Day 4

So I've been studying what feels like all day...

I had breakfast with Maureen at Brasserie this morning and it was wonderful to catch up with her and hear all about the work she's doing at TAU.

Back home to study briefly, then to class.

The three hours passed so quickly, and I even had to write a speech about myself. I was given 30 minutes to write, and sadly Ran wasn't aware that my writing skills were quite strong, and I wrote a ton. I teased him "ani kotevet c'mo ani medaberet...harbe" I write like I speak, a lot... :)

It turns out, I have to present this speech to all of the students tomorrow!! At graduation!

I headed to the shuk to grab a beach blanket, and was able to practice a bit of my Hebrew. I ended up home, and then decided to venture out to find the yoga studio. Another failed attempt. I really felt like the world was out to get me. I kept walking back and forth, looking for the damn 32 Rothschild Blvd, and finally went into number 38 and asked the security guard. I tried in my Hebrew (I'm getting to that point where I can almost express myself but am just a few days short of really feeling confident) and he looked confused, and suggested I walk up the street (where the numbers go up not down) and I finally gave up, realizing the address was an abandoned lot. I headed home fuming, and decided I would be best off just studying. I finally re-checked the yoga studio's website, turns out, they moved. It's about 2 blocks from where I was walking. I guess I've finally figured it out, and maybe will even give it a shot tomorrow. We shall see... I got home and bashed my finger in the door, the middle finger of my right hand is turning bluer by the minute... So much for natural nails, going to have to go red again until this sucker grows out... Why am I so scrappy over here? All bruised, burned, and bitten?

Made an easy dinner and started studying. That's pretty much been my evening, studded with a few phone conversations with great friends. I'm hoping to wow them with my Hebrew tomorrow. Hopefully I will present first so I won't have to feel like an utter idiot following the advanced students...

Nighty night!!

Day 3

Where to begin.

I tried to invert my day today, and ended up heading to the beach in the am to study. Same beach, different scene. Much quieter, many more kids (all taking surfing lessons).

On my way to the beach I stopped at the shuk for some fruit. I was very pleased with myself for understanding the cost of the plums I purchased, the first time I really understood Chamesh v'chetzi or five and a half shekels. I definitely felt as if I was clearly learning something.

As soon as I got to the beach I got a phone call from Eyal. He was heading into Tel Aviv for a bit and wanted to meet up. Sadly our schedules clashed a bit, and we didn't have a chance, but I am positive we will in the next few weeks. He and his better half Hadar are expecting a baby in October!

I managed to study my Ivrit for about 2 hours and was really pleased with the progress I was making. I decided to head to Ulpan a bit early to grab a quick bite to eat. Little did I realize how much I was going to struggle with the sand. I took about five minutes shaking every item of clothing and fabric out, cleaning the sand off my legs, feet, between the toes, to end up walking in flip flops in scorching hot sand that was whipped back at me and my legs with every step. I was cursing aloud in Italian with every shower of sand that sprayed the backs of my legs, sticking to my non-too-effective sunscreened and sweaty skin.

When I finally made it to the asphalt on the boardwalk, I repeated the same measures all over again, and then realized, having gone in the water about an hour before, I had two huge wet spots on my shirt where my bathing suit top was underneath. Ruing the day I decided not to pack a change of underwear before going to Ulpan for 3 hours, wet, sandy, salty and sticky, the wet marks, like my attitude, began to get worse, spreading up and down my shirt. I decided to give up and give in, and just admit that I'm an utter disaster when it comes to the beach. As a little girl I had a distinct love hate relationship with the beach (odd for a pisces like myself), I love the idea of it, but in the end, even with all the fun in the sun, it's just messy and ultimately uncomfortable, as sand gets into places where the sun doesn't shine, and then never ceases to come out. I find sand in my ears a day or two later, even after a proper scrub. So be it, I just decided to embrace the messy beach baby that I am and move on.

I really felt like the Coppertone Baby, complete with disheveled hair and clothing (luckily I didn't have a dog tugging at my bikini bottoms, although that would have helped to resolve the wet bottom situation).

I grabbed a quick yoghurt and iced coffee for lunch and set to the task of absorbing as much Hebrew as possible. I was really impressed with all I managed to accomplish in one day, and Ran was incredibly supportive. I'm not onto my verbs, and while I've done it before, it's good to review the infinitives. Don't get to thinking that my life is easy, I have about 40 new verbs to memorize by tomorrow...

I also decided, I'm not sure that the intensive Ulpan is going to be right for me next week. I am learning a lot in this Ulpan set-up, and quite frankly, I'm putting in a good 5-6 hours a day already, I'm not sure that another 3 structured classroom hours will actually do me any good. I might just decompensate and have no life, deciding to stay in in lieu of having fun meeting new people. I'll be sure to keep you updated about that.

After class, intent on going to Yoga in my neighborhood, I rushed home, realizing that I was feeling a bit more flush than usual. I literally ran into the house, inspected my rosy complexion, changed into my yoga garb, and headed out in search of said yoga studio. Not having time to verify the exact address on my computer (and being smartphoneless still, it's really taking it's toll on me) I made it to the general location, but couldn't find the studio. I walked into a couple of offices in one building hoping to find it, but instead found very confused people working in small offices, shocked at the sight of this slightly crisped girl in her yoga clothing complete with yoga mat.

