And the survey says……
my blogger buddies (yes, that’s you) want me to talk about my travels (among other things). The truth is some of these traveling days were so long ago and my memory is so shot that I don’t remember a lot of the details. Fortunately, I have always had the soul of an archivist (translation: been a packrat) even when I didn’t know I wanted to be one (an archivist, not a packrat), and therefore have lots of materials to look through like journals and letters.
The first time I traveled abroad I was nineteen years old and was participating in a foreign study program in Jerusalem, designed to teach us about, among other things, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. I spent the summer before going to Jerusalem with my parents who were living in Manhattan on the upper west-side, near Columbia University.
This morning, I found my journal from that summer and fall. There is a lot in there. Some of it is hilarious, and makes me look pretty silly. I might give you a peek into that kind of stuff at a later date.
Today, though, I want to focus on something that I found very poignant and interesting. I wrote in my journal while I was flying to Jerusalem from New York via Paris. At the time, I don’t think I was aware of the significance of that entry, but now I realize that I documented myself becoming a world traveler so the entry is pretty neat in my opinion.
The first part of the the entry rehashes a panicked search for my passport that morning. It wasn’t where I thought it was supposed to be, so my Dad had to drive me out to a farmhouse about an hour outside of the city that my parents were renting that year. My Dad drove me. This is what I wrote about the drive: “”In about an hour Dad and I were on our way out to the farm. It was a nice ride out with Dad, who was very relaxed….We talked a little bit but I was quiet….Thinking…Dad asked me what I was thinking about and I said, “everything” which was a change from the usual “nothing.” I explained that I tend to drift a lot when I am thinking. ” [yes, the older me is smiling at that.] Obviously, I found the passport.
On the flight from Paris to Tel Aviv there was a couple sitting next to me that spoke only Spanish and Yiddish: “they are both very friendly and seem excited. When I said that the window seat was mine she said “Si-Si” and “un momento.” When I sat down she said something to me about Tel Aviv in Spanish….She seemed eager to talk to me and asked “Do you speak English?” I said, yes. She said, “only English?” I said, yes. She seemed very disappointed and said that she didn’t speak English. I acted (and was) disappointed, too. Her husband then leaned over to take part in the conversation….They then asked if I spoke Yiddish. When she offered me gum I said gratias and then al three of us tried to communicate. It didn’t work. They sat back disappointed and then started to speak Yiddish with each other.
“When the plane started she started to say “oieee” and moan….Her husband was calm, helping her out.
“And here we are now. In front of me si a man reading a Hebrew paper. Now the pilot is telling us that we are about to fly over Geneva. The women has recovered and is very excitedly looking out of the window and pointing. She is almost in my lap. She said “I’m Sorry” and then later, “Wonderful, ay?” The mountains are beautiful!!! I want to stop everything and hike in them now. Seriously….”
After lunch:
“There is so much ocean!!….I can imagine the big ships on the trade routes. Even more I can see how attached the traders must have been to the sea….I don’t think I’ve ever experienced oceans and water the way that I’m experiencing from the airplane. ….It seems so old and so big and so wise…..The water seems to have power over the land. It seems to be guiding it with gentle hands……..”
So that’s what I was thinking. Who would have remembered? Not me. I had completely forgotten about any of these thoughts until I read through the journal today.
My Dad told me later in life that he had his first profound thought when he was in the army on a ship looking out on the ocean. He never said what this profound thought was. (Why, oh why, didn’t I ask him?) He would have been about the same age I was when I wrote this journal entry. At nineteen I was closer to the ages that my children are now, than to my thirty-six year old self. (But not much closer, mind you)
……..to be continued.
I’m going to make these posts about my travels a regular thing, beginning with Jerusalem and taking it from there. My photos from these days aren’t the best quality but I promise to post some once I get the hang of using our scanner, which is very temperamental. I will also answer your other questions in future posts.
And you know I can’t resist talking about my girls. My mommy-blogging will continue.
