“Ladies and gentlemen, we are now entering Israeli airspace and due to security requirements, all passengers must remain seated with their seat belts fastened from this point onward until we arrive at the gate. Anyone who fails to observe this must be reported to authorities.” This was the announcement on the PA shortly after having flown over the Greek islands. The meaning of the word security, on many levels, would soon be evident.
I was easily swayed by my friend Erik’s invitation to his brother’s wedding in Tel-Aviv. It all depended on my schedule and getting the days off I had asked for. I had told another good friend of mine, Jeff from Seattle, (itching for a long overdue vacation) who decided to come along as well on one of my guest passes. He had been to Israel before and still had friends there. It was my first time and I thought it would be a great opportunity to check out Tel Aviv with friends and, of course, to visit that holiest of ancient cities, Jerusalem.
Erik and his friend Ivonne met us at the airport and we headed back to the apartment that his parents had rented and where we would be staying. We quickly dressed down and walked the two blocks to the beach. The turquoise water was perfect after a long flight as was the humus and German beer that we had with Richard and Wendy, Erik’s parents.
There was a wall at one end of the beach. We later realized that behind it was a segregated beach, alternating days for either men or women only, understandably for Orthodox Jews or anyone else for that matter. That particular day was women’s day. The pieces of the puzzle fit together when Erik, Ivonne and myself were walking along and we saw this guy jacking off whilst peeking in a hole in the wall, in broad daylight. No shame. That was a first for me, which I found somewhat amusing. Not so for Ivonne who, in all of her 22 years, had already witnessed the dirty deed several times. As a typically hot-blooded Latina, she was about to run over to the bloke and throw sand in his face while cursing him in English, Spanish and Dutch. Too bad neither of us knew Hebrew for “put it away asshole”.
Walking around Tel Aviv was cool. As with most Mediterranean cities, the prominent colour is white. There are many Bahaus and Modernist apartments and municipal buildings some renovated, others with peeling paint. Just next to our dwelling was the Grand Beach Hotel, a perfect modernist hotel of the 50s. Israelis are really fond of techno and trance music. This was the music of choice at just about every café and bar either on the street or at the beach.
The markets are as colouful as the people. Israeli women are renowned to be beautiful. Indeed they are. The guys too are good looking, in a sort of tough way. The bluntness or in-your-face of Israelis can seem rude on the surface to some. For me, it’s a characteristic that I actually like. At least people voice their opinion. They look you in the eye and let you know what they are thinking.
Jeff and I left for Jerusalem the next day. It was Friday, therefore “shabat” (sabbath) where, almost unbelievably, any public transport in the entire country shuts down from sundown until the following sunset. However, private “cabs” (a mini-bus), still operate. It was only a 45minute bus ride away. We stayed the first night at the Jaffa hostel, just inside the old city’s wall and the Jaffa gate. There was a rooftop deck with a view, although we could not see the dome of the rock, which was on the photo they advertised on line.
We walked around the narrow alleys of the old city and stopped at the Café Lina. This is where we ate what locals told us was not only the best humus in Jerusalem but in the entire country. It certainly was good. The Christian quarter and the Church of the Saint Sepulchre was impressive. The tomb where Jesus laid, had a long line-up of weeping Filipinos . There was this Orthodox Christian priest in a long black robe, a severe frown on his face, that was almost running from one end to the next shaking his frankincense as if purging the energy of blasphemous tourists gawking at the holy site.
On to the Jewish section, renovated and well maintained beige brick buildings with narrow alleys were full of fast-paced Orthodox Jews, in their 19th century European black garb. We had to pass an airport type security X-ray to get to the Wailing wall. There it was, the famous wall that is the only remaining part of a temple destroyed by the Romans 2000 years ago. Seeing the believers praying and swaying, as if on ecstasy, in a trance-like rapture made us wonder how intense (crazy?) organized religion can be. People were even walking down the street, reading the Tora. The Arab quarter for me was the most interesting as it felt much more lively, full of kids, graffiti,markets. The Damascus gate was impressive and that was the area that we ate our shawarmas most of the time as other parts of old Jerusalem were way too expensive. Outside the old city, lots of cafes and bars (more techno music and hot babes) and I noticed that all buildings, even new high rise hotels, had the same beige brick walls to blend in with the original colour of old Jerusalem.
Al Quds, the Arabic name for Jerusalem, is almost always represented with one of its holiest sites, the Dome of the Rock. Amongst the holiest of mosques in the Islamic world and one of the most beautiful in terms of art, it was open only one day a week for non-Muslims. Unfortunately, since the intifada, some ten years ago, the interior is closed to everyone but Muslims. It almost made me want to convert then and there.
A visit to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Museum was a must. Needless to say, it was a somber experience with photos, montages and displays. It was the taped interviews with survivors that kept me almost transfixed. Although I know the history and most of the facts, the unbelievable barbarity of it all hits you again when you see the rise of Hitler and Nazism to the final defeat in Berlin, the fascist infrastructure, the models of death camps, the piles of eye glasses, the yellow star of David sewn on a jacket, a badge for your death sentence. Even the architecture of the museum was so well planned that it lead you, in an underground zig zag that felt claustrophobic with only a prism of light above and eventually opened up, at the end, with a platform coming out of the mountain it was built on to a wide open view of the horizon and Jerusalem below.
Back in the old city, we moved to the Petra Hostel which had a much better rooftop view. We even had our own little balcony looking out onto Jaffa Gate. What I enjoyed the most was just hanging out at a café playing “shesh-besh” (backgammon) while having a Turkish coffee and smoking a grape-flavoured shisha bowl.
After a couple of days, Jeff headed down Aqaba, Jordan across the border from the Israeli resort town of Eilat on the Red Sea. He planned to go to see Petra, a few hours from there. I returned to Tel Aviv and met up with the gang for the wedding the following day. The wedding was outside of town, on a kibbutz. It was a beautiful location, on a cliff, over-looking the Mediterranean. The ceremony as well as the food was awesome and after some dancing and a whole lot of drinking we ended up back on a Tel Aviv beach until the wee hours.
I joined Jeff for my last two days in Aqaba. We went snorkeling in the Red Sea. I was not that impressed by the coral and was not inspired to go scuba diving even though it’s something I enjoy and have not done for quite some time. The water was surprisingly cool considering the temperature was in the mid 40 degrees Celsius and the afternoon wind felt like a thousand hairdryers blowing in your face.
More shesh-besh and shisha before eventually walking back across the border to catch the last bus (shabat!) back to Tel-Aviv, then a a taxi to the airport for the long flight back to Toronto. I got another dose of Israeli security at the airport when I was selected for a secondary thorough pat down and carry-on swabbing of all I had with me.
