Investment bankers

My friend, Jason, who works in an investment bank in London called me today while I was at home in my pyjamas having breakfast. I was in a rush to get to work and couldn’t afford to speak to him – but as it had been a while since we spoke I took his call. He was all in a flutter. Apparently he and his colleagues came out of a meeting in the investment bank where he works – they, along with the whole floor, found cardboard boxes places on their desks. They were told, to clear them out their personal belongings immediately, while being watched by security, and leave the building on the spot – as the whole bank was going bankrupt. It is estimated that the City (of London – which is the square mile of all financial firms) will lose between 110,000-150,000 jobs alone. So my friend Jason, along with everyone else packed their things and left. Some girls were weeping and some people looked bewildered. Others hadn’t really realised what was happening or had been expecting it and were unfazed.

But the thing is, no one cares about bankers who have now lost everything. It is said that bankers are now suffering for losing their job the way someone loses a loved one and yet, they receive no amount of sympathy. Ori said everyone in London was on their laptops or Blackberries scouring the internet for jobs; drinking lattes and being stressed out or just drinking themselves into a stupor. Jobs were decreasing but demand for alcohol wasn’t.

Yet, the jobless banker will go through the same bereavement process as someone in mouring, albeit with different sympotoms, and yet will get no sympathy.
This is both unfair and understandable some say. Unfair because they lost their jobs and have families to support. However it is understandable that people will not be sympathetic as they were earning so much as investment bankers. What they do not understand is that they earned a lot because of the volatility of the market. Which begs the question; if you were paid so much to be an investment banker, and now the market has crashed, should people feel sympathy? Maybe empathy.

But have a look at the video below. My friend Laverne, who saw this said 'who knew the British could be so sassy?' when hearing Vicky Ward (the journalist) talk about Mr. Fuld (of Lehman Brothers). I think she sums up everything people are feeling.

I ♥ Nicosia Fashion Week (but not the models)

Once a year, like Christmas, Fashion Week comes to our nation's capital; Nicosia. Although it has not reached the heights of the Paris or Milan Fashion Weeks, the Cypriot girls aim to reach the colossal heights of the other fashion shows by wearing high-heels that resemble 30-storey buildings. Like snow, the couture citizens of Nicosia and other neighbouring countries descend on our nation's capital, like a very stylish army. Armed with hand-bags and other accessories, the only different these fashionstas are much more intimidating than any army on earth.
Usually I by-passed Fashion Week for the fact that I was just not fashionable enough, but my friend Cake was the one who attends fashion events, as she is trendy and in this case the show was organised by her good friend Funky Fashionista. I on the other hand, have had a history of undressing rather than dressing in couture.
However this year was an excpetion as my good friend Cake had a spare ticket and gave it to me.
‘But I’m hardly the most fashionable person’ I said as I generously accepted the invitation.
‘And I am?’ she said ‘I’m only going for the hell of it. I mean it’s a perfect opportunity to have a laugh.’

However it turns out the laugh was on me. Not only was I 20 minutes late, but I couldn’t find parking and parked miles away from the fashion show, and thanks to Cake, who said I could wear whatever I wanted, I turned up in very stylish clothes… for the beach. I was wearing jeans, a tight-fitting blue-checked shirt and phenomenally fun although totally inappropriate silver trainers! Yes, I should have been at a rave not a fashion show. Everyone else was dressed in black. It was like a fashion funeral rather than a fashion show. I wanted to drink, but refrained.
Luckily I was not the only one wearing anything other than black. Cake was wearing a 60’s style red dress with frills. She made it work, after all she was a woman. I on the other hand looked like a lost party-boy. Couture? What?

So there I sat. In my cool but totally inappropriate clothes. I looked like I just wandered into a Gucci add from an Abercrombie and Fitch advert filmed in Venice Beach, LA. I could literally feel people’s eyes burning into me as they wondered, what the hell is he doing here? I could feel them visually rip my clothes off, not because they thought I was hot (although I’m sure some did) but because I was not a fashion victim. I refused to be a victim.
Talk about fashion police. I thought they would have a security man come over any minute and escort me off the premises.

Looking back, I wish I was fierce in the face of fashion. So I was wearing a blue shirt. It looked great on me but when the whole room is dressed in clothes that makes them look like they are attending a mass funeral and judging me for my lack of black, it is no wonder I would feel intimidated. Still though, I couldn’t help but imagine myself sashaying in inappropriately dressed in my silver shoes and chain, and being completely dismissive of everyone. That would have got them to like me. Or if I went to the fashion show with a devil-may-care attitude, behaving anti-establishment and throwing paint over a model in protest for fur (despite the models being almost naked).

We were sitting on the front row, right opposite the runway. On the other side of the platform, a Russian woman, with a hint of Anna Wintour stared at me. At first I stared back and managed a smile. She looked away. But over the course of the evening she kept looking at me. Was it me of my attire she was looking at? Did she think I actually had come in all anti-establishment-like or was he admiring the fact that I had the balls that I could be dressed to the minus nines in a glamourised convention of fabric-worship? And then it struck me, perhaps she was scouting for male models and had her sights set on me. In would finally be discovered, make lots of money, be paid to look good and live the life I was meant to lead, a hedonistic, lavish life which replaces one of questions, soul-searching, bed-hopping and hard work.

So, I sat there and posed. I would tilt my head and arch my back slightly. I would look at the models intently, pretending to scrutinise their clothes acting out as if I were interested in the colours, the lines of the clothing the fabric and whatever else it is fashionistas notice in a garment. Then, forgetting that I was meant to be posing, I would take pictures with my digital cameras (the flash definitely made others notice me too, but for other reasons).

I could feel her glancing every so often in my direction and I became convinced that she would recruit me, the way Kate Moss was recruited while waiting outside a train station. I sat there wondering what I would say to her when she would say ‘you should be a model. Call me’ and then hand me her card. The whole time there, at the back of my mine I wondered ‘really? Me?’ and why not, I mean I do have chiselled features, and its not like models have to be beautiful right? Just different looking. Right?

But the models walked on and off, and on and off again and the show had ended. And no one approached me, other than the manager of the event who thought I was a waiter who was late and wanted me to get changed. Actually, someone did approach me; the Womaniser (why am I not surprised he is at a fashion show filled with half naked women?). He turned up with a model or two, trailing him like two dinghies training a streamliner.
‘Hello’ was all he said, and expected me to fill in the rest.
‘Hey…’ I began, forgetting his name (Womaniser would suffice) and to gain access to it introduced him to Cake.
‘This is my friend Cake’ I said, who had her back to us. As she turned she was scoffing down a pinkish type of hors d’ouevres and said with a mouthful ‘God damn it, I’m so hungry, I could eat a frigging horse.’ The Man-Eater smiled weakly and swanned off, with his two fag hags trotting off after him and Cake went back to scoffing caviar-spread nibbles.

The after party was at a bar called Planet Vodka. Almost everyone went for the models. I went with Cake for the free booze.

Tribute to NY

Happy Diwali

Yesterday I went to a party that celebrated Diwali which is the Indian New Year. My Indian friends put the red line and a yellow dot on my forehead (I forgot what it was called, I believe it is called a Tika, or Tikra, or something like that) and was told that I had to out my hand on my head and make a wish and that it would come true within the year. I love Indian culture, so many bright colours, especially red and the food... let's just say I don't even season my food with pepper! I wish to to all my Indian friends, a very happy Diwali.

