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Published: November 3rd 2008
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I accidentally posted the last post prematurely while attempting to save it. So if you're just now reading this, the first half of my story can be found underneath this post.
Anywhos.
So I set out from Niva's apartment and headed towards Jaffa, a city that is roughly 3,000 years old and has been incorporated into the expanding borders of Tel-Aviv. It was during this walk that I began to fall in love with this city. It was slow and gradual, but the more I saw of the city, its diversity, varying architectural styles, and the attitude of the locals, the more I was reminded of the first time I walked through New Orleans. I started out on Rothschild street, a tree-lined boulevard with a large sidewalk running along the median, dotted with cafes, people on bikes, and young hipsters talking to middle-aged women in bright red lipstick and floral dresses. As one walks, this slowly gives way to the older part of the city, with French-style apartment buildings and boutiques, small green parks with lily ponds and street performers. Once I arrived at Jaffa, the largely Arab population were selling old furniture and knick-knacks in hastily constructed markets,
with cafes and stores spilling out into the streets. Once you go up to the upper part of Jaffa, the scene opens up and you see white sand beaches with a perfect view of the absurdity of Tel-Aviv. As you walk along the beach you see the ancient mixing with the unashamedly progressive, as the glass buildings cover the entire beach front, but this bizarre mix seemed healthy there, even natural.
After stopping to do a little shopping and reading at a cafe, I met up with Niva and Yotam at a vegan restaurant, where they were meeting up with a French couch surfer who wanted to talk to them about Tel-Aviv because she was making a documentary about the city. She kept apologizing for her poor English (even though it seemed great to me) and we all talked about our impresions of the city and Israeli society in general. Niva said something that seemed to articulate everything I was feeling. She said that people think that Israeli's constantly live in fear, that they are focused solely on the next bombing or the Palestinian issue. But they aren't. They have lives, like anyone else in Europe or the US,
who struggle to make ends meet, go out with their friends, who work hard in their education and feel a deep bond with their language and their identity, even though they may not all be observant Jews. Granted, this is not what she said verbatim, but the basic message is there. Niva and Yotam are the epitome of this. They are staunch environmentalists and have devoted their lives to both the practice and education of these issues. To do this is a luxury, not something present in a "war-torn" country, where people are constantly thinking about where the next bomb has been placed - the environment can wait. You get this same sense looking around at the Buddha Burger, where, once again, young hipsters and the older crowd were concerned with eating healthy and being with friends. Even if their fears were in the back of their minds, they in no way were governed by it. People move on.
We left and said goodbye to the French girl (I forget her name right now) and we walked back to their apartment (it wasn't until we got back that I realized we had been sitting at the restaurant for nearly 3 1/2 hours). Niva and I sat on the back porch and were talking and smoking cigarettes. We started on the issue of films, somehow found our way to the drinking age, to colonialism, then weaved our way to discussing pubs. I could tell she suddenly felt anxious.
"Thats it! We're going to a pub."
Yotam said he was tired, Niva reprimanded him, and he relented. I said it was almost 2 A.M. (last call in Chicago). Will the pubs even be open?
"What are you talking about? They stay open until the last person leaves."
We arrived at a flashy and loud bar not too far from their apartment. The music was loud and fluctuated from Israeli to American songs. We talked over a couple of beers, told them about life in the States, and took a shot of a local alcohol (tastes like licorice). We stumbled back and sat on their couch, all the while translating songs from Hebrew into English for me (very depressing - I dont recommend it). We said goodnight and I got settled on the couch. It was now 630 in the morning.
The next morning, after saying goodbye to Eddie (he was going to Jerusalem) and to Alex (he was going to stay with a friend and try to find some work in Tel-Aviv before moving on), Niva and I went to a market. One of her aforementioned odd-jobs is to dress-up, go to this market (only open on Friday and Tuesday) to hand out flyers for a dance company. On this day, she decided to go as a mime. We, unsurprisingly, caught the glance of not a few people. A hastily and poorly-dressed American and a mime walking down the street together I suppose would be a strange sight anywhere. I'm sure theres going to be a picture online soon of me walking down the streets of Tel-Aviv with a mime soon enough. The market is like the Flea Market in New Orleans, where people sell home-grown and handmade crafts for people to buy, complete with odd characters and street performers. After seeing what was perhaps the best trapeze show I had ever seen (as if Im some expert), we headed back. I walked around the city for a while and came back just in time for a shabbat (sabbath) dinner they had prepared. Niva's sister and one of their friends came to join us. The friends name was Jenny, she was from London and loved to talk about astrology (she would end discussions of people with "oh, hes a great virgo" or "I can't stand Taurus men" - which I happen to be). After having a long conversation with Niva's sister on the balcony about Jerusalem and life in the US, we said our goodbyes. Yotam, who was sitting on a giant plastic ball, said he had eaten too many hash cookies and was going to bed. I was exhausted also and promptly fell asleep. The following morning I said my goodbyes to them, as I had to head to Jerusalem to meet up with Eddie. I left then for the bus station (through what must have been Tel-Aviv's Chinatown) and got on a small van and left behind the small slice of home that I knew I would not feel again for a very long time.
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