Back From Hiatus

Both having spent our college years in Boston, a conversation that often comes up between my cousin and me when I'm back home is how the weather in Los Angeles is almost too perfect.

Granted, I'm usually only back during the summer when L.A. is glimmering at its best.

Before any of you stuck in snow or bitter New England winds wonders why I don't shut up and stop complaining about good weather, hear me out.

Weather in Los Angeles is fantastic. Winters are chilly, but I've never had to whip out more than the occasional scarf, which I would wear more for fashion than for warmth. Earmuffs, gloves, Northface armor coats-all unnecessary. Plus, we've got those Santa Ana's.

Warm springs beckon hot summers, and the occasional shower ensures some green in the concrete mess of freeways. Summers are hot and dry, yes; and in the Valley, it's almost unbearable. But the days are tempered by the proximity of the beach, and the balmy nights make up for the scalding heat.

And autumn, my favorite season anywhere; fall in L.A. is marked by warm, windy days. Sure, we Angelinos don't get to enjoy the passing of time with rainbow foliage, but we also don't have to start dreading the cold either.

Los Angeles glows with sunshine.

But sometimes, all that sunshine seems to mock you when you're having a bad day. I like that Boston weather can reflect my feelings; torrential rains and howling wind when I'm pissed, and gloomy gray skies with the occasional flurry when I'm sad.

This year, I'm spared the New England winter, that bitter cold that every year makes me grumble how any human or living life form can survive in weather like it. It's the weather in which I have to remind myself "left, right, left, right..." while I walk to and from class as I bend my head forward against harsh gusts of wind.

This year, I missed the colorful leaves, but I breathed a sigh of relief that I would not have to trudge around in my Uggs, simultaneously wear three pairs of pants, or have to write a postage note on my window to remind myself that sunshine does not equal heat.

Instead, I spent last semester in Jerusalem where the weather was much like an extended summer for me until one day, in mid-December, someone somewhere must have snapped, and it just got cold.

This semester, I'm in the Costa de la Luz, in Cadiz, the city that boasts something like 350 days of sunshine. Luckily, it seems I've arrived during those 15 days without sunshine.

It's been about a week and a half since we've arrived in Cadiz and about two and a half weeks in Spain. I've written since three posts, two of which are not about Cadiz. Already, I spent a weekend away.

I remember writing towards the end of last semester on my reflections of culture shock. In that post, I wrote that I would probably initially feel unhappy in Cadiz just like I initially didn't like Jerusalem. In it, I wrote that I would remind myself to reread those posts and take it in stride.

But the difference is that even when I was unhappy in Jerusalem, I still had so much to write about and think about and talk about. I'm not unhappy here in Cadiz, but I'm bored. Apathy to me is far worse than extreme emotion whether it be hate or love. Life in Jerusalem was never easy, but it was always interesting.

How can I describe my feelings right now? I don't know if I can quite decipher them myself let alone articulate them in writing. I'm overwhelmed.

Cadiz is an incredibly underwhelming city. It was once a thriving port city, visited and inhabited by all kinds of historic folks, but these days, it's a sleepy beach town that's infamous for its February Carnaval debauchery. It's a mark on the map for a lovely day trip or a week-long siesta spent lounging and drinking on the beach at sunset.

Everything about Jerusalem was so extreme; when talking on the phone with my mom, I would often tell her that it was the hardest time I'd ever had being abroad. It was probably the best too. Life in Jerusalem was a semester of extreme highs and lows. I was never at peace; I was never idle. I don't think that anyone can completely understand Jerusalem or the conflict without living daily with the subtle yet omnipresent tensions surrounding and permeating every mentality, every simple decision made.

Cadiz is pleasant, and it is slow. Not only are faces becoming familiar, but the dogs are too. Problems are solved with a brusque "No te pasa nada", or as the Andalucians say, "No te pa na". And the closest thing to rioting would be the ensuing celebrations if Cadiz ever won a football match. The biggest news stories come from outside of Cadiz, which is quite a change from living under the global spotlight.

I brought up the weather because I can't adequately compare Jerusalem and Cadiz in terms of experience. There is no comparison-there is no better. Instead, let me compare the weather and point out the irony.

Jerusalem's weather was gorgeous. It was sunny. It was ideal. Yet, Jerusalem itself was not a happy city. Cadiz, on the other hand, is light and stress-free. Yet, the rain and the ocean winds have been relentless, and the sea boils and tosses angrily.