Wine // Art // and Mr. Van Gogh Away

My friend Laverne was back in Cyprus for some work and of course she came and stayed with me. On Saturday night we arranged to meet up with Cake. Cake told us to meet her in a fancy-shmancy art gallery in the city centre. So we met her at the renaissance paintings, scaring the people who had more flesh than clothes on display and were biting into apples in an inviting manner. ‘It’s art’ she explained to us, trying to excuse the fact that she was mesmerized by the painting of the man covered only in fruit and holding a giant banana.

‘Would you like some wine?’ asked the gallery owner, who we shall call Mr. Van Gogh Away. ‘Here let me show you around the gallery’ he said to us as if we were art connoisseurs about to spend our lifesavings (of €9.56) on fine art. I don’t know how he didn’t realise that we were there only because Cake told us to. But we are polite so we obliged. The next thing we knew, we were on the roof, sipping wine and listening to outlandish stories about his life in Knightsbridge (a fancy-shmancy place in London; that is dropped into a conversation to impress).

And so begin his attempts to let us know that he is someone. ‘Yes and I am friend with Baroness Von Thurenbergen of the House of Lower Saxony… and I went to school with James Taylor III. You know James Taylor III. JT? The Thuuurd???’ he repeated after our blank stares. We all nodded and smiled fearfully having no idea who he was talking about. The only JT I know is Justin Timberlake. The singer. Not the third.
And he continued ‘… that’s when I moved in with Maria Consuelo de Gracias Rodrigues of Argentina and her Indian husband, the grandson of the Maharaja of Madras in southern India… and I went hot air balloon riding with the cousin of King Carlos of Spain twice removed, oh we had a jolly good time’. Jolly good time? This guy is from the mountains of Cyprus and he is talking to me as if he is European royalty?
After a while of name dropping Cake asked him ‘do you buy the art? Does this art belong you?’ and he replied by saying in a husky, out-of-breath voice, ‘no dearest child, art does not belong to me, it belong to everyone. To you. To me. To society.’*
Oh yeah? Well then please explain to me why Damien Hurst is making millions during the credit crunch by selling to private investors. Why then tramps do not own art? Is it because they have no where to store it? And if art belong to society as a whole, then why haven’t I got a Klimt original hanging up in my dining room?

Yet… it got better.
Cake for some reason falls in love with, not a piece of art, but a road sign. It was an arrow pointing straight ahead. She liked it that much that she made us take a photo of herself holding it. Which in most cases would seem ridiculous but that night, it was rather fitting. Cake likes it that much however that she made Laverne ask the man in she could have it.
‘Why? What for?’ he asked. ‘Cake just likes it’ Laverne said, ‘is there any use for it?’ she continued. ‘No, no use for it. I don’t even know what it is doing there.’ So then the man turned to Cake and said ‘if you like it that much come back again with her husband and she can have it.’ Cake smiled politely. Laverne grinned. I was scandalised.
Let me get this straight. Apparently art belongs to everyone but a road sign that my taxes paid for, that is not used and is on his roof is private property? Usually I would advocate stealing it (I did indirectly pay for it with my taxes). But since we already asked for it, we couldn’t take it, as he would realise that we took it. Although it’s not like we would be making off with a five metre painting of the birth of Venus, painted in acrylics. I mean what charges would be press? They took a road sign from me that was on my roof?

The verbal mayhem ensued…
‘… and that’s because I live in Lesvos and we all know what Lesvos is known for’ explained Laverne.
‘I see, and so are you inclined towards women?’ asked Van Gogh Away.
‘No’ said Laverne politely ‘I have a boyfriend.’
WTF? You don’t ask people you met literally 15 minutes and a bottle of wine ago questions like that. No matter how liberal you are (and you better be if you read this blog) you still maintain some distance.

After another 15 minutes Van Gogh Away said 'allow me to get my great-great-grandfather who is sitting downstairs to play you a tune on his violin.’ Now, I don’t know about you, but I hate private shows of entertainment (but not when they are inside the bedroom). For me, there is nothing more uncomfortable than having to listen to a violinist, play a ditty for you, while you smile and look interest and not embarrassed and try not to laugh. Communicating with our eyes when Van Gogh Away’s back was to us, we agreed that we did not want to stay there to hear a tune.
BabyBusinessMan: We’d love to say but we have to go.
Van Gogh Away: Go?
BBM: Yes, we have reservations
VGA: Where?
BBM: In Restaurant Petite Paris (quick thinking)
VGA: With whom?
BBM: With a friend from Egypt
VGA: When?
BBM: Now.
VGA: They do food there?
BBM. YES!
VGA: Oh well I guess they do. Fine then! GO!

Now, if I wasn’t scandalised before, now I was. What were these questions? How dare anyone ask you these things? But if you’re being showered with free wine and someone is actually polite (albeit passive-aggressively rude) then you answer these questions. Of course Laverne would never criticise and Cake couldn’t be bothered to. But I was shocked. The name dropping? The pretence? The intrusion? But I will admit one thing. The wine was excellent. Maybe he did own a vineyard in Tuscany that Giuseppe di Garda gave him as a present for writing the most flattering poem in honour of his mother. There might just be some truth in it all…

*I’m not going to pretend I know a lot about art. But I believe that the only art that belongs to society is by Banksy. Now that is art. And it’s for society.

Backing Barack

If McCain wins, people will move to Canada (or even better; France) and America will begin a debate about how racist American actually is (with emphasis given to the southern states). If Obama wins, it will give a new lease of life to a nation tired of Republic mistakes and bigotry and we will never here the end of Obama being the first black president. To me, it’s no big deal, he is black; the race to the White House for me never included any racial undertones because it don’t matter what colour you are as long as you can do the job. But we will never hear the end about Obama being the first black president (which he will be). He could cede Alaska (and Palin while he’s at it) to Russia, Texas to Mexico, New York to Israel and the rest of America to Yemen and people wouldn’t bat an eyelid. Instead, people will still be talking about him being the first black president.

One of my (American) friends say that that’s because some Americans are racist (finger pointing to the south), but are they really? How is that possible when America is such a melting-pot to have such racial tensions? When I was there I saw nothing but integration and multiculturalism. But my friend pointed out that I was in the OC and Vegas. Not exactly middle-America, bible-belt, guns and tractors now, is it?

For me, the presidential race 2008 is not a race issue, it’s an age issue. McCain will be 70-something if he becomes president (which he won’t). Fine so we shouldn’t be ageist. Fine I won’t be. But his age doesn’t merely mean he is old, it means that he represents all that is old, Republican, extreme and dusty about America. And let’s face it; America is still a vibrant and innovative place and for that you need a vibrant and innovative president, enter Obama! Yes, I know I am looking mostly at the coasts and pockets of affluence in certain states (like Austin, Texas for example; it’s a blue dot in a sea of red). But these places run the country and the economy (which the Reps ran into the ground). Furthermore, if anything happens to him, Palin, the moose-hunter/ hockey-mum/ republican from hell will not only lead America, she will rule the world. And she only know where Russia is because it’s opposite her house.

So I am (finally) backing Obama after dealing with my issues about Hillary not being in the race. Obama is good for the economy, he is good for America and its (necessary) new foreign policy image and he is even good for Cyprus and Israel. So let’s hope he wins the White House come Nov 4th!

