So, I'm in Israel/Palestine on a research trip. It's... interesting. And BOY do I have some stories for you... they come from a mix of the Gaza Strip, the West Bank, Israel itself, and the Golan Heights... I leave it up to you to guess which for which!
(This will also be quite short as I'm writing this on my much-needed lunch break. Word to the wise, if you're ever in Jerusalem, try Alice's Cafe in the city centre. Best pizzas EVER.
I Hate You, Evil Chef
Now, I don't speak Hebrew very well. Arabic yes, but not Hebrew. However, given that both are national languages, that should be no problem, right? RIGHT?
Wrong.
Those who know me will know I have an onion allergy. No full-on anaphylaxis - yet - but sore, puffy throat, puffy face, extreme stomach sickness, hives, the works. I discovered that my Hebrew phrasebook does not contain the word for onion! Woe! The chef refuses to speak English out of spite! Woe! (I know he can, because he was doing it when I walked in. It's like the opposite of the "Sorry, no English" SC.) So, I had to try it in Arabic.
What happened?
I got a plate COVERED in a huge pile of onions. The chef smirked at me. Douchebag.
Night Of The Creepy Hotelier: Jerusalem Edition
I checked into my hotel very early one morning. The hotel owner (CH, or Creepy Hotelier) very kindly let me in my room early because I had been travelling all night. How nice, right? I thought so too.
CH: How long you in Israel, lady?
ME: Only two weeks.
CH: You is all alone?
ME: I'll be fine.
That night, I had turned off the light and settled down... when there is a knock on my door.
Me: Bleehhhh yes?
CH: Hello, lady!
Me: Oh, hang on *grabs robe, opens door* What's up? Is something wrong?
CH: You are... still alone?
Me: ...
CH: I come joiiiin you?
Me: No.
CH: But I do you speeeecial favour earlier, lady...
Me: Goodnight. *slams door*
CH: Come on, laaady....
I ignored his mumblings, dragged the wardrobe over to block the door, and went back to bed. Creep. If I could afford to, I'd change hotels.
OK, This One Was Totally My Bad
One evening, I realised I needed salt, so I grabbed my purse and headed to the market at Damascus Gate. And forgot my dictionary. And did not know the word for "salt" in either Hebrew OR Arabic.
This led to a longer version of "It's, you know, white... like a powder.. no, not a sauce! You put it in your food! A white powder, it comes in bottles or little packets..."
Apparently, I gave the impression I wanted COCAINE.
And went to easily a dozen stores requesting COCAINE until someone told me what I was actually asking for.
If Only This Was An Internationally Recognised Way To Deal With Scammers
I was in a shop buying Diet Coke and batteries (no electrical power/intermittent electrical power.) A guy (SC) came in, holding a beat-to-shit blender. The shopkeeper (SK) was not having any of it.
(Some of this is paraphrased/deduced, as my Arabic is not fluent and they were speaking VERY fast. If it is, I will put it in italics)
SC: I want to return this! *slams blender on counter* It is shit!
SK: No return, goodbye.
SC: NO! *slam fist* It is shit! You must return it!
SK: No return, goodbye.
SC: Return! *throws blender across room* You MUST! I will make you sorry!
SK: NO RETURN. GOODBYE.
SC: *STREAM OF CURSES* *pulls out an Uzi*
Every single person in that shop immediately hit the ground.
The shopkeeper, however, gave no fucks.
SK: No return. *crosses arms*
SC: RETURN!!!!!!
SK: No return! *reaches behind counter, pulls out EVEN LARGER gun
SC: ...
SK: Goodbye.
The SC left.
Is it just me, or should Uzis be standard issue at customer service desks?
And now I must depart... but I shall return!
(This will also be quite short as I'm writing this on my much-needed lunch break. Word to the wise, if you're ever in Jerusalem, try Alice's Cafe in the city centre. Best pizzas EVER.
I Hate You, Evil Chef
Now, I don't speak Hebrew very well. Arabic yes, but not Hebrew. However, given that both are national languages, that should be no problem, right? RIGHT?
Wrong.
Those who know me will know I have an onion allergy. No full-on anaphylaxis - yet - but sore, puffy throat, puffy face, extreme stomach sickness, hives, the works. I discovered that my Hebrew phrasebook does not contain the word for onion! Woe! The chef refuses to speak English out of spite! Woe! (I know he can, because he was doing it when I walked in. It's like the opposite of the "Sorry, no English" SC.) So, I had to try it in Arabic.
What happened?
I got a plate COVERED in a huge pile of onions. The chef smirked at me. Douchebag.
Night Of The Creepy Hotelier: Jerusalem Edition
I checked into my hotel very early one morning. The hotel owner (CH, or Creepy Hotelier) very kindly let me in my room early because I had been travelling all night. How nice, right? I thought so too.
CH: How long you in Israel, lady?
ME: Only two weeks.
CH: You is all alone?
ME: I'll be fine.
That night, I had turned off the light and settled down... when there is a knock on my door.
Me: Bleehhhh yes?
CH: Hello, lady!
Me: Oh, hang on *grabs robe, opens door* What's up? Is something wrong?
CH: You are... still alone?
Me: ...
CH: I come joiiiin you?
Me: No.
CH: But I do you speeeecial favour earlier, lady...
Me: Goodnight. *slams door*
CH: Come on, laaady....
I ignored his mumblings, dragged the wardrobe over to block the door, and went back to bed. Creep. If I could afford to, I'd change hotels.
OK, This One Was Totally My Bad
One evening, I realised I needed salt, so I grabbed my purse and headed to the market at Damascus Gate. And forgot my dictionary. And did not know the word for "salt" in either Hebrew OR Arabic.
This led to a longer version of "It's, you know, white... like a powder.. no, not a sauce! You put it in your food! A white powder, it comes in bottles or little packets..."
Apparently, I gave the impression I wanted COCAINE.
And went to easily a dozen stores requesting COCAINE until someone told me what I was actually asking for.
If Only This Was An Internationally Recognised Way To Deal With Scammers
I was in a shop buying Diet Coke and batteries (no electrical power/intermittent electrical power.) A guy (SC) came in, holding a beat-to-shit blender. The shopkeeper (SK) was not having any of it.
(Some of this is paraphrased/deduced, as my Arabic is not fluent and they were speaking VERY fast. If it is, I will put it in italics)
SC: I want to return this! *slams blender on counter* It is shit!
SK: No return, goodbye.
SC: NO! *slam fist* It is shit! You must return it!
SK: No return, goodbye.
SC: Return! *throws blender across room* You MUST! I will make you sorry!
SK: NO RETURN. GOODBYE.
SC: *STREAM OF CURSES* *pulls out an Uzi*
Every single person in that shop immediately hit the ground.
The shopkeeper, however, gave no fucks.
SK: No return. *crosses arms*
SC: RETURN!!!!!!
SK: No return! *reaches behind counter, pulls out EVEN LARGER gun
SC: ...
SK: Goodbye.
The SC left.
Is it just me, or should Uzis be standard issue at customer service desks?
And now I must depart... but I shall return!
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