I get travel warnings that still come to me from the Hebrew University prohibiting students' travel to the Sinai Peninsula. I laugh as I reminisce about that bumpy midnight drive across the Sinai looking up out the window in the backseat wondering what Nicole was thinking, while now, I'm stuck under house arrest in Cadiz because of a hurricane warning.



"You have to be inspired to have passion." -TJ

I'm sorry I haven't been writing or updating. It was/is (reverse) culture shock. It was abrupt change. It was premature, unjust disappointment spawned from incomparable and irrelevant situations.

I needed to remember that inspiration can't always come easy. I need to rediscover my passion by finding inspiration in other places.

No more solitary brooding and futile nostalgia.


Not so quiet anymore, huh?

"Studying" Abroad

How much studying actually goes on when one is studying abroad?

It's 11:45 pm on a Friday night here in Jerusalem (the equivalent of a Saturday night in the States), and I decided to stay in tonight because a) I'm running low on cash b) it's really cold outside, and the rain might pick up again, and c) I thought I could start on my 30-page paper due in a month.

Needless to say, it's Friday, and I'm in no mood to sit here hunched over my desk researching about Israel's role in the Iran Contra Affair. I spent most of the evening at my friend's apartment for our ritual Shabbat dinner and then commiserated over the amount of work piling up on our desks and how little motivation there is to do any of it.

Now, I'm sitting at my desk with five books on Reagan sprawled open to unseeing eyes, a few tattered pages with scrawled notes, and a pen behind my ear while I opt to update my blog instead.

Studying abroad is generally understood by most college students as "break time", and the classes a joke, if you will.

Back home, I will hardly ever show up to class without reading the assignment, and God forbid I skip class. Here, I'm more lax about the readings; here, the weekends are not stressful extensions of the week; and here, I'll skip class every so often without feeling guilty if something else comes up. Of course this is all to a certain extent since I'm still paying to attend the university.

Studying abroad is so unique because as much as one's home university would hope, the focus is not on what is being learned in the classroom or from the books. It is time for the student to explore a different culture, society, lifestyle that she may not be familiar with or agree with. It's time for the student to have as many encounters with as many new people as possible. It's time for him to share as many experiences and stories while listening to others' perspectives and opinions on shared and personal experiences. It's time for her to travel and discover new likes and dislikes in music, food, etc. and challenge herself in unfamiliar situations. It's time for him to observe and to reflect.

Initially, it's difficult to be so far from home, family and friends. It's frustrating to not be able to communicate with people because you might not know the language. It's hard to integrate yourself into the society and to adopt new cultural norms. And it's unnerving to have your perspective challenged by new experiences and other points of view. (Just look at my earlier posts for goodness sake.)

But ultimately, study abroad is so gratifying because the place you stay becomes home. After just even a month, you can start to read signs as if they were in your native tongue and understand conversations on the bus. You embrace foreign customs like Shabbat dinner and incorporate them into your own traditions. And it's still difficult, but you learn the most when you can explain your point of view while understanding someone else's to deconstruct and then reconstruct a stronger argument.

It's for moments when I find myself sitting around arguing with Israeli and non-Israeli friends about subjects ranging from relationships to the situation in Gaza that I wanted to study abroad. It's the times I wander around the old city of Jerusalem and perch on a bench to people-watch downtown that I'm the happiest and learn the most.

So even though I'm not always cracking open the books like I would at Wellesley, I'm learning priceless knowledge that may be completely worthless or completely invaluable. It is "break time" in that there is less stress and urgency in the academic sense. Yes, some classes are a joke, but this is really dependent upon your professor. Irregardless, during the past few months, I've learned more about Israel, about Palestine, about myself, about people than I ever expected, and this experience studying abroad will have a lasting legacy in my life.

I'm sorry if this post sounds trite-the end of the semester is nearing, and nostalgia for my life in Jerusalem is already beginning. (I can already anticipate having to tell myself to read this post next semester when I'm again in a new location to remind myself that in the end, I won't want to leave.)

It's now 1:18 am. I should probably start that paper.

Photos from this morning's field trip to the Christian sites along the Via Dolorosa in the Old City:
The sheep pools where supposedly Jesus healed people.


















A very well preserved church from the age of the Crusaders.
Old city views and the narrow streets along the Via Dolorosa in the Muslim quarter.