Short Story: Stay Away

So this guy got nuts because I was talking to his girlfriend at a party I was making an appearance in.
‘Back off from my girlfriend’ he said. ‘Just back off. I know guys like you’.
I responded: ‘I know guys like me too. Not too many though. We’re a rare breed…’ and walked off towards the bar to get myself another dirty Martini while the guy looked on, incredulously.

Which nations I could work with

I was in Mytilene this summer and got chatting to a German woman who lived and worked in Greece when she asked me what Cyprus was like. The first thing that came to my mind was our economy; if there is anything that makes us stand out is how we created our economy since the invasion. I went on and compared Cypriots with Greeks and said that Cypriots as a nation work harder. ‘Yes, yes, I agree’ she interrupted me. ‘I worked with Greeks and Cypriots and there is a big, big difference between you. I would much rather work with Cypriots’ she went on. Which of course made me beam with pride. Anyway, below is my list of who I would work with.

Best people to work with:
1. Cypriots: why do you think we became so rich in such a short space of time without external help?
2. Jews: power-driven and not afraid to show it. Jews and Israelis invented the meaning of hard work and are good at it
3. Americans: the American dream means working hard to have enough to live on and live well. Creative, innovative and unapologetic
4. Indians: hard workers, smart, excellent at technology
5. Germans: efficiency at its finest
6. French: they have the most public holidays – get a job in Paris
7. Japanese: perfectionist, overly-polite, robot-like people who have created an amazing country in the space of 50 years? How? With work!
8. Spanish: an unlikely choice, but the have the best results from the Mediterranean countries
9. Iranians: interestingly resourceful entrepreneurs
10. Russians: money-hungry, driven, smart and professional

I also have a list of who I wouldn’t work with but I don’t think it would be a good idea to post it.

Instead here is a list of notable things I have noticed from other nations when involving business:
11. Greeks: a powerful creative side and good at PR (although lazy as sh!t)
12. Turks: accommodating
13. Arabs: love luxury in business and extravagance
14. Italians: coffee-break driven
15. Australians: outdoorsy even when they are indoors
16. Swiss: scary!

BabyBusiness Tips
The difference between businessmen and other people is that businessmen actually believe the world revolves around them. And if it doesn’t revolve around them, then they make it revolve around them.

Pranking Cake

I was at Mukta, drinking wine, (after three beers with another friend) waiting for PartyAnimal to turn up. He was running late, and so I started on our bottle of wine. When I get bored I’m at my most dangerous, because I get up to my old tricks again and misbehave, which I love doing, but I don’t do anymore because I’m a babybusinessman now and must act professional. But it was different that night. I had alcohol through my veins and I was waiting. So what do you do when you’re bored and waiting for someone to turn up? You prank your friends!

So I put it on hidden number (or apokripsi, as they say in Greek) and first, I pranked a colleague who was on a romantic getaway. I guess I ruined that for them. Then I pranked Cake.
It rang. She picked up. And said…
Cake: Ela papa! (Hey Dad)
BabyBusinessMan: Nai? (Yes)
C: Nai? (Yes)
BBM: Nai? Pios mila? (Yes? Who is talking?)
C: Pios einai? (Who is it?)
BBM: Eso pios eisai? (Who are you?)
C: Esi me pires (You called me)
BMM: Nai alla ego se rotisa protos! (Yes but I asked you first)

She hung up. Then I called again but her husband PanCake answered and he was smart and didn’t say anything. He almost tricked the trickster! Then I drank more wine and felt bad and so I called her giggling.

‘That was you?’ she screamed ‘I don’t know anyone over the age of 13 who does these things. BabyBusinessMan, it’s very annoying! You can’t prank people… blah blah blah.’ I sat there giggling and drinking wine. And then… the next day my phone broke! (Read below if you haven’t already).

Why My Phone Breaking Was a Good Thing

A week ago I wrote a piece for my blog about cutting people out of my life but I never posted it (I do this because I work ahead of schedule) and I decided not to post it now as my something happened and made me look closer at things.

However today’s piece is an exception to working ahead of schedule, because my phone is broken and I can’t plan when things break. Anyway, my phone has been acting up for quite a while and I did nothing about it. Until my phone did something about it… nothing. That’s what it did. It did nothing. It just went off and then didn’t switch on. So I placed my sim card into an older mobile in case things like this happened. The phone seemed ancient compared to all the i-phone gadgets we have today, and I bought it less than four years ago from when I lived in Italy. So in goes the sim card in my new-old phone and… there were no numbers. Actually there were five, two from friends of mine who lived with me in Italy, and three from some dates I went to while living there. None of which were from people I was in contact with today. So in essence there were no numbers.

Of course you can imagine my initial reaction. I have my phone with me all the time; on me, next to me, in the toilet with me, by the bath when I shower, sometime I answer it while in the shower – I even have it in bed with me for when the alarm goes off in the morning and/or in case anyone needs to get in touch with me like; Condoleezza Rice, or the Dalai Lama for Ban Ki Moon asking me for advice on reforming the UN. You just never know. All in all, I was distraught – it was like I was cut off from the world and had to communicate to people via pigeons. Then after 10 minutes of having a panic attack and downing Polish vodka to relax I had an epiphany; no one can get in touch with me… how strangely liberating.

Actually people could get in touch with me… as the number didn’t change, just the phone, but I couldn’t get in touch with them! Even more liberating! I could start over! I could change identity and never need to talk to anyone again! It’s like staging your own death and moving to Uruguay! By cutting myself off from everyone I could free myself from the pressure they heap on me… and believe me… my friends can be demanding. They put pressure on me by saying things like ‘I’m cooking dinner tonight – would you like to come over to my house and join us?’ and threatening me with nasty threats like ‘would it be okay with you if we met for coffee at 3pm, my treat and then we can go shopping together?’ they even blackmail me by saying things like ‘if you don’t want to buy it – I can buy it for you. From me. Because I love you’. Oh – the trauma! The traumaaaaaa!

So I was mildly overjoyed after I could not get in touch with anyone! That night I slept so well!
Like police dogs at a raid, my friends began looking for me early the next day! The first person was Laverne who text me from Greece saying that she was listening to music and that she missed me! Oh, the meanness of it all! The pressure! The vindictiveness. Then PartyAnimal sent me a message that said ‘hi – how are you?’ Ooooh! The intrusion into my privacy! The the Nicosia Housewife text me asking if I wanted to go to a fashion show with her. Oh the pressure heaped upon me! I couldn’t bear it any longer. So I sent out an email to everyone I thought I should keep in my life – after accidentally freezing them out for a day and a half, without them knowing it.

The email read:
Hi guys. Broke my phone because I accidentally sat on it. Please send your numbers so I can prank you and my secretary will get back to you within the next 48 hours. Thanks!

And my friends text in the dozens! In the hundreds the numbers came pouring in! Laeticia from France, who I hadn’t spoken to in months, sent a message. As did Mya Aljazeera, the Arabian princess! All these people I had not spoken to in ages began texting in their thousands and it was good to know how many cool people I had met and had in my life no matter how far… so I guess my phone breaking was actually a good thing. It revealed to me the people further afield who are out of sight but not always out of mind.

