It was thirty minutes into a seminar on Critical Theory on Planning when I realized with relief that I was not the only one drowning in the Hebrew discussion on relative and absolute space. Another student raised her hand and flat out told the professor, "Excuse me, please slow down. I have no idea what you're saying."
But there was no such sense of sympathy in the school supply store.
The Academon is in the basement of the student union and is filled with the usual paraphernalia for studying - stationery, pens, pencil cases...and then loads of computer goods, an entire corner devoted to backpacks, and racks of toiletries. Really, Ben Gurion U. students? You can't find shampoo at your corner grocery?
What confounded me was how I would organize my papers in the land of no Five-Star notebooks with multiple subject areas and convenient built-in pockets. How to deal with A4 paper, which is narrower and longer than my old mainstay, A3? What to do with a standard filing system of two holes to a sheet, instead of one? Or with the national love for "nylons" - transparent plastic pockets with two holes designed to be placed in binders to hold onto the non-punched sheets.
I stared at the wall of binders and nylons, bewildered at the prospect of re-thinking the way I take notes. After ten agonizing minutes, I bought pre-holepunched loose leaf paper (which comes bound on one end, so it can be easily used in a clipboard) and two binders. I also picked up colorful pens to get excited about writing reams of Hebrew which may be indecipherable to me when I look at them later. I think I'll wind up taking notes on a clipboard, ripping the sheets off at home and filing them away in the two binders, which I'll divide into subjects using nylons.
This information may not be Earth-shattering, but it is just one more way in which I am realizing that studying in another country has many consequences beyond just the language. Foreign students everywhere, I salute you.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
First Impressions of Beer Sheva
The good news: university strikes aren't happening this year, and classes began on schedule on Sunday. The bad news: Beer Sheva's urban design. Let me explain.
Last year, I heard a great line: "Tel Aviv would be such a great city, if only it weren't in Israel."
That thought kept popping into my head last Thursday night, as a friend drove me and the last of my possessions from Tel Aviv down to Beer Sheva, where I am getting a Master's in Geography at Ben Gurion University. As the physical and cultural center of the country, Tel Aviv is a vibrant city full of beautiful people and well-planned parks and boulevards. Elegant skyscrapers, cozy coffee shops and trendy bars light up the streets at night.
By contrast, as you leave the center for the desert this organization deteriorates into wide expanses of empty land broken up by isolated towns and small cities, each carrying its own gas station and monstrosity of a shopping mall done up in neon light that breaks up the serenity you would expect from open space.
After crawling out of Tel Aviv's heavy traffic, we drove past Ashkelon, a coastal city in the Western Negev desert in the part of the country known as "Otef Aza" (Wraps around Gaza) but which some people have dubbed "Khotef Aza" (Catches [Kassam rockets from] Gaza). An acrid smokey pall hung over the road, and infused the car as we traveled to nearby Netivot. This city's entrance is marked by tall modular apartment buildings and jarringly bringt signs tacked onto shopping centers. One meaning of Netivot is traffic lanes; I commented that the only Netivot I would want to see in the town of Netivot are the ones going out.
At this point we turned on the radio to find out that as we drove, Kassams had fallen near both Ashkelon and Netivot. Perhaps this was the source of the smell. We rode on, happy to be moving away from the source of the rockets.
As we reached the outskirts of Beer Sheva, the highway turned into one of the main avenues of the city, Rager Street. And yet, little seemed different. Yes, the road was lined with apartment blocks, but they were wide three-story impersonal and identical buildings that look like traincars on either side. These eyesores are part of the legacy of towns like Beer Sheva, which were developed hastily in the 1950s to absorb massive numbers of immigrants from the Arab world. Although the imperative to quickly house a large crowd has disappeared, the bland buildings live on. Few bars, restaurants or cafes occupy the lower stories, lending the street a bleak and empty character bereft of any urban fabric. And woe to the bikers who ride on Rager. They choose between riding on the edges of a road where cars are traveling at highway speed, or steering their bikes on unpaved "sidewalks" which are really three-feet-wide strips of packed-down sand and gravel.
