of mullet.. meh, at least it's only noticeable to those who pay close attention to it. The lovely lady asked me how I wanted my hair to be styled after the cut - I just said straight, not many people can style curly hair, and by the look of her cutting skills, I'd rather stick to the easiest. "You want some body? Not just slick straight?" she asked me. "Yeah, some body is great, I look awful with dead straight hair. Thanks."

Twenty minutes later I looked like I just stepped off the set of Dynasty. Arghh! I think she saw the look on my face and started to straighten it a little more... It turned out to be fine, but before she was finished she sprayed a cans worth of hair spray on the top of my head, to cement my hair to my scalp. Seriously. I didn't realise how stiff it was until I checked out my new hairdo in the bathroom in Macy's next door - it didn't move! I haven't used hairspray like that since my ballet concerts of the early 90s! Yikes!

Wow, a whole entry on a haircut. How sad. Afterwards, Krystal and I took another short roadtrip to Austin, an hour away from San Antonio. Apparently with the fast growth of San Antonio, the two cities will merge within the next twenty years.. crazy, eh? Austin was really cute, I saw UT's campus (University of Texas - the biggest Uni in America) and we did some window shopping at some really cute boutiques that reminded me a nice stores down in St Kilda. Very innovative and witty business cards...

The next day was boat day - the whole family (except for the little sister Lauren) was going out on the family boat in the lake. It was a gorgeous lake - so blue, so sparkly, and so smooth - and it was the perfect weather for tubing, or whatever it's called. Here are some glorious pics of Krystal and I looking like retards hurling behind the boat.

And here are some gorgeous pics of me in front of the boat... and a cowboy in a boat... and a cowboy walking down the street (yes, I was so excited to see a reallll cowboy, complete with the hat and everything!) and a pic of the huge ass trucks they drive in this lovely southern state...

So here goes the slide show-

2006-06-05T19:59:00.000+02:00

(the following was written about a week or so ago... some details may have changed slighty, so beware....)

So, where was I, Bush country, right? I left Penn on Monday the 8th of May, and I managed to avoid a teary goodbye because we kept telling eachother that we'll see eachother again... and we have! I caught up with Amma and Rania and Maija and Rebecca in New York, and I shall see Nadeige next weekend... but I feel I have to describe my travels in chronological order. It seems the only way that it would make any sense...

I arrived late Monday night in San Antonio, overloaded with wayyyy too much luggage (what's new?) and hot from the muggy weather. My suitcase nearly didn't even fit into Krytal's small Beetle! I went to San Antonio, Texas, to visit my friend Krystal and her family. My plans had changed so I only had a week in Texas, and then I was leaving on the Saturday to travel with my Dad in California.

Krystal's house is absolutely gorgeous - nothing like I have ever seen before. I have seen beautiful houses, I have seen mansions, but I have never seen a home the size, oppulance and with such taste before - it was such a pleasure to live in for the week. I forgot to take photos, but I might ask Krystal to give me some - seriously, you must see it. They have a library with books that reach the ceiling, an elevator, a swimming pool, a movie theatre, a gym... but to be honest it's not only what they have, but their family closeness and warmth is infectious, and it's carried throughout the house. I really enjoyed being in a family situation, and it made me look forward to spending time with my Dad and then the rest of my family in Israel in August. And seeing my sister in July. Anyway, not going on a tangent, Krystal's family made me feel very welcome - even with their food. The dad's side of the family are, as they call themselves, 'Jewophiles' - and while they love Jesus, they wish they were Jewish. So in order to really experience Texas, they wanted to cook me a Texan barbecue. They bought Kosher chicken, and scrubbed down the barbecue, and made me a KOsher chicken barbecue! How nice is that! And when the Mum forgot and put cheese in the salad, she made me another seperate salad!

(I'm still writing about food? Man.)

But I was introduced to the real deal TexMex the next day, when Krystal and her sister Erin took me to an authentic Mexican cantina - only Mexicans were there, the waitresses only spoke Spanish, and I ordered one of the few vegetarian options on the menu. (They love their meat in Texas.) That day Krystal and Erin showed me around San Antonio. We went to the Alamo, where the americans fought the mexicans in the 19th century for control over Texas (also the sight for Miss Congeniality (yes, the film) where Sandra Bullock demonstrated her 'talent' at making music from glasses of water....) I forgot my camera in the car, but here are some professional pics of the place...

The afterwards we headed to a mexican market where Erin and I tried to fit in...
Not. We were told off by the owner of this stall for taking photos in the sombreros... there was even a sign in the corner that said in RED PEN explicitly "IF YOU TAKE A PHOTO WITH THE SOMBRERO, YOU MUST BUY IT!" Yeah right. He started to yell when we walked away, so we just hurried that little bit more. It was too hot outside so we went inside the little market under the cool breeze of the airconditioning. Little stalls were selling Mexican trinkets and folk outfits and tiny little jesuses and maries. Sometimes I really like those kitch figurines of little jesus... and of course mary... I know this totally goes against my religion, but I think theyre quite adorable. Hrmm, that, coupled with my loving of gospel music right now... See what a Yavneh education has done for me???
So the next photo displays my 'sexual temperament'. Well, only this temperament, says the fluro pink machine above, is recorded according to the heat of my palm. Well, it was thirty eight degrees that day, so what does that say! My reading was 108... and that means...
Or does it?

On the Wednesday, we went to Fredricksburg on a road trip, through the Texan Hill country. Who knew Texas was green? And had lush hills? We all think of Texas as stretches of desert, with the occasional cacti and crazy Mexicans running around shouting "Andale Andale!" Or was that only that mouse in Loony Tunes? Well, there were lots of Mexicans running around (and hardly any blacks at all, which was one of the first things I noticed. Living in West Philadelphia has opened up my eyes to so many different worlds, and the differences between the cities across the United States...)

(will continue when have the time... right now I'm putting the rest of my life at Penn into boxes... xxx)

Totally blah.

2006-06-04T05:42:00.000+02:00

I don't care if you leave a comment or not, but don't leave one for the sake of leaving one. leave one telling me about what YOu think about what I write. Or perhaps it might have NOTHING to do with it. Or EVERYTHING to do with it. I don't care. It's just so pathetic because I look at this blog a couple times a day to see if anyone really cares what the hell I write. And perhaps it's even sadder that I'm exposing this to you all (if there are any readers of this at all) on this post. Man.

SO i'll continue with what I have to say without sounding like a total needy fool. Oops, already did that :)

They say that diners that are run by mexicans are the best. Don't trust those that are owned by the Chinese. (by the way, an aside, the scene where Brad and Angelina get it on in Mr and Mrs Smith after they were about to blow each others heads off is one of the hottest scenes ever. Ever. It's just on tv right now. Wow. Wonder how their baby is going to turn out? Pretty? Ugly? Pretty ugly? ANd what a name, Shiloh... eww) Ok, back to diners. I'm starting to like them... esp on late night munchies or early mornings for brekkie. I know I haven't written much on my Texan trip, my roadtrip with my dad or my following weeks in new york, but what I can tell you is this: I love living in this country, no matter how much we can curse the government and the stupid rednecks and the size of their cars and dish servings etc..... I love it.

And I especially love their diners. Endless supply of bad coffee, oily eggs... but I actually had THE best breakfast of my life in a diner... a diner-cum-cafe in San Francisco. The best. Light, flavourful, zesty, delicious - and that was just my conversation with the cute waiter! Just kidding. Ok, i've discovered why I;m not writing so many posts right now - I get bored too easily. Ok, I'll post this now and update it later with a more coherent flow to these ramblings.

And no mum, I'm not drunk this time. Even though I may seem it.

xx

on the road again....

2006-05-23T06:46:00.000+02:00

don't have so much time to type up posts right now, but for all of you who might still be reading this, check out this hilarious site....

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/end.php

Chokay! But I am Le Tired......

xxx

Weekend at Sarah's

2006-05-14T19:06:00.000+02:00

Bush country Yeeehhaaaaah!

Oh my, how crass was I. I actually said Yeehah to a couple sitting next to me on the plane to San Antonio, Texas. "I've never been to Texas before, I'm so excited. Yeehah!" Lord. But let me rewind for a lil bit. I haven't really described to you my last week at Penn. I started writing a blog before this one, it was quite soppy and gushy, perhaps I'll post it later. The last few days flew by without me realising it really. I was in denial that I was leaving, that I wouldn't see most of my friends for a very very long time (perhaps forever?) and that I was leaving campus, my apartment, my roommates, my life for the past couple months. I packed the day before my flight. I just couldn't sit down to do it. I was doing anything BUT packing. Usually I'm not so sentimental - hold on, who am I kidding? Of course this is usual for me! Only now, with this damn blog, you guys get to read what I'm thinking, instead of recieving some generic email saying "Yo guys! I've finished! And i was sad! But now I'm cool! Coz I went to Texas! And now I'm on my way to LA to see my dad! Wow! All these exclamation marks! !!" Urgh. No thanks.

You get stuck with my rants and raves, so deal with it. If you can't, you can always look at the pretty pictures I post for your viewing pleasure. This time, there will be quite a few, because I was snap happy towards the end of semester, and during my week in Texas. But I'll get to Bush country later on...