And the other good thing? My phone was swamped with numbers of people; with people I disliked; with people I liked too much! It was filled with people who hurt me; randoms who I should have called and never did. Exes; people with excess baggage; people who wanted me to solve their problems; people who annoyed me and who I would prank at 2am (but that’s for another funny post). I never cleared these numbers out because of the ‘just in case’ syndrome. And now they are not on my phone and I feel lighter about it. Of course some would text me and I’d reply by saying ‘sorry my phone broke – who are you? When did we last speak? Don’t remember you’ when in fact we went out 10 days ago and the trauma of the meeting rendered me crazy! And if we ever bump into each other, I’d be like ‘oh it was you? I didn’t even recognise you from your text! You want my number? I got a new one, it’s…’ and of course I’ll give them another number on purpose. I’ll probably give them Cake’s number. Because she never called me! Although she was the one I wanted to cut out in the first place.

But in retrospect I think my phone broke because I pranked Cake the night before… it was funny but she wasn’t happy. But it was worth it though! And it was worth not having to talk to anyone… although now I’m glad it have them!

Euro-Nerds

Quick comment: you know what I am glad about; that in Cyprus we haven’t got there euro-nerds. Do you know what I mean? The type who wear big black rimmed glasses and jumpers; who read some random European writers with a philosophy of some sort I never heard of and claim that they have found God; you know the sort; the types who only drink mild coffee and hang out with arty girls in long dresses and wear loafers. Who never shave and are always happy but shy. ARGH! They tire me out. I don’t know why I am telling you this but, I just bumped into one and he annoyed me with his euro-crap.

In Cyprus we are not like these pseudo-intellectual artsy type. We are superficial, fashion-loving, trashy/classy people. We have an attitude, we are loud, we shout and have no patience. But these euro-nerd, luckily the style hasn’t picked up here, unless Gucci does a line of sunglasses especially for them. Anyway, that’s enough of my rant. I can’t believe you even read this rubbish! I can’t believe I even wrote it. OMG, I guess were euro-nerd too (or at least Mediterranean-nerds). Actually I can believe I wrote this… there is more where this came from…

Arranged Marriage

I called my English-Cypriot friend in London up for a chat. Loverboy is his name as he loves the ladies – although they don’t seem to love him back that much as he is still single. This is perhaps because he moves onto the next ladies before he finished with the previous one. Anyway so Loverboy was telling me all about his Turkish-Cypriot friend. LB had known Melek since they were in school together at a young age. Now Melek decided she wanted to get married and so asked her parents to set up some dates. She goes on one date, it doesn’t work out. She goes on another, she doesn’t like him, so she tries a little longer until she meets Abdullah. They go on a couple more dates and get engaged.
‘Do you see how they still do it?’ said LoverB. I wasn’t sure whether he was shocked in a good way or bad way. The English-Cypriots despite living in London are even more traditional and conservative than we are.

I have to admit that I think Melek did I a good job. She wanted to get married, she went on a couple of dates and found someone who she obviously had something in common with, from the same background, who had the same education and goals; someone who she found attractive and who she can envision a future with. The result: an engagement ring through an arranged union. She is having an arranged marriage. Now the difference is that she has had a say in what she wants; she obviously wanted to marry and she found someone, say, from a list of potential dates (I won’t use the word suitors – it’s too old school). Now initially I was shocked when I heard this but looking back I think she made a wise choice (albeit, not a choice everyone would make).

Someone else I met with an arranged marriage admits that although she was not in love with her husband when they met – love grew once they began living together. Their partnership got better with time; like red wine; because they both were compatible as were their goals and values. They didn’t believe in the notion of the ‘One’. What if you missed him/her? Was it all over? Or could there be people like you who fulfill you? Your needs of love change often – but what about your long term needs, goals and consequences?

Now I can see how this notion of an arranged marriage can work. I don’t know if I personally would find a spouse this way, but I can see the logic and safety in it. If you are at a certain age and you want to get married, an arranged marriage may provide the answer. It is not old-world if you have a say in it. Firstly the divorce rate for an arranged marriage is 5-7% compared with 40% of love marriages. Secondly love marriages are often lust marriages. The couple gets hitched and then realizes they were not suited for each other. It is basically instant ratification and thinking that this person will provide you with what you want, without actually knowing what you want. Thirdly, marriage is like a business. Sorry to take the romance out of it guys – but it is. If you are going to live with someone until the day you die; if you are going to share your incomes, hopes, dreams, fears, a bed, and create a living being called a baby, then you better get on with that person and make sure that you can see a common and viable future together. You have partner and business-partners, and in a marriage the spouse should be both of those things.

Unless of course you are marrying for the glamour, or the money or for a chance to be in Hello Magazine and sell your wedding photos to half a million. Or just for the sake of getting married because in Cyprus, that’s what people do. But if you are going to marry just to get married – that’s an arranged marriage right? So shouldn’t you choose someone who will make a viable business partner?

The other option is to get married for love. I’m all for romance – but so far the only romance I have seen is in a prno – and that’s only because they are paid to act romantically on film.

>>>Personally, I would date someone is she filled all the criteria. But then again – I’m doing this for image and status (and to get into those exclusive social groups). And I only intend to marry once. So I am on the look out for Mrs. Right Now (Only for Now) to accompany me to the social function and hang out a bit. I know it’s agenda-ridden but I at least I know and admit it is. Also, I haven’t given up on romance and passion just yet… I still want to give love a chance. You never know…<<<

And I wish you guys the best of luck in your love-life…

Coming soon: why men need marriage more than women do.

OMG and Other Useful Phrases

We don’t use words anymore we use acronyms. It’s not my fault. It’s the internet and I-generation's age. Cnt b bthrd 2 wrt anymr!
After some research I found a list not only of acronyms but also of acronyms from around the world. The best being LOL!*

LOL: laughing out loud
ROFL/ROTFL: rolling on (the) floor lauhing
Lawl: another way to say LOL. A bit like cool=kewl (personally I find this annoying and people without personalities use it a lot)
Lulz: it means LOLx100,000,000 and usually at someone elses expense – again very annoying
LQTMS: Laughing Quietly To MySelf. I’m sorry – have you heard anything more ridiculous than this? It is ridiculous. If you are in a chat room then the person can’t see you so whatever you do is to yourself so why would they care if you are lauging quietly?

LOL around the world:
W: Japan; coz laugh in Japanese is warau which starts with a W (impress your boss – tell him this!)
MDR: France: mort de rire: meaning dying of laughter
RS: Brazil: risos meaning laughter
5: Thail – coz 5 in Thai sounds like laughter
G: Denmark: griner: meaning laughter
MKM: Afghanistan: mikonom: meaning I am laughing
And also LOL in Dutch means fun: bet you had lol reading this.

My favourite
חחחחח: Hebrew: the letter ח: is pronounced as HA: so חחחחח = hahahaha (also ח means the as in the banana = ha banana)

OMG: meaning Oh My God! Which I think is great
But all you’ll need to learn is BBM meaning BabyBusinessMan

*I actually dated a girl** who used to say LOL instead of laugh
**I realised I now start sentences with phrases like: I dated a girl; and it’s never good.

Did you write? What? Write? Write What?