One of the few places where this sprawling nothingness lets up in Beer Sheva is the old city, which I rode my bicycle to today. Built by the Ottomans, the old city is a series of narrow streets planned on a grid where business are open on the ground floor with apartments going up a few stories above them. Besides the university campus, the old city is one of the few places in Beer Sheva where walking around doesn't involve crossing four- and six-lane highways. And yet...few brand name national chains have stores downtown, preferring to open in the giant sterile shopping mall a few blocks away. The shops that do open in the old city reminded me of business districts I have seen in Amman, Jordan. They advertise heavily with graphics, as in a hair salon will have a picture of a finely coiffed woman on its illuminated sign. Most of the clothes, belts, suitcases and other goods sold in the shops are cheap looking. The few decent restaurants are far outnumbered by felafel joints and hummus restaurants.
Beer Sheva's rent is so cheap that I pay only half of what I would in Tel Aviv. But you get what you pay for. More than a million people live in the metropolitan area of Israel's glossy, European Tel Aviv. Beer Sheva is how so many of the other 5 million people in this country live - in poorly planned cities filled with soulless apartment buildings, ugly clothes and too many cars.
Last year, I heard a great line: "Tel Aviv would be such a great city, if only it weren't in Israel."
That thought kept popping into my head last Thursday night, as a friend drove me and the last of my possessions from Tel Aviv down to Beer Sheva, where I am getting a Master's in Geography at Ben Gurion University. As the physical and cultural center of the country, Tel Aviv is a vibrant city full of beautiful people and well-planned parks and boulevards. Elegant skyscrapers, cozy coffee shops and trendy bars light up the streets at night.
By contrast, as you leave the center for the desert this organization deteriorates into wide expanses of empty land broken up by isolated towns and small cities, each carrying its own gas station and monstrosity of a shopping mall done up in neon light that breaks up the serenity you would expect from open space.
After crawling out of Tel Aviv's heavy traffic, we drove past Ashkelon, a coastal city in the Western Negev desert in the part of the country known as "Otef Aza" (Wraps around Gaza) but which some people have dubbed "Khotef Aza" (Catches [Kassam rockets from] Gaza). An acrid smokey pall hung over the road, and infused the car as we traveled to nearby Netivot. This city's entrance is marked by tall modular apartment buildings and jarringly bringt signs tacked onto shopping centers. One meaning of Netivot is traffic lanes; I commented that the only Netivot I would want to see in the town of Netivot are the ones going out.
At this point we turned on the radio to find out that as we drove, Kassams had fallen near both Ashkelon and Netivot. Perhaps this was the source of the smell. We rode on, happy to be moving away from the source of the rockets.
As we reached the outskirts of Beer Sheva, the highway turned into one of the main avenues of the city, Rager Street. And yet, little seemed different. Yes, the road was lined with apartment blocks, but they were wide three-story impersonal and identical buildings that look like traincars on either side. These eyesores are part of the legacy of towns like Beer Sheva, which were developed hastily in the 1950s to absorb massive numbers of immigrants from the Arab world. Although the imperative to quickly house a large crowd has disappeared, the bland buildings live on. Few bars, restaurants or cafes occupy the lower stories, lending the street a bleak and empty character bereft of any urban fabric. And woe to the bikers who ride on Rager. They choose between riding on the edges of a road where cars are traveling at highway speed, or steering their bikes on unpaved "sidewalks" which are really three-feet-wide strips of packed-down sand and gravel.
One of the few places where this sprawling nothingness lets up in Beer Sheva is the old city, which I rode my bicycle to today. Built by the Ottomans, the old city is a series of narrow streets planned on a grid where business are open on the ground floor with apartments going up a few stories above them. Besides the university campus, the old city is one of the few places in Beer Sheva where walking around doesn't involve crossing four- and six-lane highways. And yet...few brand name national chains have stores downtown, preferring to open in the giant sterile shopping mall a few blocks away. The shops that do open in the old city reminded me of business districts I have seen in Amman, Jordan. They advertise heavily with graphics, as in a hair salon will have a picture of a finely coiffed woman on its illuminated sign. Most of the clothes, belts, suitcases and other goods sold in the shops are cheap looking. The few decent restaurants are far outnumbered by felafel joints and hummus restaurants.
