I am terribly homesick, and this is an experience I never ever had before. Half of the time I feel invisible, going unnoticed among the masses of twenty year old students rushing to and fro on their bikes between classes, or hanging out in crowds outside the mensa. Because of the language barrier I close in on my self; sometimes I scout for someone, anyone my age who might speak English, and then catch myself, as if I were on the look out to pick up strangers. I am seriously challenged by the local cuisine, with its high cholesterol dishes of fried batter and cream sauces. Shopping takes hours as I try to understand brands and ingredients. I search for obvious things (apparently not), like salted butter, fresh orange juice or low fat white cheese. There’s schmaltz, but no hummus, and come to think of it, I haven’t seen any tuna cans. Even when I find something to my fancy, cooking in the kitchenette is a juggling act, the space is so small and the tools so minimally basic. So I am hard pressed to find comfort in food for the alienation and loneliness.
One evening, on returning to my flat after another long day of preparing for my inaugural lecture, my mind in a boggled daze, I am totally fed up with my Spartan living arrangement. There is no sofa to curl up on, no television to catch a good movie, no music except on the computer which I don’t want to open again (enough is enough), no phone to pick up to call a friend for a chat, in fact no friends (here) to call, no neighborhood joint to chill out in. When I order coffee in a café it is a far cry from קפה הפוך, the walnuts are not as sweet and moist as they are at home, and even the dust that I sweep up from the floor is different. I miss my daughter, I miss walking with my dog in the park, I miss my friends, I miss my queen size bed, I miss chatting with the neighbors, I miss the neighborhood shops, I miss my books, my piano, my knick-knacks. I miss home.
One evening, on returning to my flat after another long day of preparing for my inaugural lecture, my mind in a boggled daze, I am totally fed up with my Spartan living arrangement. There is no sofa to curl up on, no television to catch a good movie, no music except on the computer which I don’t want to open again (enough is enough), no phone to pick up to call a friend for a chat, in fact no friends (here) to call, no neighborhood joint to chill out in. When I order coffee in a café it is a far cry from קפה הפוך, the walnuts are not as sweet and moist as they are at home, and even the dust that I sweep up from the floor is different. I miss my daughter, I miss walking with my dog in the park, I miss my friends, I miss my queen size bed, I miss chatting with the neighbors, I miss the neighborhood shops, I miss my books, my piano, my knick-knacks. I miss home.
