now here's where it gets tricky

I know you've all come around here looking for stories, happy and sad, coming out of the not-quite-recognized country known by most of the locals around me -- but not by anyone working at any US Post Office and certainly not the CIA nor its Israeli counterpart -- as Palestine. Today, however, I spent part of the day in Jaffa aka Yafa aka Yafo. So where was I you may or may not wonder? Is my day in Jaffa/Yafa/Yafo worthy of a blog worthy of the title, Misadventures in Palestine? Well before I get into the answer, let me relay a conversation I had via text message with my roommate, Reem, awhile back. From the Ramallah-Jerusalem bus, I sent her a message telling her to finish my fresh-squeezed orange juice that I left in the fridge because I was going to be out of town for a few days. Fresh OJ is really best the first day. She responded with a question... Am I going out of the country? Actually, I didn't know how to respond, and if she was someone else, I would have thought it was certainly some kind of trick. My response.. it depends on how you define country. That day, I was going to Tel Aviv. She sent me an sms-style laugh, but no definition to clarifythe answer to her own question.

I experienced a similar contradiction that same weekend when I bought some olives at the Shuk HaCarmel in Tel Aviv and I asked the seller where they were from, he said, "from the country." Exactly where? He said, from Ramallah. Is Tel Aviv really in the same country as Ramallah? OK ok, hold it right there. Which country is everyone talking about?



So back to my day in.. let's just keep it simple.. in Yafa. As you have probably guessed, Yafa is on the other side of both the wall and the green line. Yeah, way way on the other side. So if there are so many Palestinians around there, I guess I was in Palestine right? To answer that question is to go further back in history than I'm really ready for right now, but just think what could have happened if things didn't turn out the way they did. I'll just say this, I got so caught up with all those Palestinian stuck behind one side of the wall, I forgot about all those Palestinians stuck on the other side. And while you may be thinking, well at least some Palestinians don't need to be locked in Gaza to have seaside property, think again. I saw some brand new construction taking place just a stones throw from some homes that look like they've been there for quite awhile, and some empty spaces that probably weren't always so empty. Don't think I'm saying anything that people don't already know, cause I saw a few tourist maps plastered around the neighborhood that were stamped with teeny tiny bulldozers. I guess if artists can't keep houses from being demolished, at least they can make maps.



To be honest, I'm still not sure if I was in Palestine this afternoon. I'd really like to say yes, I was. But while I have no problem testing out my lousy Arabic in any mini-market in Ramallah, I feel a little weird doing the same exact thing in Yafa.

P.S. I've noticed that when Palestinians - the ones who allow me to butcher a Koranic language when asking for directions - talk about their comrades with the blue-ID cards, they generally refer to them as '48 Palestinians. Same goes for .. ahem.. Israel. So if we need a numeric answer to a tricky question, the answer is 48.