A bit about Ramallah

After the commemoration, we headed home. The bus ride from downtown to home is usually about five minutes (if not less), but this time, the bus took a different route, winding though the streets for probably almost half an hour, giving me an impromptu tour of some of Ramallah. We drove through neighborhoods I didn't know existed, at one point squeezing by another car with only inches to spare as each braced their tires against the walls and obstacles on the sides of the road, and on another stopping as the driver patted a friend on the head to say hello.

I was beginning to think perhaps I was getting my bearings in my new city, but I realized I'm still far away from understanding where I am at any given moment. Ramallah stretches across several hilltops (or perhaps up a network of valleys or across a ridge—I haven't really figured out the layout and the hilly nature makes it impossible to see everything at once to figure out how different places relate to each other. All the roads seem to wind up and down, effectively disorienting me after a few minutes.)

However, what I can tell you about my new city is that there are hills—really steep ones. They wind up, down and around and are barely wide enough for two cars, yet everyone seems to drive a million miles an hour. There are few traffic lights and no stop signs; cars often honk as they come to intersections—assumtively to alert possible cross traffic of their presence. The streets, especially in the downtown area, are full of cars, and also people—there are sidewalks, but in many cases all the people wouldn't fit, and walking on the sidewalk doesn't seem to be the trend. For one thing, there's often cars parked on them.

Ramallah seems to have a very good public transportation system. Yellow vans (as well as some of the taxis) function more or less like buses, traveling on a (somewhat) regular route and picking people up. The buses with a particular destination collect in a specific parking lot or street downtown, where they fill up and head off. The driver simultaneously careens down the narrow roads honking and passing people, collects fares, and makes change.

A lot of women wear the hijab, but it is often accompanied by tight jeans and stylish dresses. I don't feel uncomfortable with my head uncovered, and in contrast to Morocco, I don't think I've gotten a single catcall. At work, two of the women, Mai and Mais, wear the hijab and the other two, Zina and Majd, don't. It doesn't seem to affect workplace interactions in any way. Everyone operates on fairly equal ground as far as I can tell, sharing lunch and dish duty (though one of the guys apparently tends to convince Zina and Majd to take his turn). The other day, our boss was joked that the women didn't really have independence, saying, for example, that they couldn't leave the office without his permission. Zina vehemently disagreed, and later went to the supermarket without asking.

Ramallah also has many cafe's and restaurants, a Palestinian cultural center, a large complex with guards where the president lives, lots of white apartment buildings, a few shiny sky scrappers, mini grocery stores interspersed in neighborhoods, fruit markets, street vendors, clothing stores, banks, and lots of other things one would expect to find in a city.