In Israel they have a saying that goes something like this: “you go to Haifa to work, Jerusalem to learn, and Tel Aviv to play”. No points for guessing where we headed for our first weekend in Israel. Tel Aviv is Israel’s epicentre, culturally, economically, and especially socially. A young, vibrant, cosmopolitan city that stretches for miles along the beautiful Mediterranean Sea, with a street vibe that is the perfect blend of uber cool trendy fashionista and laid-back beach bum, with a healthy splash of lively, chaotic middle-east charm. Needless to say it was the beach bum aspect in particular that we were craving. And so after checking into our hostel, we headed straight down to sea to absorb those gloriously warm UV rays on our translucent, pasty English skin (made even whiter by the multitude of brown, army-toned Israeli bodies all around). We swam in the clear blue water, and lazed on the beach. And all was pleasant and peaceful until “bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang”.
No don’t worry it wasn’t gunfire; but something almost as dangerous to one’s health. We’d been surrounded by matcot players. For those who have never been to Israel, matcot is Israel’s national sport. In principal, it is a kind of beach-tennis (think ping pong without the table), that is portable, stupidly easy to play (there are no rules; you just hit the ball back and forth and back and forth and back and forth), and should thus provide fun for the whole family. In practice, however, it is an aggressive duel, played fast and furious by balding, leathery, middle-aged men in their underwear. So popular is this insatiable desire to smack a little rubber ball as hard as you can at your opponent, and so passionate are the participants (games go on for hours), that on weekends a simple stroll along an Israeli beach can become a seriously hazardous activity, as you constantly dodge getting hit. In our case we escaped serious by harm by packing up and seeking refuge in a bar. With the sun starting to set over the ocean, it was definitely beer o'clock by this stage anyway and as luck would have it, my brother and his friend were not too far away and also came down for a drink.
Our drinks finished, it was back to the hostel for a sleep, a spruce up and some Tel Aviv nightlife. Some tips for going out in Tel Aviv: (1). Have a nap. No club will open before midnight and most places don’t get going til 1am so if you’re old like us a wee little preliminary shloof is a good idea. (2). Wear whatever you want. Some Israeli’s are definitely super cool but most are still stuck in 1983, so don’t worry about any fashion police. (3) Be prepared for long and disorderly queuing, and perhaps a little push and shove. If you can get the chick at the gate to write down your name this might speed things up. Then again it might not. Other people may turn up and be admitted automatically. They know someone who works on the inside. (4) Get to know someone who works on the inside. (5) Learn to order drinks. In Israel a ‘chaser’ is a shot, not a beer to follow a shot. And shots are always doubles (actually Israeli bartenders are very liberal with their pouring, so enjoy!). But be warned for some weird reason they rarely use limes in their cocktails, so I’d avoid ordering a caiparinha (6) and finally dance under the air conditioning - they still allow smoking in clubs in Israel.
The next day after a delightful morning swim and sun soaking session (no matcot players this time, bliss), we set out for some good old fashioned sightseeing in the old port city of Jaffa, the highlight of which was a visit to the Abulafia bakery for lunch. Abulafia is a 24-hour street-side bakery that has been located at the same corner in Jaffa since 1879 (they helped my friends and I through many a late night out when I was in Israel as a teenager). It is an Israeli institution and I guess in many ways a symbol of Arab-Israeli coexistence (everyone loves a good feed). I can’t even begin to describe how tasty the bourekas, the bagels, the sambusac, and all the other local breads, they make are. You’ll just have to go there yourselves! With full bellies it was time to catch up again with my brother’s friends who took us to see an awesome modern art exhibition that was showing in a nearby disused industrial area. There was so much incredible art work on display that by the time we finished walking around it was already dark. Back at the hostel and my sister and Ami had decided to come down for the night to hang out and so we spruced up again and headed out again. This time as we were all hungry we found ourselves a great restaurant/bar where we ordered food and the waiters kept plying us with free vodka and arak shots all night long (I did say they were generous with their alcohol). And so we ate and drank until the wee hours when we said a temporary good bye to Talia and Ami and headed for a very well earned sleep.
