It’s just like riding a camel!

Sometimes it’s just like riding a bicycle; you have been doing it for so many years you forget that you don’t know what the hell you are doing! After an 11 hour flight (pills sweetie darling, sleeping pills!) I found myself in the Holy Land, a 20 min drive with a taxi driver that insisted on speaking English while I replied in Hebrew landed me at my brother Dan’s house, where I picked up my sister’s car Sharon (that is the name of my sister, not that car, “it” doesn’t have a name, maybe Punto) So as I get into the car to drive away, I realize I have no idea where I was going, I knew I was going to see my grandmother, but had no clue on how to get there. I just assumed that if I have done this so many times, it would be natural. Such is life sometimes. You probably know that feeling when you meet family or friends that you haven’t seen for a long period of time and you just seat down to talk (or crawl if they have babies) as if you just saw them a day or so ago. We have done it so many times; it’s just like riding a bicycle. But then you notice that some things have changed, maybe they grew or matured, maybe they don’t have the same patience they used to have with you or the people around them, maybe they are in pain or have been in pain for a while and you didn’t know, maybe they are happier and more complete. Maybe we should think of it as like riding a camel, yes, you rode a camel once, its quit the same every time, bumpy, unpleasant, smelly and fun, but sometimes the camel goes sprinting out of nowhere, sometimes they refuse to move, sometimes they use gas as a way of convincing the rider to stop this show and let them rest in peace, with camels, you never know.

I am staying at what I call my vacation apartment in Yaffo (AKA Jaffa) which is the south border of Tel Aviv and an ancient see port. It is a mixed neighborhood where Jews and Arabs still live peacefully (that is when they are not killing each other, but that is usually over parking issues and not land or religion, though parking can be seen as an issue of land and religion.) I say that “I call it my vacation apartment” because my friend Itay calls it his parents’ apartment, which it probably is, most evident by the art around the pad, including a real size sculptor of a person made out of newspapers and glow, kind of scary. She looks at me, when I eat, so I stop. The tiles on the floor are marvelous!

I started my visit they way each visit home should start, going out and having fun. After tucking-in all grandmothers and having a double espresso with one set of parents’ (the other is in the desert celebrating a birthday, or some other pagan holiday) I set out to see my friends. When I wrote this last line I was still home, I forgot that going-out actually requires a lot of effort! I had to shower, get dress, take a taxi and then, the worst, deal with people, the line outside the club and the young drunk/high boys and men of Tel Aviv, I guess I am getting old, so after two hours of dancing, I was back at home to enjoy my jet-lag. I suspect that that is hwy television was invited, you can enjoy the experiences of life with out the hassle of leaving your home, I should try it more often.

The next two days were dedicated to Yoga www.pranayoga.co.il, Family some work and friends which I invited to dinner at my sister’s restaurant called Shirale http://www.2eat.co.il/shirale.

The rest of the photos are posted at this link with names and descriptions. Have a look!

http://www.flickr.com/gp/48634258@N00/0K8pAd