After about 20 minutes, even asking around for directions, I gave in, and decided to hit up the grocery store for some dinner supplies and do a session of yoga at home. I met a really interesting Australian guy a few years younger than I am who is here for a few months just kicking back. He asked if I could help him read the labels of some pasta, he's glutein free, and unfortunately I couldn't help. We chatted about travel, living in Israel, the neighborhood (evidently it's the gaybborhood), studying Hebrew (which he is not) and whatnot. We exchanged numbers in the event we find ourselves bored on a given night and want to grab drinks etc. Nice guy, and considering the Israeli's are pretty lightweight when it comes to drinking, he'll be a good drinking buddy should I choose to have a very hard night of it out in Tel Aviv.

I got home and put myself to the task of creating a yoga class. I started with a little assistance from a flow class on youtube, and after my standard 10 minutes were up, I managed to continue for another 35. No ac, no fan, just in the comfort of my livingroom, doing sun salutations, cobra, fish pose, inversions, plank, tables, you name it, I tried it. I haven't worked up a sweat that way in yoga ever. It was great.

I finished, showered, nourished my parched skin with some Ahava cream (the super thick and creamy kind), made a delicious dinner, and spoke briefly to my father. He's very distressed about me leaving my cat with him for the time I'm away and had to call to remind me "never again". I saw no reason to pick a fight, so I kept thanking him for his generosity this time around.

Dinner was delicious, and I settled on a time to meet up with Marueen from Tel Aviv University tomorrow. It turns out she and her fiancee live on my street, just closer to the beach. I took a bit of time to study this evening, and then set out to find a recharge for my cell phone and head out to Kikar Rabin (Rabin Square, where Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated).

On may way I called Shachar, Lior's brother, and attempted to speak in Hebrew, forgetting just how hard it is to speak in a foreign language on the phone. I basically failed from the get go, but I threw in a few words for good measure. Shachar was amazingly kind to me, and beyond inviting me to have brunch with the family over the weekend, he kept reminding me if I need anything at all, just to let him know. I love the Israeli warmth and hospitality. It's something that even goes beyond the Italian hospitality.

I made it to Rabin Square to wait for Anat to come (I arrived way early, leaving myself plenty of time to get lost). I sent a few sms, made a few calls, and then began practicing writing my Hebrew, to see what I remembered from the day.

we ended up at a club on the east side of the square, something between a bar and a club, it was well light but with loud music. It was packed, and underground, and evidently the it place to be. It literally took us a good 20 minutes to get two glasses of cava. While we were waiting, Anat and I exchanged stories of how we know Rachel, our mutual friend, and I had just finished telling Anat how Rachel and I have so many eerie connections, one in particular, Rachel's ex's best friend used to be married to my ex's new wife. Yeah, kind of confusing. Basically, my ex just got married to a woman, who used to be married to Rachel's ex-boyfriend's best friend. Whatever, the point is, I turn around to see Liron, the glowing bride, standing right behind me. Now I only know Liron from Facebook, but she's quite a unique looking creature, so unmistakable and I quickly began scanning the entire bar looking for my ex, with my heart in my throat. Not having seen him since things ended, this was not how I imagined running into him and meeting his ten-foot-tall, lanky, impossibly tanned wife. I've not ever been good in those sorts of situations and feeling short and like that idiotic sunburned tourist who is bleerly-eyed from all the studying and can barely think straight, I knew I was bound to say something utterly stupid. As soon as Anat scored our drinks, I steered her away to a different part of the bar, explaining the situation, and then we both agreed, there is something about Rachel and her own black-magic, or red-magic. You tell one story about how you know Rachel, and invariably someone from that story, or else someone who knows Rachel mysteriously appears, as if summoned by the sheer sound of her name being uttered.

When my heart returned to it's normal resting pace and place, Anat and I settled in for a comfortable chat while waiting for her friend Ori to arrive. The bar was packed so there was a bit of a line for him but he did finally join us.

We stayed for a while chatting, and I finally said my farewells, as Anat accompanied me upstairs, and we said our own goodbye as she headed North and I south. I got home, and despite the crunch of sand under my feet when I entered the house, I was happy to be here. It reminds me, I need to clean.

I spoke to Lior on the phone, and then attempted a call to Chaleigh who was out, hopefully on date number two with Mr. Brooklyn Bridge, and sat down to finish this blog over a cup of nana tea. Having finished the tea, and my description of the day, I'd say it's about time to sign off and head to lala land. Enjoy the photographs from the market this morning...

Day 2

So I woke up and decided I had been eating far too many servings of hummos, pita, labna, cheese, bread, etc. In fact, my diet has strictly been composed of that, with a splash of coffee and cereal for good measure. At the risk of returning to the US with the infamous Hummus Tuchas, I ventured out for a jog in the neighborhood.

