I’ve been in Israel for a week now, so now seems like a good time to take a look back.
My travels began, of course, in Austin. Packing became hectic, as it always does. My last day at the uShip office–I’ll continue to do contract work from Tel Aviv–came on a Monday and my father was arriving to pick me up on a Tuesday afternoon, so time was short. I made sure to get in one final visit to the Mr. Gatti’s buffet near my apartment, so I had my priorities in order.
From Austin was a three hour ride with my father back to Bay City. He really doesn’t understand the reasoning behind the move. This certainly isn’t a criticism of him. There have been days when I can’t understand it myself. He did make clear, however, that he was proud of me, so I’ve got that going for me.
The next couple days were fairly boring. I flew out of Houston Wednesday afternoon and went to O’Hare first. A few observations:
Is there anywhere in the world with more insanely rude people than this airport? And this is where many people come into the US for the first time. Hearts and minds, people, hearts and minds.
I’ve had bad luck with airport pizza before (see: Uno’s in McCarran International) but the pizza here was fantastic. I know, I know, it’s Chicago, it’s supposed to be, but I was still taken aback.
The international departures terminal is the place to be. Families packed cheek by jowl seeing off their loved ones is wonderful.
From Chicago I took an overnight flight to Warsaw via Lot Airlines. After that was a ten hour layover in terminal 1 of Chopin Airport. Chopin is gorgeous and a good introduction to Europe. Clean lines, good design, graceful women, and gray-haired men–it was as if Poland decided to ease me into being outside the US by hitting on all the stereotypes.
Next was another overnight flight, this one my last, taking me into Tel Aviv. On this flight I learned that while kosher food can be tasty and airline food can be passable, kosher airline food is nothing of the sort. On landing is where the real adventure started.
I had taken a dozen steps off the flight when I spotted two Israeli soldiers. With a look of recognition in her eyes, the woman walks up to me.
“Passport.”
“What are you doing in Israel?” she asks as I hand her my passport.
“Just exploring.”
“How long do you plan on staying here?”
“A little less than three months.”
“And what do you do for a living?”
“Online marketing.”
“And they just let you leave for that long?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty nice, huh?”
I think my final answer pacifies her, as she returns my passport and I’m free to go.
Next up is the line to get my visa. This woman doesn’t appear to recognize me, but provides me with the same level of questioning. She seems pleased with my answers as well, provides me with my visa, and I’m off to get my luggage.
Except it isn’t that easy.
Another soldier asks to see my passport. I dutifully provide it once more, he looks at it, and hands it to another solider. Who then pulls me aside for another round of questioning. If you’ve lost count, that’s three rounds of questioning within fifteen minutes of landing. It’s the Israeli way.
Finally I get to my luggage, where I realize I made no effort to differentiate it from any other off-the-rack black piece of luggage anyone may have. I tell myself that everyone else has differentiated theirs and that I’ll just look for the unadorned luggage. Surprisingly enough, it works.
I made it to my new apartment somewhere around 630 and encounter my doorman. My Russian-speaking, Hebrew-speaking, non-English-speaking doorman. Thankfully my Fodor’s has the phrase, “Where is a public telephone?” tucked into the back. And I had the good sense to write the phone number of the woman who was holding my key.
The apartment is nice. Small, but I’m only one person so I don’t need a ton of room. And it certainly feels more spacious than my apartment at Red Oak–or for that matter on David St. It’s in Florentin, which I think is most analogous to East Austin, but not as gentrified. South Tel Aviv is a different creature than North Tel Aviv, much in the way that South Austin is different than North Austin.
After getting my key at 7.00, I made the mistake and took a nap, except my nap lasted twelve hours. I’ve been paying for it since with jet lag, but it was helpful in allowing me to go out later in the night. I was immediately taken aback by both the late hours enjoyed by the young in Tel Aviv and the cavalier approach to PDA. You’ll routinely see a handful of couples making out in the sidewalks on any given night, and the rate increases dramatically after 2.00.
The jet lag has worked to my advantage in this regard. I’ve been able to go out every night and even at 4.00 be fine staying out longer. I’ve stuck largely around South Tel Aviv, discovering the many bars in Florentin, eating breakfast on Rothschild, and spending large amounts of time at Cafe Tachtit, with The Smiths on repeat. I’ve routinely pulled into my Hebrew–which is expanding rapidly–for one major phrases. “Ani lo mevin,” which means “I don’t understand.” It’s been uttered dozens of times and likely will be dozens more.
That’s about it for now. I’ll check in soon with more.