So, my last week at Penn. I can't really remember what I wrote in my last entry and I can't access it because I'm writing this post while on the flight to Los Angeles and I don't think they've developed internet access from a couple thousand miles above the ground... soon though, I'm sure. On Friday night we went out to a swank restaurant called Tangerine in Old City Philadelphia - that's one thing I LOVE about Philly - the range of nice restuarants they have... shame I'm not here with my parents so that I could try them all... but that hasn't really stopped me from splurging...oops...and especially on our goodbye dinner on Friday night. I went with my fellow Aussies Amma and Maija, my roomie Rebecca, and another friend of ours Laura. While waiting for everyone to arrive, we sipped cocktails and felt very Sex and the City and took many photos of ourselves - we're so vain! When seated, the waiter informed us of the fish special, the "Barramoondi" - "Um, you mean the Barramundi?" Once the chef knew we were Australian (he loved Australia) he gave us free appetizers and desserts. The service was impeccable. It was one of the best dining experiences I've ever had. It was such a pleasure. We all had so much fun. Here are some pictures of that here.... We all look so swish!

After that we went back to campus and, where else, but Smokes... haha. What's new. But before that, we had some fun in Laura's room and going nuts with some really bad champagne and vanilla vodka...... not together though! Ew! Here are some crazy photos taken by the lovely Maija....

So here we are, at Smokes, dancing the night away. I know I have lots of photos of us going nuts at this really seedy campus bar/club/pub thingy, but that's where I hung out A LOT for the last month before school finished. It's sad, the bouncers all knew us Aussies and skimmed looking over our IDs, the dj's gave us "Shoutouts to the Aussies in the house!" and some bartenders even knew our drinks of choice..... But we weren't the only ones. There is a crowd of regulars... I once went to Smokes last week with my roomies, and it was a VERY different crowd. I didn't know anybody. Perhaps because it was in the middle of Finals Week, and perhaps there were other parties going on, I don't know, but there was definitely a different vibe in the place. Talking to the dj that night afterwards, we both agreed that this crowd wasn't as much fun as the usuals. Yay for us regulars! Anyway, why am I rambling on about this damn bar? Man.

SO! Friday night. Man. The music was getting pretty bad at about one-ish, so we decided to skip it and head over to the supermarker, 'FroGro' (Fresh Grocer in Penn lingo) and get some Ben and Jerry's icecream. Both Maija and Amma were pretty cut up about the guys they were interested in, and after leaving Smokes I recieved a couple voice messages from Rebecca venting about this stupid guy that she's involved with. (There's no reception in the bar). I invited her down to FroGro and we all shared a tub of Ben and Jerry's Half Baked (THE best flavour!) icecream in the bus shelter/public art space across the road from Smokes and other cafes on the 40th St strip. Everyone was really sad (except me for some reason?) and angry. Amma even threw her phone to the ground! Damn boys! Then we spotted the guy Maija was seeing going home with another girl. He couldn't walk straight, he was half horizontal (if that's even possible?) and this petite girl was trotting after him. Maija got really mad, coz this guy hadn't returned any of her text messages or anything. Basically, us girls decided that night that boys tend to fuck up a LOT and when they don;t know what they want, or scared of what they want, they tend to become much more withdrawn and do really selfish and stupid things. Well, those were taken from the boys talked about that Friday night. Anyway, so Rebecca decided to run after this guy, and ask him what his problem was... We all thought she was joking when she said she was going... anyway, it ended up being a very interesting night with confused petite girls, irrate drunk basketballers and a bunch of aussies (plus Rebecca) sad about leaving Penn, and all that goes with it..... mmm.

Too much information, I know, but i'm on a roll. Besides, this is my diary of events for me too, because I'm not really keeping a diary. This blog (I think) is good enough. Oh, and pardon the cursing. Meh. I went back home with Amma and we grabbed some chocolate milk and Rice Krispy Treats and chatted till the wee hours of the morning in her room. I'm going to miss that girl. But I know, whenever I'm in the 'berra (Canberra) I'll have someone to take me out... Maybe I'll go there more often?

On Saturday we went out for brunch at White Dog and it was such a pretty day outside. White Dog is situated on Sansom St between 34th and 36th streets, and it's filled with pretty shops and cute restuarants. We sat outside and it felt like we were dining in a cafe in Europe. Here are some gorgeous photos of us around campus...

This is Penn's beautiful campus......

That night was Maija's last night at Penn, so we agreed to meet up later on and go dancing. Amma and I were hanging out at my place - I was so tired... I've found out that lack of sleep doesn't work very well for Sarah. These past couple weeks I've been getting next to nothing sleep, and going out nearly every night. I'm loving it, but I don't think my body is. It's taking its toll. Oh well. It came to an end. Now I'm priming myself up for Europe..

Amma and I wanted a snack so we headed over to Marathon Grill (one of the only nicer cheaper cafes on campus - but it's very predictable) and who did we bump into but Maija and Rania.

We all sat together and sipped some more cocktails (except for Rania, for she's Muslim.. wow, I love that girl too) and got Marathon's 'funky fries' - nachos except instead of corn chips it was fries. Anyway, the cute waiter was there again, and Maija had already been flirting with him a little. This guy was very cute - well agreed, and all of us have VERY different tastes. Take a white Wasp from Toorak, and Jewish princess from Caulfield, a Ghanan/Jamaican from Canberra, and a Muslim from New Jersey and there you go - a bunch of very different styles for every occasion :D Perhaps our ethnicities don't always influence to what we are attracted to, but both Rania and I discovered that we like our Semitic/Meditteranean/Dark features types of boys. Amma loves white boys with blonde hair and light skin. Maija like the typical Aussie hottie (which is a very rare look here in America). But we all agreed on one thing that night- this waiter was fine! So Maija (after chugging down two glasses of wine) built up the courage to ask this guy to come join us at Smokes when he finished work. (Marathon is just down the road from Smokes - nearly everything is on 40th Street). He was packing away the chairs outside and she pretended to make a phone call, even though it was only Rania encouraging her to do it from inside. It was a pretty funny sight, we were watching her and telling her what to do from inside, because we could see them both from the floor to ceiling windows that faced the street... Go maija! Anyway, he turned out to be a jerk anyway. I don't understand boys sometimes. Perhaps someone could let me in on some weird habit that I've noticed in boys around here - I don't know if it happens in Australia... boys with girlfriends flirtng and hitting on single girls... This one guy even asked for my number IN FRONT OF HIS GIRLFRIEND! She wasn't paying attention, but such chutzpah! Seriously. So this waiter dude was acting weird at Smokes, and then left Maija a couple messages on her phone later that night, he was weird. AND he had a girlfriend (we found this out from facebook... facebook.com is really a wonderful terrible addictive opiate of the college masses... i'm hooked). So that night, while starting off really really good like the previous night, turned sour.... :( Oh well... it was just bad luck, i guess....

But these are some pics of us having a ball at Smoke's....

And this is the end of our interesting night, back at Greek Lady's, with the rest of them....

Rebecca left on Saturday... I'll put that post up about that... it made me real sad. She is such a gorgeous girl, I was so lucky I had her as my roommate. I hope we remain friends for a very long time. And Jess left on Saturday to go to the Bahamas with Kenny, her boyfriend. I think we're going to have a roommate dinner when all of us are in new york. I love Jess and Kenny. They are so cute. They only started going out this semester, and their relationship developed pretty quickly and seriously, like another relationship I know... But it's Jess that wears the pants in their relationship... And kenny just takes it. Sometimes Rebecca and I overhear them fighting, and we get sad, we joke that "oh no! mummy and daddy are fighting!" because they are such a gorgeous couple. So once Jess and Rebecca left, it was me, Nadeige and her boyfriend Alan in the apartment. To be honest, I really thought Nadeige didn't like me. I told her that (cringe) over drinks on Sunday night, and we figured she was just totally stressed out this semester and going nuts. Those Wharton people.... Oh, people in Australia don't really know what Wharton is. It's a machine - it swallows business students up and spits them out, directly in manhattan financial district. It's the best business school in the country. Donald Trump went there. But I don't know if that says much. Anyway, those Wharton people, they work VERY VERY hard... it's a very stressful four years of college... And this was Nadeige's toughest so far. She's a junior, so she has one more year left.

I'm inserting random pics on this post, so here's some of our last marathon grill brunch - sitting in the sunshine:

It's a shame that only on my last night I really bonded with Nadeige - we had so much fun. We went out for drinks at Mad 4 Mex and had Big Azz Margeritas (I only wanted a little one, but there was a drink special, and so Nadeige bought me the HUGE one - the one with SIX tequila shots... I definitely did not need that...) and we had such a good time. It was really interesting listening to both Nadeige and Amma speak about how their skin colour affects different aspects in their lives, and how tey both deal with being a 'white' black. Amma was once called a coconut here by African Americans - brown on the outside and white on the inside...Listening to her experience with racism just broke my heart. She recieved the harshest criticism and racism from her own race. And Nadeige too. I felt kinda out of place since being a prissy white Jewish girl, but it was so special listening to them speak so openly and passionately. After Mad 4 we headed over to Smokes to say goodbye to the djs and the bouncers... I can;t really call them bouncers, they go to school with us, and they just check IDs to see if we're all 21. So we danced and danced - and then we met Rania! Woo! Rania isn't 21 yet and had a long story concerning her fake ID, and even though she doesn't drink, she still couldn't get into Smokes. Luckily that night she hung out with Penn's star basketballer, who has instant access into this dodgy pub, and he guaranteed her being let in. Rania loves dancing too. And so the four of us were dancing until the end of the night.