Jogging, when slightly jetlagged, and in the heat and nearly 90% humidity, is not an easy feat. I managed a good ten minutes at roughly a 7 mph pace before breaking down and walking for ten minutes. When I reached the boardwalk of the beach, I could only muster another 10 minutes at a slightly less daunting pace, before I resorted to walking the rest of the way home. I calculated the entire route would have been just under five miles, so perhaps I can work myself up to it over the course of the week.

I lieu of a gym, I located (online) a yoga studio several blocks from my place. I intend on checking it out tomorrow afternoon.

So I showered, got ready (complete in bathing suit) and headed out just after eating yet another meal including hummus, tahini, Israeli salad, labna, whole wheat bread and eggs to go to my first official Ulpan lesson. I don't really remember what I went through, all I know is my brain is now sufficiently fried. 2.5 hours flew by, and I do think I'm making progress, but I have a pile of about 100 vocabulary words to master before tomorrow's class, and a few listening exercises to work on.

Ran is great, and we had a great time working on my Hebrew. He clearly knows where my weak points are, but indulged me in a discussion of fruits and vegetables (in Hebrew it's each word that is either masculine or feminine, unlike Italian which one generally finds the fruits to be feminine and the vegetables are often, although not always, masculine, at least from the examples we selected in lesson. Although Ananas came up, is that masculine or feminine in Italian? I am not quite sure...). My first and favorite mistake in Hebrew (and yes I am sure there will be many of these). Ran asked me to translate the people in Israel are very nice. I started the sentence and noticed he started laughing. I said "ha anasim shel Yisrael..." It turns out, the proper word is "anashim" but I said instead, "the rapists of Israel are very nice". Not at all my intention. What, as opposed to the rapists in Italy?? Why on earth would there be a language that could so easily confuse people with rapists? It's a change of one letter, and the entire meaning is not at all what you anticipated!! This, my friends, is why I find Hebrew to be such an interesting and challenging language. It's what makes it beautiful, and what makes learning it entertaining.

After class I headed to the beach, intending on working on my Hebrew, but really unwinding instead. I lay out (with my spf protection of course...) on a little part of the beach that wasn't chock full of umbrellas and chairs (which, of course, you have to pay for, and with only 2 hours or so of viable sunlight, I had no intention of paying), spread out my freebee duty free towel I got at the airport in Zurich, and began to soak up the sun, at least in small part.

Some skinny-assed, tall, lanky, 20-something (on the lower end of the 20s range) decided to whisper sweet nothings at me in Hebrew, which I could only presume were dirty propositions as he walked on by, trying to take in every inch of exposed lilly-white skin on my body. I practically gagged in my mouth, and didn't flinch. I figured if he thought I was sleeping, he'd just leave me alone. Kind of like, if you hear a bear in the woods or see it but it doesn't see you, lie down and act dead. I figured, gee if it works with bears, then it should work with boys.

I had forgotten to take into account, even if said bear does suspect you're dead, it's likely to come around sniffing to make sure. About 30 minutes later, when I had tuned in to listen to my MP4 player in Hebrew (I figure why not a little practice on the beach), I felt the shadow of a body hovering over me, and, all the while pretending to be asleep, finally felt a foot on mine! I small nudge at first, and then a more powerful kick. As shocked as I was, I kept on playing dead, and the unfortunate fool gathered I was not interested in the least, and moved on up the beach, hoping for some better luck with another whitey-McWhiteson.

I began to take in my surroundings, look and see who else was enjoying this little stretch of uninterrupted beach. There was a man by himself, in a tiny mankini, lying on a towel nearby, chain smoking. From his color (nearly purple, the kind that reminds you of 70s game show hosts), dress, and simple mannerisms (and the way he was smoking) I gathered he was likely a French tourist hoping for some luck with the ladies in Tel Aviv. Bonne chance to him.

There were several groups of young adults, in their late teens and early twenties, hanging around in groups. A young couple. The girl was clearly either still in the IDF or else had just gotten out, her very pear-shaped body, skin stretched in a way it only can when weight is put on suddenly and then kept on for a while, but not having lost the hope of once returning to its natural state, belied her recent indulgences while dressed in uniforms that never seem to grow to tight. Her boyfriend, a lanky hairy youngster, refused to take off his shirt (not that I would have wanted to see those scrawny chicken arms), shorts, sneakers and socks, and all I could think of was, what a waste of a beautiful head of curls on him. I know thousands of women who would die for his hair, and look much better with it.

Some families were enjoying the late afternoon rays, complete with buckets and shovels and of course in the distance the distinctive sounds of matkot being played. I noticed two religious (exactly how religious I couldn't tell) women with their daughters playing in the sand. The women were conservatively dressed, long sleeves, long skirts, heads covered, while the little girls looked particularly chic and sun safe, wearing boogie boarding swimsuits, the kind that are more like unitards in fanciful florescent colors playing in the surf. (You can even see these women playing with their daughters in the surf in one of the accompanying photographs).

