Here I am watching the snow fall in heavy flakes onto Main St. and still I am thinking of my whirlwind trip to Palestine. It has been rougly a month since I left for my trip, yet still it is not enough time to understand all I observed. Many people have asked me questions about culture and politics that I just can’t answer. Had I actually been living with a Palestinian family during the time and not so busy with the concerts we were putting on, I think I could have at least found out more about mosques and Muslisms than what I gained from the curtained bus windows we rode in. From observation and some inquiry, I learned that mosques have calls to prayer five times a day, the earliest being around 4 in the morning. The apartment I lived in for the ten days was not very close to a mosque, but it still woke me up a few times. It is an incredible feeling to be half asleep in the early morning darkness, feeling the still of night hanging on until the sun begins to rise, and the somewhat haunting echo of the prayer call drifting through the apartment.
The routine of the mornings is one thing I miss. After breakfast and a shower, the other women I was living with and I would go out to the main street next to our apartment building to catch a taxivan to downtown. It was always a different driver, always a different song playing on the radio. I loved the bumpy ride through the neighborhoods, stopping here and there as others flagged a ride. The drivers not only drive but make change at the same time, payment being fixed for this particular route. My face was puzzled as I tried to discern if I had the right change the first time I rode causing the two of three French women I roomed with to laugh at my confusion. Arriving at our stop a block away from one of several rotaries downtown, we would begin our 10-minute walk to Al Kamandjati music center. It would usually be nearing 10 am at this time and the streets would be full of life. Mothers with children running errands, older children in school uniform on their way to school or possibly on an early lunch break (not quite sure). Every variety of shop lined the streets, tempting the eyes of potential customers from the narrow sidewalks. One in particular small block of stores always signalled that we were only a few blocks away: one filled with barrels of spices and herbs, next door a store that seemed to make accessories for camel owners from crops to saddles.