That night I didn't get so much sleep because not only had I gone to bed MUCH later than I had anticipated, but I had to get up early to resume packing. Trust me to leave it to the last minute. I managed to get it all done though, but I didn't leave myself any time to say goodbye to some friends that I won't see again because they don't live in the tri-state area (New York, Pennsylvania and New Jersey). Nevertheless, Amma, Nadeige, Rania and I went out for my 'last' lunch at Penn. I put that in quotation marks because I'm coming back to Philadelphia, and probably even back to Penn's campus (as all my stuff is at Krystal's apartment still - I reeeeally have to start sending stuff home - I won't be able to travel with more than 25 kilos for the rest of the trip... I don't know how I'm going to do it...I've overpacked my luggage since the early days of Bnei Akiva camp in grade four....Arghh!). Anyway, for my last lunch, I decided I felt like eating at 'Greek Lady', a greek restuarant that we usually frequent in the early hours of the morning during the weekend after a big night at Smokes (it's three doors down..how convenient). The parties on Friday and Saturday nights usually continue at Greek Lady after Smokes and other pubs/clubs close down at two (that's the curfew in Philadelphia... weird drinking laws I tell you..). But, on Monday, that's what I wanted to eat for my last lunch.....I seriously don't know why I'm telling you this, the really minor details (and irrelevant? Obscure? Boring?) but this is the end....

And so, I packed my bags, said goodbye to my friends and my apartment, refrained from being teary, and went to the airport to catch my flight to Bush country - aka San Antonio, Texas.... Yeehah!

2006-05-06T23:48:00.000+02:00

I've maintained this shiny veneer of denial for about a week or so, and now it's starting to slip.... I'm leaving. When Rebecca packed up her room and said goodbye (at least for now) yesterday it finally hit me - I'm leaving this place, I'm leaving this apartment, I'm leaving this college life for good. This has been such a wonderful and brilliant experience - sometimes I wish it was a dream from which I could never wake up. I know that sounds bad, as in being away from home etc, but this semester has been too good to be true.

Shit, I can't write now. I don't want to get myself too upset.

That's all folks! (At least for an undergrad degree!)

2006-05-05T23:12:00.000+02:00

I've finished! WOO HOO! I'm done! Kaput! Finito! Say goodbye to being an undergraduate! Yay! It's over.

By the way, my final assessment today was a real let down. Come on, its my last assessment, my first exam ever (in my uni career) and I finished it in fifteen minutes! It was a three page short answer test! Seriously.

So, here I am, procrastinating again, I should be packing... actually I really should be packing... I'm going to do that it just a sec, but I wanted to share the love I have for Penn with you. I know you want it ;)

These last few weeks have flown by, and here I am getting all sentimental and teary (well, I haven't cried yet, but it will come...) for a place that I have called home for the past five months. It has been an inredible experience - I highly recommend to any student who loves travelling, meeting new people and having one of the best experiences of their lives. Exchange is one of the best ways to immerse yourself in a culture completely different to the one you're familiar with. Yeah, we all say that Australia is becoming America's 51st state (or 52nd, of you count Puerto Rico) but that is so far from the truth. Perhaps our foreign policy might echo that of the United States, but I feel that's where the similarities end. We are smaller, younger country still trying to find our position in the world - coz living here has made me realise that Australia really is at the end of the world - perhaps the world's ass hole? Isolated and far away from the rest of the world's mess... whether we like it or not. But I don't have time right now to muse on about the differences and similarities between Australia and America, nor to reflect on my time here...

I'll just show you some photos that I took during this past week. Enjoy.
These are taken at Smokes, which I went to on Friday night, Saturday night, Monday night, Tuesday night and Wednesday night! Arghhhh! Talk about becoming a regular!(Photos are: Maija (aussie) Kate (brit)& I, Me & Kate, Nadeige (roommate) and Robyn (Nadeige's friend from Miami),
James (friend that spent 2 years in Iraq as a US soldier on active duty.. phwoar!) and Amma, Me James & Amma... and that's us at smokes!

These pics are taken at the Penn relays, one of the biggest (and oldest) track meets in the world - track athletes come from all over the world to compete at the Franklin Field at Penn - high school students, college kids and Olympic level athletes. Pretty cool, no? This is was the 112th event. We went on Saturday, the day where olympic athletes compete in a tournament "USA versus THE WORLD" Go world! Unfortunately, some Americans think that "Hey, we are the world." Pfft!

That's the Philly city skyline in the background....

And these are random photos taken for the sake of documentation of crazy times....

Well, not really. It's just me and Krystal. I'm going to visit her in Texas on Monday. Can't wait! Go Bush country!

Not.

Kareoke Okie!

2006-05-04T16:43:00.000+02:00

Oh my. I can't sleep in. No matter what time I go to bed the night before, some clock inside just goes BRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGGGG around nine in the morning....well, today it was ten, but when I go to sleep at three, that still doesn't give me enough hours for my beauty rest!

I'm not taking this 'final' exams and paper things very seriously. I have a really bad case of senioritis - perhaps also the after effects of an exchange student leaving a campus she called home for five months..... I'm getting very sentinemental, and going out as many nights as I can... even the nights before papers are due! (At home I am not the careless party girl I seem to be here... but then again, I'm not at home?)

I's been sitting in front of the computer all Sunday and Sunday night, and woke up early on Monday to keep at the typing again. Papers due both Monday and Tuesday, and, since I realised I work well under pressure, I hadn't really started them till that weekend.... oh well.. I shouldn't really tell everyone my bad study habits, but since these are the last finals I will ever due as an undergraduate, I suppose I can... But can I get away with it, is the question...

On Monday night, I was going nuts from looking at the computer screen ALLLL day, and I recieved a call from a British friend of mine, Kate, wanting to go out. "But I have a paper due!" I wailed..... but it was due at 5 pm the next day! I could go out AND finish the paper! Yes! (What the hell was I thinking?)

Well, I agreed and we went out to Kareoke at the pub we frequent most times a week, Smoke's. Kate just finished all her finals, and she wanted to get blind drunk, so she bought me drinks as well... Until I stopped her, coz i had that paper at the back of my mind...

So, we joined in the Kareoke singalong and sang Wham!'s 'Wake me up', you know, wake me up before you go-go... etc..... cheesy, i know, but it was fun coz not only did we know the tune, we also knew the words! The song list was pretty crappy, but we had so much fun anyway.... and back to that paper I went..... well, itried, but I came back at three again.....

here are some lovely photos...

2006-04-30T19:12:00.000+02:00

I've noticed I get this crazed look in my eyes when I take photos of myself. Hum. Strange.

Hey Hey Hey Day Part 2

2006-04-30T09:02:00.000+02:00

Okay... so I didn't finish letting you all in on the Hey Day secret. Why on earth was this days one of the best at penn? (Aside from the fact I got a little bit intoxicated...) After the picninc cam to an end, we had danced and taken many many photos, the Penn marching band assembled and began to play, rounding up all the juniors and leading them in a procession across the campus.

Now, we walked across the Quad, waved our canes, and braved the walk... We had some idea of what was ahead of us, and we dressed appropriately... I took off my watch and jewellery, and wore my worst clothes... The guy in the yellow hazardous-material suit took it to the next level...
Even Ben Franklin got into the action!

And then came the mess. A tradition in this hazing process was the juniors' 'gifts' from the seniors - in the form of thrown shaving cream, eggs, flour, mustard, bbq sauce, ketchup, and in some cases fish sauce hurled at us... Since I was armed with my disposable camera, I could take some really great shots of our initiation...

Hey Hey Hey Day

2006-04-27T23:52:00.000+02:00

I guess I'll start writing... It's the best method of procrastination... I'm in the middle of what Penn calls 'Reading Days' - though I haven't done much reading. It's basically SWOTVAC or however it's spelt. I have papers due, and, yes, that's right kids, MY FIRST EXAM IN MY ENTIRE UNIVERSITY CAREER! Uh huh! My first exam EVER! So excited/anxious/can't be bothered studying even though i know i really should.... oh well.

Well, they were right when they said that spring semester in the best to come on exchange at Penn. Actually, the people at Melbourne Uni's Study Abroad office didn't say that - they had no clue. The people I meet here, they first told me that this is THE best time to come, and that when people study abroad, they always make sure to travel in the fall. I mean autumn. I hope my accent hasn't changed that much. Oh god. Please please don't hold it against me! I live with them! I'm friends with them! I can't help being completely surrounded by Americans! Arghhhh!

So, why is spring the best semester at Penn? Well, the transition from the absolutely freeeezing cold to lovely sunny and warm spring days is always a pleasure to experience. But so what? The season's change all over the world...
Well, this semester contains Spring Break, Spring Fling, and Hey Day. Now, you've seen the great pics from both Spring Break and Fling (and now my parents think I'm an alchoholic!) and so here are the photos from Hey Day....

What's Hey day, you ask? I have no idea where the name comes from, but it's a great excuse to get drunk (again) and have a food fight. What? What's the point in that? (And now I'm really sounding like an alcoholic!) It's a hazing process for the juniors (third year uni students) and through it they become seniors (fourth-years/graduating students..like me). I cheated, since I'm a senior, but I'm an international student, so I can get away with anything!