A man suddenly arrived with his bicycle. Now I fully anticipated that this heavy-set man was hoping to indulge himself in the refreshing waters of the Mediterranean (which I calculated to be somewhere near 72 - 74 degrees today), but I didn't understand what he was planning to do with his bike, and clothing, and exactly what he was intending to wear into the water. Just like that, he was stripping down to his skivvies, grey and already a bit transparent when dry, and I had the unfortunate luck to look up just as he was bending over arse pointed in my direction to adjust his pile of clothing on the spokes of one of his wheels. Off he went to frolic in the rolling waves. Please enjoy the photograph I snapped when he was leaving the beach. Here's a distinctive thanks to Becky for helping me turn the sound off my camera, he was none the wiser!

Later on, two girls, also dressed very conservatively, came and sat upwind from me. They were young, probably in their mid-teens, and very innocent, and began to sing together. Their voices blended into a thick and sweet melody, and I was instantly jealous that I didn't understand what they were singing and couldn't even hope to ever sing that beautifully, nor had I ever really embraced music as such. It was so sweet, until they changed over and started singing Lady GaGa's Fernando.

I continued to enjoy the sun a bit longer, reading nearly to the end of my book. Alex gave a call to see what I was up to and suggested I join him with friends for dinner. I made my way home (slowly) and showered and began working on my notecards. Over 100 words to learn before class tomorrow, and learn a song! Good thing I'll be on the beach in the morning.

I managed to speak to my friend Natalie who is finishing up exams this week. We are going to meet up next week when she's free. I haven't seen her in almost two years, so I am very much looking forward to seeing her.

I headed out to go to dinner, at an Indian Restaurant right by the London Minister. I somehow didn't pay attention, and before I knew it I was walking somewhere near the IDF headquarters in Tel Aviv, nowhere near where I needed to be. I ended up jumping in a cab and made it to the restaurant before Alex and his ex-girlfriend Vered arrived.

Dinner was a lovely evening, and Alex was so kind to have everyone speak in English. Near the end of the meal, I got a call from some unknown number, to find Patata della Moda, Annie Ojile on the other line. She was calling to fill me in on updates in her life, the exciting life of a tour guide in Rome, and thank me for her birthday card.

On my way home, I was enjoying the calmer rhythms of Tel Aviv at night, when Lior called. It was nice to have company when walking home alone. I feel safe, happy, and excited when I am here in Tel Aviv, not knowing exactly what the next turn has in store for me, but it was even nicer to be kept company on my short walk home.

Safe and sound at home, I'm looking forward to heading to bed, sleeping well, and waking up to attack the day ahead. 100 new words, here I come! Be ready to be defeated!

Day 1

So I slept like a baby last night, and woke up in an utter stupor at about 9:30 this morning. I was aware of where I was, but had no idea what time it was and exactly why I was so sleepy. No sleep aids, not even a glass of wine last night, and yet I slept like the dead.

I stumbled into the kitchen and put some water on the kettle. Now I know I am more than a bit of a coffee snob, I guess it's genetic, but I figured, while in Israel, I might as well do as the Israelis do, and I set out to making my Israeli coffee with instant coffee. Who would have thought you could mess that up? I certainly didn't, I figured, a few spoons of sugar, a few spoons of instant coffee, hot water, some milk, and voila. Not so...

My first attempt was hardly potable, way too strong, but I figured, I needed a bit more of a pick-me-up than usual, and went with it. My second cup was much more suitable, as I settled in for a few emails and planning my day.

My first order of business was to figure out a car to get me to Jerusalem and back for my evening at the Israel Museum for the reopening ceremony. I had emailed a family friend in Jerusalem to ask for his assistance last night before bed, but had heard nothing. I decided I'd call him if I heard nothing by noon. He called about ten-thirty to assure me he'd arranged a car that would meet me at my apartment at 4:30.

One thing down, I decided to google map my walk to the Ulpan (Hebrew school) I will be taking classes at for the next three weeks. Well, I have a decent understanding of the layout of Tel Aviv, and really if you point yourself to the sea, you can't really go too far astray. It's not like Jerusalem, where you make a wrong turn and find yourself in a bad neighborhood, or worse, in an Ultra-Orthodox neighborhood on Friday afternoon just before sunset (yes this has happened to me, and no I wasn't on foot so I did receive my fair share of dirty looks and hand shakes. That experience was similar to what I imagine it to be like driving through a herd of sheep, not one willing to move left or right to let you pass, just able to look over its shoulder to give the evil eye). I jotted down a few notes on a piece of paper, along with a list of things I needed from the pharmacy and grocery store (one trip was not enough), made a phone call to the Ulpan, and I was off.

Now the route was pretty simple, turn left out on Mazeh, then walk until it turns into Grunzberg, then Grunzberg is supposed to veer slightly to the left and turn into Shefer, then from Shefer left onto Hacarmel, then to Tomer Square where I was to turn at the first exit of the roundabout (if going counter clockwise) right onto Yosef Levi, and finally left onto Kauffman. I know it might sound a bit complicated, but if you look at a map, it seems pretty straightforward. Or so I thought. Now I'm a girl with a reasonably decent sense of direction. Put me in a city with a map, and I'm fine. But of course, I didn't have a map, and seeing as to how I am currently smartphoneless, I didn't have my back-up hand-help gps available to me. I don't know how or exactly where, but I veered completely off the beaten path, and slowly but surely found myself in the trendy neighborhood of Neve Tzedek, which is often times referenced as having a European feel to it.

