Day 17: Tel Aviv, Israel - I'm Not Cool Enough for this City

This is not your grandmother's Israel. 

My Lonely Planet book described Tel Aviv as the hedonistic paradise of Israel. It was not wrong. Tel Aviv is like a combination of South Beach and Paris. It is simultaneously a beach resort and sophisticated social center. Upon first arrival, I was greeted not only by beautiful people in swimsuits but also a raging techno concert by the beach. Coming from Jerusalem, a large WTF was heard from me. 

Because I am intimidated by things cooler than I am, I elected to stay in Jaffa, a much older nearby city though quickly becoming a gentrified suburb. It's roughly 2 km south of Tel Aviv. Mustering up all my courage, I decided to enter Tel Aviv to meet my friend Tracy, who was helping a professor supervise a group of undergraduate students on a summer trip. Because it was Shabbat, the buses were not running, so my only choice was to walk.

I passed dog walkers, joggers, cyclers, and throngs of people all more fit than I am. Moreover, I was wearing my traveling clothes, an ugly backpack, and was sweating profusely. I could just hear the Israeli guys telling their girlfriends, "Aren't you glad you're with me and not that guy?" An hour later, and a couple of lbs of sweat lost, I met Tracy outside her hotel. She said we should walk north about thirty more minutes. Yes! Awesome idea!

Tel Aviv? Mallorca?

We had lunch at a slightly upscale seaside restaurant, then ate some amazing frozen yogurt. She insisted I try something called halva because she thought it was delicious. I did and told her, "Dude Tracy, this is sesame candy, we've been eating this our entire Chinese lives." To which she responded, "Oh yeah..." Note to self, girls always think that things from foreign places are cooler, even if they're the same as something very familiar.

I should probably start telling people I'm from Tel Aviv.

I briskly walked back home that evening, not making eye contact with the lovely Israelis playing in their fantasy city. A guy in my room was ironically from Seattle. He and I, both a bit scared by Tel Aviv, spent that night in Jaffa watching the 3rd place World Cup Game. 

One rather humorous observation should probably be shared. For Orthodox Jews, Shabbat must be observed to the letter. That means even an action as menial as pressing an elevator button constitutes work and must be avoided. However, what does one do if one lives on a high floor of a building, particularly since walking up many flights of stairs constitutes doing more work than pushing an elevator button. The answer is the Shabbat elevator. It's programmed to stop at every single floor for a few seconds so riders can avoid pressing the elevator button and the floor button. Slow, but genius!