Hey Day juniors buy red tee shirts and styrofoam hats and canes and have a big picnic in one of the fields on campus. There is free food/barbecue, and music for those who want to dance. In the morning I went to a friend's champagne breakfast, where we dined on pancakes, fruit, pina coladas and mojitos. Love it. But my aussie friends and I (Amma and Maija and I) saw that we weren't dressed appropriately (we were dressed nicely.. boy was that going to be a mistake). We were urged to go down to the picnic and buy a red t-shirt and then go home and change into our worst clothing and take off all jewellery, watches, and we were even recommended to buy disposable cameras so as not to damage our good digital snappers. Uh oh! After I went home and changed, I went to another party held in Anna's (another editor of FIrst Call) room. There I was convinced by my mexican friend Krystal to share some of her tequila... Uh oh......

That's Krystal and Lauren (the exec editor of First Call)...

That's me having a shot of tequila by myself in the corner... by the time I had arrived at Anna's, everyone had already been drinking for an hour... I had to catch up....

Then Krystal and I decided to go to a mexican restaurant Mad 4 Mex for some Margeritas and Nachos. And that put me away for the afternoon... whoa. Mad4 has these margerita's called Big Azz margeritas.... mmm and they are huge! Filled with a lot of tequila as well... If it wasn't for those drinks, however, I don't know how I would have stood for being covered in crap during the Hey Day procession down the main thoroughfare of campus.. But I'll get to that soon....

So these are some fabulous photos I took with my disposable camera at the Hey Day picnic. I'll label them at the bottom...

The tradition is to bite your friend's hats (its made of foam) but we don't eat it or anything. So, here I am with the class of 2007! Woo!
Pic 1# Me and Krystal Pic #2 Me, Anna and Lauren (First Call buddies!)

Pic #3 Kristin (the girl who had the champagne brekkie) and myself Pic #4 Maija, Amma and Me (Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!)
Pic #5 Me, Krystal, Beth and Michelle and another random girl Pic #6 Me, Kim and Kyle (Basketball buddies! Go intramural!)

Room with a View

2006-04-27T22:59:00.000+02:00

I wrote a really long great post yesterday, with photos and everything, but stupid Internet Explorer decided to cark it and I was told that there was an error in my 'session' and must end IMMEDIATELY! So now I'm using a different server... Man, sometimes I could smash this computer thingy. Well, it's not really its fault... more its microsoft.... grr Bill Gates....

Anyway! I'm going to be bored writing now, because it will all be for the second time... So, I shall entertain you with images of my new clean room... Clean and NOT MESSY! This was before (shame, i know!)

And this is after (smiles all round!).. I also wanted to show you my dorm room from all angles... Enjoy :D

Passover's nearly Over...

2006-04-20T06:49:00.000+02:00

This Pesach has been one full of experiences both unique and memorable - a time that I don't think will be replicated any time in the near future. Tonight I ate my last Yom Tov dinner at Chabad - it was only a week ago I was reading out of the Hagaddah in New Jersey. So let me get back to that...

Placed on the table was a bottle of Teal Lake wine - like, c'mon! Teal Lake! And a blue bottle of the lolly water we drink at home (very very bubbly sweet light white whine). Rebecca's family came for the seder - her mother's brother's family, and her grandmother. It was a bit different from our at home - there was far less people, but also the family read things out in English and skipped a lot of the Magid section. Quite a lot. We were finished the Seder by nine... Yeah.

I also realised that Mum makes a hell of a lot of food. And so does the rest of my family. Seriously. Both sederim I went to, didn't have nearly as much food as there is provided during our normal Shabbat meals. Crazy. (And they weren't as good as ours, either! I know I'm biased, and I'm allowed to be around here... this is my blog, and this is what I think. Now I sound like a three year old... So ner... man.) I was the only one who read Hebrew, so that was fun, and they're not used to hearing Hebrew being spoken in an Aussie accent.

After her cousins and brother went home, we sang echad me yodeah and other songs they knew in memory of Rebecca's grandfather who had passed away earlier this year in February. I was finally taught the tune to Chad Gadyah. Yes Ramler/Hecht family, we can finally sing it at the end of our Seder next year! Woot! Joy, I'm sure you're as excited as I am. Haha.

The next day I travelled to Boston to join my friend Judith and her family for the Second Seder. Boston is four hours away from New Jersey, and so I timed my train shedule to coincide for the time I was asked to arrive at Judith's house - six o'clock. Well... somehow I missed the train by five minutes, and had to wait another hour for the next one. That was fun. I read The New York Times cover to cover and eavesdropped on a mother/daughter duo whinging about the Seder they were attending that evening. Then the train was delayed in New York City.... I was so late already, but not late enough to cause worry. I couldn't contact Judith's family because they are a religious family, but I was ok with the time at that stage... Late, but not ridiculously so.

Well.. then we stopped. Completely stationary. We were still for about fifteen minutes, then someone over the loudspeaker advised us that there was something wrong with the brakes and that they were looking into it. Hrmm... even more late... And here I was, stuck. Nowhere to go. I was going crazy, stressed out completely, I was running so late... We were stationary for forty five minutes.....45 minutes! Arghhh... And I was powerless. After they partly fixed the problem, the voice over the loudspeaker told us passengers that we had to go slower because they didn't know exactly what the problem was with the brakes and they didn't want to take any chances. I understand.... But, you see, I was running really REALLY late!
By the time I arrived at the station, I was over two and half hours late... and then my cab driver didn't know where the street was.... Arghhhh x 2! We found the address together, and by then I was so tense and sweaty and stressed and I had no more fingernails left as I had bitten all of them off....

But no matter. I arrived. And Judith's family hadn't even started yet. But not because of me.
Her father and grandfather hadn't returned home from shule yet...uh huhhh...... Phew.

Judith's family lives in Brookline, a suburb fifteen minutes away from the station in downtown Boston, but unlike in Melbourne, where all the suburbs are part of the city, Brookline was a town all of its own, with its own police force, ambulance service etc. The houses are so so pretty, and suburb has very hilly streets - the family lived on a Terrace of a hill that overlooked Boston. But living atop a hill also has its negatives - especially when walking home from shule: what goes down must come up around there. It gave me a wake up call to start going to gym classes....

to be continued...

(this was completed at 1.56 am... time for bed

I have class early tomorrow)

This blog isn't really that different from all other blogs...

2006-04-16T22:02:00.000+02:00

This year's Pesach was something (is something? As it is still happening? But it's not the same... Well, sort of. I have to keep strictly Kosher Le Pesach all on my own - no temptations allowed! And it's hard coz unlike being at home, here I am constantly surrounded by it...Hrmm) a unique experience that I will always remember. First, and foremost, this year is the first (EVER) of being away from home and the family during the Seder.

Passover is my very favourite of the Jewish festivals. While it's clouded by stress and arguments over the right way to clean a bedroom, this chag brings my whole family together in ways that no other occasion can. In my ideal world, its during our Seder that everyone leaves their baggage at the door for Eliyahu and engages (for the only time during the year?) in some discussion about their identity, their Jewish identity. And along with that, of course, our history. From exodus until today.

Being Jewish in the North Eastern states of America is a very different feeling from that with which I'm familiar at home in Australia. My professors have notified the class ahead of schedule of changes in the syllabus to cater for those who go home for the Passover holidays. The campus seemed a lot emptier on Wednesday afternoon as I was leaving to go to Rebecca's family's house in New Jersey. By then, most Jewish students had already gone home. Being Jewish here is so common. I'm not special anymore. I'm not the token Jew in my circle of friends. I don't have to explain myself and my dietry confusions to every person I meet. Even a movie that came out last week titled, "When do we eat?" has become some sort of mainstream. The Hollywood film takes place at a Jewish family's seder, and it follows all the conundrums that takes place during the event. You can check out the website here. Another cute thing I found on the net is this. It's great.

People around here actually know what Passover is. Amazing.

So yes, let me get back to why I love Pesach. Okay, it's not all about the food. Well, some of it is. I love the fact that EVERYTHING is different from the norm day-to-day things. Food, crockery, cleaning, and the general excitement it brings (you can interpret it as stress perhaps? However I like to think of it as enthusiasm) unlike other chagim.

Well, this year, all of that was thrown out of the window. For both the good and bad.

I missed searching for Chametz the night before with Dad and Alana - armed with a candle and an imcompetant feather (as if that will get rid of the crumbs), and burning it in the morning with Zaida: a tradition that has been going on for as long as I remember. I miss Nana coming over and helping out with the kneidlach. I miss the house REEKING of gefilte fish - it permeating my hair, my clothes, my skin (yes, I even miss that... well, perhaps I just miss Mum's gefilte fishballs?) And I miss peeling potatoes to my iPod (huh? what the hell am i saying? no way! But I do miss making Charoset with Nikki. And having the leftovers to last me a couple days after that.) But I miss our sedarim. The books Dad made ages ago that we still thumb through - all that preparation hasn't gone to waste. The different versions of Mah Nishtanah. The kid's performance of the plagues. And capping off the night with our rendition of Echad MiYodeah - Who knows one? Complete with the hand signals etc.
And it can't all be just about the food - but we all know (and now that I've been to other sedarim, I can tell you, those at the Ramler seder are spoilt like hell by Yvonne) that that's the best part of the night... I really don't know how my mother does it. Proud of making their own kneidlach and gefilte fishballs this year, I don't tell my hosts that my mother has made her own every year for as long as I remember - and that hers are some of the best. Mmmm mmm. No, I keep my admiration and pride of my mum to myself... But not here! In cyberspace, the truth really comes out.... Mwahahaha...

