Arriving in Tel Aviv

(I had started to write this before all the bombing started.  I finished it as if it didn't happen.)

We had what was the easiest flight from Montreal, leaving at midnight and arriving in Istanbul in a quick 9 hrs.  (That seems like sarcasm, but 9 hours go quickly when you take an Ambien- HUZZAH the ONLY way to fly.)  we had an unfortunate but expected 7.5 hour layover.  No problem!  We were positive!  We read books, ate food, knitted, had drinks, took naps.  A simple 2 hour flight to Israel was ahead of us.  We felt so good; we really thought when we arrived in Israel at 3am, we could just make it until it was light out, have breakfast in tel aviv close to the the apartment, and check in early.

The only annoyance was Avi.  Avi was the young man, probably about 13, in the seat behind us, who did not stop talking the entire two hours.  He had an American accent, and his mom an Israeli accent.  I've never heard a young person find so much to speak about, without taking a breath, for the entire flight.  Now I know I'm not the biggest fan of kids, and no one wants to sit near young people on a plane, even if they do, but MAN.  Avi was special.  What was special was that the tone of his voice was completely calm, mature, and even... He wasn't loud, or giggly, or whiny, just conversational.  I imagine that mom must have told him at a young age, "Avi, if you keep whining at me, I will not speak to you."  This is what I tell my own students.  So, Avi must have learned not to whine, and unfortunately avi's mom is stuck talking to him.  Cause she didn't seem too thrilled to have to talk back.  Keep in mind, this is about midnite to 2 am.

Avi had about a gazillion things to say.  Then the seatbelt light goes on.  

Avi: "oh, no, mom, I have to go to the bathroom."

Mom: "too late, Avi.  You wasted too much time talking,"

Avi: "mom, I really have to go."

Mom: "you cannot go.  Too late."

The "really have to go/too late"  argument goes on for a couple of minutes, still in the same tone of voice, mom's head is in her hand at this point.

"you can only go if it is in an emergency."

"It's an emergency"

"You cannot go."

Regular conversation goes on for a minute.

"Mom, I really have to fart.  I'm going to explode."

I am doing everything to hide my laughter.  

"Avi, stop talking to me."

I now can't breathe.

Avi never got to go to the bathroom.  But he never stopped talking.  I think when he had his Bar Mitzvah, this is what Avi thought what "becoming a man in the eyes of Judaism" meant.

We get to the inside of the airport.  Justin made it about one hour before he needed a nap, I made it about 2.  The Israel  airport seems to be specifically designed to get you in and get you out.  Each seat has left and right armrests so you can't lie down to sleep.   There are no cushions on those seats, just hard metal.  The floors are made of marble, and there is no carpeting.  The airport was packed, though, even at 3am, and there's a whole slew of stores open.  This includes not one but TWO fancy jewelry stores.  I guess you never know when someone in the diamond industry needs something.  At 3 am.

So we go to a corner, lie down on the marble floor, and hope that no one tells us to move.  No one does, even though I noticed some little kids go by and give me the stink eye.

I cannot sleep at all, and have a sleep-deprived cry session at 8 am, when my body decides it just can't take it at all.  And I'm cold.  Because marble is COLD.  So I have on the sundress I wore in Montreal, a pair of yoga pants, mine AND Justin's grey sweaters, and I've got this schmata on my head that I wear when I'm at the beach or I'm too lazy to shower.  And sneakers.  I looked like an Orthodox Jew.  At least I fit in.  

We take the 20 minute train ride from the airport to hahagana train station.  Our airbnb host says that the ride from the train to the apartment is 30-40 sheckles ($10-15).  Of course I ask the guy how much it will be and he gruffly replies 50 SHECKLES and I know he's full of shit, and I should tell him to use his meter like they do, oh, pretty much everywhere else in the world.  But instead, like every other trip I've ever taken, I suck it up and take it.  The first time.  Fucker.

The apartment is in Neve Tzedek/florentine, which is pretty much the bushwick of tel aviv.  There are warehouses converted into bars and high-ceiling apartments and is tucked away from the rest of the city and is up and coming and cool.  But really, it's their garment district, one wholesale store after another, selling cheap, ugly clothes that I can't imagine most people wearing.  Much like our garment district.  

We find a great bar/coffee shop called Casino San Remo and get brunch.  Expensive and delicious brunch.  

Tel aviv is expensive.  Not even "New York Expensive."  EXPENSIVE.  We didn't find a tap beer that cost less than $10.  A felafel or Schwarma sandwich, some of the cheapest food you can find in New York, costs $8-10.   A quart of milk: $7.  Really, really, expensive.  I get the feeling that the extra money is going to all those free Birthright trips they give away.

"birthright" is a program run by the Israeli government where ANYONE aged 26 and under, from anywhere in the world, who is Jewish, gets a completely FREE guided (and propaganda filled, I'm sure) tour of Israel.  It didn't exist when I was younger.  I wish it had, because then I could see the look in my parents' eyes.  You know that old joke: "what's a Jewish dilemma?"  The answer: "free pork."  That's what birthright would have meant to my parents... YOU MEAN IT'S COMPLETELY FREE?!? Coupled with YOU'RE GOING TO ISRAEL?!?  My parents are still of the camp that thinks that that Israel is dangerous, even though everyone says that all the bombings take place in one small, out of the way place.

The beaches are gorgeous.  The water is clear.  The sand is clean.  There is food/drink on the beach and the beach chair rental is the only thing we found that was inexpensive while we were there.  The bathrooms are clean and at regular intervals and there are showers on the beach with water fountains.  So well thought out.  So lovely.  There's even a separated, walled beach for the orthodox.  Half the days of the week women get to go, half of the days it's men only, and on Saturday anyone can go, because the orthodox do not.  Caught a glimpse of it accidentally from the top of a hill.  Sorry, my brothers.  

There are restaurants and bars and coffee shops and ice cream places everywhere.  It's modern, and classy, and beautiful, but completely unpretentious.  The young people exude a casual, comfortable, confident sexiness.  It's like a meditteranean. New York, but with a lot of old stuff and really important history.  And did I meantion the magical beaches?

The only inherent problem we see is that the people riding bicycles, motorized bicycles, motorized scooters, WAGONS, are all riding on the sidewalk.  FAST.  they don't say they're sorry, or excuse me, or anything, they just steer clear of you.  They are everywhere, and we're scared shitless of them.  And it's completely accepted here, and no one has so much as scraped us with one.  It's pretty amazing.

Tel aviv seems to have a surprise tucked away behind every corner.  I'm warming up to it really quickly, and am starting to see what the whole fuss is about.  It is weird and cool to know that pretty much everyone I am looking at is Jewish.  It is strange to see so much Hebrew, and I'm a little sad I never learned it.  Really looking forward to all of what's ahead.