It all started on my trip to Latin America. To give you a bit of background, young Israelis have to serve three years of army (men and women) and so many of them when they finish the army they decide to go travelling for a year, and a large number of them choose to go to Latin America. This meant that at most times during our Latin American trip we were never too far from an Israeli (or usually a whole bunch of them). This coupled with the fact that Monika had spent a year in Israel and spoke good Hebrew meant we ended up befriending and travelling with a lot of Israelis on our trip. At times we were the only non-Israelis in the hostel.
Now being exposed to (mainly Jewish) Israelis so much meant I learnt a lot about their mentality – good, kind, family-orientated people; Israeli society was originally founded on socialist principles which are still very evident in their communal kibbutzes, but at the same time they are very no- nonsense and very direct. In fact Jews born in Israel are actually called ‘Sabras’ after the prickly pear, a type of cactus, because the fruit is prickly on the outside and soft and sweet on the inside. Hmm….sounds familiar…. This was an environment in which I wouldn’t be told to lower my voice or be a little more PC/little less opinionated, but would still be able to connect with and feel warmth from the people; a combination that proves difficult to find outside of my mother(and father)land.
Through meeting these Israelis and learning about their culture, and through the stories of Israel’s number one fan Monika, I grew to really like what I saw and was intrigued to learn more. I decided I would go to Israel on the first possible occasion. Fast forward 5 years and it was finally happening.
So to go to Israel I would need a travel partner equally as loud and outspoken as me, if not more. I had the perfect partner, but sadly my grandmother was in no fit state to travel (although she would absolutely love it here), but luckily my BFF Steffi was definitely up for it and fit that category perfectly (I’m kidding of course she was obviously 1st choice). We bought our flights and were ready to go!
The entrance to Israel is a famously difficult one. Visas are given on arrival so not too complicated but everyone knows that security is extremely tight and you should be prepared for some serious questioning, especially if you have stamps from Arabic countries in your passport. Luckily, I have two passports and planned well in advance for this trip so my UK passport was clean but the stories about the security checks were scary; we’re talking hours waiting in queues, interrogations lasting ages, cavity searches and all. To contradict the words of Monty Python, we were expecting the Spanish Inquisition.
I walked up first to the firm-looking Israeli officer who had a tattoo on his neck and looked like he meant business.
“Hello” I said in the sweetest way possible.
“Why are you coming here?” He asked sternly.
“Holidays”
“Who with?”
“My best friend Steffi she’s behind me”
“Bring her here”
At this point I turned back to look at Steffi and signal her to join me. Steffi looked like she had just shat her pants. I had told her previously that I had issues in some countries because of the number of stamps I had in my passport (they sometimes mistake me for a drug mule). I don’t know what she was thinking but she looked very shocked and very scared and worst of all very guilty. She later told me she was thinking “you’d better not drag me down with you”. That’s what BFFs are for ❤️
She came up and handed over her passport while the inquisition continued.
“You know anyone here?”
“Yes, I’ve got a few…”
“Where are they from?” He interrupted sternly.
“Well, one’s from Tel Av….”
“What’s their names?” He interrupted again, getting even firmer.
“His name is Gonny Masiah”
He paused. He was just about to continue the interrogation but at this point he had reached Steffi’s passport and his demeanour changed completely.
“Littleboy?! Is this a joke?!”
“No, sadly that’s my actual name,” replied a still on edge Steffi
“But this is real name? Not two names put together?”
“Yes, it’s my real surname and I didn’t make it up,” she was beginning to relax a little.
The scary Israeli man was now beginning to semi grin a little (as much as his profession and reputation as a stern Israeli officer allowed).
“I have worked here a very, very long time but I’ve never seen a name as silly as that.”
And with that he threw our passports back at us and said “ok go” and that was that.
So after all that hype, Steffi’s unique and amusing surname meant we entered Israel at record speed, with the utmost ease and with all our cavities in tact.
Next stop was the drive to Jerusalem. We landed in Tel Aviv but we wanted to do all the historical and holy stuff first so we decided to stay in Jerusalem for a few days and to get there we took a little shuttle service from the airport. I had been warned about Israeli driving so it didn’t surprise me at all when our driver took off like a mad man and was driving 100 miles an hour within a few seconds.
As we approached Jerusalem he started dropping people off at their chosen addresses. The man was clearly on a schedule as 5 minutes before each stop he would yell out your address and a “get rrready.” Israelis can’t roll their Rs and they don’t pronounce them like you do in English either, they pronounce them a little bit like the french, kind of gurgling it at the back of their throat. It makes their accent really sweet though and to me a little bit less intimidating then some (like the Serbian one for example).