The next morning after a delicious Israeli breakfast (eggs, salad, pita and of course hummus) it was off “to learn” we went. The enormously improved highways made the bus ride to Jerusalem a quick 45 minute affair up the (no-longer narrow) winding mountain roads - an enormous improvement on the 2+ hours it used to take! And our first learning experience, after checking in to the hostel and reuniting with my parents (who despite having left hours earlier than us, arrived hours later and seriously unhappy – driving in Jerusalem is an extreme sport not to be attempted by amateurs), was how awesome the fruit and vegies are in Israel. The two most disappointing things about living in England are the weather, and the generally shit, over-packaged vegetables. In the hour or so we spent strolling around the Shuk HaCarmel - one of the busiest markets in Israel, we didn’t come across a single piece of fruit or vegetable that was wrapped in plastic, no sad, lifeless, wilting vegies being sold, no “ripen at home” signs stuck on unripe fruit that will never ripen, and amazingly virtually nothing that wasn’t locally grown. Oh the sweet joy!
Our next learning experience: religion can make people seriously cuckoo. Our first view of religious nuttiness was in Crazy Town - Campbell’s apt moniker for the religious Jewish suburb of Mea Shearim. Mea Shearim, one of the oldest and shabbiest neighbourhoods in Jerusalem, is an anachronistic enclave home to thousands of ultra-Orthodox Jews, who choose to preserve the archaeic lifestyle and ideologies of 17th century Jewish Europe. They speak Yiddish, not Hebrew, and wear peculiar long black robes and strange black hats (from which their unfortunate epithet ‘cockroaches’ was bestowed on them by secular Israelis). They don’t read newspapers, don’t listen to the radio and don’t watch TV. Life revolves around strict adherence to Jewish law, prayer and the study of Jewish texts, so therefore they don’t work. At least the men don’t work. The women of course do, because (as they don’t believe in birth control) someone must provide for their ever-expanding families. Finally, they are exempt from army service, which is, unsurprisingly, a source of extreme bitterness among other Israelis. Although our stroll through this crazy suburb passed without incident, in the past these nutters have been known to throw stones at ‘immodestly’ dressed women, or at motorists who drive through “their” streets on the Sabbath. Needless to say we kept our visit short and soon escaped back to normality, where we met up with my cousin and tucked in to a delicious felafel dinner.
Now if Tel Aviv is the cultural, social and economic epicentre of Israel, Jerusalem is its heart and soul. Unfortunately, it is also currently considered hearty and soulful by many other groups of people, some of whom don’t like each other very much. What you may not realise however, is that Jerusalem’s geopolitics (a result of both its location at the crossroads of Europe, Africa and Asia and its sanctity to Jews, Christians and Muslims) has resulted in diplomatic hell for millennia. This extraordinary 3000 year old city, which covers an area of just one square kilometre, has been destroyed and rebuilt at least twice, besieged 23 times, attacked about 52 times, been captured and recaptured 44 times, and been ruled by 25 different empires (at least according to Wikipedia). And it is because of both its tumultuous past, and its tumultuous present, that Jerusalem isn’t just historic, it is history.
A history that we were expertly guided through the next morning on a walking tour led by one extremely enthusiastic expat-American. Entering through the Jaffa gate we proceeded first through the Arab quarter, surrounded by the exquisite sights and smells of the Arab suk. Shops selling fine silk pashminas in every colour, beautiful turquoise, coral and silver jewellery, pottery, shisha pipes, tacky tourist t-shirts and Jesus-style leather sandals lined both sides of every street. And the rich aroma of incense, spices, felafel and shwaarma stalls followed us as we strolled down the narrow cobble-stone streets. A little further on and we were suddenly in the Christian quarter. We passed through the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (supposedly the site of the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ) and then found ourselves walking along the Via Doloroso (the supposed road along which Jesus apparently trod his final steps to crucifixion). In the second display of religious nutterism, Christian style, we watched as several groups of pilgrims slowly re-traced the hairy prophet’s ill-fated steps, while carrying giant wooden crosses (which I believe you rent by the hour!) and singing various psalms.