Okay. Now this post is getting weird. I've been rambling and whinging about all the things I miss about Pesach at home, and I should really inform you about the last couples days.

On Wednesday afternoon I joined Rebecca and a friend of hers, Ilan, to have the first night Seder at her home in Park Ridge, New Jersey. Rebecca lives in a 'gated community' called Bear's Nest, where you had to pass a guard at the gate to be let through the boom gate, and where the houses all look the same. It was such a surreal neighbourhood... A kind of upper-class Caroline Springs. What I found a shame though, was that none of their close friends lived in the suburb, and Rebecca's friends didn't live in walking distance to the neighbourhood either... I suppose it's just something I'm not used to.. But I guess we in Melbourne (and us Jews in Caulfield) live a surreal tight-knit family life as well - my grandparents are no more than 20 minutes walking distance, my cousins and aunts/uncles are at most another 20 minutes, and my friends live literally around the corner... Well, my highschool friends, anyway.

to be continued...

"And out came the sun and dried up all the rain..."

2006-04-10T01:02:00.000+02:00

Like Eensy Weensy Spider, I have been enjoying this sunshine to the max! It's been since I've updated what I've really been doing (not rehashing stories and pics from Spring Break), and so I failed to mention that I think SPRING IS FINALLY HERE! While we do have our days of absolute freezing temperatures, most days are relatively mild (yet I still have to wear my down coat - mild around here is about ten degrees). The semester is coming to a close, and I can't help but reflect on these past couple months and thank my lucky stars I have had the most wonderful opportunity to meet some incredible people, made friends for life, and experienced things I will never forget. This semester is unique for it will be the first Pesach that I'm not spending with my family - I'm spending it with my roommate Rebecca in New Jersey. Far away from Mum's memorable seder at home. And far away from one of the biggest events in our family calendar.

I had the opportunity to hear Jonathan Safre Foer speak last week. I was smitten - he is smart, witty, a writer, and Jewish. Too bad he's married to another writer (Nicole Krauss of 'History of Love' fame) with a nine week-old son and internationally famous. He's even been impersonated by Elijah Wood. (JSF wrote Everything is Illuminated (but not the movie... and the movie he said, was an interesting experience to watch. He saw it in the cinemas during the day where the audience consisted of two other people other than himself.) and he also wrote Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close) We don't get those kinds of speakers in Melbourne - let alone Melbourne University. Who would want to shlep all the way out to Australia? JSF lives in Brooklyn, a mere hour and a half away from Philadelphia, not a twenty hour flight across the Pacific.

Last weekend's events were just as interesting. I had hoped to go to Hillel for Friday night dinner, but I promised my roommate Jess that we'd go to the annual Penn fashion show to see her boyfriend pirouette on the runway. Beforehand, I joined Rebecca at the Hawaii Club's annual Lua. I wondered how many Hawaiians there are at Penn. I'm sure you couldn't get a more different culture between the two states. Rebecca's friend was performing in the Tahitian dance troup (okay, not Hawaii but certainly in the similar Pacific region?) and boy could those girls shake their hips! It was like they were detached from their torsos! Wow. We also had Hawaiian food for dinner (a little different from the oily chicken served at Hillel dinners) and enjoyed a Hawaiian band. But when Jess came round to the Hall to pick me up for the fashion show, she informed me that they had oversold the tickets, and those with a specific number on the paper ticket had to be refunded. So there was the end of my fashionista night. But no matter, I joined Rebecca and went to see a great show by a comedy/acapella group called Penn Six. They perfomed skits sending up the school and songs mocking the different sororities/fraternities and groups at Penn. Most of the group (coincidentally enough?) are Jews, so Jewish humour was also thrown in. A funny song though was to the Beatles song "Yesterday" - titled "Nick Lachey - all his troubles seemed so far away... Now it looks as if they're here to stay... Oh I love you, Nick Lachey." People at Penn like their acapella groups - there are over 50 clubs! But, as usual, only a handful are any good. Penn Six was a fun event.

This weekend was Spring Fling - an excuse for all students to get roaring drunk and engage in activities they will regret on Sunday morning. Some start drinking on Wednesday... but most begin on Friday... morning! I could never do that (seriously! In the morning? Gross!) Rebecca and I decided to be classy and make Pina Coladas and Mojitos - which tasted delicious. Rebecca, Maija and I then went to hear the John Butler Trio in concert. It was SO much fun! The crowd was really into the music, we were dancing, and John Butler is amazingly talented. What was really weird was when his partner came out to sing a Bob Marley love song with him. All of a sudden, Rebecca said to me, "Hey, she looks like you." And oh my, did she look like me... Or I look like her? She was even wearing an outfit similar to something I wear - a stripey long top with a belt, and her hair was the same style as mine... Whoa. It was a strange experience.
It was an awesome concert. These pics are (in clockwise order) of maija, rebecca and me.

Afterwards we went back to campus and headed off to Smokes (or Smokey Joe's), a pub/club a little like the Armadale, to dance the rest of the night away. Us Australians like this place because it isn't as sleazy as the other club on campus, MarBar, nor as grotty as the other pub on campus, Blarney's. These pictures are of a group of us that frequent Smokes - its made up of myself, Maija, Amma, Kate (a British exchange student), Laura (an American) and others who come and go with each night.

Unfortunately the weather was damn horrible the next day, raining and windy and freezing, which kinda spoiled the rest of Spring Fling - nobody wanted to go outside. Rebecca, Maija, Rania and I went out for brunch, which seemed to take up most of the afternoon - which suited us perfectly as we didn't want to go out in that rain. But later that day we did. Some bands were playing in the Quad, and we had to try the Spring Fling traditional food - fried Oreo. Surprisingly, it wasn't so bad, but you could only have one... Otherwise you'd feel sick. So much fry!

The photos are listed as follows: Pic 1# Spring Fling in the rain. Pic 2# Shreya (Rebecca's highschool friend who came from New York for the day), Rebecca, Maija, and Rania. Pic#3 Rebecca looking a lot like Kenny from South Park rugged up in the cold misery of a day. Pic 4#Rania and me. Pic#5 Maija, Rebecca, Rania, me and Shreya. Pic 6# Jess, Amma, Maija, me, Rebecca and Rania. Pic#7 Me and my roomie Rebecca.

My Spring Break was Reggaetontastic

2006-03-31T00:25:00.000+02:00

The weeks fly by and before I know it I'm ringing home wishing my parents a Shabbat Shalom. Crazy. This week hasn't been as full on (perhaps?) as the last, but I understand that I haven't really filled you in on Spring Break and Lear - two very exciting experiences of my time at Penn. Now, just to prove that I really did go away, and yes, I did really get a tan (I know, we all thought that it was impossible that white trash Sarah could get any hint of brown!) I'll be adding pictures throughout this lovely reflection - care to enjoy and understand why people who live in the North East NEED to go away during srping break - it's so damn cold around here!

So let me start again. Puerto Rico is sometimes considered America's 51st state, and in some ways it is. P.R is a 'territory' of the United States, deciding whether they want to be independent, or they really want to be part of the American dream - and all that comes with it. (When explaining to a roommate that the Queen of England is our head of state, she said, "So, Australia is like Puerto Rico?" Well, almost. Hrmm...) Since we only had a week to soak up that sun, P.R was the best place to be - we spent the first couple days in San Juan, the capital city of P.R and the next couple days in Rincon, a surf town on the west coast of the island. I would have preferred to stay in San Juan for the whole time, and explored the Rainforest and the islands off the east coast, but Rincon was a comprimise as one member of the group didn't want to spend all their time in a 'miami'-style setting. Understandable, but I wanted to party. And therein lay the rub.

San Juan was fun - but since we were there during the slow nights of the week (sunday, monday and tuesday) it was pretty quiet. The first night we went to a nice restaurant in Old San Juan and drank cocktails and searched for some nightlife but got lost (we had no directions or maps) and the night ended quite early. The taxi ride back to our hotel though was a party in itself: the driver pumped up the music and gave us maracas and we were clapping and shaking those maracas and singing to salsa music and reggaeton (Puerto Rican rap/hip hop - its bound to hit Australian shores some day, Daddy Yankee is HUGE here... and fun to dance to!).

Monday night we went to a Puertorican restaurant and then onto to explore Isla Verde. Monday night around the world is the slowest night. But that didn't stop us girls. We checked out the rooftop lounge at a gorgeous hotel and sipped cocktails overlooking the lights of San Juan. Here we are in the coolest elevator - complete with water within the walls, and bright lights illuminating the ceiling...

But it was really Tuesday night that was crazy. We arrived in Old San Juan ready for some salsa dancing and a nice dinner (I ate SO well in Puerto Rico - all that fresh fish built up the protein that I was lacking from campus food.. and it was yum!). But when we got to Calle San Sebastien, the street was packed! Absolutely packed with teenagers, 20 somethings (you can't tell anymore) and Americans on Spring Break. Here's a pic of Amanda and I in the middle of the street party. Well, we accomplished everything we set out to do that night - good food and wine (see the accompanying picture) and dancing at this rhumba club with a great band (and those puerto ricans can dance! Wow!). The drinks were cheap (and they tasted it too) and we were enjoying the general euphoric feeling of balmy and crowded nights. Walking to a club, I bumped into a friend from the production I was working on, King Lear. And Jeff was travelling with another friend of ours, Kate. It's such a small world there. And I thought I wouldn't know anybody there (since my knowledge of Penn students isn't so great). Well. We hung out with them for the rest of the night, and had some more taxi madness.

