First Weekend in Israel

If Moses and James Bond went on an adventure together, they would be hard-pressed to make it as exciting as the one I took yesterday. From topless women and guns, to getting completely lost (though not for forty years), my day was anything but ordinary.

Because most businesses and public transportation close down around 4:00 on Fridays for the Sabbath, I knew that I had to start my day early enough to make it worthwhile. I also knew that my friend Onar would be working most of the day so I'd have to keep busy alone. I woke up at 7:30 (I figured any noise that might disturb my roommate was payback for his ornery snoring habits), and went to get a latte from the campus coffee shop. The coffee here's very good—they steam the milk so there's a beautiful white foam all around the inside of the cup. Even after you finish drinking the coffee, the froth clings to the edges and you have to use your finger to lick it off.

On my way back from the coffee shop, I ran into my faculty advisor Rony. I'd been planning to look for something to do around Rehovot, the town where the Weizmann Institute is located, but Rony said that there's actually nothing too exciting to see. An exciting (and safe) place, he explained, was the nearby city of Tel Aviv.

Saying goodbye to Rony, I decided to take a stroll up to the train-station just to see what it was like and ask some questions about travel in Israel. After looking at the timetable however, I thought, "To hell with planning," and walked straight on into the station prepared to buy a ticket . Of course, I had to pass by an armed guard and through a metal detector. A ticket to Tel Aviv cost 13 shekel (divide by 3, about 4 US dollars—I'm getting quite good at my multiples of three by the way). The only stipulation for the day: "The last train back from Tel Aviv is at 3:17. Otherwise you're stuck or have to take a cab for 130 shekel."

While waiting at the platform, I ran into a girl from Spain named Aitana who had studied media and journalism as an undergrad at an American university. We helped each other find the right train and kept each other company for the ride. She's visiting the Weizmann Institute for her job back in Spain as a science journalist for a TV channel. Luckily she was better prepared than I and had marked down what train station to get off at. Neither of us had a map. After hearing the name of the station amid several other guttural Hebrew words, we stepped out of the train only to be faced by fifteen teenage boys and girls wearing military uniforms and carrying large guns. Fortunately for me, Aitana had already encountered this and explained that they were just on there way to their regular training session. All Israeli citizens undergo military training as teenagers since there is no actual army. Brushing past the teens in camouflage, we walked to the immediately adjacent shopping center where Aitana was waiting for a person who she had to interview. Because she had this work to do, she gave me her number and we split off for the rest of the day.

With no map and no plan I decided to look for a tourist information center. "There's bound to be a visitor's center at the train station," I thought. Being the clever guy that I am, I found the center immediately… too bad it was closed, empty, and looked like it had been deserted for at least five years. Next to the shut-down building, though, I spotted a travel agency and thinking they might know something, went inside for help. The agency had no information on Israel (go figure) since they were more concerned with outgoing trips, but the woman working looked up some destinations on the internet. I suggested something simple like a museum, just so my day would be easy-going and nothing too overwhelming. She insisted otherwise: "You must go the Old Jaffa market and the beach." Her suggestion didn't sound so terrible, so I took the instructions and hopped on Bus 63.

When I got on bus 63 the first thing I realized was "Crap. I dunno where to get off. The woman at the travel agency said to get off at the second to last stop, but that doesn't help since I won't know what the right stop is till I get to the last stop!" With no maps on the bus, I was a bit uncertain about what to do but decided to approach the situation with a clear mind and little steps. Even though they say most people in Israel speak English, this is not entirely true. I couldn't ask the bus driver for help, since when I paid him for the ticket it was clear that he didn't understand a thing I said. I looked around for other help. Nope, not gonna ask for help from the stern orthodox Jew with the long beard, black cloak and hat. Nor the teenager with the gun even though he looks friendly enough. Aha! There she is. That's the one.

Sitting just one seat in front of me and to the left was a young woman with short-cropped hair. She was holding one half of a very large watermelon and had her face buried in it. Pink juice slipped down her chin. Just as I was about to reach over and interrupt her oddly sensual experience with the watermelon, I paused. "Errr… Clayton," I thought. "Maybe you should reassess the situation." It was then that I realized that her other two watermelons weren't, well, exactly covered. Her tits just sat there, open and free in the middle of the bus. I looked around quickly to see what other people were thinking. No one seemed to notice, well, at least not with the same conspicuous staring that I probably did.

Slinking back into my chair, I realized that this was not so bad after all. By no means did I have the guts to ask the woman what stop to get off at (nor the decency to look her in the eyes while doing so), but, I could use the situation to my advantage. "If I were a woman and if I wanted my tits to hang free," I reasoned, "well, darn it, I'd probably want to go to the beach too!" Though perhaps based on faulty logic, my reasoning worked beautifully. Getting off at the same stop as her, I found myself right in front of Old Jaffa market, which I knew was located right alongside the beach. Thank-you half-naked lady!