Now having lived in Europe I wouldn't go as far as to say it has a European feel to it, but it certainly is quaint, artistic, and chic (at least for Tel Aviv standards). I could care less that I was lost, I just enjoyed wandering and slowly finding my way towards the sea. I used my method, when in doubt, point yourself to a landmark you know well, and walk there. In this case, in the distance I could make out the lettering on the side of a high rise saying Dan in Hebrew, and I knew if I headed that way I could only be near one of two hotels, either the Hotel Dan or the Dan Panorama Hotel, both of which I knew I could navigate easily and accurately from. I quickly found myself not only nearing the Dan Panorama, but walked directly underneath it, enjoying a quick respite from the sun before turning left on Kauffman and locating the building in which my Ulpan is based.

My ulpan, Ulpan Or, is a small and very cool place. I met my instructor, Ran if I'm not mistaken, who looks to be about my age, and seems lovely. I'll know more tomorrow. On my way home, determined to actually follow the directions I wrote, I wandered through the Carmel Market, and even picked up a few tomatoes, cucumbers (which are so much better here than in the US) and an onion to make Israeli salad for lunch. I managed to make it home without getting lost, complete with everything from my list and made lunch. (Please see photograph). :) Not much on the food presentation side of things, but it was delicious!!

I took a cat nap, got ready, and hit the road to go to Jerusalem for my evening event. When I spoke to Amir on the phone this morning he said to me "it seems you know all the right people. You're going to THE event tonight." My driver, Ilya, who moved to Israel 17 years ago from the Ukraine (the first in his family to emigrate), drove me a way I have never been to Jerusalem from Tel Aviv. It was the first time I had to go through a border crossing, although I must admit it was anticlimactic. I had my passport ready (not for the passing, for the event) and they didn't even look twice at us as we sped through with no problem. All of a sudden I could see Arab villages to the left and right of the road we were on. It is amazing to me to see the difference even between the landscapes surrounding the Arab villages when compared to those of Israeli villages on the ride to Jerusalem. It is amazing to witness, with my own two eyes, the way the Israeli's have literally brought life to this seemingly desolate landscape. I found a sad yet hopeful beauty about the villages. Some were larger than others, those it he distance, with minarets reaching towards the sky, towering over the surroundings. The rolling hills had patterns of what I can assume to be erosion in even increments along them horizontally, creating a visual rhythmic beat for my eyes as the car sped past. We drove past a sign pointing to Ramallah, the current administrative capital of the Palestinian National Authority, and as I remember it best as the hotbed of anti-Israel sentiment and terrorist funding. It was the closest I've ever been to Ramallah.

Slowly in the distance I began to see the outline of the high rise buildings that signified our arrival in Jerusalem. And shortly thereafter, the point of the tip of the Calatrava bridge that was completed in 2008.

We made our way to the museum complex, and after a series of wrong turns (the usual entrances were blocked for the celebration, I finally made my way on foot to the line to security. The sun was still beating hot, and I was dressed in my red strapless number that I wore to Barbara and Giuliano's wedding, heels, and was sweating underneath it all, but kept on my perfectly powdered veneer of cool and calm on my face. The security to get into the event was tougher than any airport security I've encountered, even tougher than the security at the Hillary Clinton event where Elton John played and the Secret Security stole my treat-box. Tougher than the time I was forced to be x-rayed at Heathrow post 9-11 or Friday's frisking in the Montreal airport. I was questioned by a young woman about why I was there at the event alone (seriously? even in Israel, I am asked why I am going places alone? It's like what am I going to say "well they didn't invite me with guest so, you know, I decided, what they hey, I might actually enjoy myself on my own...!!") and who invited me. She wasn't quite sure I was telling her the truth, that I was invited as a guest of the director of the museum, so she called over her supervisor, head of security for the museum. He took one look at my passport, my name, and kept asking me the same questions. I, of course did not understand why would a well-dressed, young American woman show up to an event alone if she wasn't invited. Did I really look like a party crasher with my fancy blue ticket? So he called poor James who confirmed that indeed I was a guest of his and than I indeed had a seat at the event.

Apologies all around and then I was led to a holding area where I was asked to present both hands, first palms, then backs of my hands, which were swabbed, along with the hands of at least a dozen other people using the same swab, before the cloth was tested for gunpowder. Not the most hygienic of situations, but I reminded myself to wash my hands as soon as possible. We were all clean (I wondered what might happen if one of us had been in contact with gunpowder, but though better than asking what would happen) and let out of the holding tank. Onto the x-ray machines and metal detectors. As I placed my bag on the belt, a woman asked me if I had any weapons on me, as if I could really fit something into my lilliputian-sized clutch. Granted my balloon-shaped skirt might be concealing a classy revolver in a garter-belt pistol, which would have been completely useless filled with the sweat that was rolling down my legs, but really?? I of course said no, but as I walked through the metal detector. Off it went. The woman called over the big shot, who took me to a secluded area with a carpeting and another x-ray machine and metal detector. He again asked me if I was concealing any weapons, and I told him no, just some bones in the dress that might be setting off the metal detector. He laughed at my naivety and pointed out it was more likely to be my shoes rather than my dress. And he was right. So I was sprung and wandered into the welcome tent, where I made a quick glance of the guests, seeing no familiar faces, and bee-lined it to the bar to grab a flute of Champagne.