Beer Sheva's rent is so cheap that I pay only half of what I would in Tel Aviv. But you get what you pay for. More than a million people live in the metropolitan area of Israel's glossy, European Tel Aviv. Beer Sheva is how so many of the other 5 million people in this country live - in poorly planned cities filled with soulless apartment buildings, ugly clothes and too many cars.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Miriam Makeba and Nigeria's Ambassador to Israel
On Saturday night, as I gorged myself on Nigerian and Ethiopian food in the backyard of the home of the Nigerian ambassador to Israel, the song Pata Pata came over the speakers. I love Pata Pata, by the South African Miriam Makeba, and I took it as an augur of a great party.
The occasion was a fundraiser to benefit Darfur refugees in Israel; a 50 shekel cover meant all you can eat and drink, and bartenders were pouring Bailey's as though it were chocolate milk. The music continued to be phenomenal, and by the end of the night I had danced with the ambassador's daughter.
I was dismayed to find out the next day that one of Africa's most prominent singers is no longer with us. Makeba was born in a Johannesburg ghetto in 1932, worked as a maid to wealthy white families, got pregnant at 17 and later married a man who beat her. But after a cameo in the film "Come Back, Africa," she became well known in Europe and sought-after by American producers.
Makeba's upbeat and catchy tunes, ribbed with African flavor, gave her a fame she used to agitate against apartheid at home and racism elsewhere in the world. She was exiled from South Africa for 30 years because of the political nature of her music, and only welcomed back with the fall of apartheid. Her music gives off a feeling of sheer happiness at being alive and able to dance. It's absolutely worth a listen, which you can do here. Miriam Makeba was 76 and she died after giving a concert in Italy. Rest in peace.
The occasion was a fundraiser to benefit Darfur refugees in Israel; a 50 shekel cover meant all you can eat and drink, and bartenders were pouring Bailey's as though it were chocolate milk. The music continued to be phenomenal, and by the end of the night I had danced with the ambassador's daughter.
I was dismayed to find out the next day that one of Africa's most prominent singers is no longer with us. Makeba was born in a Johannesburg ghetto in 1932, worked as a maid to wealthy white families, got pregnant at 17 and later married a man who beat her. But after a cameo in the film "Come Back, Africa," she became well known in Europe and sought-after by American producers.
Makeba's upbeat and catchy tunes, ribbed with African flavor, gave her a fame she used to agitate against apartheid at home and racism elsewhere in the world. She was exiled from South Africa for 30 years because of the political nature of her music, and only welcomed back with the fall of apartheid. Her music gives off a feeling of sheer happiness at being alive and able to dance. It's absolutely worth a listen, which you can do here. Miriam Makeba was 76 and she died after giving a concert in Italy. Rest in peace.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Tel Aviv Politics
I spent the morning tracking down where to vote tomorrow for the next mayor of Tel Aviv, so I am in an electoral mood. It's a very exciting time to be both American and Israeli, and to see the reverberations of America's elections abroad.
For anyone living in Israel and trying to vote tomorrow, you can either call the Ministry of Interior automated hotline at 1-800300059 and give them your ID number, or punch it in to the City for All Web site. This gives you your polling place and the other figures you need to get in and out quickly.
Tel Aviv's elections are shaping up to be a localized version of America's campaign for change. A while ago I mentioned the Communist party parliamentarian Dov Khenin as a contender for mayor. Since then, Khenin has clawed his way to second-place standing in the polls, right behind incumbent Ron Huldai. Khenin's party, Ir Lekulanu, or City for All, is pushing a revitalized bus system, more transparency in city government, and affordable housing solutions for young singles and couples being pushed out of Tel Aviv by exclusive, luxury towers springing up all around the city, including in quaint older neighborhoods where they are an eyesore. Here he is in English:
Huldai counters that Khenin is a newcomer without his record for improvement - he points to the city's investment in renovating the port in Yafo, in redoing a large park along the waterfront in the southern section of the city, and for opening new schools.
