Kitty International
So here I am, finally in Israel, kitty and all. I have to confess that it doesn't really feel all that different from last time; in a way, it was like I moved before and going back was just a temporary trip. Maybe Haifa and Portland are both home to me now. Of course, the temporary sensation is probably compounded by the fact that I'm still living out of a suitcase (three versus two last time). All of the goods that I shipped should arrive some time next week, and I've yet to do the basic settling-in shopping, so it's still sort of like living in a hotel, albeit the world's plushest.
One thing I've learned -- I always manage to forget, but this certainly nails it in -- moving is a pain. I say this with full awareness of the fact that somebody else packed all of my things, so I really didn't have to do anything at all, so to speak. Nevertheless, I am convinced that I should buy a home at my earliest convenience, if only to avoid moving ever again. (Optimistic, I know, but one can hope.)
The final day went well enough. It took much longer than I would have thought to move all of the things into the car, and once Mayhem realized what was in store for him, he put on all the brakes when I tried to stuff him into his carrier. I had outfitted it with food, a frozen water dish, and a mini litter-box, as well as a special towel for added comfort, and within 5 minutes, I may as well have poured them in a blender first. He meowed piteously all the way to the airport, where I was nearly an hour late meeting up with Dad.
Of course I couldn't carry on two of my luggages, so I had to pay an extra baggage fee, and of course the enormous luggage was overweight, so I spent my five minutes at the head of the check-in line desparately tossing things into the trash can. We had plenty of time though, and as always, Dad was quite soothing, so before I knew it, I had handed Mayhem over and Dad and I were off to breakfast in one of the airport cafes.
I met up with Rajani, a co-worker from Bangalore on relocation in Portland and now returning home, also via Frankfurt, in the lobby in front of the gate. We couldn't convince either of our neighbors to switch seats with us, but we did have a pleasant, intimate chat break towards the end of the flight. It is always surprising and reassuring to me to find out that people whom I respect immensely professionally are also, well, people, with the same insecurities as me.
That aside, I entertained myself primarily with my video iPod (first time I ever watched a video on it), which made it through almost three episodes of Buffy before running out of juice.
I also managed to finish the entirety of "The Crusades Through Arab Eyes". The content I would strongly recommend -- having essentially no knowledge of Middle Ages history, I can't vouch for the accuracy, but the appendix bulged with references, and the story was consistent and coherent. As far as accessibility goes, it wins a 10/10, and if I can read the whole thing on the airplane, it says something about density as well. My only gripe was with the translator. At the beginning, the prose was noticeably blocky and stilted, and it actually interrupted the flow of the content. I'm not sure if it improved as the text progressed, or if I just learned to tune it out instead. Overall I would give it a solid three stars -- worth reading, but not exceptional.
To my surprise, I think I'm also finally coming around to Lufthansa. This time, the seats seemed somewhat roomier, and we didn't have to exit and re-enter security in Frankfurt. The female flight attendant was grim, but the male one jovial enough to make up for her. On the other hand, we did get stuck on the ground in Frankfurt for an hour, while they offloaded the baggage of the people who volunteered to give up their seats, as our flight was overbooked. I anxiously peered out the window for Mayhem, and actually spotted his carrier, carefully set aside away from the other baggage. I couldn't seem him through the ventilation slats, however, and I was pretty concerned as to how he was holding up.
This vexation was compounded by my experience at Ben Gurion. When I first landed, I felt elated, but after two hours in passport control (yes, there are major disadvantages to sitting in the very last row of the airplane) my excitement was certainly beginning to pall. Then, when I finally reached the head, they sent me to a new line, on account of my B1 visa, and you can imagine my frustration when each of the six people who arrived after me was served first. I was postively bursting with annoyance that Mayhem was just sitting out there waiting for me, and I had horrible images of him going around and around the baggage conveyor belt.
At last they finished with me, and I found my baggage quickly (the belt had long stilled, and my luggage was the only left on it). However, there was no sign of Mayhem's carrier, and I breath quickened with incipient panic. I rushed to customs, and the agent pointed me to a special baggage carrier, and there he was! I was so relieved I really almost began to cry, and I poked my fingers through the grate and made little noises at him, and he showed all signs of being alive and well enough to be irate.
Julien was good enough to meet me, and I had been sympathetic towards him as well, standing there and standing there, waiting and waiting for me to finally make it through. Getting Mayhem through customs was a cinch -- I presented my papers, and they waved me along. We got Mayhem some water (he had of course spilled it, probably as soon as it melted), picked up the car (a jaunty silver Hyundai Getz) and then... I was free. I couldn't believe I was really in Israel. We let Mayhem out of his box, and he crawled under the seats after doing a cursory exploration of the vehicle. Before I knew it, I was waking up from a sleep as we stopped by the train to pick up the litter box Julien had been good enough to get for me.
I was excited to be "home". Inbal met us, and we found the apartment with only a little hitch. As we opened the door, it flooded in. The architecture had been imprinted on my mind from the moment I'd walked through it, and I was thrilled and delighted with my place all over again. The landlord had done a brilliant job cleaning and tidying, and the basic structure, chock full of built-ins and books, made me feel at home at once. Inbal tried to help out setting up the internet and cable T.V., but all I wanted was to sleep, so I shooed her away and promised to deal with it myself later.
Mayhem didn't seem afraid at all and boldly showed himself around the entire place. I felt pretty confident that he would like it better -- it's so much larger and plus it has the most enormous balconies for him to hang out on when I'm home to open the doors. I set up his new box and gave him fresh food and water, and he seemed to be completely satisfied. To my relief, he didn't sulk at all, but instead cuddled up to rub my legs and get caresses.