Okay you have to forgive me on this but…
I was sitting an exam for a management course I am doing and a colleague asked me the other day: ‘έγραψες;’ (egrapses?). Now I don’t get this phrase, because egrapses in English means, ‘did you write?’ but in Greek it means ‘did you write WELL?’ Of course my brain which works in English thinks ‘did you write?’ I mean of course I wrote in the exam – I could have written a whole load of crap… but I still wrote something. Wouldn’t it be more appropriate in Greek to say ‘egrapses kala?’ OR ‘egrapses kati?’ So when he asked me egrapses I was like ‘nai fisika egrapasa kati – ti nomizeis? Pws zografisa?’ which translates to ‘duh! Of course I wrote something – what did you think? That I drew the question out?’ Can you imagine this for an exam question: Please explain in detail WITH DRAWINGS the main theories used in General Management Concepts by FilthyRich. Crayola pencils are allowed. Please colour within the lines. You have two hours. Turn over your sheets of paper… NOW!

French Tourists

If you remember a few months ago – I wrote a piece on British vs. German tourists in Cyprus who battle it out for sun beds. Well… now it’s about the French. Apparently in a recent poll the French are the second worst tourists, after the English – not because they trash the country they stay in and wreck havoc but because they complain the most, are the stingiest (followed by Germans and Brits) and come second concerning a ‘lack of respect’ (after Americans).

I’m guessing only the English came up with this poll because they are the only ones who dislike the French the most. And maybe the Republicans in America. But I disagree with the poll’s findings completely. I find that the French along with the Americans show the most respect. Despite what people think, I think Americans are much more in tune with countries’ sensitivities than most other Euro nations. In my personal poll, conducted by me for me, after extensive research, my own personal and ultra-precise findings showed that Europeans live in a dreamland, have few sensitivities about other countries (despite being fellow EU members), are condescending and colonial – even the small ex-republics of some sort have a superiority complex. I actually find Americans, Arabs and Asians much more respectful and pleasant than Europeans.

Furthermore the poll stated that the French do not learn the language of the country they are in and expect others to do so. Firstly the French aren’t the only ones who expect people to speak to them in their language when they are abroad. And secondly, I will excuse this behaviour only with the French; that’s because this beautiful language has lost its standing on the world stage and is no longer the lingua franca – having been superseded by Anglais. Personally if someone comes and talks to me in French I consider it a chance to practice. If someone speaks to me in another language, say Czech, Quechua or Korean, I’ll try and be helpful rather than demand they speak Greek. What do you expect them to do? Learn the Greek past perfect tense? Oh please! (Oh la la - s’il vous plait)… or should I say; ooof, sas parakalo?

The poll stated that the French are the hardest to please. That is true. Have you gone on a date with a French person? No matter how well I know my verbs, or French art (do not make the mistake of thinking Van Gogh is French – he is Dutch) or offer the most expensive red wine; the French will skew you on a date. Believe me… I’ve been there… mais j’aime les francaises et le French fries!

But the poll did get something right; that the French are the best dressed… but only after the Italians. That, even I cannot argue against. Although I still love the French! I wonder who the best undress’d are… maybe the BabyFrenchBusinessWomen… unfortunately though my research didn’t tell me about that! The date didn’t end well!

PS: I know the Eiffel Tower has nothing to do with French tourists but I love the French! I just can't help it1

Flavour of the Month: October

The One to Love
Diablo Cody! Ex-Stpr turned Oscar-winning writer for her debut movie Juno. If you haven’t seen it - get it now on DVD for these early autumn evenings. Or get her book ‘Candy Girl’ where she tells you how she grinned and bared it!

The One to Watch:
Wall-E. catch it now before it's no longer at the movies

The Thing to Do
Prepare for the winter. Develop your winter 2008 style for these cold winter months and de-clutter your house from all the junk you got this summer. Winter is on its way. Buy a duvet and an extra large box of hot chocolate.

The Party to Go to

Halloween. 31st October! Don’t miss it!

Cypriot Humour... on Youtube

My friend told me about this Anglo-Cyprian rapper in Aradipou who was apologise to his girlfriend for cheating on her VIA YOUTUBE! (as if she'd take him back after seeing that on youtube) but he didn't remember what it was called so... i went looking for it and instead I found this:

Sex and the City a la Cyprus
(if you don't understand Cypriot don't bother)



Scary Movie Cyprus Version



Guys - I couldn't resist - the second one especially is funny! that girl deserves and Oscar

(I can't believe I posted this - and I had something else for you guys! Oh well... another time).

Gold Diggers / Sugar Daddies

‘Greek men are not like red wine’ said the gold-digger from Athens ‘they do not age well. But desire for money… that ripens with age perfectly… perfect enough to commit the perfect marriage.’

Yesterday's post states that money is not everything – but it is a tool for survival and a comfortable life. In this post I want to ask how money buys us things: namely people. People say that love is blind – but is it blind to a big bank account and a trust fund, especially during these times of recession? I once went on a date with this girl. ‘What car do you drive?’ she asked me. I told her. ‘My mother drives a Porsche.’ She is either a) dumb b) wants me to know what I am competing against with her mother or c) both a and b. Don’t you think that money makes a man more attractive? Not only to women but to men. You’ll probably disagree with me (on ethical grounds) but think about it; money buys you things – especially people, their affection and their trust. Women are attracted to men because they see a rich powerful man who will provide for them and men like rich men to do business with (I don’t mean that kind of business). My point is that people are attracted to rich people; money opens doors, buys style, gets you that reservation at Nobu or the Bowery Bar and of course the reputation/admiration/envy that you desire and think you deserve. Even you – wouldn’t you rather go out with someone who has money rather than someone who is broke and always says ‘that’s too expensive’ and would rather rent a DVD (where you split the €2.50 charge) instead of going to a movie. I’m sure you’ll agree that going out with a man who has money will make it ever so much more easier and pleasurable. But there is a catch with this: going out with a man/women who shows off how much money they have is tacky. My friend was telling m all about this girl he dated who was really faux-rich and was boringly middle-class and told him how much she owned, and what she did (lunch) and the whole time all I wanted to do while he revealed his tales of financial delight was puke into my latte… and then make him drink it! No! Make her drink it! Or do you remember the Anglo-Cyprian (that I blogged about) who told me to spend time in her multi-million house. I dumped her because of that. It’s just so tacky. But with people who are powerful and wealthy – know it and do not need to show it off – don’t tell me you don’t find that attractive. Personally I’m attracted to their address books… imagine all the important people I can gain access to if I take it. Maybe if she dumps me it can be my going-away present…? But seriously money talks… and it talks best when it’s making its way into you’re pants, bed and heart. And when anything happens, you’ll crash… just like Wall Street did.

Money Makes the World Go Around?

Last week I was at a cocktail party for Cake’s wedding and was speaking to my friend Trustfundista about inheritance. She is set to inherit an office building in New York, two houses in London, an apartment in Athens and Moscow, a hotel in Qatar, and three shops in Dubai as well as a ton of money. She is expected to split this with her sister who lives in an all-female commune outside Poughkeepsie in the state of New York. But it looks like her sister will either give it to charity or give it to her. Luckily her sister TrustFundHippy actually likes Trustfundista so it looks that she may give it to Trustfundista to keep or will keep her inheritance herself and allow Trustfindista to manage their empire for a fee. I mean you can be a rich hippy but you can’t be a rich hippy in an all-female commune who manages the company finances. I mean can you imagine? At one point you’re planting tomatoes – at the other point you’re checking the stock market. It just doesn’t go. So it looks like Trustfundista will gain even more cash (note that this conversation was taking place during the time of the recession). So there I am sipping on my drink (an S on the Beach) going crazy saying that I want all the money and how it’s so important and if Trustfundista wants to go into business with me; when my good friend Laverne comes along and remind me that it’s not all about money. I agreed with her, it isn’t all about money.

