Tel Aviv-aporting Home

Homeward bound, at long last. Well, not entirely as I did not have a home, in the traditional sense of the word, to return to. But back to America, to New York City, to Sean … to the mosaic of sights, sounds, smells and people that constitute “my” home. As I awoke, I thought I would feel something grand: a feeling of excitement and anticipation, or, perhaps, sadness. Oddly, I felt nothing more than the urge to get my errands done.

And so I strolled through Tel Aviv’s streets and alleys for the final time, pausing to get a few additional shekels, post a few postcards for overseas friends and absorb the flavor of a city to which over the past 10 days I had grown quite accustomed. The night before I told Shirley to sleep in, and while she slumbered, I made my way through Nahalat Binyamin for the final time, picking up a few thank you presents for my ever so accommodating hostess. I only took one other picture that day, at the market:

There was also time for a final personal indulgence. Ever since our shopping day, a multi-strand silver necklace from a store called Ruby Star tugged at my mind, heart and wallet like an overeager child begging her mommy for a new bauble. Having received confirmation of my stimulus payment, I procured that beauty for my jewelry collection. I do hope the Israeli economy felt a bit of a lift from the US dollars I dumped there!

I picked up Shirley and we indulged in our own version of The Last Supper at a cute cafe off Allenby, right up the street from her apartment before heading to the airport.

A traveler has never really witnessed airport security until he has flown through Israel. The shoe removal, the plastic baggies with travel-sized liquids, the huffy-gruffy TSA agents — that’s all security theater compared to tried and true Israeli airport security. With here unnamed regimes threating Israel’s annihilation, not to mention the long history of suicide bombers’ propensities for planes, Israel means business when it comes to the lives of their citizens and all those traveling in and out of the country via air. So while racial and other profile leads to heated debate in America, it’s a way of life in Israel. And as a single, non-Jewish, non-Israeli, backpacking young female one-way ticket holder, I’m suspect numero uno. For people like me, thorough and intense luggage inspections are de riguer. What’s worse, Shirl’s last house guest (same profile as me) was even strip searched. Now, my mother didn’t nickname me Lady Godiva for nothin’, but even I was a bit turned off by the idea of having to peel off my layers for a stranger.

To try to avert a skivvy-clad Colleen in security, Shirley accompanied me to security. Unlike other airports where you only go through security once you receive your boarding card, in Israel, you go through this rigorous search and release as soon as you enter the airport. Shirley spoke with an agent and gestured for me to come over. A rapidfire Hebrew conversation ensued and another guard was brought over. Then began the interrogation: “Why are you here? Who do you know? Are you Jewish? How did you two meet? Where were you before?” On and on. I was definitely sweating, but trying to stay cool. The guard left and came back with a third woman, who again spoke to both myself and Shirley. Finally, I was given a sticker on my bag and told to put it through the machine. Success! Shirley told me that the guard was asking her questions first in Hebrew then me the same questions in English, trying to match up our stories and catch any inconsistencies. With Shirl’s help, I didn’t even have to open my bags. What a relief. Anyone planning to travel to Israel, take note: The guard said it was very good that Shirley came with me otherwise I would have endured a lot more hassle.

When I finally boarded the plane, I realized there were kids everywhere. Not little kids. Teenagers. Loud, antsy teenagers. Uh-oh … Birthright. Now, don’t get me wrong. Birthright is a wonderful thing. It’s essence is that every American Jewish young adult is entitled to a free trip to the Holy Land before the age of 26. But Birthright or not, when I’m on a plan full of hyperactive, hormone-fueled high school- and college-aged kids recently back from two weeks of bonding with Bedouins and each other, I’m flying the unfriendly skies. The next 11 hours proceeded with people running down aisles, pushing chairs way too far back, drinking too much, shouting to each other — just about everything you don’t want to happen on an 11 hour flight. I will never complain about a crying baby as long as I live.

Eleven hours, five movies, two barely edible meals and multiple Diet Cokes later, I was in my real home — back in the arms of Sean and NYC.

Tel Aviv: Bau-housed

Saturday doesn’t even need to be mentioned, as the entire day consisted of sleeping, E! Television and leftover fried food. This was already planned, as Friday was a big night out.

I got back into the vaca groove on Sunday with some more sightseeing, though the lackadaisical pace signaled that this leg of my adventure was slowly winding down. Shirley and I walked in the warm breeze over to Rabin Square. On this huge municipal plaza, the site of many public gatherings both joyous and dangerously charged, Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated in 1995, by a radical Israeli angered by his stance on the peace process and support of the Oslo Accords. He has just finished a rousing speech, and was shot while descending the main stage platform, the hospital confirming him dead upon arrival. Every year on the anniversary of his murder, the square fills with people supporting his memory. However, in recent years, the gathering has become increasingly politicized, for better or for worse.

After a lunch of hummus and a delicious dessert featuring stringing, syrup drench pastry enveloping chewy goat cheese clumps — forgive me for not recalling the name — we sauntered up the wide, tree -shaded Tel Avivi boulevards, including the most famous, Rotschild. Constructed mainly from the 1940s-1960s, Tel Aviv bursts with the angular, minimalist white buildings made famous by the Bauhaus movement, mostly an import from the German and other European Jews that immigrated to the area to build the country. The World Heritage Foundation even recognizes Tel Aviv for its proliferation of Bauhaus stylings. Over the past 30 years, since Israel had, um, more important things to worry about, many of these funky edifices have fallen into disrepair. Thanks to a huge push by the new mayor, there has been a flurry of renovations, slowly restoring the city to its once famous glory, known as “The White City.”

