At
this point, I think it’s safe to say I’m fairly well travelled. I’ve been to
almost 40 of the 50 states, 4 continents, and a collection of different
countries, 3 of which I basically lived in (not including the US). Even with
all the cultural exposure and shocks, never have I felt as confused or foreign
as I did in my most recent destination: Dallas, Texas.
The
situation would have been weird no matter where I was. I was going to planet
Dallas to chaperone 70 teenagers from 17 different countries as they entered a
convention of 2,000 American teenagers who, despite the best of intentions, are
not exactly normal. And thus we have BBYO International Convention.
Luckily,
since on my way to Dallas I had time to take the quickest of pit stops at home.
I had just enough time to get utterly pampered by my incredible family, give my
stamp of approval on my sister’s wedding dress, take my favorite exercise
classes, “watch” the Super Bowl, be in 3 states (long story), and run to Costco
to stock up on the essentials: Quinoa, Wasabi Peas, and Protein Bars. When I
first arrived in my homeland I was so excited and so beyond exhausted from not
sleeping on a 10 hour plane ride and being delayed in the Copenhagen airport
(which, if I’m going to be stranded anywhere, I choose Copenhagen), that I
couldn’t answer the typical security questions and was almost detained. When
asked what I do in Latvia I got so overwhelmed at the thought of explaining all
that my job has become that I decided to forego the usual monologue in favor of
the simpler and quicker, “I don’t know.” I’m not sure if my horrible answers or
my antsy dancing in place tipped the guard off but he was kind enough to ask,
“Are you in a rush or something?” I hurriedly explained that I missed my family
after 5 months of separation AND was about to embark on a 5 hour drive (time
for the first state!) so he very kindly said, “First, I think it’s cool that we
have the same birthday. Second, if you ever answer questions like that again
they’ll hold you for more questioning. But you can go this time” Whoopsies.
Thank goodness he didn’t also see the incredible amount of food I had stashed
in my bag. Happy to be off the hook and worried I’d mess up again, I ran right
through the wrong door and into the open arms of my family and the beautiful,
American“sampling” salad bar. I did miss that country.
So,
after a few days of filling up on diet sodas, candy corn, jelly beans, fro yo,
homemade food, and family love (I really really like my family) I left home to
go South, to the foreign Republic of Texas. The second I got off the plane I
knew Dallas would be confusing, mostly because my ride was confused enough to
try to pick me up at the wrong airport. Kind of a fitting start to a strange
trip.
At
least after the airport faux pas I started the trip off right, with an
emergency stop at Whole Foods, a place I quickly realized would be one of the
only comforts in the vast wasteland. I then went to the JCC to meet most of the
International Delegation. We
played some games, ate some American delicacies (cheese-its and candy), and went
to an indoor ropes course, a wonderful team building experience that they
definitely don’t have in Europe. After swinging from ceilings and realizing
that “zip, zap, and zop” are not distinguishable sounds in many other
languages, we broke for Shabbat. That was when I realized just how strange the
city really is.
First
of all, Dallas isn’t so much a city as suburban sprawl cut open by highways.
Even if there was something to see, it’s hard to see the area because you spend
your whole visit on a highway. At least the city is organized, because what I
did see looked like a perfectly alternating pattern: target, walmart, tex-mex,
hooters, target, walmart, tex-mex, hooters, brown patch of land… I went running
“downtown” on multiple occasions and, even at 10 AM on a Saturday, when people
should be out and about, I felt uncomfortable and unsafe because the streets
and sidewalks were completely bare, save for a heck of a lot of homeless
people. The worst part came when I needed my fill of fro yo and my boyfriend
and I failed so miserably for an hour and a half that we almost gave up. Thank
goodness I found a determined fellow because when we gave up on walking and
hopped on the highway we also found the highlight of my week: EATZI’S!