Until I got thinking; it really isn’t all about the money… but it still is. Here’s why. We live in a world where the welfare system is no longer a priority. Europe is the only place where there is an actual welfare/socialist mentality. It is what set’s it apart from the rest of the world; that the state is responsible for the citizen and not that the state is above the citizen. But even in Europe there is a decline in state’s powers. Welfare is only provided to the poor – in the UK the poorer classes actually make more money now by being on state support schemes than working. In Cyprus we see that if you don’t have money, if you’re family does not have money or if you can’t provide for yourself you are screwed; you will not meet your payments, you will not be able to afford food, gas or rent and you will face difficulties. Luckily the family system and even the Church (to an extent) help. But we became a wealthy little place quickly and now we don’t know what to do with ourselves. Ironically on the other hand, Japan, the most money-centric country and one of the world’s financial power-houses, has hardly any class-structure and is described as the world’s best socialist state. How’s that for a contradiction?

Money does not equal happiness; it does not provide the meaning of life; but in today’s world you need money – not for luxuries – but to survive. Especially in our island empire, where prices are increasing but wages remain stationary we need to be resourceful. Our generation will be the last one to see their parents help us so much. How many of you will give your kids land as a wedding gift the way previous generations did? I know I won’t; because it will cost too much. I’m BabyBusinessMan for crying out loud - not BabyDonaldTrump! In Limassol 20 years ago land was sold for 1,000 CYP now it’s worth 100 times that amount. I bet in 20 years time we will see banks offering student loans and more people becoming plumbers and electricians than lawyers and marketers because it will cost less and you will earn more.

So money is important. And it’s also important to remember that it doesn’t equal everything – but it’s a factor – and a factor only the filthy rich can ignore today. So my advice to you; work hard, respect yourself and invest well; invest your time, invest your money and invest in yourself. And remember: money is not everything but it provides something. Don’t fear money but don’t abuse money either. And it doesn’t grow on tree.

My Best Friend's Wedding: Part: I DO TOO!

My Best Friend’s Wedding: Part: I DO TOO!

(READ THE POST BELOW - PART 1- BEFORE YOU READ THIS ONE)

You can imagine the headache I had the next day. I woke up at 11.30am – which means in real people’s terms that I went to bed on Saturday an woke up on Tuesday. A sleep in for me is staying in bed until 8.30am – so I was way over my usual limit. The day went by calmly, we went for brunch at the Acropolis park – my new favourite place in Nicosia – then to the photo exhibition by the World Press and then for coffee before returning home to get ready for the par-tay!

By 8.30 Laverne, who was staying with me, met up with Smulders, Mr. D and others at the party and I was ready to have a good time. Of course, at usual something had to go wrong. Firstly the camera man went around asking people to wish the couple well. Crap! I thought! He’s going to come over to me – which he did. TV people love me – I was interviewed three times; in Madrid, in LA and in Nicosia by different programmes (but this is for another post) and I have found myself accidentally on the news and other programmes more than a handful of times. I am an accidental celebrity! Having been discovered over and over again – but none seems to recognise me. I’m like Madonna, constantly reinventing. Next time you’ll probably see me wearing the conical bras and talking about Kabala.

So the camera guy comes up and asks us to wish us well. Laverne was talking and Smulders’ was watching her and try not to laugh while I was hiding. ‘And they are so beautiful… and we love them… we wish you the best… we wish you also a Merry Christmas… blah blah blah’ basically Laverne was talking all sorts of romantic crap while I was sipping on wine. Then all of a sudden I hear ‘BabyBusinessMan wants to say something too’ and before I knew it I was a national celebrity again with a microphone shoved into my hand and bright lights in my eyes and a camera waiting to hear what to say. I had no idea what to say, I mean the ‘I do’ part more or less sums up the whole day so I said ‘Congrats guys… Laverne… I’m going to kill you’ on camera. And now they will remember me as the alcoholic who wants to punish my friend with a microphone.
Of course it doesn’t stop there.

After Cake and PanCake arrived, everyone claps and they dance and all the yiayiades agree that Cake looked sweet and all the men thought she is tastier than a marzipan mountain they make their round and greet all the guests. Now on the table was a kind of confetti firework tube where you pull a string and confetti shoots up. Well, my good friend Laverne gave it too me upside down, and of course people decided that it is my job to pull the string, which I did and then the confetti went downwards instead of towards them! So everyone hears a bang, but sees no confetti and I was sitting there covered in bits of paper and everyone was laughing! Luckily no camera was there to see me scream at Laverne again…

Throught the night I tried to behave; Cake said that I could staring misbehaving after midnight. So I got talking to some guests from the Czech Republic or Poland.
‘What’s you’re name?’ I asked
‘Wylzzwwyckw’ he said.
‘Is that a traditional Polish name?’
So you see – I was behaving speaking to people whose names I could not pronounce. But Laverne was all over these guests from Syria or Egypt or somewhere who loved weddings but loved Laverne even more. If polygamy was legal they would have probably kidnapped her and married her.

But the party didn’t become a par-tay until most of the guests had left because it was Cake and her closest friends,her family, the gate-crashwe, the Czechs and the Syrians dancing like madman on the dance floor. It was so insane that we were all jumping up and down, everything spilled out of my pockets so over the course of the night people kept coming up to me and giving me bits of my phone, my wallet, my keys…

It was such a good night, we went home at around 4am when the waiters and hotel staff kicked us out!

My Best Friend's Wedding: Part: I DO!

My Best Friend's Wedding: Part: I DO!

Dressing Bridezilla
The wedding began with watching the groom getting ready at around 4pm. Laverne, Smulders and I bundled out of the car and watched Pancake get ready. It was actually very moving because the Mum was really moved and there was a real sense of ‘leaving the house’. It has to be said that Cypriot wedding songs are really beautiful and moving – especially when sung by someone who speaks the Cypriot dialect well (and none of us really do anymore).
After seeing Pancake get ready for the wedding, we made our way over to Bridezilla’s house. Now the group we were with parked in a field which I didn’t want to do because I didn’t want to get dust all over my shoes, so I tried to park on the pavement. Of course in my usual manner I rammed the car up on the pavement so hard that we thought the front tire burst. We just sat there shocked hoping it was okay but of course, because I’m driving the car and because things like this always happen when they shouldn’t, I had a flat tire. So there I stood in my flashy new suit and shoes with no dust on them… and I had a flat tire.
We went inside to see Bridezilla get ready. Cake came down the stairs in her wedding dress (don’t ask me to describe women’s clothes – I’m only interested in clothes when they take them off – not put them on) but I can guarantee to you that it was white. She looked like a loveable yeti getting married. The music started; the violins played; and everyone was in a good mood. Except me who was stressing about the burst tire. So after Cake got ready I went outside with a friend to change the tire – something I never did in my life (along with a frappe – I never made a frappe either).

