Saying goodbye to the old neighbourhood
We have lived for about five years now in a neighbourhood that we will be leaving soon. We are ‘upgrading’ from a smallish apartment to a much larger one filled with new furniture and the most amazing kitchen evar. Not to mention the gorgeous 11 meter long veranda.
Though I am looking forward to the new space, I am finding myself at odds about leaving the old ‘hood’. We are literally moving just three streets down the hill but one of these streets is actually a large road that quite decisively separates the two neighbourhoods.
We are moving from a ‘bad-assy’ hood with tons of secrets charms to a new bourgeois growth area. Friends of ours who already live in the new neighbourhood told us horror stories about neighbours complaining about the smallish infractions.
Most of the people in the new place are also outsiders and do not have any connection to the town or its people. So you will not be able to introduce yourself in the elevator at the building’s entrance as the felafel guy’s wife or together bemoan the death of one of the town’s beloved old people. I have not yet met any of my new neighbours but from three streets away they all seem smooth yuppies who commute every day to the cities.
I mentioned to my mother that I am worried that the new place will not have enough weird people but she calmed my fears. Every place has its odd characters and she trusts my abilities to somehow find and connect with them. I admit that this has reassured me because it is indeed true.
Everyone asks me if I have started packing yet and seems a bit surprised that I have not yet done so. Now that I think about it, maybe I am trying to hold of the inevitable for a little while longer.
What I HAVE been doing however is slowly saying goodbye to the little things that I love about the old place. I work from home and feel that I have gotten to know our building and neighbourhood in that intimate way that is usually only experienced by pensioners and stay-at-home parents.
Sometimes I will stand and have a cup of tea on our little balcony to stretch a bit and catch some vitamin D. For a cul-de-sac we actually have quite a lot of action going on. Too many times I got to see the crack of a neighbour’s bum who insists on washing his motorcycle on the pavement right underneath our balcony. There is also the stay-at-home dad who would take a small child to kindergarten while getting tangled up with a leashed dog and a baby in a pram. How come women do things like this so much more effortlessly?
There is a small recycle center visible from our balcony and I am sometimes privy to the junk people leave out. One of the neighbours across the street recently moved out of his apartment and got rid of something like ten huge sad and neglected plants, every single one of them in the biggest container I have ever seen.
Most of the time however, I am working away at my desk. But I do like leaving the windows open. The sounds of the neighbourhood often penetrate my concentration but instead of being bothersome, they are a comfort, a reassurance that I am not alone in the world.
There are the sneezes from the strong sneezing man who would suddenly sneeze extremely loud, three or four times in succession:
ATHICHOO! ATHICHOO! ATHICHOO! ATHICHOO!
I never got to figure out who he is and where he exactly lives but I must admit that I have never heard anybody sneeze so loud before.
In contrast to the sneezing man, I would sometimes get to hear the sound of a piano drifting out from a from window across the street. The piano man plays very infrequently, making it even more special to hear him…or maybe it is a her.
It probably sounds as if I am stuck at home all day long, chained to my desk. Though it often feels as if the apartment is my jail, I must assure you that that it really not the case. I love to swim and my daughters and only have to walk ten minutes to get to the local swimming pool. We are also a five minute walk away from the public library and the nearest supermarket. Admittedly it is the expensive supermarket that we do not often support but still…It is conveniently close if you have suddenly ran out of eggs or forgot to buy milk.
The girls and I have figured out all the shortcuts of the ‘hood by now. If we go to the pool, we zig-zag through the buildings of Ramat Zvi. It is a lower income area with many Russian pensioners who each have a little dog that looks exactly like them. Our favourite is Bebe, the French poodle. Her owner has fluffy peroxided hair….and yes, Bebe definitely got the better hairdresser!
If we are walking to the moshava (the center of the town) or the library we will walk past Saul’s house, say hello to his Indian caretaker who likes to sit outside and then walk past the little olive tree orchard. The olives on the trees are getting bigger each time I see them and this makes me sad. I will not be part of this neighbourhood anymore in October when it is time to harvest them.
It is this nice comfortable neighbourhood filled with quirky characters that reminded me though that things change constantly. Saul passed away recently and his house is closed up with no sight of his Indian caretaker anymore. The old buildings of Ramat Zvi are being renovated one by one - raising the price of the apartments much higher than it used to be. And the two beautiful lemon trees of a neighbour with the golden lemons that I have often coveted, caught a disease and had to be cut down.
And I haven’t heard the sneezing man for a while now.
Nothing stays the same and it is definitely time for us to move on. And yes, tomorrow I will start organizing the cupboards because I have a lot of packing to do…
