With my newfound "expertise" on Tel-Aviv, I attempted to take Natalia to a breakfast place recommended by my friend. Somewhere along Rothschild, we realized that we were completely lost, attempted to find another place recommended by a guy working at a coffee shack (Benedict?), couldn't find that, and gave up, settling for a spot (by now it was after noon) that was very satisfactory (food almost identical to my previous day's lunch), and in extremely large serving.
Again, it was oppressively hot, the people still good looking in their way, the trees still providing shade. But was this it? Was this all there was to Israel? Another very hot beach city with good food, and which stays open late? No.
After an exhausted attempt (it's hard to get stuff done in the heat) to rent a locker, fill it with what we wouldn't need for a few days, and extract what we would need for a few days, and then fill those items into two smaller bags, we left Hayarkon 48, got on a small van/bus (are these the Tel-Aviv city buses? What?) to the main bus station for our trip to JERUSALEM!!!!!!
The bus station had a 1970s looks to it, almost a sinister atmosphere, but lots of food shops that I was tempted to try. Israeli soldiers everywhere, stairs, and escalators too.
Another observation: People give really bad directions here! I can't believe how many times we have been told that something was "down the street" and it wasn't or "15 minutes away" and it wasn't, or #7 and it wasn't. Fortunately we had 15 minutes to find our bus terminal, and we needed every second of it.
And as soon as I sat down on the bus, I thought about the fact that it was a Jewish holiday (Sukhot), and of the bus bombings that seemed so regular in Israel during my childhood. I of course did not mention this to Natalia as I did not want to spook her (she would be sitting next to me for the entire hour long journey, and I preferred to deal with my anxiety over being the victim of terrorism alone), but after I saw the large number of buses coming out of the terminal, I realized that the odds of being on the bus that ended up getting bombed were so low as to be negligible. And I made this (positive) observation out loud.
The landscape between Tel-Aviv and Jerusalem was unremarkable. As I'll mention later, I DO think this to a remarkable country, for many reasons. But far from every inch of it is scenic, and much of the "countryside" is not even particularly attractive desert (when compared to parts of the Mojave, or the Arizona desert (wow!) for instance). But fine.
As we approached Jerusalem, we could already tell it would be very different from Tel-Aviv. Stone buildings along the hills, orthodox people EVERYWHERE (Shira (?) was right!). We took a taxi to our hotel, the Little House in Bakah, which ended up being a prize find by our mutual friend Ben (if you are reading this, Ben, good work on the suggestion!) While slightly away from the Old City, the Little House has nice, clean, rooms, not terribly overpriced, a friendly staff willing to offer suggestions and attempt to be helpful (not all advice was accurate though), real showers (wow!!!!!!!), and a little restaurant/bar next door. We planted our belongings, discussed plans with the guy at the front desk, and headed out by foot to the Jerusalem Old City (we were told it was 15 minutes away, and easy to walk to).
After walking about 5 minutes, we asked for directions from a guy in his 20s, looking to be in a big hurry. What direction to the Old City, we asked? Old City! That's 50 minutes away, you need to take a bus. Really? Yep! Are you Jewish? I am, she isn't. Well, no one's perfect (laughter). He directed us to a bus, which did take us, in fact, to a spot near the Old City, from which we walked (and stopped along the way for falafel sandwich and a shwarma sandwich and all the spicy salad that accompanies it) to the Jaffa Gate of the Old City.
The Old City is divided into four quarters, Jewish, Armenian, Christian, and Arab. Supposedly the Jewish one is the one we were supposed to spend the most time in, and we had been suggested to be wary of the Arab quarter. Our first impression upon entering the Jaffa Gate was that the old city was bustling with activity, shops selling menorah, synagogues, churches, signs directing to historic sites. And SO many orthodox people. We hardly saw anyone within the city walls that appeared to be even moderately secular. What's up with that?
We followed some Orthodox looking guys (and the signs) to the Western Wall, the last vestige of the second temple destroyed in 70 AD, and probably the holiest site in Judaism. Natalia and I were forced to visit the wall from different sides, separated by gender. Noticing a sign
that instructed all to wear appropriate head coverings, I grabbed a kipa
from the bin, and was immediately greeted by a bearded Lithuanian man in 19th century garb, asking me if I was Jewish, what is my Hebrew name, was I bar mitzvahed, have I ever wrapped tefilin (no!) To which he proceeded to have me recite Hebrew prayers after him (some vaguely familiar, some less so, I knew the Shema, but was surprised at how rusty I have become at the Ve
ahavta), while he wrapped a leather strap around my arm and another around my head, each attached to a small box containing several verses from the Torah. While I do not believe this had any spiritual meaning, it was truly something to participate in the ritual, and even more so to feel so included in something I don't understand, by someone I've never met. This, I suppose, is how recruitment works. Here is a picture of me in front of the wall. Don't I look so very Jewish? We stood around for a while and discreetly took pictures of people praying. Not to be cheesy, and really, I don't buy the mystical stuff, but it was a gorgeous place to me, and we were kind of happy just to be standing around there.
We spent the next hour or so exploring the Old City, narrow streets, lined with vendors selling menorahs, virgin Mary paraphernalia, food (we bought delicious backlava and other honeyed, oily middle eastern snacks), shawls, t-shirts with super patriotic slogans, t-shirts promoting Palestinian tourism, ordinary groceries, camera batteries. The Arab quarter was particularly striking -- women with heads covered everywhere, men speaking in Arabic, teenagers roughhousing. The whole area was great, actually. And we came to following conclusion: unlike many of the "old" places we have visited, the Old City of Jerusalem is not merely a museum for foreign tourists, populated by just vendors and guides, but rather a living city, where people actually live their lives.
We exited, walked through a mall area near the Jaffa Gate (boring! and so many children in traditional clothing!), and then walked to the German Colony where we had a few glasses of wine each, as well as an Israeli anise flavored liquor (like Pernod/Uozo, etc.), and split a bowl of pasta, recommended to us by our very charming Israeli waitress Noah who commented that we looked like "Ken and Barbie." I don't think either of us have ever been referred to in such a way, so very, very funny. Everybody in the restaurant was wearing a kipa.
Then we got a frozen yoghurt next door with WAY too many toppings (again, way too much food is Israel!)
We got slightly lost on the way back from the hotel, but found directions from two girls with American accents, one admitting only after prodding that she was from Olympia, Washington. Observation: Foreigners in Jerusalem are remarkably willing to shed their foreign identities and to merely self-identify as Israelis. I find this very strange. We have met several people from the United States or Canada, who seem to have no desire whatsoever to acknowledge that they are from these places.
Stopped for a coke at the bar/restaurant next door and talked to a guy sitting next to us that, based just on his appearance could have been a Jewish Silverlake hipster. Until he revealed that he keeps strictly kosher. Whaaaaaahhhhh?
Mountain Goats -- This Year
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