Well Israel has been a real emotional rollercoaster, and today has been no exception. Except that, as with all good rollercoasters you can’t just rush straight into the main event there needs to be a build up. The previous few days have only been a few small bumps, testing the waters, wetting the appetite for what comes later.
This morning waking up from another mosquito riddled night, I could have wept. The closest thing I can put it to is when Richard Hammond on Top Gear is dog-sledding to the North Pole and at some point there’s a little handy-cam shot where he just talks to the camera in the tent. Through the combination of tiredness, being emotionally drained and seemingly so far from home he just has a little weep.
That moment was about 8 o’clock this morning, after about the third snooze – despite being begrudgingly awake after the first alarm. It was at that moment I actively considered just how quickly I could get out of the country and how much it would cost me.
Still, no greatness has ever been achieved from bed (with the possible exception of Florence Nightingale). Dragging myself out of bed and forcing down what-the-continent-considers-to-be cornflakes helped only remove the hatred of a single room and replace it with hatred of the dilapidation in the whole apartment. And I call it an apartment, because apartments are functional whereas I consider that a flat can be home.
The mandatory morning shower, to remove the stench of sleeping on top of the bed in a hot climate, did nothing but give time in an environment where there are no distractions to stop the wondering mind. I’m quickly finding that showering is by far the worst time of day. Not least because of the terrible shower, but because it’s the one time of day I can’t not think about things. Usually my mind dwells in bed and results in me taking a good hour to fall asleep, but the last days have had me out very quickly. I personally have an instilled hatred of waste and as a result have never been one to enjoy showers as anything other than the functional and almost always kept to under a minute. Instead today, I must have stood there for 10 minutes with water washing over me – which now, as I write annoys me. I’m not sure how much of the water going down the plug hole was from the shower head.
I always knew that this was going to tough. Really tough. Probably one of the toughest things that I’d ever do. But this is still, so much worse than I expected.
The language is hard. I’ve spent weeks on teach-yourself-Hebrew audiobooks, and all that has really highlighted to me is how little I know. Or rather, I sometimes know what I want to say, but the accent, intonation and ruddy genders gets in the way – numbers and verbs all have masculine and feminine forms (many no where near each other). Worse still, my brain when stumped with foreign language problems defaults to German in response and upon realising that won’t work tries for French. But the language thing can be solved with time and effort. And a bit of money towards some actual lessons will probably help too, but they start a week Monday.
The loneliness, isolation and what felt like desertion just got to me. Which is stupid, as it was me that left of my own free will. Not the other way around.
Previously whilst abroad I’ve usually been with someone, someone to fall back to. Someone to retreat to a hotel room or quiet bar and ignore the world around us. This time around work is new and full of new people. Shopping is full of new-ness and difficulty. And then when I come back to my apartment, the one place that is to be my sanctuary from the noisy world outside, I’m filled with loathing for the grime, the mosquitoes and cracks in the walls.
Leaving the apartment, I put on the most upbeat ska I could think of. The sun was shining and a full moon in the sky (see photo above). Just getting outside felt so much better.
Having got to work, I decided that the best thing to do would be just to throw myself at work and put the rest of it out of my mind. The morning quickly flew by and before I knew it, it was lunch time. I really do love that the whole group goes to lunch together. I love that we have to walk across a wonderfully sun drenched plaza to get to the canteen, (which was serving spaghetti bolognase – result! - though you cant have cheese on it), buy our lunch and go back and sit around in the coffee room.
That afternoon, I had not one, not two, but three actual conversations that actually made me sound like an expert and that I knew what I was talking about. I’d like to say that most of these were moments of academic genius. The reality is that two of these conversations were really as a result of hard graft and learning the hard-way experience from my days in Norwich. Maybe it’s true what they say, wisdom is the price for age.
The rest of the evening was spent chatting away, mainly with the equally new Colombian girl in the group. Apparently, to the rest of the world the UK is weird for not having compulsory ID cards. In Italy, by law you need to carry it at all times. Which was even more of a joke when I saw one. It looks like something the Nazis handed out at the start of WW2, flimsy cardboard and filled out using a typewriter. Better yet, when they expire after 10 years you just take it to your local town council member and they just write on the back in Italian that it’s fine and apparently that’s ok. Unless you are that Italian and are ID’ed anywhere else in the world, when all everyone else seems is an expired, graffiti-ed piece of tatty card.
Still this afternoon, showed me that I could have a lot of fun with those around me at work. And that got me thinking. Both in Nottingham and in Norwich, how many people did I actually know and was actually friends with outside of my immediate work crowd? Not many.
Really when you think about it, I guess there’s work, then you go home most days. So, if I’ve surrounded myself with great people at work – how much more do I need? If I could meet a “let’s go to the pub” buddy at this language course I’m kinda set. Granted it would be grand to have someone to come home to, but in the absence of anyone real, I can simply pour my heart into the void that is the internet and perhaps touch you.
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