The next day we set off for Rincon - where our hotel was on a patch of beach directly from Paradise. Well, Puerto Rican paradise. We're spoilt in Australia, I'm telling you. I will never ever take our beaches for granted - From St Kilda and South Melbourne Beach up the coast to Bondi and then to Byron and Surfers and even up to Port Douglas - we are such a lucky country to have everything at our fingertips, beach, desert, rainforest, city, bush and the good ol suburbs. It's funny how I've become such a patriot since leaving Australia - I even miss the beer. And no, I keep telling the Americans, Fosters is NOT Australian for beer (they're marketing campaign is so successful!).
Well, here's Rincon.. enjoy

See? I have brown legs! Yay! Go the tan! (For those who didn't believe me)

One casualty of our time in Rincon was our weakness for dessert: they were so cheap, and so delicious! From cheescake to banana and caramel slice/pudding thing, we ate very well. Our favourite restaurant is where these photos are taken - we were sitting on the beach, the food was fresh, the music was nice, and it was lit by fire sticks.

That's all I have time for so far. Enjoy! And Shabbat Shalom! And Happy Birthday to Nana! Xxx

You gotta fight! For the right! To PAAARTAAY!

2006-03-25T21:04:00.000+01:00

Yes! I have succeeded in going out EVERY night for the past week! Phew! Now that Lear's over, and I've come to the realisation that I have ONLY FOUR WEEKS LEFT until the end of the semester, I am determined to make the very most of my time here. I still have loads to catch you up on, don't worry, I haven't forgotten about that, but let me tell you about my week.

Monday: Went to see THE best movie (or one of the best) 'V for Vendetta' with my roomies. Man, I don't know when that's coming out to the cinemas in Australia or wherever my readers live (ISRAEL!!! Thanks Bunny and Itzick for your comments!!), but you must see it. I won't give it away, but it does raise questions about the justification of terrorism and the needs/means of the government in which to control the masses. Wow. Just wow.

Tuesday: I went with a friend from the play, Stephanie (picture below), to see Margaret Cho, a famous comedian whose platform is mainly politics - politics of race (she's Korean), her sexuality (she's bisexual) and her many problems with the Republican party - the Iraq war takes the cake, though. She was enjoyable - funny, but she seemed to slugging it at the Bush administration but doing as much damage as she accuses them of perpetrating. As narrow-minded as they are. Not that I'm a Republican sympathiser, no siree, but I felt that was lacking from her show. Anyway. Then we went for a quick bite to eat (coz both of us hadn't had any dinner: I only finished class fifteen minutes before the show) and Stephanie, i found out, has a very VERY loud voice. SO basically the whole restaurant heard our conversation - which at times wasn't so appropriate... And then we bumped into Krystal, who joined us. We kept nattering on until they kicked us out. It was a fun night.

Wednesday: This was a crazy day. I first went with Krystal downtown to take her shopping for a dress - I wanted to go downtown because I haven't been there often enough. Then I had to go back to campus and meet fellow Aussie Jess for lunch. And THEN I went with Stephanie to South Street - which I heard was a funky, eclectic street filled with kooky stores and cafes. I thought cool, similar to Brunswick St or something, but it kinda disappointed me. The stores were a little tacky, and the cafes didnt seem so appealing. I know I might seem like a snob, but the whole of Philadelphia is kinda grubby. Anyway, what I did see was in this cool food store (why the hell does it always come back to food??) was YEHUDA MATZA! I was SO excited. It's the only matza I eat. I thought I might be missing my Pesach staple. Well, fear not, for I found the magic food.... yay! I was lugging it round with me the whole afternoon. But it was nice place to visit.

Wednesday night: Went out with Maija and her friend Laura to Smoke's, a typical campus bar/pub. It was 'Sink or Swim' night - 50 cent drinks until midnight. Woo hoo! So the challenge is to 'swim' the night - not get totally trashed and 'sink'. Here are some lovely pics of us!

Thursday: I decided to go to the Hillel formal - "Fidel on the Roof" at a bar called Cuba Libre. I never thought I'd percieve an event as too Jewish, but somehow I felt a little too cool for this school. Yeah, as if that's possible. Sarah? Cool? Well, if you looked at this crowd, you might have been thinking what I felt. I'm used to Aujs events where there are at least over 100 ppl, and thats a bad function. This 'formal' only attracted around 70 ppl. As soon as Krystal and I got there (she was my date - and thank god for that! Without her, I don't know who I would have danced with...Definitely not the short Jewish boys that wore pink ties, glasses and kippot... yeah, I told you.. Not that I'm judgemental, but I had different expectations - especially for a school that was nicknamed JewPenn) we decided to go straight to the bar. It seemed that was the only thing to really make the most of - the absolutely delicious cocktails. Both Krystal and I danced and danced and had a ball going nuts. We had fun, despite our surroundings. It was us that pulled the shmoozing jews from the sidelines and onto the dancefloor. Who would have thought - Sarah the dancer.... As my mother told me today, I only began dance lessons when she noticed that I was an awkward and stiff child. Thanks mum! I certainly appreciate it here! Even though I am just a white Jewish Australian girl, I seem to have some moves that keep me up with the rest of American society. Well, perhaps the Hillel formal represented where I was coming from, I thought my dancing was on fire! Woot!

Friday: Went with Maija to get her computer fixed FAR AWAY (= expensive taxi ride!) but we had fun because we went out for a nice lunch in Old City Philadelphia, complete with pesto butter with the accompanying bread, and delicious veggie burgers. It was a nice change from the crap around here. Well, Friday I was blessed with good food. Rebecca's parents wanted to take us roomies out for dinner, and since I was the only one that was free, we had a nice intimate dinner at a lovely French restaurant. Her parents are really sweet, and our families seem quite similar. Their dog also has a lot of health problems like my Sandy boy. Rebecca's dog Connie even underwent some heart surgery. Anyway, it was nice meeting her parents, since I think I may join them over Pesach. Yes! A home cooked meal! Ok, this is real weird now. I'll shut up about food. Maybe I should be a food critic? Hrmm......

Saturday/Today: I was going to watch Rebecca in a chalk drawing contest, but it was raining this morning, and we didn't feel like standing out and getting wet. However I did do something silly today and joined Jess to watch her boyfriend Kenny play baseball against Columbia. First off, it was a longggggg walk, in the near wet, and we thought we were about to get lost. We finally arrived, and discovered that they were only in the third inning - six more to go! Arghh! Within ten minutes it turned realllly cold and after an hour we found a place behind the stadium and did star jumps to keep warm... At the end of the game I couldn't feel my feet or toes... Seriously, they were numb... Were we going to walk allll the way back to our apartment? I don't think so! The first cab we hailed chucked us out after twenty meters. We didn't do anything, and all of a sudden he said, "Get out of the cab. Get out now." What the? So rude! We were FREEZING! We managed to get another taxi and finally into our warm room. Ahhhh. What a week.

By the way, the pics are of me, Krystal, Lauren (editor of First Call) and Amanda. I also wrote another article for First Call - it's about the trials and tribulations of being tall - and you can check it out at www.firstcallmagazine.com Yay! Have a great weekend, y'all!

The Pics as Promised...

2006-03-21T01:56:00.000+01:00

Pic One
Left to Right: Amma, Me, Rania, Maija, Dan.

Pic Two
Maija, myself and some random football player with the perky ass.

Pic Three
Rania and Me.
Rania is Maija's roommate and in my Israeli Literature and Film class. She is egyptian, muslim, majoring in Middle Eastern studies and also studies hebrew! She is so cool. I offered to help her with Hebrew, coz I figure that I can do the basics. I hope.
Pic Four
Myself and Maija, my lovely fellow Melbournian. We love to laugh :D

All we need is a BIG catch up!

2006-03-21T00:09:00.000+01:00

Ok, so I'm not sure if photos are EVER going to work on this damn site. Really, that's the reason I haven't updated this blog. If only you could see what I was talking about. I'm not sure if the vivid imagery I use in my descriptions really suffices. Well, I suppose for the time being you will have to deal with that.

Well, its been brought to my attention that people are actually reading this blog, and perhaps are missing it a little. Well, I'm just responding to the reaction of my readers - which is NOTHING! Fill up those comments people! Seriously! Otherwise I'll be just as lazy as you! Or embarrassed, as my sister once pointed out to me. But I said - embarrassed? What the hell for? All you have to do is post your thoughts on something I wrote. Or even a complete tangent that has absolutely NOTHING to do with what's going on this side of the hemisphere... No pressure, of course.

Well, that starking rave rant aside, what has this little miss gotten up to. If that's even a proper sentence, complete with grammar and all. If that's how you spell grammar. Or is it grammer? Ok, I'll stop being annoying. So, since the last entry (which was actually written over a week ago) I've had spring break, some kind of throat infection, a couple more midterm papers, and King Lear. Phew! So let's recap - wish me luck. I hope my memory is like it used to be...

