I spent my gap year in Israel. A tumultuous year of volunteering, teaching and learning. A year spent, with 40 other 18 year olds, living in relative squalor (obviously, we didn't live in mud huts). A year, where I admittedly did more 'retail therapy' than I did soul searching. A year where I spent much of it, travelling between our low par provided accommodation, and the luxury of my grandparent's house, where I would be fed, showered, and pampered.
I wasn't the typical 18 year old, looking forward to a year of roughing it, and finding ones self, adorning myself with beads, bangles and tattoos. In fact, my one major piece of rebellion was getting my nose pierced. This lasted no more than 2 hours, i found out that my grandfather would disown me if he knew, and it was swiftly removed, never to be spoken about again. Other than this brief flirtation with rebellion, I spent much of the year depressed at my less than comfortable surroundings and fighting with my fellow travellers. Saying this, I don't regret it, I made some beautiful friends, and some typical Bridget-esque stories ensued.
No story exemplifies this better than the Tale of the Golden Knickers.
I'll set the scene. We were living in an 'Absorption Centre', a place where new immigrants to the country, could live cheaply. We're not talking 'Air Bnb' here, more like small boxy apartments, where the living rooms doubled up as bedrooms, kitchens and dining rooms. My roommate's bed, was comfortably tucked between a filthy, damp wall and the fridge. This was the darkest time of my year, and I spent much of it, leafing through estate agent's bumpf, trying to work out if i could afford rent a flat of my own with a working shower (I couldn't). One day, we came home to a dead rat outside our front door, which we had to pay a small child to remove. Another day, whilst getting dressed for my job (a teacher) the front door was rudely opened, and three women walked in, shouting at me that the apartment was too messy, whilst I vainly tried to hide my modesty. It stank, it was cold, and it was uncomfortable, for me, this was a living hell.
As a person who, unashamedly likes to make home, I had purchased a small, flimsy, plastic, set of drawers. This, contained my underwear, and other essentials, and meant, I didn't have to pack and unpack everything, every time we moved. This oddly acted as a source of stability for me. Wherever I was next dispatched to, no matter how hideous our lodgings, I always had my drawers (I never said I was sane right?).
During this fairly dark time, I was lucky enough for my Mum to come and visit me. We spent a happy week, driving around, shopping, eating out and spending quality time together. She kindly helped me stock up on essentials, including, underwear. Now, lets remember, there is no M&S in Israel. No 5 for £10 specials on comfy pants out there. Oh no. We bought what we could find. Two multi packs of shiny gold pants. Think, Kylie Minogue in 'Spinning Around'. Obviously, not being quite as lithe as Kylie, they didn't quite have the same effect on my backside, but, I was left without a choice.
Scene set, now the story commences. It revolves around us leaving this place to travel to the final part of our gap year, four months, spent just out side of Jerusalem, with 120 18 year olds from all over the world, including Australia and South Africa.
Our final day in the squalor was a rushed one. We had to clean our apartment, pack our stuff (obviously my drawers were already packed) and get on a coach, taking us to our next location. We had bought some flimsy bin bags, and were hurriedly throwing the remnants of our fridge away, dragging them down the six flights of stairs we had to climb every day. The bags literally disintegrated in our hands, banana skins, left over pasta, and half drunk bottles of Diet Coke, dripping all over the stairs. We didn't have time to worry about it, the coach was waiting, and we wanted to get the hell out of there. The final job, was dragging my beloved drawers down the stairs. When I reached the final flight, I felt something wet on my neck. I turned around, to one of the resident, angered at the mess we'd left behind, throwing our garbage at us, shouting insults in Hebrew. We upped the speed a bit, I lost a wheel and cracked the frame of my drawers, but nothing was going to make me stop and turn back, for fear of having a piece of Penne land squarely between my eyes.
We boarded the coach, in a hail of rubbish, and breathed a sigh of relief. 15 new faces stared at us- just some of the new people we were going to meet in this final stretch. I carefully placed my battered drawers lying down the back stairs of the coach, resting against the emergency exit door.
When we arrived at our final destination, a very nice hotel, I couldn't help but be excited! We were greeted by lots of smiling, new faces, standing outside our new temporary home. In my mind, they were clapping, even cheering, although, now I think about it, I don't think that was actually the case.
As they opened the doors, we spilled out of the coach, breathing the fresh air and stretching our cramped legs. As I soaked up my surroundings, I heard a crash. I turned around and my chest of drawers was on the pavement, having slipped off the coach when the door had opened. Drawers opened, possessions scattered everywhere, but most importantly, new gold pants strewn on the pavement with abandon, glinting in the Middle Eastern sunshine. Luckily, the suitcases and possessions of 120 new people meant I could gather my things together quickly, without too much scrutiny. I breathed a sigh of relief, and carried on chatting with some new people, I'd just met.
As people started to disperse, forming small groups of room mates, I noticed, a small crowd of boys that I didn't know, gathering in a circle, laughing, pointing, joking around. I went over to see what the commotion was, and lo and behold, my new gold knickers were lying, sadly on the pavement, glinting in the Middle Eastern sunshine. I had to act quickly here, if anyone knew they were mine, I would potentially be the subject of ridicule for the next four months, I didn't want to fall out of favour with people I'd never met before. Besides, no one needed to imagine me wearing gold pants. So, I made the quick decision to disown myself from my new knickers, denying they were my possession, laughing along with my new friends.
At the end of my tenure in Jerusalem, they were still lying, lonely and unclaimed in the lost property box, a shiny reminder that I should never adorn myself with gold lamé, unless I'm truly willing to own it.