Flat Tire
So there I stood in my wedding gear changing a tire – with the help of a friend (thank you Mr. D!) and I didn’t even get a smudge of oil or dirt on me. I should write a book ‘How to Change a Tire in an Armani Suit on a Wedding Day and look Good’ by BabyBusinessMan. I mean the whole situation was ridiculous. It was like Milan Fashion Week meets DIY Mechanics. So with the tire changed we made out way to the Church.

Late for Church
Have you heard the song ‘Get Me to the Church on Time?’ well we didn’t. We got lost on the way… and then it took me about 10 minutes to find a parking and 20 minutes to park into it with two people giving me instructions. Two women to be precise… so you can imagine the trauma… So, we arrived at the doors of the Church moments after Bridezilla arrived and thought that people were throwing rice in the air for us. So we managed to make it into the Church just before Cake was about to walk down the aisle. Being in a Church I was going should have prayed for myself to learn the roads of Nicosia better or at least pray to remember to buy a map! But instead I should have confessed because I swore for the first time in a place of worship before the eyes of God. And suddenly the wedding began…

The Wedding
It was beautiful. Cake looked so poised and elegant and there was a warm ambience around the Church. I especially remember seeing Cake’s mother who looked so happy and proud and cried at the same time. I remember as a child weddings seemed to be so boring and take so long. But when it’s your best friend’s wedding it goes rather quickly (especially the party…. But that’s for later). I was so proud of Cake… who would have guessed she would be the one who grew up first? (Well it was obvious really as she was dating Pancake since the time of the dinosaurs – and she hasn’t aged a bit). And I was worried about PanCake… did he know what he was getting into? Actually if anyone could handle Cake it was PanCake. He adds the right ingredients and makes the Cake tasty and sweet!

The Drinks
After the wedding we all stood in line and congratulated them. Laverne, Smulders and I of course were the noisiest – but we couldn’t help ourselves – it was a wedding and we were determined to have a good time. We congratulated the happy couple and posed for a picture. I don’t need to tell you who was the biggest poser… and then like an Olympic race we ran towards the bar… well Laverne and Smulders did and started guzzling back Mimosas and Fruit Punch and Wine. I, for once, was careful not to get drunk as I didn’t want to get a new flat tire. But the other two were slugging back Martinis’s like it was going out of style. So by the time we arrived at dinner around midnight they were slightly merry – but in a good way. Cake and PanCake got married…. And I still looked good.

The Dinner
Cake and PanCake arranged a dinner for all the close friends, family and gate-crashers. The soup was delicious and the guest was great. It has to be the best dinner party I went to. I sat opposite Cake’s good friend FunkyFashionista (who I want to steal from Cake) and was telling me all about her life in Athens! (if you’re reading this – hi FunkyFashionista) and then Cake came and sat next to us and completely surrounded us with her wedding dress which was the size of Switzerland, and the colour of it too! And from the dinner, around 2am we made our way to…

Zoo
Smulders, Mr. D and I went to Zoo after the dinner, which was after the wedding, which was after the dressing ceremony which was… so you can imagine the day we had. Now I wanted them to see Zoo as they were foreign and had to see Cyprus’ main club. Smulders lives in Texas and Mr. D lives in Oslo and they were in Nicosia with me so they had to experience our country’s national zoo. It is really interesting to see you’re country’s pop-culture through other people’s eyes because the first thing Smulders said, while waiting to get into Zoo was ‘this is the quietest crowd ever. I have never seen such a quiet line.’ You can only imagine what happens in Texas! But it’s true; if you were noisy you wouldn’t get in. But we did get in, almost tip-toeing 10 minutes later as we had a reservation. Guys, it was packed. It was insane. You could not move. Then Mr. D the sensible Norwegian asked ‘what happens if there is a fire?’ Now I ask these questions all the time because I am a neurotic but I never say them out loud… Of course we had a good time, and danced with a group of people I knew who were there, but went home at 4am to prepare for the next day, the reason we were all there: for the party!

Next up: My Best Friend’s Wedding: Part: I DO TOO!

MILF Bar

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Yom Kippur 2008

To all the Jews out there; Yom Kippur begins at sunset today 8th of October 2008 and end at night fall 9th October 2008. The 25 hour fast. Think hard about this years past sins and how you can better yourself for the coming year.

For those of you who are not familiar with Yom Kippur it means Day (Yom) of Atonement (Kippur) in Hebrew and is the day when all Jews repent for their sins.

The source for much of our observance of Yom Kippur is Leviticus 23:26-28 - "God spoke to Moses, saying: Mark, the tenth day of this seventh month is the Day of Atonement. It shall be a sacred occasion for you: you shall practice self-denial, and you shall do no work throughout that day for it is a Day of Atonement, on which expiation is made on your behalf before the Lord your God."

The requirement to "practice self-denial" is interpreted in the Talmud to mean the following five prohibitions: eating, drinking, bathing, sexual relations, using bath oils and lotions, etc., and wearing leather shoes. Driving is not permitted either. Last year I was in Tel Aviv for Yom Kippur and the streets were literally empty for the 25 hours. Not a car was seen on the road - an example of this is the picture above. People go to synagogue, spend time with their family, pray and of course fast. Technically not a drop of water or food should touch your lips. Even the television channels did not broadcast anything for the duration of the fast.

The day of Yom Kippur itself is said to have the power to expiate some sins, while our renunciation of sins and our confession of them is said to be essential for a new year of life with a proverbial clean slate. Maimonides writes that today, when there is no Temple or sacrificial system, "all that is available is repentance." We are required to repent for sins between ourselves and God and for sins between ourselves and other people.

Yom Kippur is the most serious and introspective of all the Jewish holidays -which makes it the hardest on practical and spirital levels. I will let you know of my Yom Kippur experiences tomorrow after the fast - as this will be the third time I am experiencing Yom Kippur.

Yom Kippur 2007 / 5768

In 2007 I found myself in Tel Aviv. By chance it was Yom Kippur and I was staying with my ex (not my other ex, IsraeliBaby who also lives in TLV) but an English ex I dated when I was 19, I think (I can hardly remember - I was always trashed at that age, which is why I'm atoning for my sins now...)

Experiencing Yom Kippur in Israel was a completely different experience. Firstly, I didn’t fast. The reason for this was because I was in Israel for 5 days, fasting would have made me feel tired and I was invited to a dinner that same night by the Australian ambassador.

Now Jewish law states that only reading and praying should be permitted during the fast. Therefore you cannot pick up a pencil as this would mean you are working. You cannot even discuss or touch money (during Shabbat Orthodox Jews discuss money in terms of apples: i.e. how many apples is that worth?). And of course no electricity; which means that television was shut down and you just got the channel showing a blank screen; no public transport; no electricity (though this was not turned off by the authorities, most people just didn’t use it. We did as my previous English ex is not Jewish). So literally within an hour of Yom Kippur beginning the city of Tel Aviv was virtually dead. When I say empty I mean EMPTY. No cars were to be seen other than a rare ambulance (which even under Jewish law is permitted of course).

Before Yom Kippur began I was wondering the streets of TLV. A tall man, with the religious headscarf; phylacteries (boxes with verses from the Torah wrapped on the arm) and a long flowing beard came bounding towards me. He was a Hassidic Jew; ultra Orthodox and as if in slow motion passed all other Israelis and approached me. I’m not surprised by this as I look Israeli but he started shouting at me in Hebrew and pointed to the Torah. ‘Get in now. Get in now’ he kept saying. I kept walking and he kept following me.