As my luck would have it, a woman from Berlin started chatting with me, as she was also on her own, and we chatted away during the cocktail hour while all of the guests convened. A lady who had been in line ahead of me before security stopped by to toast me, and we got to speaking for a while. She and her husband (who was also lovely ) live in Tel Aviv and in the end we exchanged numbers so that they "could help to work on the PR of Israelis". It's so refreshing that Israelis, at least in my experience, and perhaps it's because of my gregarious nature, are so warm and welcoming. While we were chatting, I noticed that Idan Raichel, a rather famous Israeli musician was standing roughly 10 meters away by the bar. My first "star sighting" of the night. The big shots were yet to arrive.

We made our way to the seats and I found a space next to David, the CPA for the museum and a British Ex-Pat who made Aliah roughly three decades ago. We chatted for a while as we were waiting for BB Netanyahu and Simon Perez and others to arrive. The next thing I knew, Idan Raichel and his guest sat down in front of us. Now I've seen him in concert a few times, and I am not entirely convinced he's not a complete douche. Israelis are notorious for not dressing up, as was his case, but I am convinced he hasn't taken off his IDF boots since he left service at age 21. I was, however, able to put to rest a question that had been at the back of my head for a few years now, are those dread locks real? The answer is yes, and boy sometimes I just think, white boys should not do dreads.

When BB and company finally arrived, the entire audience stood and clapped. The evening began with the Jerusalem Orchestra playing Aaron Copeland's "Fanfare for a Common Man" and opening remarks first in Hebrew by James Snyder (who doesn't speak Hebrew). I was in awe of his grace and courage to speak for several minutes in a language he does not know, or pretends not to know well at all. He luckily turned to English, and presented a short documentary of the first opening of the Israel Museum. It was amazing, to see Golda Meir, David Ben Gurion, Teddy Kollek, Simon Perez (as a young man) and many more on the screen in black and white. The film opened with Jacques Lipchitz speaking about the importance of having a museum in Israel of the magnitude that the Israel Museum has become. With every shot of a former prime minister, the audience burst into a round of applause.

The ceremony continued with speeches by Simon Perez (all in Hebrew so it was obviously mostly lost on me), BB Netanyahu, Nir Barkat and many more. James finished the ceremony thanking all who had helped to make this day possible, and the orchestra closed with Aaron Copeland's "Appalachian Spring". Hearing it brought tears to my eyes, not only was it a beautiful rendition, but I was reminded of how Aaron Copeland was, for one year, my grandmother's music teacher. Watching the violinists play, I could almost imagine my grandmother as a young girl with her braid playing her violin with Aaron Copeland conducting her and her classmates. Somehow, it felt so personal, this visit to the museum for the ceremony, I felt, though surrounded by over 1000 people, alone, as if the orchestra were playing for me and me alone. Following the conclusion of the music we were treated to an array of fireworks over the campus, and invited to visit the museum.

As I had to make it back to Tel Aviv at a decent hour, I made a quick trip up to the top of the campus and through a small part of the museum and back out. I had a brief chance to congratulate James and his wife Tina, and had the chance to see my friends Tzaly and Orna before heading back to Tel Aviv.

I got home in time to call Chaleigh and hear about her amazing weekend and date which included a walk over the Brooklyn Bridge (got to hand it to the guy, he planned a pretty unique first date) as well as call Lior. He told me it's raining cats and dogs in New York, so I'm certainly glad I'm not home for that, and would welcome this hot and sticky weather any day to a rainy Sunday in July in New York. He also reminded me it's Tu Be Av today, or the Love Holiday here in Israel (and in Judaism). So here's to a Hag Ha'Ahava to all of you out there! May you be spending the day with your loved ones.

Well I'm sitting here on the balcony at 12:45 getting eaten alive by the mosquitoes, so I best sign off and get to bed. I am so excited for my first day of Ulpan tomorrow!

Wish me luck!!



We made our way to

On the road

If you want to travel New York to TLV in one of the most convoluted ways possible, leave it to me and my last minute planning and the limited availability of miles seats on Star Alliance. A simple direct flight from either JFK or Newark to TLV Ben Gurion was substituted for a round-about tour of not two, but four different countries on three different continents.