But the City for All movement is electrifying, as you can see even if you don't understand Hebrew from this news piece on the two candidates. The interviews with Huldai are on the beach promenade in Tel Aviv's clean, affluent North. Huldai stands on a pristine stretch of boardwalk, leaning over the rails with the waves behind him. On the other hand, Khenin walks through the open-air market in the Hatikva neighborhood, one of Tel Aviv's most impoverished. He shakes hands with the vendors, tells them they have nice vegetables, and runs into a crusty Likud party member who says "I know Khenin. His mother was my kindergarten teacher!"
Khenin's campaign also put out the most viral Internet-ready video of any local election, with well-known Israeli TV personalities wearing the "I Dov Tel Aviv" shirt. If you want to buy your own shirt, you can get it for 20 shekels at the ColorTouch print shop, and it comes with three witty bumper stickers that say things like "I Dov Bicycles" and "I Dov Breathing."
Meanwhile, Huldai has come under fire from the other parties challenging him, including the Greens, who put out this video about how Huldai has been having a party at the expense of our asses:
Many of the people supporting Khenin cite his similarities to Obama in being an outsider, a fresh face and a voice that resonates with young people who have been turning out in droves to paper the streets. His party includes former members of the right-wing Likud, the religious party Shas, and leaders from the green movement.
Those who oppose Khenin cite his political background, which is extreme left, as being anti-Zionist. Polls show that he has a strong chance of winning enough votes to necessitate a run-off election, in which case all the other green and left parties would likely throw in their support for him.
For anyone living in Israel and trying to vote tomorrow, you can either call the Ministry of Interior automated hotline at 1-800300059 and give them your ID number, or punch it in to the City for All Web site. This gives you your polling place and the other figures you need to get in and out quickly.
Tel Aviv's elections are shaping up to be a localized version of America's campaign for change. A while ago I mentioned the Communist party parliamentarian Dov Khenin as a contender for mayor. Since then, Khenin has clawed his way to second-place standing in the polls, right behind incumbent Ron Huldai. Khenin's party, Ir Lekulanu, or City for All, is pushing a revitalized bus system, more transparency in city government, and affordable housing solutions for young singles and couples being pushed out of Tel Aviv by exclusive, luxury towers springing up all around the city, including in quaint older neighborhoods where they are an eyesore. Here he is in English:
Huldai counters that Khenin is a newcomer without his record for improvement - he points to the city's investment in renovating the port in Yafo, in redoing a large park along the waterfront in the southern section of the city, and for opening new schools.
But the City for All movement is electrifying, as you can see even if you don't understand Hebrew from this news piece on the two candidates. The interviews with Huldai are on the beach promenade in Tel Aviv's clean, affluent North. Huldai stands on a pristine stretch of boardwalk, leaning over the rails with the waves behind him. On the other hand, Khenin walks through the open-air market in the Hatikva neighborhood, one of Tel Aviv's most impoverished. He shakes hands with the vendors, tells them they have nice vegetables, and runs into a crusty Likud party member who says "I know Khenin. His mother was my kindergarten teacher!"
Khenin's campaign also put out the most viral Internet-ready video of any local election, with well-known Israeli TV personalities wearing the "I Dov Tel Aviv" shirt. If you want to buy your own shirt, you can get it for 20 shekels at the ColorTouch print shop, and it comes with three witty bumper stickers that say things like "I Dov Bicycles" and "I Dov Breathing."
Meanwhile, Huldai has come under fire from the other parties challenging him, including the Greens, who put out this video about how Huldai has been having a party at the expense of our asses:
Many of the people supporting Khenin cite his similarities to Obama in being an outsider, a fresh face and a voice that resonates with young people who have been turning out in droves to paper the streets. His party includes former members of the right-wing Likud, the religious party Shas, and leaders from the green movement.