Extricating ourselves from the pilgrims we then made our way into the Jewish quarter to visit the Kotel (the Western Wall). The Kotel is the only part of the second temple that remained after its destruction by the Romans in 70AD. Although it was not even part of the Temple itself, just an outer wall surrounding the Temple Mount, this remnant of what was the most sacred building in the Jewish world quickly became the holiest spot in Jewish life. Today, a large plaza, divided in two sections (one for men, the other for women), provides access for visitors to touch and pray at the wall, and traditionally, to insert messages and prayers to God into the cracks of the wall. Although, I’m by no means religious, I feel there is a certain incredible energy surrounding the Western Wall (and the Temple Mount), which I have always ascribed to energies of the thousands of people that died for this place, and that have focused their hopes and dreams and prayers towards this one place, for millennia and millennia. However, with so many tourists visiting, obviously not everyone feels a spiritual connection. My favourite photo from the trip is of a religious Jewish woman, eyes closed, one hand on her prayer book, the other touching the wall, utterly lost in her divine moment, while at her side a blonde Scandinavian backpacker gawks curiously, but utterly incomprehensively, at the structure before her.
We spent a bit more time wandering through the Jewish quarter, which although historically dates to the eighth century BC, today looks brand new, because it was almost entirely rebuilt following its destruction by the Arabs in 1948 after the declaration of the state of Israel. We wander past the Cardo, with its Roman pillars, and some other excavations showing vestiges of ages past, and then find ourselves in the Armenian quarter, the smallest and probably the most enigmatic part of the old city. As a third example of nutty religious acts, Armenians adopted Christianity en masse as a nation when their King commanded it. Anyway, aside from selling beautiful pottery, there is little of interest in the Armenian quarter, and so we quickly found ourselves back at Jaffa gate. The rest of that afternoon was spent eating shwaarma (that delicious smell never really stops following you around in the old city!) and revisiting a few sights, and some market stalls, before heading slowly back to the hostel.
So if day one in the old city was the overview day, I guess day two was the in-depth day. First up on the agenda was a tour of the Western Wall tunnel. Excavations conducted over the last century now reveal the true dimensions of the wall, which is mostly hidden underground, as well as many other features and relics of those distant times. The underground walk along the tunnel with all the layers of past empires exposed is quite impressive, but unfortunately our guide’s overtly religious explanations of the history of it all kinda ruined it for me! Next up was a visit to the Al Aqsa Mosque, Jerusalem’s iconic golden dome on the Temple Mount. We were all pretty excited about being able to see the Mosque as usually “the situation” in Israel is not so calm and such visits are not allowed. And it didn’t disappoint. The Dome of the Rock is really an amazing building to behold. With its intricate colourful mosaic façade and its stunning golden dome (real gold), it’s a seriously photogenic building (hence the thousands of photos we took)! After half an hour however we were asked to leave. So with grumbling bellies we negotiated our way back through the labyrinth of narrow streets that is the Arab quarter, and along the way managed to find ourselves possible the best felafel in all of Israel (big call I know – but true). For the rest of the day the family dispersed. Cam and I headed to the ramparts, to walk on the old city walls, and then checked out the archaeology museum in King David’s tower. Then after a wee bit of souvenir shopping, we headed back to the hostel.
Jerusalem will always be one of my favourite cities. Steeped in 3000 year old history, yet still at the centre of current world politics, home to Jews, Moslems and Christians, it is the myriad of intricacies and complexities of life in this modern yet ancient city that I believe makes it one of the most fascinating places to visit on the planet.