To get to the beach, I decided to pass through the marketplace. For the most part, Old Jaffa market consists of one long strip of vendors, a narrow corridor of no more than six people wide, and high overarching canopies. It is a remarkably sensory experience. The fruit vendors build large pyramids of red and yellow cherries, mounds of nectarines and apples, and green grapes on the stem. There's at least one vendor that sells freshly caught fish, which despite their freshness still smell very fishy in the Israeli heat. Others keep various meats (yes, meat) and cheeses on ice, though the two are separated for Kosher reasons. A very busy vendor was strictly selling barrels of all different sorts of olives and pickled items while another had tubs of cinnamon, ginger, peppercorns, and other spices. By far, my favorite stalls were the ones which sold fresh oven-baked bread. The vendors piled sesame seed breads, crunchy wheat rolls, hand-braided breads, pitas, and white rustic loaves into towering domes. I made not of the location of the best of these stands, and decided to make a purchase on my way back from the beach.

Old Jaffa market

A stand that Kent would enjoy--all sorts of gummy candies

Emerging from the shaded marketplace thirty minutes later, I walked a short distance along the street towards the beach. I couldn't see it yet, but I definitely smelt salt in the air and felt a slight breeze in my hair.

The beach was wonderful, especially because it'd been such a long time since I visited one. It was not incredibly busy; there were certainly spots where one could lay down my himself, undisturbed. I took note that both Speedos and board shorts were acceptable menswear for the beach (thank goodness for the latter). Given my lack of preparation and the short time I was allowed (it was bordering on 12:45 already), I decided to just walk down to the water-line for a bit and feel the waves. The water was warm and the waves slid lazily over my fingers. It was really quite pleasant—at least until the waves picked up speed momentarily and rushed toward me, making my shoes sopping wet. I knew I should've taken them off but I was too dang lazy. Besides, I'd only meant to go down to the water for a second. Arghh!!

First view of the beach

Jewish couple at the beach

Some odd buildings at a gas station nearbythe beach. Maybe I'll move into one!

After walking a bit a long the coastline, watching the Israeli people play, swim, and surf in the water, I headed back to Old Jaffa market to grab something for lunch. At the outskirts, I spotted a vendor with all sorts of tasty-looking breaded and fried snacks. I picked out three that looked good and as I went to pay, the vendor noticed I was a tourist and gave me a free falafel, insisting that I taste it in front of him. The falafel was very good and I let him know with a toothy smile and a "ToDa" (Hebrew for "thank-you"). I ate my lunch on a bench and discovered that two of the snacks contained some tasty spicy brown mixture. Perhaps meat. Yay for protein! The best, however, was the triangle shaped pastry which was filled with mashed potatoes.

My very healthy lunch

As I passed through the market on the way back to the bus-line, I picked up a small loaf of a rustic looking white bread covered in flour. When I reached for it to place it in a bag, I noticed how very warm and fresh it was. I couldn't help myself. By the time I emerged at the end of the street, the entire loaf was in my stomach. From potatoes, to breads and puff pastries, Old Jaffa market is not the place to go if you're on a low-carb diet.

At 1:30, I knew I'd better start heading back to the train station. In actuality, I didn't make it back until 3:00 and then only to the correct platform at 3:07, a mere ten minutes to spare! Though I won't bore you with the details of my excursion, it involved taking the right bus in the wrong direction. I passed through a small hip mall and a pleasant park filled with mothers and children playing on swings and slides. It was only by asking a few people my age for help, that I was able to make it back to the station. At one point, I saw on a map at a bus stop that a bus was going to the Weizmann Institute. After asking the bus driver and receiving a blank stare in response, I realized that the bus actually didn't go to the Institute but was driving along Weizmann Street. It really is a shame that there aren't topless women on all buses to serve as inadvertent tour guides.

Fortunately, on the train ride back to Rehovot I ran into my new friend Aitana so I was not completely lost about what stop to get off at. The two of us had a nice chat about our days and went our separate ways once we made it back to the Weizmann Institute. I spent the remainder of my day going to the supermarket (I found one that's open everyday of the week, even on the Sabbath) and nursing my blistered feet and slightly sunburned skin back at my apartment. Overall, it was a very fun day, filled with many learning experiences. If anyone back home is worried about my safety, they can be assured that I won't be going anywhere that Rony didn't suggest and that I agree with everyone else here—Tel Aviv is a safe place four a tourist. Of course, Jerusalem is not so safe and I will be sure to travel with a group and with a plan. Aitana has made this clear to me. The media group she works for sent her to Jerusalem with her own armored guard.