Those who oppose Khenin cite his political background, which is extreme left, as being anti-Zionist. Polls show that he has a strong chance of winning enough votes to necessitate a run-off election, in which case all the other green and left parties would likely throw in their support for him.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Obama in Israel
Although I have moved to Beer Sheva, I went up to Tel Aviv to watch election results with two American friends, and it was one of the first times since moving to Israel that I felt proud to be an American and aware that there are certain events that you must share with people who come from the same country as you.
The first polls closed at 2 AM Israeli time, and the only American news station we could get was FOX News. We anxiously watched as McCain at first seemed to be in the lead, with eight electoral college votes to Obama's three, and as Florida, Ohio, Missouri and others remained undecided. The three of us dozed off, waking up periodically, as Obama took Pennsylvania, Colorado...and broke through 300 electoral college votes. At 6 we drowsily woke up to Obama's acceptance speech.
It was so exciting to watch this happen at home, in Grant Park where I went while studying at Northwestern, and to see the crowd flowing between Chicago's skyscrapers as though it were an anti-Communist rally in Eastern Europe. Sky News showed Kenyans dancing in the streets, the Fox broadcasters seemed sad, and the three of us kept saying how proud we were of our country, and how excited we were about the Obama family dog.
In the morning I wore a grey Obama t-shirt around Tel Aviv. It felt like the day after you finally get together with someone you have been hoping to be with for months and you want the whole world to know. Every few minutes I would remind myself that Obama was the president-elect, and smile, and stand up on my bike so the t-shirt would be more easily visible.
It's strange, but I really cannot remember feeling this proud of neither America nor Israel, ever. Is this how it was to be an American in the 1940s, when we helped sink Germany and Japan, or in Israel when the Six-Day War was won? So unusual and pleasant to feel that my country makes me feel good about myself, privileged to be a part of it and excited to see what happens next.
...
Today, as I walked around Beer Sheva with a friend, we wandered into the tourist office (which was empty) for the city (which is nearly empty) and chatted with the two middle-aged women who worked there. They said they like Obama, especially because he has a doctoral degree and is an intellectual. Then they added that maybe because Obama is only 47, it will make people in Beer Sheva feel ok about voting for the youngest mayoral candidate for the city, which goes to the polls this Wednesday. Then they accidentally called Obama Mubarak.
The first polls closed at 2 AM Israeli time, and the only American news station we could get was FOX News. We anxiously watched as McCain at first seemed to be in the lead, with eight electoral college votes to Obama's three, and as Florida, Ohio, Missouri and others remained undecided. The three of us dozed off, waking up periodically, as Obama took Pennsylvania, Colorado...and broke through 300 electoral college votes. At 6 we drowsily woke up to Obama's acceptance speech.
It was so exciting to watch this happen at home, in Grant Park where I went while studying at Northwestern, and to see the crowd flowing between Chicago's skyscrapers as though it were an anti-Communist rally in Eastern Europe. Sky News showed Kenyans dancing in the streets, the Fox broadcasters seemed sad, and the three of us kept saying how proud we were of our country, and how excited we were about the Obama family dog.
In the morning I wore a grey Obama t-shirt around Tel Aviv. It felt like the day after you finally get together with someone you have been hoping to be with for months and you want the whole world to know. Every few minutes I would remind myself that Obama was the president-elect, and smile, and stand up on my bike so the t-shirt would be more easily visible.
It's strange, but I really cannot remember feeling this proud of neither America nor Israel, ever. Is this how it was to be an American in the 1940s, when we helped sink Germany and Japan, or in Israel when the Six-Day War was won? So unusual and pleasant to feel that my country makes me feel good about myself, privileged to be a part of it and excited to see what happens next.
...
Today, as I walked around Beer Sheva with a friend, we wandered into the tourist office (which was empty) for the city (which is nearly empty) and chatted with the two middle-aged women who worked there. They said they like Obama, especially because he has a doctoral degree and is an intellectual. Then they added that maybe because Obama is only 47, it will make people in Beer Sheva feel ok about voting for the youngest mayoral candidate for the city, which goes to the polls this Wednesday. Then they accidentally called Obama Mubarak.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Esoterica: Frozen Chosen
Michael Chabon's novel The Yiddish Policeman's Union is set in Alaska's Sitka province, which has become the homeland of the world's Jews after Israel was destroyed in 1948. His Jews speak Yiddish, eat matzo balls and refer to themselves as the Frozen Chosen. Generally a funny read, especially for people who wonder what would have happened if things didn't work out for Israel.
