I’ve had a blog post fully written in my head for the past two weeks about cartography. The maps we create in new cities–both emotional and mental. But that’s going to be an involved post and will have to wait for another day.
Before I came over here, I had heard native Israelis described as “sabra.” Cactus pears. Sweet on the inside and prickly on the outside. So far I’ve seen more of the sweet than the prickly–illustrated by what’s probably my favorite story so far.
During my first full week in Tel Aviv, I stopped at Takhtit for some coffee and to get work done. I seemingly made a wrong turn on the way home, because I ended up in a part of town I didn’t recognize. While trying to find myself, a girl asked me a question. Responding that I didn’t know Hebrew, she asked again, “Do you know, em, how to get to the central bus station?”
I told her, sorry, I don’ t know how and she asks if I know of any bus stops nearby, because if she gets there she can get to the bus station. The problem, I’ve discovered, is that she doesn’t want to walk to Central. After dark it becomes a fairly shady place and this girl doesn’t seem like the kind who is well-equipped for dealing with the prostitutes and dealers that make that their grounds come night.
Although I didn’t know any nearby bus stops, I figured that I would surely pass one before I found where I was going and I invited her to come along with me. Seeing an opportunity to “practice” friendliness in a new country, I asked her about herself and found out that she was in Tel Aviv studying for the SAT. Her name is Lior, she wants to go to art school in New York City and she commutes every Thursday afternoon from the suburbs into the city so that she can take a class that will help her with her score.
We finally crossed a bus stop and she told me that she thought she was at the right one. I told her that I wanted to make sure she got on the right bus safely and waited there with her until the bus came, seeing her off about ten minutes later before making my own way home.
A week later I was walking home again from Takhtit (the right way this time) and across the street is Lior. She waves me over and says, “I was thinking when I got on the bus that you said you didn’t know anyone in Tel Aviv and so if you want, maybe we can be friends?” Yes, Lior, of course I’ll be your friend.
I have been making other friends, of course. Right before I ran into Lior that second day I had just left Takhtit (it’s like the Epoch of Tel Aviv, only with nicer furniture, better food and with the good sense to follow the Smiths with Ke$ha). For some reason I had decided it was a good day to wear a bowtie. As I’m walking up, a table out front says something to me. Again I counter with “Ani lo mevin Ivrit.” They respond that they liked my bowtie and invite me to sit with them.
In this group there were three: Nimrod, Asaf, and Renana. After discovering my provenance, Asaf mentions that his friends are in a band that played SXSW. Had I heard of them? Their name is Terry Poison and I hadn’t heard of them. But, fortunately, they’re playing a show the next day so I decide to go.
The show is at a club called The Cat and the Dog. In my research before the show, I find out it’s one of those places where the bouncers pick who comes in and who doesn’t. Gulp. Austin hasn’t prepared me for these kind of places. But I switch out my black American Apparel T with a dark gray button-up and my sandals with a pair of Vans and I imagine I have a pretty good chance.
Fortunately I don’t have to find out because I’m on the guest list. I get inside and don’t know anyone. The music is at approximately 120db, so I can’t even talk to anyone. From what I can tell, the Cat and the Dog is very different than bars I’m used to attending back home. When people describe Tel Aviv as New York meets LA, this is LA.
Terry Poison goes on and is great. I hang around a little bit longer and on my way out I see Petite, who sings and plays keyboard. I tell her the show was great, to which she responds “Are you Dustin?” Turns out Petite is Asaf’s girlfriend and the reason I’m on the guest list. I tell her I am and she says that I have to meet the rest of the band and they’re going to get pizza and then to a party and I should come. So I follow her, but not before a guy comes up and says to “Watch out for her, she’s a princess.”
I hang out with Petite and Asaf–during which I gain the nickname “Dr. Cowboy”–and then with the rest of the band at a bar called Taxidermy. (Supposed to make me feel at home because of the animal heads on the wall. And, to be honest, I did feel a little bit like I was back at Longbranch.) Anywhere you go you tend to run into a handful of people that really just surprise you with their friendliness–in a good way–and Asaf and Petite definitely fall within that camp.