On coming home
People give you all sorts of warnings when you return home for an extended visit after moving overseas. They say things like, "Don't try to see too many people, you just won't have time." Or, "Watch out for reverse culture shock!" Or, my favourite, "It may seem like everyone else there has remained totally the same, where you've changed and had all sorts of new experiences. Don't let it freak you out." I'm staring down the barrel at my last weekend at home and en famille until Christmas (typing this on my mum's computer in what used to be my bedroom but is, of course, now her study, whilst a chicken pie bakes in the oven for supper and dad cracks open a bottle of wine - result) and trying to work out whether I felt like a foreigner in my own country and whether any of those warnings were apt.
Fortunately, it has been wonderful to come home. Whenever people here ask me to describe Jerusalem, the word that springs most readily to mind is 'mental', followed swiftly by 'loud', 'intense', 'smelly' and 'amazing'. By contrast, England feels calm, serene almost, even with the hubbub of London 2012 and the way it has gripped the entire country. I can sleep without the racket of cats, teenagers and men from the nearest yeshiva chatting loudly that is the Nahlaot summer evening soundtrack. People queue in an unhurried way and are unfailingly polite, everywhere - the bank, the shops, the petrol station, out and about in town. I nearly bumped into an old lady in a shopping centre today and rather than elbowing me out of the way she stopped, said "No, you first!" and smiled at me. Most importantly, I have spent time with my nearest and dearest, including a week (on and off) with my gorgeous goddaughter Daisy and her family which on its own was worth the plane fare.
It is definitely strange to come back to the UK and spend time with people you haven't seen in months or years. The last warning, that it would feel like others have stood still whilst you've moved on, seems to have been half-true. I found it very difficult trying to catch people up with all that has happened since I moved to Israel - how much can you really share when you're only having coffee with someone for an hour or so? How can I remember to listen to what's going on with them when clearly my life is so much more dynamic and exciting now that I'm in foreign places? And also, how many times can I recount my adventures without either getting bored or being an ex-pat bore? Fortunately, I had paid heed to warning no. 1 and not massively over-booked my time so I was able to spend prolonged periods with some people rather than dash in and out like a mad thing. And of course people here have moved on, just in more normal ways than me - lots of my friends are now expecting babies, or buying houses, or changing jobs, or getting married. It's so lovely to be able to come back and be part of that, however briefly - although it is worth noting that after two weeks of coffees and drinks and dinners, I was completely peopled out and totally bailed on someone in Bristol (how very Israeli of me) in order to crawl home to the sofa at mum and dad's. Note to self: warning no. 1 is a good one.
There have been a few unexpected shocks - not really reverse culture shock, it's not like I've been living in a mud hut in Lesotho, but some shocks nonetheless. Like how damn expensive everything is. And how I've picked up some bad Israeli driving habits - cutting lane all the time, fighting back the urge to honk my horn at the traffic lights, shouting "Yallah!" at people in front of me if they weren't driving fast enough. I got totally spooked when a bunch of 'youths' started talking to me on the side of the canal in Mile End at about 11 pm, but fortunately all they wanted was a cigarette and some fairly poor banter ("You're looking lovely today, I must say", from a fourteen year-old with bumfluff on his upper lip)- this after years of walking everywhere in London without any concerns for my safety. I'd also forgotten how green everything is here. This has of course been helped by the fact that the UK is having one of the wettest summers on record, something I have not enjoyed. But compared to Israel, where everything is sort of golden at the best of times and brown and dusty at the worst, it's been a tonic to walk down green country lanes and through forests where the leaves on the trees are almost fluorescent. I spent an afternoon with the aforementioned gorgeous goddaughter, her family and another dear friend pottering around the New Forest, which is so beautiful and which was enlivened by Dave (Daisy's dad) not realising how boggy the ground can be, striding manfully across the heath and sinking up to his knee in glutinous Hampshire mud. We were all laughing so much it that Rach was barely able to rescue Sam from Dave's arms before collapsing with the giggles.
Spending time with my nearest and dearest has been, I think, the best thing about this trip (apart from all the bacon). I have managed to see or talk to almost everyone who is most precious to me, even if it was just briefly. The last year in Jerusalem has been amazing but tough and it was good to talk about some of the challenges I've faced and continue to face, some of the things that have been hard and some of the things that have been amazing but completely unexpected. Daisy's mum Rach (who, it is fair to say, I miss to an almost excruciating degree) and I talked about pretty much everything, especially the things I've tried to bury (she's so annoyingly perceptive). I spent a day with two of my closest friends from my old church which involved a fair amount of heart-ache, soul-searching, prayer and tears as I processed some of the heart and faith issues that I'm working through. Thanks Anna and Russ - you are unbelievably brilliant. There's nothing quite like the safe space that your oldest friends provide and there's also nothing quite like the way they can call you on your sh*t and you can't hide from it. It was definitely something I was desperately in need of and was immensely cathartic - rather like squeezing a really big, painful spot, if you'll pardon the analogy.
