Okay, I admit it, I went to Ikea. I somehow (okay, in a car, how else?) travelled about 100 minutes to the nearest Ikea, actually, the country's only Ikea. This post won't be about Ikea and its Swedish (un)delights, because I'm pretty sure everyone who is reading this knows the ins-and-outs of buying bookcases and chairs with bizarre Volvo-esque names (i.e. my chairs are named "Snille, which my friend points out is similar to the German for "fast" or "schnell."). But what is important is to know that due to a constrained budget I bought little along the lines of decoration. Just put this in some area of your head where you can bring it up in a bit, but don't put it away so well that it will take up valuable hard drive space up there.
The story continues, readers. The following Tuesday after my Sventastique experience at Ikea, I went to the supermarket for what I thought would be a routine shop. But, alas, I was greeted by a poster at Mister Zol (the name of my local supermarket means Mister Inexpensive, although he should work on that) that said that on Tuesday, the "Shuk [Hebrew word for "market"] comes to Mister Zol!" The deal was the following - several fruits and vegetables were on sale, 1 kilo for 1 shekel (the Israeli currency)! Oh boy, was I in for a treat. So, I bought fruits and vegetables I would not have ordinarily bought as they were on "sale."
One such fruit was a pomela. Everyone close your eyes. Are they closed? Okay, picture a grapefruit. Now picture it on steroids so that it is about 5-7 times its normal size. This is a pomela. It sounds delicious if you are into citrus - a giant piece of tangy heaven that is sweeter than a grapefruit, juicy when picked well, and more tart than an orange. Wouldn't you like to dig your teeth into that?
Well, let me ask you a different question, when was the last time you had to write in eating a citrus fruit into your day's plan? Chances are, not anytime in recent memory. In order to enjoy this fruit, you really have to have a lot of time, and a bit of that virtue I have slowly been acquiring here, patience. You see, peeling the fruit can take about half an hour. The rind can be about 5 centimeters (1.5ish inches) thick (okay, so I had a ruler handy). You have to attack it like a vulture attacks its prey. Then as if that was not enough, in order to eat it, you actually have to peel the transparent stuff around each segment so that you eat the little juicy pulpy morsels individually with no sheath to protect it from your mouth, which at this point should be watering. If you don't do it this way, I am told it will be bitter and disgusting. What can I say, it takes determination, it takes a mental effort, it takes time.
So, rather than eating it, because, lets face it, who has that kind of time, I thought, "Hey, this is nice to look at!" and it became my "decoration." For the last week, it sat on my dining table. And it really did look nice, it gave the table some color and I was getting used to coming home to my pomela. I thought about naming it "Pamela."
"Hey Pam, what's shakin?" I would ask.
"You know, the salt and pepper next to me, you know, because they're in a shaker!" She would chuckle and tilt her little stem back. She would have been a good friend.
But, alas, after about 8 days peeled it I did. And, guess what? It was dry and insipid! After all that work, it was actually really bad. I know, right? It did get me thinking, however. I mustered up all the patience in the world devoted to citrus fruit and I went at it like a ravenous citrus-eating monster. And, in the end, it was not that great. I wonder, would it have been better if I would have just eaten in without waiting that week looking at it sitting on my table? Maybe, but I'll never know. In a way, as fickle as it seems, it can sort of help me describe to you what it is like to live aborad, or in Israel. One can take on a task (opening a bank account, getting your B.A. recognized b the Student Authority, eating a pomela, etc.) and take time doing it, but in the end, it may not work out the first time. Set back after set back, sometimes, it's important to realize that eventually it will work out. I know that I will eventually learn to pick the juiciest of the pomela bunch.
In a way, it is something I like about not living in the U.S. I think sometimes things can be taken for granted in the States. Like, for example, it is relatively easy to open a checking account, get a cell phone, and as it should be, don't get me wrong. Here, some of these mundane activities can take hours upon hours. But, after opening an account, I realized it is not because Israeli bankers are extrememly inefficient (although they can be), but sometimes it's because they approach things on a more human level. I went to the bank the other day to make a deposit. A simple thing. Well, it was raining, so I came in soaked. The banker saw this and before even asking me what she could do for me she offered me tea. And, she put in fresh mint leaves and was distressed she had no Equal for me to sweeten my tea. After talking about the rain for, oh, about 5 minutes, she asked me how I was doing here. About 10 minutes later, she talked to her colleague about the rain. I was beginning to get distressed but the patience god(dess) looked down upon me. "Take a breather, Alberto," (s)he said. About 20 minutes later, we started the banking procedure. A full half hour later, I was out of the bank having only done about, oh, 2 minutes of actual banking.
We're not in Kansas (actually, anywhere in the U.S.) anymore, Toto (Alberto).
Really, my life these days is about patience, in the bigger sense, not just about fruit rinds and personal finances (although when I put it like that does it mean that with time my personal finances will grow?). Israel is a country where people get started later on in life. When people are 18, they go to the Army for a few years. Then they go travelling to get everything out of their system (or into their system as it would be) that life in a military did not allow them to do. Then they come back to Israel and maybe work for a while and finally, maybe at the age of 23 they begin college. So, people my age are actually in the middle of their undergraduate studies. When I ask them if they aren't getting anxious to get on with the show, as I am, some of them seem puzzled and look at me as if wanting to say, "You have your whole life. Chill out."
Well, chilling out is hard to do in the Middle East. Newsflash: It's warm here!
But, they're right. I do have my whole life ahead of me. So, with that, I should make time for human interaction at the bank, maybe even peel my fruit merrily. Breathe in, breathe out.
Or, I could just learn to peel the darn thing more efficiently.
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