Moments later I passed his Synagogue. ‘Hey – come here now and dance the Minyan’ shouted one of three Hassidic men standing outside, with beards and religious garment covering them. (A Minyan is a religious dance composed of 10 men. No women allowed; although some movements of more liberal denomination want this to change). ‘I’m sorry. I’m busy’ I said ridiculously as if had to be somewhere. Everything, literally everything relating to commerce, entertainment, anything was shutting down – and I sounded like I wanted to buy a pair of jeans. ‘What? Why don’t you come into the Synagogue?’ shouted one ‘you are not Jewish?’ shouted another. I said no. Not that I wasn’t Jewish but what was the point explaining to them that I am converting. They not only will not consider me Jewish even after I convert but they will not like the stream I am converting to; the liberal stream.

By the end of the afternoon, Israel was closed for business for the day.
Except at the Australian diplomat’s house which was hosting a dinner. On the way there we walked across TLV’s Tayelet (the promenade) and the streets were overtaken with kids roller-blading and playing with their bikes – as there were no cars. It was like Makariou at 4am on a Sunday morning. At the dinner there were Australians, Israelis, New Zealanders and a few others. But it was really funny being the only European around alongside a Belgian diplomat. My ex is English but even they don’t consider themselves European.

So of course I didn’t fast for Yom Kippur 2007 / 5768 but naturally I refrain from eating pork, shrimp… etc (as non-Jews they had non-Kosher food). But I don’t eat non-Kosher food anyway so that didn’t bother me. One Australian/German man kept arguing with me that I should be fasting and that it was wrong of me not to fast. Politely I pointed out that I am on holiday and I would learn more about Judaism if I had energy and that I was at a dinner, it would be rude to the hosts and unfair to me to be there in front of all that food and not eat. And I had remained Kosher since May 2007. He didn’t see my point. I didn’t care.

I met a wonderful Jewish lawyer there who was impressed by my Hebrew and told me so – which of course I love hearing. We actually hit it off and I was upset I didn’t get her email. She said ‘to me, you are not only Jewish, you are Israeli’ which is a huge compliment and asked ‘in Cyprus – don’t you have lots of spies?’ ‘Yes’ I replied ‘you guys!’ Israelis love this type of humour, so she didn’t take it the wrong way.

So although I didn’t fast and didn’t have a religious experience, I still made the most from Yom Kippur. I learnt that you have to think about which sins you committed – and endear to correct them by making yourself a better person rather than saying ‘I won’t do that again.’ Which is not enough. And I was there to learn about Israel, and the people. So my second Yom Kippur was much different from my first.

The next day I spent in Yafo (Jaffa) where I watched the sun go down. Which signalled the end of Yom Kippur. Below you can see the pictures from that day.

Yom Kippur 2007 / 5768 - Images

Tel Aviv 2007

Top: Sunset in Tel Aviv

Middle: The port of Yafo (Jaffa)

Bottom: Just before the sun touches the horizon on Yom Kippur

Yom Kippur 2006 / 5767

As mentioned in an earlier post, Yom Kippur is the most solemn and serious of all Jewish holidays whose themes centre on atonement and repentance. The idea is to fast and centre yourself and think about the sins you committed over the past year. Unlike Christian confession, it is not about confessing your sins, going out and doing them again and then confessing. Yom Kippur is about repenting for your sins and trying not to repeat them while making yourself a better person. Yom Kippur goes by the Jewish calendar of the 10th day of Tishrei (the seventh month).

Ideally total absence from food and drink begins half an hour before the sun touches the horizon and end the next day when the set has completely set behind the horizon . Thus, Yom Kippur last for 25 hours if you discount the half an hour no-eating rule prior to sundown.
2008 or the year 5769 in the Jewish calendar will be my third Yom Kippur. Below I explain the difference experiences of Yom Kippur for 2006 followed by posts of 2007 and this year’s 2008.

Yom Kippur 2006/ 5767
I was living in Manchester at the time and had made some friends through my Hebrew lessons who invited me to spend Yom Kippur with them at their halls of residence. We had to dress smartly and bring our own services (knives and forks). Now at the time, I had only decided to become a Jew in May/June of 2006 and so was not clued up on all the Jewish holidays. I bought myself an amazing purple and grey pringle (argyle) jumper for the event and my friend gave me a Kippa (men’s skullcap) for the event. So I turn up at the Yom Kippur dinner with a bottle of wine, thinking it will be a party. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The kids arranged a wonderful table filled with Jewish food like matzo balls and one girl made Iranian rice which was potatoes at the bottom of a pan and rice above it. Today I think it still is my favourite food. When I asked her why she made Iranian food at a Jewish holiday she explained that her father was an Iranian Jew. Looking around the room, I realised how diverse Jews are; there were as mentioned, Iranian Jews, British blonde Jews, South African, Israelis and now, a new addition to the family; me. At the time they thought I was Israeli and didn’t explain to me the traditions. I on the other hadn’t assumed they knew that I was new to Jewish culture or that we had to fast. So I didn’t eat much – I never feel comfortable eating in public. It wasn’t until later than I knew about the 25 hour fast.

After dinner we made our way to the Synagogue. It was an Orthodox Temple, the strictest form, and I was converting to Conservative Judaism, a little more liberal than Orthodox Judaism but more traditional than Reform Judaism. The Temple was divided into male sections (at the front) and female sections (at the back). All men, as in all Jewish places of worship were obliged to wear a Kippa. The services I think lasted between 2-4 hours and we read from a Torah in Hebrew. As it had only been reading Hebrew for about a month I could make out the first word and then nothing – so I listened to the Rabbi pray and tried to soak in the experience, focusing on my sins and how I could improve myself. The kind man next to me kept showing me the page we should be on and somehow I kept track. Half way through the service we had a speech about redemption (in English) from a man who studied in Bnei Brak, a religious centre just outside Tel Aviv (which made all the old ladies nod with approval).

After the service we returned home to begin our fast. Now Yom Kppur fell on a Sunday and many of the kids didn’t have lectures the next day or were planning to sleep in and miss them order to make the fast more bearable. I on the other hand was already starving by 11pm and had eight hours of lectures on Monday. As I didn’t eat properly I allowed myself to have a cup of tea in the morning and set out for my day. During lectures not eating was okay – but by 4pm I was feeling faint and Yom Kippur, if I remember correctly was meant to end at 7.37pm. By 6.30pm I made my way home and bought a bunch of chocolates for the end of the fast. Most other kids were going to eat dinner again together but my Jewish friend wasn’t a strict observer and so I was to dine alone. You know when you get so hungry that after a point you don’t feel the hunger – well it was like that. By 7pm I was checking the clock every two minutes but by 7.37pm I had actually forgotten then Yom Kippur was over than I didn’t break open the box of chocolates until around 8pm. Then I made dinner and ate with Laverne who at the time lived above me.

My first Yom Kippur. And what did I learn? I research beforehand and that food should not be taken for granted. I was thankful for my Jewish posse for inviting me to dinner and for showing me my friend steps into Judaism. And my sins? Too many to think of. Id need a week of fasting to redeem them