As the midterms piled up, I assumed some sense of denial but still worked every day from dawn till midnight trying to get everything done in time. Well, I would have had I not been so sick. On Wednesday night (okay, this is going back a long way, it was Wednesday the first of March) I began feeling an itch in my throat. That night I went with my roommate Rebecca, her friend Raha and her brother Steve to see this awesome band SoulLive perform in an auditorium on campus. Even the hall (designed by the Venturi architects) was cool. It was such a great night, the music was fabulous, we danced close by to the stage, and by the end of the night I had lost my voice. That's when I realised that something was up - I had not really sung that night. SoulLive's music is not really the type to which you sing. Hrmmm, something was rotten in the state of Denmark. But, as Sarah often does, I ignored the symptons and my own sleepiness and went to bake cookies and watch a video at Raha's place.

Spring Break
Now, I could have chosen to have a Spring Break like the ones you watch on Channel E! or in the movie 'The Real Cancun' - for those who have never seen any incriminating footage in either media, it consists of crowds of drunk college kids flashing their chests and kissing their best friends (of either sex) and other wild random acts. Now, while that sounds like a load of fun, I wasn't sure if I really wanted that. I wasn't sure if that was really me. Now, perhaps it is me in another lifetime, but I suppose we'll have to go to that lifetime to see.

Now Puerto Rico was the flavour of the month for Penn kids, and apparently everyone was here. But since I don't know anyone it made no difference to me. For the first couple days we stayed in Isla Verde in San Juan, a lovely patch of beach that hopefully can be seen below.

You Base Football Player (King Lear)

2006-03-16T04:03:00.000+01:00

OK! I'm back! Yay! It's been a long break from this blog, and I do apologise for those who actually read it. Thanks dad. And mum. And alana. And the grandparents. It's nice to know that at least my family ins interested in what I have to say.
But is that the real reason for writing a blog? To vent? To express my thoughts in the public domain? To publish my opinion in a free space, with no editing or censoring... well, I do do a little of self-censorship, since I have no idea who my audience is. A mix between my friends, family, grandparents, random people (who are really random because they don't often come onto this site.. I don't blame them.)

So, what have I been up to these past couple weeks? Well, it's been pretty crazy, with midterm papers and take-home exams (which i happen to complete last minute - a habit which i really should get out of my system... no matter where I am in the world) - but that hasn't stopped with from partying. Here are some pics of a girls night out. We first went to a party hosted by some footballers.... urgh. We didn't have much fun. But we took some nice photos!

Then we went on to a club on campus known as MarBar and danced the night away. A dance marathon was being held at the club, so for a change they had GREAT music (ie Michael Jackson and Madonna) and no unwanted sleazes! I could have kept dancing until the wee hours, but my friends were tired and wanted to go home.

Ok, so I'm having trouble uploading the photos to the site, but will be adjusted later on. Check for more lovely pics of me posing with Maija, Rania, Amma and Erica. There is also a photo with a random football player who had the perkiest bum ever! Maija was a little intoxicated by that stage, so she had fun pinching it. The party's theme was 'white trash' - and the people there certainly lived up to their costumes.

Oh, by the way, the title is a line from King Lear, the production I was working on for the past couple months. More on that in the next post..... Oooh, gotcha curious, eh?

2006-02-24T22:37:00.000+01:00

It's so cold my ears are hurting...

And another thing...

2006-02-21T21:18:00.000+01:00

I'm starting to dream in Hebrew?

Weird.

The Not-So Naked Chef

2006-02-20T06:31:00.000+01:00

I cooked! Yes, that's right! These past few days the world (and my friends) have witnessed the ultimate miracle! Well, perhaps not ultimate but definitely up there! It's late so I shan't elaborate (hey that rhymes) and I must to beddy byes, but I did want to let you all in on my secret....ssshhhhh......

SARAH ACTUALLY COOKED A MEAL!

OR TWO!!

OR THREE!!!

Mmm, can't believe it? Unfortunately I don't have any photos (I'm not that lame... well, someone did take a snap of the gorgeous pavlova I made, all pretty with strawberries and raspberries and blackberries and PASSIONFRUIT! Yes, I even splurged on the passionfruit. They came from New Zealand... And they were expensive. VERY expensive. That made me sad.... But not for long! Coz i had PAVLOVA! From AUSTRALIA! YAY!), however, what I do have is a big grin from ear to ear because I achieved the impossible.

I know, I talk about food all the time, but that doesn't mean I can actually cook it. I wish. Well, perhaps I wish I had the fondness of cooking. Maybe it's just that my apartment's kitchen isn;t so inspiring... Okay, now I'm just looking for excuses.

THURSDAY: Rebecca and I decided that we were craving a home-cooked meal. I mean, I am so sick of eating other people's restaurant crappy food, I miss my mum's cooking so much, on Thursday night I was begging for some delicious home cooked dinner. And i mean begging. Well, not really. But it sounds good :D
So we bought a kosher chicken and slathered it with kosher bbq sauce (but before that I was asked to cut up the chicken into piece... Nah uh, Sarah doesn't do that. She ain't hacking no chick to pieces. It's just not my thing. Besides, I used to be vegetarian for heaven's sake!) I offered to make roast potatoes with rosemary and salad. I know, it's a start. Peeling those damn potatoes was a bitch though because we don't have a peeler. So I used a knife. A blunt knife. And Sarah doesn't like knives very much... Actually, not at all. But i peeled all the potatoes, made a damn good salad, and helped out with the chicken. And we were satisfied. Amen.

FRIDAY: I was invited to my friend Krystal's house for dinner because her Mum was coming from Texas to visit her. And they were making sushi. And handrolls. And inside out rolls. And miso soup. And Sarah was happy. (Why does food please me so much? Maybe because I eat crap most of the time here? Sometimes I can;t even be bothered eating because I don't like the food. But I suppose it's good for my stomach and chins *wink) Earlier that day I recieved a MOST FANTASMIC SUPERB MAGNIFICENT SURPRISING PACKAGE from Mum and Dad... complete with NesCafe Coffee, Minties, Dairy Milk CHoccies, Tim Tams and good ol PAVLOVA!

I began writing this blog thinking that it will be two lines. I really ought to go to sleep. But I must finish...

Krystal is now one of my closer friends at Penn, and I was flattered that she asked me to come meet her Mum. I didn't know what to bring to dinner, so I decided to share some Aussie love and let them eat cake. Or Pav.
Searching for the cream to cover my sacred pavlova was another epic tale perhaps for another time. Let's just say it took me forty five minutes or so, four or five people (not including consulting Krystal and Rebecca for the American definition of cream - apparently it's called "Whipping Cream" or "Heavy Cream". Yes, I don't want WHIPPED cream or FROSTING or CREAM THAT GOES WITH MY COFFEE!) only to discover that the grocer doesn't carry it! ARHHHHH! I went a bit nuts. But it turned out ok. Whipped cream out of a spray can nonetheless. I can hear your collective gasp of horror, but one has to make do. (I even began beating a carton of 'light cream' in a pot with a mix master...I was desparate.)

SATURDAY: Gourmet sandwiches that could even rival those of mother dearest. It remined me of home so much.

SUNDAY: Candied yams. A Caribbean favourite. Tonight I had a potluck dinner with Amanda, Lauren (editor-in-chief of First Call) and Anna (another editor of First Call) and I was the only one who actually cooked. It took me a couple hours (oy vey!) but I did it. I peeled the damn sweet potatoes with a KNIFE (nearly chopping some fingers in the act), while listening to Lauren's boy troubles, created a sugary/caramel sauce for my delicious yammies while listening to Amanda's health issues, and cleaned up the dishes in silence... Ahhhh. Just kidding. Dinner was really nice, I was very proud of my creation, regardless that it took me a while for its completion. And that is all, folks. A detailed post about Sarah's cooking skills. How engaging.

She finally did it.

Will you be my Valentine?

2006-02-15T06:27:00.000+01:00

Because it's the still the summer holidays during Valentine's Day at home, I never thought that it was such a big deal. Or, as bigger deal as it is here. People have been selling roses on the main thoroughfare, Locust Walk, for nearly a week. If you want you can give your valentine a singing telegram in the middle of class by members of the singing Glee Club. God knows what else that club does. In the daily paper there are 'shoutouts', little messages for your loved ones or crushes - most of them quite crude and vulgar. Even my weekly magazine First Call is goes Valentine crazy. For someone who doesn't believe in the holiday created by Hallmark (and proudly supported by the flower and chocolate industries) I faced quite a shock these past couple days. Where were you living if you didn't know it was Valentine's day? Heart-shaped paper buttons were stuck on top of the elevator buttons in the lifts in my apartment building - "Will you be my Valentine, Mr #1102?" Even the Hillel dining hall was decked out in red, pink and white balloons, streamers and ice sculptures... Yes, ice sculptures! But I was explained that holidays such as these are decorated by the cooking and waiting staff - they like to have fun. And so they should.

But what did I do this Valentine's Day? Aside from class, I went to my first basketball game: Penn vs. Princeton. It was hyped up to be one of the best games of the season. As Maija and I walked into the stadium, we were welcomed by Penn's marching (but they were standing in the bleachers) band, complete with drums, brass and even triangles! Accompanying them were the Penn cheerleaders, who weren't so bad. But most interesting and fun to watch were the Penn fans throughout the game. Dressed in navy blue and red (Penn's colours) they were yelling and shouting "Defence" and "Aiiiiiiiirballl, you suck!" and throwing streamers into the air. Unfortunately I forgot to bring my camera but I will show you photos of the next game. There was even a mascot - of a Quaker. That's what we are here at Penn, Quakers.... how quaint. All I know about Quakers are the cereal.