I thought that last detail was Chabon just being funny, but it turns out that Alaska's Jews actually do refer to themselves as the Frozen Chosen, and they follow EskiMoses. Check out the link for an article on their Congressman.
I thought that last detail was Chabon just being funny, but it turns out that Alaska's Jews actually do refer to themselves as the Frozen Chosen, and they follow EskiMoses. Check out the link for an article on their Congressman.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Back to Life...Back to University?
When I signed the lease on an apartment in the Negev desert city of Beer Sheva for the coming year, I had assumed I would be renting as a Geography Master's student at Ben Gurion University. Besides a solid academic reputation, BGU is also known as the Israeli institution that most closely resembles American college life, because most of the students live near campus and have a robust social life. Classes are supposed to start November 16.
However, BGU has joined the other six public Israeli universities that have threatened to strike unless the Ministry of Finance shells out $125 to shore up a wide budget gap - apparently in the last eight years the university budgets shrank 20 percent even as enrollment increased 10 percent.
If you think it is impossible for universities to strike, look at last year, when the faculty refused to teach for two months, or the year before that, when students went on strike against higher tuition. This has turned into an annual public dance between the universities, which demand more money, and the government, which refuses to give it. The article I linked to above presents a clear, if depressing, analysis of how that process works. It seems to be the fault of the government.
The outcome of this awkward negotiation is that public higher education, a widely accessible rite at $2,400 a year in Israel, is earning a reputation for being unreliable. This leaves a vacuum filled by private colleges, where 61 percent of this year's undergraduates are enrolled. Private colleges charge higher tuition and depend less on government funding. Healthy colleges, which open on time and are not subject to the whims of the Finance Ministry, can attract professors with higher salaries and students with a promise of dependability - which will eventually strip the public schools of their best talent and their strongest students.
Hopefully, this year's strike will not be two months long. But just in case, I am going to start pitching articles the minute I move to my new apartment so that I have a way to fill my days if classes are canceled. Who knows - I may look back on my university years in Israel as the tail end of the era when public universities actually functioned.
However, BGU has joined the other six public Israeli universities that have threatened to strike unless the Ministry of Finance shells out $125 to shore up a wide budget gap - apparently in the last eight years the university budgets shrank 20 percent even as enrollment increased 10 percent.
If you think it is impossible for universities to strike, look at last year, when the faculty refused to teach for two months, or the year before that, when students went on strike against higher tuition. This has turned into an annual public dance between the universities, which demand more money, and the government, which refuses to give it. The article I linked to above presents a clear, if depressing, analysis of how that process works. It seems to be the fault of the government.
The outcome of this awkward negotiation is that public higher education, a widely accessible rite at $2,400 a year in Israel, is earning a reputation for being unreliable. This leaves a vacuum filled by private colleges, where 61 percent of this year's undergraduates are enrolled. Private colleges charge higher tuition and depend less on government funding. Healthy colleges, which open on time and are not subject to the whims of the Finance Ministry, can attract professors with higher salaries and students with a promise of dependability - which will eventually strip the public schools of their best talent and their strongest students.
Hopefully, this year's strike will not be two months long. But just in case, I am going to start pitching articles the minute I move to my new apartment so that I have a way to fill my days if classes are canceled. Who knows - I may look back on my university years in Israel as the tail end of the era when public universities actually functioned.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Main Street Versus Mall Street
With the Dow Jones diving 700 points a day and Swiss banks joining the bailout party, America's next top cliche is the question, "How will what's happening on Wall Street affect Main Street?," meaning how will this crisis trickle down to the average guy.
But, as a recent adventure with my mother proves, the comparison between streets is not quite accurate.
Last week, we went on a mini road trip in search of a quaint downtown area within a 30-minute drive of East Brunswick, NJ, and where we had not been before.
The obvious choices would have been New Brunswick, home of Rutgers University, or its neighbor Highland Park. But these were out because we had been there many times. So we began to look on the map. Did Sayreville have a downtown? No. Milltown? One Main Street, mostly inhabited by Dunkin' Donuts and taxidermists. North Brunswick? No. Spotswood? Main Street populated by nail salons, Rite Aid and Dunkin' Donuts (again).
Eventually we gave up and settled on Highland Park, pop. 14,000. The downtown consists of one solitary Main Street running between blocks and blocks of single-family detached homes with lawns. To HP's credit, the leafy downtown area is attractive, with a pretty school building, a pleasantly small library, houses with generous wrap-around porches, and no taxidermists. On the other hand, Main Street is an extension of a busy road in the adjacent town and sitting outside means a constant drone of passing cars and trucks.
The street itself was disappointingly was full of banks, closed restaurants and a chain coffee house selling hotdogs encased in bagels. After walking up and down for an hour and pondering the fate of the recently vanished used book shop, we cut our losses and left.
As I looked out the window on the ride home, I realized that my mom and I had searched for the wrong thing in New Jersey. Rather than hunt for Main Streets, we should have been on the lookout for enclosed shopping malls and strip malls crowding highway frontage. This would have been much easier to find. East Brunswick alone has one sprawling enclosed shopping center, as well as strip malls along every major road - Summerhill Road, Race Track Road, Arthur Street, Rues Lane, Ryder's Lane, Route 18, Cranbury Road. Basically any paved surface gives birth to a strip mall on either side surrounded by oceans of parking spaces.
Here's Mega Movies at the East Brunswick mall, courtesy of a local realtor's Web site.
From the trip, I gather that the only people who really care about most Main Streets in America are apparently Dunkin' Donuts and taxidermists. Therefore, I would like to suggest a change in the national cliche: "We need to think about how what happens on Wall Street affects the mall street."
But, as a recent adventure with my mother proves, the comparison between streets is not quite accurate.
Last week, we went on a mini road trip in search of a quaint downtown area within a 30-minute drive of East Brunswick, NJ, and where we had not been before.
The obvious choices would have been New Brunswick, home of Rutgers University, or its neighbor Highland Park. But these were out because we had been there many times. So we began to look on the map. Did Sayreville have a downtown? No. Milltown? One Main Street, mostly inhabited by Dunkin' Donuts and taxidermists. North Brunswick? No. Spotswood? Main Street populated by nail salons, Rite Aid and Dunkin' Donuts (again).
Eventually we gave up and settled on Highland Park, pop. 14,000. The downtown consists of one solitary Main Street running between blocks and blocks of single-family detached homes with lawns. To HP's credit, the leafy downtown area is attractive, with a pretty school building, a pleasantly small library, houses with generous wrap-around porches, and no taxidermists. On the other hand, Main Street is an extension of a busy road in the adjacent town and sitting outside means a constant drone of passing cars and trucks.
The street itself was disappointingly was full of banks, closed restaurants and a chain coffee house selling hotdogs encased in bagels. After walking up and down for an hour and pondering the fate of the recently vanished used book shop, we cut our losses and left.
As I looked out the window on the ride home, I realized that my mom and I had searched for the wrong thing in New Jersey. Rather than hunt for Main Streets, we should have been on the lookout for enclosed shopping malls and strip malls crowding highway frontage. This would have been much easier to find. East Brunswick alone has one sprawling enclosed shopping center, as well as strip malls along every major road - Summerhill Road, Race Track Road, Arthur Street, Rues Lane, Ryder's Lane, Route 18, Cranbury Road. Basically any paved surface gives birth to a strip mall on either side surrounded by oceans of parking spaces.
Here's Mega Movies at the East Brunswick mall, courtesy of a local realtor's Web site.
From the trip, I gather that the only people who really care about most Main Streets in America are apparently Dunkin' Donuts and taxidermists. Therefore, I would like to suggest a change in the national cliche: "We need to think about how what happens on Wall Street affects the mall street."
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