An unusually cloudy day helped deflect the suns singeing rays, and we were able to walk to Neve Tzedek, one of the first neighborhoods of modern Tel Aviv. With its haphazard, tight streets, Neve Tzedek is akin to the West Village in NYC — very historic, but confusing as hell to even native Tel Avivis. We managed to find the approximate location of the house in which Shirley’s mom was born before heading home for a nap and a chill evening in.

[08.06.29] Tel Aviv

Tel Aviv: I Love the Nightlife

One thing this trip has been missing is one of my favorite pastimes: partying. Ever since moving to NYC in 2002, dark rooms with bright, flashing lights have been a big part of my weekend itineraries. After whetting my appetite at Maxim, I was ready to see if Israelis live up to their wild reputation and see if Tel Aviv could handle this shizz.

But before we could hit the dancefloor, we spent the afternoon strolling the artist market at Nahalat Benyamin. On Tuesdays and Fridays, the pedestrian walkways in this small triangular section of the City Center swell with booths offering exquisite handmade jewelry, handicrafts and art, all decently priced. We had been briefly on Tuesday and returned to finish my souvenir shopping.

After freshening up, Shirley’s parents picked us up for dinner in Yaffa. The restaurant, translated “The Old Man & the Sea,” is a Arabic-owned huge food hall overlooking the ocean serving overflowing plates of seafood and huge spreads of mezzes. Because Shirley’s parents are regulars, we got a perfect view of the sunset and gorged ourselves on hummus, bread, falafel, yogurt dip and a big plate of fried shrimp and calamari.

Full of fried goodness, we went home to rest up for the big night out. Things get started a LOT later here, so we didn’t even leave for the pre-party until 1AM. After hanging a the apartment of some of Shirley’s friends, we headed out to a club called Lizard for a party called Pacotek. The party focuses mostly on minimal techno and features a variety of local DJs. The club had a nice underground vibe; located in the outskirts of the city in a more industrial area, the back part of the venue is open, letting the cool night breeze waft over the sweaty dancers. Since John Digweed — a “superstar DJ” who became famous spinning at NYC’s legendary club Twilo — was playing that night, the crowd was a bit thin. Nevertheless, we had a great time letting off steam on the dancefloor and I got to know Shirley’s friends better.

[08.06.27] Tel Aviv

Tel Aviv: A Walk in the Park

Another free day and I was determined to get some exercise and see the city while at it. Tel Aviv’s large city park, Hayarkan, looked nice on the map, so I laced on my kicks and made my way north on foot. I quickly learned that there’s a reason Tel Aviv’s streets start to clear in the early afternoon — the heat is unbearable. On the hour walk up to the Yarkan River, I must have sweat out a few pails worth of perspiration. Grooving to my ipod, I barely noticed someone filming a few girls before he turned the camera on me! Faced with the decision to keep rocking out or embarrassingly stop, I obviously chose the former. So any Israelis out there, keep an eye out for a skinny white chic in red shorts lip syncing to Britney Spears somewhere in Tel Aviv.

At the park, I realized there was a good couple miles of sparsely treed paths along the river until the real park even starts. Taking in the palm fronds, muddy waters and blazing heat, I realized that Tel Aviv is exactly like Florida, minus the random rain storms. I finally found the pond and settled in for a nice afternoon of reading and sunning.

After another long walk home, I reunited with Shirl and we went out to grab sabhit, an Israeli stuffed pita that includes a hard boiled egg, hummus, cabbage and a whole lot of other good stuff. Then, we got ready for our first big night out. Tel Aviv has a vibrant party scene and there is a reason it’s known as a 24-hour city. Problem is that everything gets started a little too late. This leaves many hours for motivation to wain and the bed to beckon.

We rallied through the tough spot and headed out to an underground club called Maxim. The club instantly reminded me of Filter 14 or Sullivan Room back in NYC. The local DJs were playing some great minimal-type music that was just full enough to bring on a good dance vibe. Made some new friends and went home all smiles.

[08.06.26] Tel Aviv

Shalom, Israel

Ben Gurion Airport wants you to know the gravity of a trip to Israel by welcoming you to one of the most epic airports I have ever witnessed. As Shirley, my friend from NYC who moved home to Israel and whom I am visiting, explained, the airport was built during the peace talks in the late ’90s/early ’00s in expectation of “the new Middle East.” Obviously, that all changed in 2001, but the grandiose portal remains.

Shirley nearly gave me a heart attack, sneaking up on me in the arrival’s hall, and we went home to catch up while the sun rose. We slept until the afternoon, catching up Z’s well overdue. Given the tough travel day I just endured, we had an easy afternoon, including a large and delicious brunch at Benedict (a restaurant that could have been transplanted right out of New York City), catching up on pictures from the Blue Voyage, a birthday party at a lounge down by the port and a picnic-style dinner of hummus, tahini and tomato spread. So relaxing.

[08.06.21] Tel Aviv