Eatzi’s
is the most glorious of gourmet market/cafes. Long before Whole Foods became
the meca that it is, Eatzi’s had the best prepared foods, opera music, salad
bar, and, of course samples. It was a staple in Rockville until I turned about
10, when it closed so suddenly that the workers did not even know they were out
of a job until 24 hours before the place closed. My family and friends are
still so much in mourning that we say “too soon” whenever the name is mentioned
and get nostalgic when we drive by the empty spot. Apparently it does still
exist and it almost made up for everything else. That is, until I tried to try
famous Dallas tex-mex.
I
spent a long time researching the most highly rated tex-mex joint because if I
was going to do it, I was going to do it right. First of all, tex-mex in Dallas
means velveeta. Oy. The fact that that is a delicacy almost makes me too
nauseous to stomach anything. But, knowing the importance of keeping an open
mind when you’re travelling, and trying desperately to understand why
Dallasians like their city, my boyfriend and I compared menus and reviews and settled
on a place called “Komali.” Afterwards, everyone made recommendations for other
restaurants but considering that the main descriptions they provided were,
“their food isn’t not bad,” or “that’s the best I can think of,” I was not
convinced enough to subject myself to the torture twice. At Komali, we tried to
order eggs, but there were so many chips mixed in that I think even vegans
could eat them. My boyfriend rightly proclaimed that the “quesadillas,” which,
in typical Texan fashion, were unnecessarily fried, tasted like a poor version
of a microwaveable dinner. And there was so much oil in every single thing that
I’m starting to think that’s where the Texas oil tycoons really make their
money. We ran out in search of exercise and fresh foods, agreeing that we gave
it our best try but we’re sticking with Whole Foods.
Between
that eating experience and most that followed, I was a bit embarrassed that Dallas
was the International folk’s exposure to American food. The US gets a bad rep
anyway, what with all the obesity, and nothing we ate or saw did much to save
that image. The international staff repeatedly said, “No wonder Americans are so
fat,” because even the steamed vegetables were smothered in butter. The one
food I will stand up for are breakfast potatoes, which confused the living day
lights out of some foreignors. The problem might have been that the hotel
served the potatoes with pancakes, which should be too many carbs even for
Texans. At least I can say Texas always surprised me when it came to their
definition of a meal. I tried desperately to explain that it is not only
possible but even easy to be healthy in the US, but when that speech was always
closely followed by free chips and cookies, I’m pretty sure I remained
unpersuasive.
So,
between the ugly landscape and the even uglier food, I’m not quite sure what
the international delegates thought of our country but I know most of them at
least had fun. After all, everything is fun when you’re in good company. Together
we tackled a BBYO dance (which, are traumatizing enough that I claim they are
the reason I quit BBYO) the Dallas “aquarium” (since when does an indoor
rainforest with a few glass cases of fish constitute an aquarium?), the Lego
movie, and the throngs of BBYO teens that took over an entire hotel. To give
you a better picture of my time there, the first week was spent mostly with
just the teens, staff, and 4 other BBYO/JDC fellows from 17 countries, which
included teens from a host of nations, including Argentina, the Balkans, the
UK, Turkey, and other places. We were hosted by some extraordinarily kind local
families, saw Jewish life, toured around a little bit of Dallas, and mostly
just got to know each other.
After some time adapting to the locale, we
moved
to a hotel for the actual
convention, to live amidst a hodgepodge of American teenagers roaming around in
brightly colored spiritwear and leggings. There were a bunch of nice
ceremonies, a lot of REALLY long speeches, some prayer, some CPR training as
community service, and some concerts by artists that the teens swear are famous
even though I’m far too old to know who they are. The best part by far was the
opening ceremonies, when each region and country sent representatives on stage
to show their spirit. I watched my teens proudly trot to the front of a
screaming crowd of thousands. My teens and most of the international kids are
from communities that are so small that they never even imagined so many Jewish
teenagers gathering together. And here they were, not only in one room, but
cheering for them. That moment made it all worth it.