Basically, I have loved being back with my friends and back in England, with all that it entails: sitting on my friend Ben's canal boat in Mile End shooting the breeze; shopping for clothes that aren't either hideously expensive or cheap and therefore just hideous; going to the pub (especially on Friday nights), though I was shocked when Tim and I were thrown out of the Tinto Lounge at 11.15 pm last Monday - that's usually when things in Jerusalem are gearing up; reading The Times everyday; my dad's contented whistle as he potters around the house; zipping around in my little purple car. Honourable mention should go to Saturday 28th July when my old housemate Laura got married to Andy on a beautiful Bristol summer's day - even the hangover I'd acquired after over-enthusiastically celebrating Rach's birthday the night before couldn't spoil a day which included the special moment when Laura's brother Jon split his trousers whilst throwing me around the dancefloor. I've got a few days left before heading back to my other home (yes, home - I feel like I can call it that now) for a few more days off before work starts again. I can tell the holidays are winding down because I've started to have dreams about school - usually bad ones in which I'm faced with a class full of children I can't control (as if...) and so I've returned to Hampshire and to my family, to spend as much time lying on the sofa as is possible. It turns out that those three warnings were, surprisingly, fairly accurate and worth bearing in mind the next time I'm 'on furlough'. Until then, it's back to sunshine, falafel and my other life in Jerusalem. To quote Laura Marling (ooh, she's so good with words), "Goodbye, old England, 'til next year's snow."
Fortunately, it has been wonderful to come home. Whenever people here ask me to describe Jerusalem, the word that springs most readily to mind is 'mental', followed swiftly by 'loud', 'intense', 'smelly' and 'amazing'. By contrast, England feels calm, serene almost, even with the hubbub of London 2012 and the way it has gripped the entire country. I can sleep without the racket of cats, teenagers and men from the nearest yeshiva chatting loudly that is the Nahlaot summer evening soundtrack. People queue in an unhurried way and are unfailingly polite, everywhere - the bank, the shops, the petrol station, out and about in town. I nearly bumped into an old lady in a shopping centre today and rather than elbowing me out of the way she stopped, said "No, you first!" and smiled at me. Most importantly, I have spent time with my nearest and dearest, including a week (on and off) with my gorgeous goddaughter Daisy and her family which on its own was worth the plane fare.
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| My favourite little person and her family. Sam's not smiling but everyone else is feeling the love. |
There have been a few unexpected shocks - not really reverse culture shock, it's not like I've been living in a mud hut in Lesotho, but some shocks nonetheless. Like how damn expensive everything is. And how I've picked up some bad Israeli driving habits - cutting lane all the time, fighting back the urge to honk my horn at the traffic lights, shouting "Yallah!" at people in front of me if they weren't driving fast enough. I got totally spooked when a bunch of 'youths' started talking to me on the side of the canal in Mile End at about 11 pm, but fortunately all they wanted was a cigarette and some fairly poor banter ("You're looking lovely today, I must say", from a fourteen year-old with bumfluff on his upper lip)- this after years of walking everywhere in London without any concerns for my safety. I'd also forgotten how green everything is here. This has of course been helped by the fact that the UK is having one of the wettest summers on record, something I have not enjoyed. But compared to Israel, where everything is sort of golden at the best of times and brown and dusty at the worst, it's been a tonic to walk down green country lanes and through forests where the leaves on the trees are almost fluorescent. I spent an afternoon with the aforementioned gorgeous goddaughter, her family and another dear friend pottering around the New Forest, which is so beautiful and which was enlivened by Dave (Daisy's dad) not realising how boggy the ground can be, striding manfully across the heath and sinking up to his knee in glutinous Hampshire mud. We were all laughing so much it that Rach was barely able to rescue Sam from Dave's arms before collapsing with the giggles.
 |
| Benny Hill-style comedy |
Basically, I have loved being back with my friends and back in England, with all that it entails: sitting on my friend Ben's canal boat in Mile End shooting the breeze; shopping for clothes that aren't either hideously expensive or cheap and therefore just hideous; going to the pub (especially on Friday nights), though I was shocked when Tim and I were thrown out of the Tinto Lounge at 11.15 pm last Monday - that's usually when things in Jerusalem are gearing up; reading The Times everyday; my dad's contented whistle as he potters around the house; zipping around in my little purple car. Honourable mention should go to Saturday 28th July when my old housemate Laura got married to Andy on a beautiful Bristol summer's day - even the hangover I'd acquired after over-enthusiastically celebrating Rach's birthday the night before couldn't spoil a day which included the special moment when Laura's brother Jon split his trousers whilst throwing me around the dancefloor. I've got a few days left before heading back to my other home (yes, home - I feel like I can call it that now) for a few more days off before work starts again. I can tell the holidays are winding down because I've started to have dreams about school - usually bad ones in which I'm faced with a class full of children I can't control (as if...) and so I've returned to Hampshire and to my family, to spend as much time lying on the sofa as is possible. It turns out that those three warnings were, surprisingly, fairly accurate and worth bearing in mind the next time I'm 'on furlough'. Until then, it's back to sunshine, falafel and my other life in Jerusalem. To quote Laura Marling (ooh, she's so good with words), "Goodbye, old England, 'til next year's snow."
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