But even more exciting than that, it snowed on Sunday/Saturday night! It snowed and snowed and snowed and the snow was so lovely and powdery and fluffy and made the world all pretty. Okay, now I'll stop sounding so silly and show you some pictures of this lovely snow show. (And this time I was prepared for the cold - complete with coat, beanie, scarf and gloves... and long johns of course!)
But, never quite comprehending that snow means FREEZING, siilly Sarah went outside with wet hair (sorry Zaida! I know, I know! I've learnt my lesson!). By the time I got to Amanda's house for a cosy lunch, I hadn't thought much about the cold. Besides, I was rugged up well and warm. I was even wearing a beanie (which don't particularly agree with the shape of my head). But as I was waiting for her to answer the door, I touched my hair... and it was frozen! I had frozen hair! You can see a little bit of it in this photo above. I was petrified it was going to break off (of which there was a pretty good chance of doing so!) and I started to panic. Broken hair! BROKEN HAIR! What on earth was a girl going to do! How was I to know my hair was going to freeze! Nobody told me that snow meant freezing temps outside too....

The rest of the photos are taken right outside my building. I also want to show you how high the snowfall is. And the snowman! And the red things are pieces of public art that are dearly referred to by Penn students as the 'Dueling Tampons'.
And below is the gorgeous view from my bedroom window. And me in front of it. How lovely.

Oh, I forgot to mention... I recieved a Valentine gift.... from my roommate Rebecca! She is so sweet! She gave Nadeige, Jess and I all boxes of Godiva chocolates and a gorgeous card. She is so cute! We're all going out tomorrow night for her birthday dinner (it was postponed from last week) and then again on Friday night for a roommate dinner. I am so blessed with these girls! So much fun! And we're all so different as well. Wow.

Oh, and I played some basketball last night again... It was much more enjoyable. Because I'm in a mixed team, the rules are that there has to be at least three girls and two guys to make up who's on the court. Well, only Kim and I showed up from the girl side... and for half of the game we had to play four on the court. Then Janelle showed up and so we had three girls... which didn't make a difference to us women, since we all had to stay and play the whole game anyway. Only the guys had a break. But we didn't need it. Until...

We had gotten a rebound and Randy (one of our better players. By the half time mark, each rebound he got he kept shooting it at the other team's backboard for fun... later he was told off for 'unsportsmanship'. But both teams were laughing) had already taken it up halfway the court when we heard shouting behind us. One of the girl opponents had pushed Kim and shouted, "Stop pushing me, b****!" Kim, who ordinarily is a calm and quiet person, started to go nuts, and a brawl broke out between the two girls. The opponent had the sense to shut up before anything else happened, but Kim kept cursing and yelling at her. Kim was kicked out of the gym and threatened to be kicked out of the league. I hope that doesn't happen, because I really like her and we live in the same building. While her behaviour was inappropriate at the time, I really hope she's still included in the league. So that was an interesting twist to the evening. Then our team was back to two girls. But we won anyway. And we were happy. The End.

No, not the end! I forgot to tell you. My article of "Australia - Cultural Wastleland" was published in First Call this week! That was pretty cool. It was edited a little for the American readers, and a picture was added... by the same girl who told me that Australia is a cultural wasteland! Ha ha! You can check out First Call at www.firstcallmagazine.com Have fun, and go quakers! Ha.

Washington DC Part 2

2006-02-13T21:50:00.000+01:00

So the walking tour continues. I walked for an average of about six hours straight that day. But I think I may have walked too much that afternoon, for by the time I reached the Capitol Hill's Longworth Building to meet Jess (the very purpose of my visit) I was pooped. But walking and listening to my ipod had very calming effects on me, a nice break from the endless routine of studying. I was in another city, another state, it was the beginning of my weekend - everything that makes me happy.

On a side note, I strongly believe that there is an iPod God - or, as my dad puts it, an iGod. Walking around the historical monuments, my iPod knew exactly what songs to play - so appropriate, so 'right' - it made my walk all the more special. Because, as I've mentioned before, American history doesn't really do it for me. I'm still trying to figure out exactly why.

Walking around the war memorials made me extremely emotional - I don't know why exactly. Perhaps it was the combination of the music and the gravity of war memorials - especially the world war memorial. This monument was quite striking.

This monument was at the entrance of the Reflection Pool and the Lincoln Memorial. I walked along the Reflection Pool (on the wrong side, the one without the footpath, complete with ducks droppings ALL OVER THE PLACE - typical Sarah. I couldn't be bothered turning back and crossing over to the other side of the pool.) Here are the duckies playing in the water. Oh, and me.

Washington DC Part 1

2006-02-12T17:52:00.000+01:00

I arrived on the ChinaTown Bus, rushed onboard by a woman screaming in Chinglish, "We go to DC, not New Yok! DC, not New Yok!" After convincing the angry little woman that all of us onboard know and want to go to Washington DC, away we went in the early morning fog. I slept all the way there, and got a stiff neck...one of the many psuedo-injuries I had incurred that weekend. When we finally arrived in the capital city, I rubbed my eyes awake and realised I had no idea where I was. And I didn't have a map. Where would I get one?

The actual district of Columbia isn't a very big city, so I couldn't have gotten completely lost, or ended up walking to another state - Virginia or Maryland perhaps. For the first few blocks I was just following some crowds in the same direction, but then realised that perhaps they were just looking for a good Chinese restaurant for lunch. I kept walking, and happened upon a Thrifty rental car store, and asked for a map. The map I recieved had complicated green, pink and yellow highway lines, Washington DC in relation to other major cities in the area, how to get from DC to Baltimore, and a TINY map of the actual street of DC. So here goes the adventure...

Somehow, I managed to wander myself past the National Archives, the Smithsonian museums, and found myself in the heart of the National Mall. This was my view from where I was...

It was a relatively nice day for winter (not cold enough for my scarf, thermals and gloves - all of which I wearing anyway) so I decided to take a walk. And what a long walk it was. The stroll from the ChinaTown Bus to the National Mall took forty five minutes, so who knew what was up next? Well, not much before my tummy started rumbling. I was in a maginificent rush to make the bus on time (what's new.) so I forgot to eat breakfast... and it was now lunch time. What to eat? Well, when we were in DC six years ago, my family and I went (twice!) to this absolutely delicious pan-asian restaurant called TenPenh. We still talk about the food to this day. (Does this mean it really is as good as we remember it to be? Or are we just obsessed with food... well, i know i am, but that's me for you *wink) So I treated myself to one of the best meal I've had since I've started college....Ahhhhh....
The restaurant was packed. I told them I was here six years ago and I just had to come back. They didn't care. I was told that there was room for one at the bar, so I plonked myself down, and my thick jacket, scarf, backpack and purse were bundled beneath the stool, and took a deep breath. How did I find this place? I had no map, no internet directions, and I was thinking about asking a hotel concierge. But alas, there aren't any hotels on the National Mall.

Well kids, I suppose my food obsession has some advantages. Meals compose some of my most vivid memories. I know this sounds really sad. But it's true. So I remembered the street the restaurant was on, as when we visited DC it was just before Bush's first inaugeration, and there were bleachers set up on Pennsylvania Avenue. And TenPenh is on that street.

So, sans map, I sniffed my way to the restaurant and indulged myself to a most delicious meal. Ice tea (my favourite drink right now), a Spicy Tuna tempura roll (raw tuna with a scrumptious spicy tomato-based relish in the form of a tempura-d handroll) and grilled salmon on a bed of wasabi mash and beans with hoisin butter. To. Die. For.

The meal made me very satisfied. And very happy. As I said, it was one of the best meals I have eaten since starting at Penn. I've noticed I really don't like eating ot anymore. The food is all the same. And it tastes like crap. I've reached the point where I'm going to start cooking. And this time I'm for real. I promise. Wish me luck. Now, if anyone has any easy recipes they'd like to share? I know, I'm not my mother's daughter. But right now I wish I had her flare and passion in the kitchen. Today I look at the oven and weep.

So I think that's enough about food. I don't want to bore you all to death - well, at least those that aren't so interested in the gastronomic adventures of Sarah. Hum.

After lunch I wandered past the FBI building and back onto the Mall. Here are some splendid photos of my walking tour.

So this is me in front of the White House. I was standing pretty far away from Bush's ranch because there were police all over the place. As I was walking, there were flashing firetrucks blocking the traffic and police and security on every corner. I knew this couldn't be the norm, but I still didn't understand why the fortification - we're not allowed inside anymore for a tour. We get it.
But, as I was walking around the World War memorial (which I'll describe later) a deafening noise of helicopters drowned out the music of my ipod. I looked up and saw.....

Swarms of helicopters circling the white house preparing to land. I overheard a couple in front of me saying that when the President flies there are always two army helicopters flying together, to confuse the enemy. I just managed to catch one on my camera. This will have to do.

Pretty Pretty Pictures

2006-02-05T00:13:00.000+01:00

Here are some photos of my roommates and my fellow Aussies.

Roommates dinner:
Myself, Rebecca, Jess and Nadeige

And these are the Aussie girls: Jess and Maija (my fellow Melbournian)

And Amma and I: