Friday is the new Saturday

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New foods and sensory overload

The alarm wakes us well before our bodies should be wisely moved. But part of being a tourist is being foolishly heady about sightseeing so I drag myself out of bed and turn on the hot water heater. Most of the year, Israelis rely on solar panels to heat their showers but on the few rainy days, there is the timed heater. I blearily repack (we’re moving spaces this night) while the water temp nudges up to warm. After showering, we head off to market. Friday is like our Saturday and like many places in the US on Saturday, markets fill up to bursting with produce and wares for the weekend shoppers.

Uri is actually going a’marketing but I’m more than happy to tag along since it’s all a vacation to me. We park in Uri’s building downtown (parking is a scarce and treasured thing in this city) and walk to the open-air market in/near Neve Tzedek. There are steady streams of people funneling into the narrow passageways with overhangs protecting the vendors from inclement weather or too much sun. Immediately, I am over-stimulated with all the people speaking guttural rolling Hebrew, faces of all types, blending of European, African, and Middle Eastern, unknown fruits and vegetables, honey-glazed baked goods, vibrantly-colored spieces, strange and tempting cheeses, and the occasional stand of cheap sh*t. So I focus on not bumping into people, keeping Uri in sight, and letting the sights wash over me.

Uri parks us at a 4-table café tucked behind the stalls. It’s his favorite place to get breakfast and Henry and I try a new dish, bourekas or burekas or borek. It’s a phyllo-dough flaky pastry stuffed to the gills with cheese, spinach, egg, and/or meat. I also try a sour-sweet yogurt drink. I can’t finish my pastry because it’s too rich but it was indeed quite yummy. We trail again after Uri as he does his market shopping. Henry stocks up on rugula because he claims it’s so much better than in the states. He’s right but I still gravitate more toward other gooier pastries.

When the old becomes hip

Uri offered to be our tour guide around his city and his skills quickly become apparent. He’s done this before, the sly thing. We are certainly not the first foreign friends to come visiting. He has a list of stops we must make and an easy and well-informed patter about the history and culture of the places we pass. And he takes us on the sort of tour I would pay good money to get.

We venture into the heart of Neve Tzedek first. This is where Jewish settlers moved to when Jaffa became too cramped (and arguably too Arabic and Christian) for their tastes. The small outpost swelled (relatively) in 1906 when Meir Dizengoff led a pack of 60 families into the area, developing the buildings that still stand today. The place fell into disrepair and poverty sometime around independence (before, after?) as Tel Aviv city got cranking further up north. But then, quite recently, the area underwent revival and government officials and private families (some descendants of the original residents) funded significant building restoration. And restoration is ongoing. In another decade, it’s likely that the whole neighborhood will turn a brightened face to the sun, washing away years of neglect. It’s a darn good thing the buildings are as lovely as they are though. The restoration increases the charm of the place instead of paling it.

Neve Tzedek (“Oasis of Justice”) now houses well-to-do private homeowners and many high-end artisan studios and shops. It’s quite the place to be (when rain doesn’t threaten), quieter, cleaner, and brighter than any other part of Tel Aviv I’ve been to thus far. Even the historical railway center is pleasant. All the buildings have plaques describing what the space once was but all of them are now outfitted with the trendiest clothes, art, and furniture.

Bank within a bank

We turn a corner and Uri says, “oh, it’s just a parking lot.” But behind the lot is a beautiful mural, wild and desolate. Our tour-guide grins as Henry and I excitedly trip over to it. Uri has already informed me that Tel Aviv has quite the street art scene (he calls it “graffiti”) and now, Jaffa even sponsors muralists so that at certain times of the year, the city walls blaze forth with artwork. I would dearly love to see that. Now most of the murals have been taken down. But throughout our walk, we see “graffiti” big and small, funny, beautiful, cute, and sad.

We duck through an alleyway and emerge onto Tel Aviv’s banking street. Uri then steers us to quite an interesting sight: a bank within a bank. In order to build their bigger, shinier bank buildings, companies had to preserve old historical banks. They couldn’t demolish them. But they sure as hell could build around and over them! An old-fashioned, early 1900’s building is partially consumed by a glass-walled multi-story bank and turns out the old one is now a museum and art gallery. This particular one was originally founded by Theodor Herzl, the father of modern Zionism.

We move then to Rothschild Boulevard, popping into a mall-type building (Shalom Tower?) with absolutely gorgeous murals interpreting the story of Israel and Tel Aviv. This stroll-worthy street is filled to the brim with restaurants and stores and Uri tells us that there are often concerts and street festivals held here, spilling over the paved central strip. We walk through a pedestrian-only area that has traditionally been the fabric district. Uri tells us that normally on the weekends there are dozens of art and craft vendors out but alas, the rain has driven them off. During our impromptu lunch at a packed-café, where Henry falls asleep at the table (truly), the threat manifests again. It’s raining again, a good solid rain, but I woo the boys on to a Jaffa detour. Maybe the rain will stop soon!

But as we wind our way back to Uri’s car, the rain increases to a downpour. Surprisingly quickly, the streets are totally flooded. We are soaked through and forced to actually ford the streets. My cowboy boots have found their water-resistant limit and I’m finally started to feel some dampness in my toes. We take ridiculous detours (though we do stop briefly to gaze at the serene Hassan Ben Mosque built in 1916) to finally get back to the car. By that time, the Jaffa outing is definitely off. Instead it’s hot chocolate time. And nap time.

Shabbat in Tel Aviv

Uri has invited us over to his mother’s for Shabbat dinner and after cleaning up and draping our wet clothes over the in-house wire drying racks (not that many folks have dryers here, just washing machines), we first go to Aleeza’s place. She lives right at the heart of the city, very close to the Dizengoff Center. Aleeza has just started her post-doc here, learning Hebrew, sequestering herself in the lab, and just starting to venture out and explore. We drop our bags off (she will be our host for the next two nights) and then head to Uri’s mother’s apartment.

We immediately ooh when we step into her space. She has quite an elegant touch and discerning taste for decorations, some bolder but nothing flashy. Live plants and flowers in vases liven up the corners and flat spaces. The place mostly has a soft pink feel, with a touch of peachy-orange. It has hard floors like Uri’s place and the split-bathroom as well. His mother is quiet, almost shy-seeming, and though her command of English is quite good (she was an English teacher at one point after all), she chooses to let her sons drive much of the conversation. Uri’s younger brother has joined us and we sit down to a full-course dinner. As soon as the first meat dish comes out, Henry and Uri both give me a look but I shake my head. I am a self-named “sustainable meatarian” and so this normally means I do not eat meat (and yes, that certainly includes fish). There are some places where I am fairly certain of the ranching or fishing practices but here I am not so certain so have decided not to eat meat in Israel. But…I’m a guest and not surprisingly, the main dishes are all meat-centered. So I chalk it up to traveling and one-time exceptions for politeness’ sake. And enjoy my meal thoroughly.

After dinner, we venture back out to Rothschild Blvd. area. I have persuaded Aleeza to go out too even though the two of us have a 6:15 AM wake-up call in the morning. But I want to spend more time with Uri and I want to see his favorite night-time haunts. And immediately, the difference between the previous night’s crappy club and this night’s scene is obvious. We pop into three places that vary in crowded-ness but all are playing some versions of American pop with an Israeli song thrown in here and there for good measure. They’re all smoky which Henry and I detest but we have no choice. These places have a noticeably older crowd, still down for dancing but less club-like. I also feel like dancing and Uri and I bop along to a few songs. Henry almost falls asleep on his stool though and I can tell Aleeza is thinking of bed. So I make the motion to head back, thanking Uri for this brief foray. Hopefully, one day in the not-too-distant future, I’ll be back when it’s summer-dress time and Uri can show me more of his city. One day!

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Photos

Old and new
On the left an old original building and on the right a vision of what will come

Historical railway station
Now home to posh cafes and boutiques

Neve Tzedek
artisan wall. (I'm going to do this to my one-day future home)

Bank within a bank!
The old bank is to the left and the new bank is to the right and over the old bank (the former outside balconies are now inside the glass-walls)

Flooded streets!
Tel Aviv is not well equipped for heavy rain. But then, it's historically not been a recurring issue

Friday night out
Uri, me, and Henry (before he nodded off)

Home art
Beautiful gate knob on a restored home in Neve Tzedek