First Weekend

This one's a bit rambly.

I spent nearly all day Friday in a café, after the second unfortunate circumstance of my Israeli existence, this one a matter of poor judgment. My roommate, Jess, invited me to a house party the night before with some of her friends from the African Refugee NGO that she works for. Jess is in her mid-twenties, a gorgeous girl from London. “Do you fancy going to a party tonight?” she says in a quintessential English accent. Certainly, as I had nothing else to do on the biggest party night in Tel Aviv.

Some of her friends are refugees, some revolutionaries, pushing for government reform in Eritrea, and for Israel to recognize them with refugee status and the commensurate rights. Others at the party were volunteers in the organization: an American from Washington D.C., one from Connecticut, a young flaming Italian boy who said “dahling” in every sentence, sometimes twice per sentence, and various other friends and locals. I have not been drinking much since I got here but tonight was different. I was overserved, passed out on the couch, woke up way too late.to the midday sun. I opened my morning eyes, squinting at a pine tree through the window straight ahead, utterly disoriented. I put the pieces together, gathered my things and slipped quietly out the door, while the rest of the house still slept.

So, after I wandered the long route home, I got a text from Guy that I should meet at this café. Guy is an Israeli friend of my now former roommate Edwina, and their connection is the Media Lab at MIT. We met in Cambridge last July and emailed a few times since. He was the only person I sort of knew in this country before I got here. We had met briefly in my apartment but only got to know each other out of coincidental circumstances.

Guy was visiting Edwina and was in the States for a few weeks. The night before I was to fly to California, a bunch of Edwina’s friends were hanging out on our porch, me as well. I left early and somewhat abruptly to go to the airport, much to the dismay of the group. Six hours later, my flight to Long Beach that I had been sitting on for two hours on the tarmac, was cancelled due to inclement weather. I left the airport in a huff, knowing I would not be flying until the next day, and upset to lose one of my few days in California. I sulked all the long way through the airport to the exit, sulked on the Silver Line, frowned on the Red Line, scowling at everyone that looked me in the eye, until my mood started to mellow out by the time I got near Central Square.

There were only a few people left on my porch: Edwina, Guy and another friend. I ended up talking to Guy about Israel for the remained of the night, until I left for the airport again around 4 am. We exchanged emails before I departed. Thankfully I made a good impression. He likes to recall how I was wearing board shorts and a bikini top while drinking absinthe when we first met in my living room. Cambridge summer can be intolerably hot and humid. And don't worry, he has a girlfriend. In any case, he was my first friend in Tel Aviv and has been the biggest help to me, lending me money, showing me the ropes, introducing me to others.

So on Friday noon we met up, along with Tamar and Roni, to eat omelets, Arab salad, and drink cappuccini. Around 4pm, after sitting in the same place for hours, we were hungry again. Thinking to not eat twice in one day at the same café, we headed off to one of the better hummus joints in Tel Aviv (the real good ones are in Jaffa). The girls wanted to have a smoke instead so they stayed at the café. I ordered the pine nut hummus and it came with two falafels and some amazing pickles. I ate precisely half and saved the rest for dinner. We hurried down to the Levinsky market as it was nearing closing hour for shops. I bought a variety of nuts, laundry soap, and a jar of carob/halvah spread that struck my fancy.

The cafés in Tel Aviv are packed all day Friday (the first day of the weekend) with people who dedicate their day to sitting there. Then after everything else closes around 6pm, it's "the hour of grace" when all is at rest, the sun is low, the cars have left the streets, and café conversations are all that matter. Everyone goes with their family for dinner around 8pm, then by 10 or 11, the chaos begins as the bars liven up for the night. Dance clubs open, music pours from the doorways, rowdiness ensues. I went home and sat peacefully on the moonlit roof.