My departure from Laguardia was entirely uneventful, seated next to a pilot from Air Canada who was deadlegging it back to Montreal before his flight to LAX in the afternoon, I was privileged to hear some interesting stories from a pilot's perspective of the idiots who fly. Fortunately for him, but to my disappointment in terms of in-flight entertainment, he has had a relatively quiet pilot's career, with no serious malfunctions of planes or crises on board. Being a cautious person, he is exactly the type of person I would like to find flying my next flight to Canada, sadly our own pilot was not as cautious. My own fears of air travel were not easily put to rest as I witnessed my seatmate grip his armrests as we taxied both out of our gate in New York and into our gate in Montreal, complaining that our pilot was clearly in a hurry to use the restroom given the speeds he was maneuvering the plane at. I wouldn't have noticed the haste at which our own pilot was handling our plan, had it not been for my seat-mate. I realized I was sitting next to the pilot version of a Florida retiree driver. You know the type, the kind that look through the steering wheel, back completely removed from the back of the seat, fingers in a death grip around the steering wheel so tight the knuckles have lost all color. Yep, that was my neighbor who had a mustache that would even make Tom Selleck a bit envious.

Navigating the airport in Montreal proved to be a slightly more tricky task than I had originally anticipated. Mind you the last time I was in Montreal (for all of three hours) was when I was 12-years-old flying with my mother who's French was, at least at the time, far superior to my limited use of the romance language today. Considering myself a world traveler, I hadn't even given a thought to the potential challenges that would await me in Montreal, my neighbor to the north. It was not nearly as much of a culture shock as flying into Livingston airport in Zambia, or even Malpensa in Milan, but I became acutely aware that I was in a foreign land that functioned just a bit differently from my own. Passport control was an interesting experience, having to choose between being stuck in the international terminal until my flight's departure (what is that? you can't leave the international wing once in it!? I can understand not being permitted to enter if a passenger doesn't hold an international ticket, but being locked in a small international terminal with no shops open at noon on a Friday for five hours? Less than an ideal situation) or else having the opportunity to go through customs and have the option of entering Canadian territory. My passport control agent was kind and suggested I go the latter route. Unlike in the US, I was not responsible for claiming my baggage and rechecking it after customs (which as far as I could tell don't exist, at least in Montreal, and given some of the stories I heard from my pilot neighbor, I was pretty sure smuggling in goods from abroad would not be nearly as problematic as in the US. No dogs, no boarder patrol agents, really nobody who gave two cents about what was going on in the arrivals hall). Luckily I realized that in my haste to check-in at Laguardia, my flight agent had neglected to give me my luggage tag. A pang of fear took over me, as I realized that my luggage might be lost for an eternity, and remembered the only clothing I had in my carry-on was a pair of support socks and a change of hanky pankys, hardly the kind of clothing I would be able to pull off at the opening of the Jerusalem Museum on the following Sunday. I comforted myself quickly with the fact that I had roughly five hours to locate my luggage and make my next flight, and cursed flying internationally out of Laguardia where the gate agents clearly are subpar and are forced to work domestic service instead of the more challenging realm of international travel...

I managed to locate an Air Canada staff member who assured me that he had in fact seen my bag and transported it to the Swiss luggage handlers He printed me a copy of my luggage tag, and I exited onto Canadian territory for the second time in my 27 years on earth, realizing this sad truth; I've spent so much time traveling in Europe, South America, Africa and the Middle East, I haven't given my neighbor to the north a fighting chance. I vow it's about time, between my sister-in-law who is Canadian and her parents, my cousin, and friends, I really ought to set aside some time to get to know it.

Determined to find a sweater for my next two flights (yes in my haste to leave the house and not forget to leave my orchid with my doorman, I forgot to pack suitable layers for the plane. Instead I was dressed more appropriately for arrival in Tel Aviv than travel close to the Arctic Circle). It turns out, Montreal does not have the kind of luxury shopping in its airport terminal as I had hoped. Nothing like the likes of Munich, Milan, Paris or even JFK for that matter. And I quickly realized my hopes of finding a decent article of clothing I wouldn't be giving away as soon as I landed in Israel were slim. The closest thing to a sweater I could find was the Canadian sweater, or hockey jersey, or else the all-to-familiar tourist sweatshirt in either blue or red with Montreal embroidered in a rainbow of colors. I decided to wait and see what the international terminal might have in store for me.

I settled on an easy lunch waiting for my gate to be listed. I couldn't for the life of me figure out which terminal my flight would be leaving from, and had walked the departures hall of the airport at least three times, twice clockwise, and once in a counter-clockwise direction, with my rolly-bag in tow. I couldn't even find an agent for any of the Star Alliance partners to help me find the relevant information, and settled on taking a seat at the best looking establishment in the terminal to grab a bite to eat and wait for my gate assignment. This restaurant, I believe called Casey's Cafe, was hardly haut cuisine, and the menu did include the glossy color photographs which I generally only find acceptable at Japanese restaurants as a substitute for the plastic model food. I ordered what I thought to be one of the safer items on the menu that wouldn't cause the all-too-common travel bloat (everything seemed to be loaded with beans and cheese to my lactose-intollerant dismay). My salad was perfectly fine, as I watched a few minutes of the masters on the TV above the bar which was next to the fishing network. Now I thought watching golf was absurd. Nothing terribly exciting about it, in fact even watching golf in person is enough to get me to start snoring on the spot. But what kind of person actually enjoys watching fishing on TV? It wasn't even fly fishing! It was a bunch of middle-aged over-weight men standing around scratching their bellies and occasionally pulling on their lines when they got a bite. Really, this was absolute lunacy as far as I was concerned.