Once Inbal had left, Julien went to get falafel while I showered, and we had a simple dinner before I collapsed into sleep.
One thing I've learned -- I always manage to forget, but this certainly nails it in -- moving is a pain. I say this with full awareness of the fact that somebody else packed all of my things, so I really didn't have to do anything at all, so to speak. Nevertheless, I am convinced that I should buy a home at my earliest convenience, if only to avoid moving ever again. (Optimistic, I know, but one can hope.)
The final day went well enough. It took much longer than I would have thought to move all of the things into the car, and once Mayhem realized what was in store for him, he put on all the brakes when I tried to stuff him into his carrier. I had outfitted it with food, a frozen water dish, and a mini litter-box, as well as a special towel for added comfort, and within 5 minutes, I may as well have poured them in a blender first. He meowed piteously all the way to the airport, where I was nearly an hour late meeting up with Dad.
Of course I couldn't carry on two of my luggages, so I had to pay an extra baggage fee, and of course the enormous luggage was overweight, so I spent my five minutes at the head of the check-in line desparately tossing things into the trash can. We had plenty of time though, and as always, Dad was quite soothing, so before I knew it, I had handed Mayhem over and Dad and I were off to breakfast in one of the airport cafes.
I met up with Rajani, a co-worker from Bangalore on relocation in Portland and now returning home, also via Frankfurt, in the lobby in front of the gate. We couldn't convince either of our neighbors to switch seats with us, but we did have a pleasant, intimate chat break towards the end of the flight. It is always surprising and reassuring to me to find out that people whom I respect immensely professionally are also, well, people, with the same insecurities as me.
That aside, I entertained myself primarily with my video iPod (first time I ever watched a video on it), which made it through almost three episodes of Buffy before running out of juice.
I also managed to finish the entirety of "The Crusades Through Arab Eyes". The content I would strongly recommend -- having essentially no knowledge of Middle Ages history, I can't vouch for the accuracy, but the appendix bulged with references, and the story was consistent and coherent. As far as accessibility goes, it wins a 10/10, and if I can read the whole thing on the airplane, it says something about density as well. My only gripe was with the translator. At the beginning, the prose was noticeably blocky and stilted, and it actually interrupted the flow of the content. I'm not sure if it improved as the text progressed, or if I just learned to tune it out instead. Overall I would give it a solid three stars -- worth reading, but not exceptional.
To my surprise, I think I'm also finally coming around to Lufthansa. This time, the seats seemed somewhat roomier, and we didn't have to exit and re-enter security in Frankfurt. The female flight attendant was grim, but the male one jovial enough to make up for her. On the other hand, we did get stuck on the ground in Frankfurt for an hour, while they offloaded the baggage of the people who volunteered to give up their seats, as our flight was overbooked. I anxiously peered out the window for Mayhem, and actually spotted his carrier, carefully set aside away from the other baggage. I couldn't seem him through the ventilation slats, however, and I was pretty concerned as to how he was holding up.
This vexation was compounded by my experience at Ben Gurion. When I first landed, I felt elated, but after two hours in passport control (yes, there are major disadvantages to sitting in the very last row of the airplane) my excitement was certainly beginning to pall. Then, when I finally reached the head, they sent me to a new line, on account of my B1 visa, and you can imagine my frustration when each of the six people who arrived after me was served first. I was postively bursting with annoyance that Mayhem was just sitting out there waiting for me, and I had horrible images of him going around and around the baggage conveyor belt.
At last they finished with me, and I found my baggage quickly (the belt had long stilled, and my luggage was the only left on it). However, there was no sign of Mayhem's carrier, and I breath quickened with incipient panic. I rushed to customs, and the agent pointed me to a special baggage carrier, and there he was! I was so relieved I really almost began to cry, and I poked my fingers through the grate and made little noises at him, and he showed all signs of being alive and well enough to be irate.
Julien was good enough to meet me, and I had been sympathetic towards him as well, standing there and standing there, waiting and waiting for me to finally make it through. Getting Mayhem through customs was a cinch -- I presented my papers, and they waved me along. We got Mayhem some water (he had of course spilled it, probably as soon as it melted), picked up the car (a jaunty silver Hyundai Getz) and then... I was free. I couldn't believe I was really in Israel. We let Mayhem out of his box, and he crawled under the seats after doing a cursory exploration of the vehicle. Before I knew it, I was waking up from a sleep as we stopped by the train to pick up the litter box Julien had been good enough to get for me.
I was excited to be "home". Inbal met us, and we found the apartment with only a little hitch. As we opened the door, it flooded in. The architecture had been imprinted on my mind from the moment I'd walked through it, and I was thrilled and delighted with my place all over again. The landlord had done a brilliant job cleaning and tidying, and the basic structure, chock full of built-ins and books, made me feel at home at once. Inbal tried to help out setting up the internet and cable T.V., but all I wanted was to sleep, so I shooed her away and promised to deal with it myself later.
Mayhem didn't seem afraid at all and boldly showed himself around the entire place. I felt pretty confident that he would like it better -- it's so much larger and plus it has the most enormous balconies for him to hang out on when I'm home to open the doors. I set up his new box and gave him fresh food and water, and he seemed to be completely satisfied. To my relief, he didn't sulk at all, but instead cuddled up to rub my legs and get caresses.
Once Inbal had left, Julien went to get falafel while I showered, and we had a simple dinner before I collapsed into sleep.