As we would pull up to each destination he would turn around and yell “you” while pointing at you and then yell again “let’s go”. I mean he was the kind of guy you didn’t want to piss off. If you took less than 3 seconds getting off the shuttle he would come back in and yell at you again. And then as everyone would collect their things and do their polite “thank you so much” and “have a great day”, he would say “ok bye” and within 2 seconds we would be back on the road again. Welcome to Israel 🙂
As we drove across the country the first thing I was thinking was about how dry the land was. Israel is a very diverse country, it has fertile areas and even has snow capped mountains in the north. But Jerusalem is situated in the dry area and surrounded by deserts so they often even struggle with water supplies. It actually reminded me a lot of driving through Cyprus. Lots of deserts and dry land with white houses and white buildings everywhere.
The second thing that surprised me and for this one you’re gonna think I’m really dumb, but it’s the number of Orthodox Jews walking around Jerusalem as we drove in. I mean I know, it’s Israel and I know the main religion is Judaism (I know now that 74.2% of the population is Jewish), but i guess I just didn’t expect to see so many Orthodox Jews walking around the city. I have since read that about a third of Jerusalem’s population (300,000 people), and more than 60% of Jewish youth in Jerusalem, are Haredi (ultra-orthodox Jews).
So we finally arrived at Jerusalem and settled in to our little studio flat in Ben Yehuda Street downtown, and after a quick nap and freshening up we were ready to go grab some dinner. Hmm…our first challenge; we had arrived on a Saturday, mid-Shabbat. Shabbat is a time of rest and a time for family for Jews so every Friday evening they sit down and have a special family dinner together. Observant Jews don’t use electricity, don’t cook, don’t travel, don’t do business, etc. during the whole period. What this means is that many Jewish businesses close down (particularly in non-secular areas) so it’s very difficult to do anything in Israel during Shabbat. I knew Shabbat was from sundown on Friday till sundown on Saturday but I assumed everything went back to normal after that, but even so it turns out that many businesses just work Sunday to Thursday instead.
As we went through the list of restaurants that we had been recommended; all of them were either closed or the few that were left were fully booked so we gave up and ended up going to a small, inconspicuous place around the corner.
Little did we know this small, half empty restaurant had a special gem; our waiter Bar. Bar is a 25 year old young man dreaming of going to study architecture in London. Apparently it’s very expensive so if there are any sugar daddies or sugar mommas, or preferably both (he’d ideally like some sugar parents to cover all expenses), please let us know and we’ll put you in touch.
Up until now, we hadn’t experienced Israeli hospitality but this evening we were going to experience it to the max and the following morning we would suffer the consequences of it.
After making acquaintances, Bar gave us recommendations for the food in true Israeli style. For example we chose a side salad and he told us he would chose this other salad instead because it’s a bit more sophisticated than our choice. The great thing about Israel is you never have to worry about whether someone is being honest with you or not.
Then Bar brought us a shot on the house. It was a shot of arak, Israel’s local drink, an aniseedy ouzo/sambuca kind of drink. It was very cold and not too aniseedy actually so was a lot nicer than expected. L’chaim! (Pronounced lehayim or cheers). Bar took the shot with us.
As we ordered our mains and a cocktail each Bar bought us one of the starters to kick off with (on the house). This was shortly followed by another shot of arak, again on the house, and again he took the shot with us.
As the restaurant started to fill up and Bar had more and more tables to serve we realised he was doing starter shots with every single table he was serving. And every time he would walk to the kitchen for food he would refresh himself with his cocktail he had on the side.
Time for mains and with that our first glass of Israeli wine. Bar felt this was the perfect opportunity for another shot on the house. And as mains finished to wrap it all up, another shot, again of course on the house. (@mama – at this point it’s best to stop counting and just enjoy the blog post).
For desert we couldn’t chose between the chocolate or carrot cakes and we eventually decided to go for the chocolate to share. It didn’t really matter anyway because Bar bought us both with the carrot cake on the house.
At this point the chef came out for a cigarette (we were sitting outside) and it was very clear we weren’t the only ones being plied with alcohol that evening. We on the other hand were taking it a lot better than the chef and as he wobbled back, narrowly missing the door on the way in, after another (this time final) shot of the evening with us, we wondered how on earth he had managed to make such a delicious meal for us and the rest of the guests in that state.
But the star of the evening was Bar who had now had a very significant amount of alcohol and was jumping around fresh as a daisy and chirpy as a little bird, as if he had been drinking water all evening (he hadn’t, we checked every time). Yet another thing our Israeli brothers have in common with the balkans.
We had an emotional goodbye with Bar (which ended with us being invited to his birthday party in Tel Aviv) and left in search for a nice bar. Sadly on Shabbat a nice bar is harder to find than usual, but we did end up finding a totally random free concert in the middle of a square which we happily joined. By this point energy levels were pretty low (or alcohol levels pretty high – it was one of the two but we had woken up at 3am either way) so we wobbled back to the apartment and collapsed into bed. We had a long day in the Holy City ahead of us.
Warning! Objects in photographs may appear drunker than they seem.