After lunch I located the terminal my flight would depart from, and immediately headed to the international wing but not before going through security and experiencing the most drawn-out unprofessional frisking of my life. Why I was selected at random to be frisked is beyond me. My clothing certainly didn't scream terrorist, what with my super tight spandex pants and a t-shirt. Not the sort of thing you'd expect me to be concealing a vest of improvised explosive devices under. Nevertheless I finally made it to the international wing to find the the entrance guarded by a gatekeeper, a perfectly reasonable French-Canadian man, who made sure to emphasize that once in the international wing, I was not permitted to return to the domestic wing. He reiterated himself in French and English at least four times, and I didn't have the heart to ask him what he would do if I chose to make a break for it full-speed. I had a quick urge to test him, to go in, and then say "ooh I forgot my other bag out there, can't I please go and get it! I left it at the magazine shoppe!", but I decided with over 20 hours of travel ahead of me, I'd be better off reserving my energy and frustrations for the possible obstacles that lay ahead. I assured him I had explored the domestic area of the airport enough and I was satisfied I would not need to be going back.

If I thought the domestic part of the airport was a bit lack-luster, I was thoroughly disappointed by the international wing, which at nearly two-thirty in the afternoon, was still more than 50% closed. I had no more luck locating even a long-sleeved t-shirt I wouldn't mind being seen in, and after investigating the entire wing, which was empty save for another 2 or 3 passengers, I returned to the club to wait for my flight to board. I managed a series of cat naps and phone calls before finally boarding my second leg of my journey to Zurich.

Arriving at Zurich airport just past six in the morning, I was shocked to find every store open with staff available and smiling. I was not surprised, however, to find that the weather in Zurich, even in the middle of summer was overcast and rainy. I cannot remember flying through Zurich and seeing even a ray of sunlight before breaking through the cloud cover. What a depressing place to live. I need a little sun, at least during the summer, to feel alive. But just thinking about the oppressive heat and humidity that awaits me in Tel Aviv was a comfort as I settled in to catch-up on emails and try to figure out if my iphone will work in Europe and Tel Aviv...

My flight from Zurich to Tel Aviv was entirely uneventful. I managed to sleep a bit, watch Date Night, and dive another 30 pages or so deeper into my latest Anthony Bourdain book. We landed in sunny Tel Aviv perfectly on time, and it was my first time making it through passport control without waiting in a 30 minute line. I've decided that arriving to Tel Aviv on Shabbat (when neither El Al nor Israir flights run) is the way to go to avoid the chaos that I have so often experienced at Ben Gurion. I didn't even have to throw an elbow in the line for passport control, which I was ready to do. I had my left and right arms poised to strike some unsuspecting passenger as he tried to wedge his way in front of me in line. Much to my surprise, there was no line. And when I reached the luggage carousel, I spotted my overstuffed duffle-bag making its way slowly to me. I loaded it onto my cart, stopped by the atm to grab a few shkelim for my taxi ride into Tel Aviv, and made my way outside.

I was pleased with my ability, while limited, to communicate my needs to the taxi driver. I was able to tell him exactly where I wanted to go in Hebrew, and apologized for my limited skills. He was kind and flattering telling me I was speaking quite well. We managed to get to my apartment on Mazeh Street (in Hebrew, Mazeh, or Ma Zeh, literally means what is) and I slowly lugged my bag, which I could swear had only increased in girth as well as weight over the course of my 24+ hour trip, up the one flight of stairs to the place I will call home for the next month. The flat is ideal, beautifully furnished with an amazing kitchen and balcony. It's really my dream place. The girl who lives here, Dana, is roughly my age and traveling in India for the next six weeks. I instantly felt at home, and began unpacking a bit.

I decided to take advantage of not feeling terribly sleepy to start to get to know my neighborhood, and went out for a late afternoon walk. I walked west on Mazeh street. It is a beautiful and quiet street in the center of the city, tree lined, which is a huge plus to avoid the scorching rays of the summer sun. I walked across Yehuda Halevi street, noticing the quaint caffe at the corner, which was rather empty at that time of day, and onwards to Rothschild Blvd, which showed much more of the hustle bustle on the Saturday afternoon. I continued as far west as Yavne street, before turning up and walking back towards home on Nahmani Street which is roughly a parallel to Mazeh. I stopped by the local AM/PM grocery store to get a few basic staples, and came home for an afternoon nap and a snack. The nap was ideal, on the couch with a little breeze coming through the three french doors that lead out to the balcony. Silent. I awoke naturally several hours later, and took time to continue to unpack, call friends, make plans with friends for the next few days, and make dinner.

Tomorrow will be a relatively relaxed day, continuing to explore my neighborhood and Tel Aviv, and I have an evening that is likely to be one I will remember for the rest of my life. It is the renewal ceremony and celebration for the Israel Museum. I'm off to Jerusalem to celebrate with the museum, the directors, donors, and politicians alike. There is rumor that BB will be there. Nevertheless, I am sure I have loads of fun and excitement awaiting me in the coming days and weeks.