Tel Aviv is the most unfriendly city of
this trip so far, and also where I had the best friendships. Go
figure.
It's a place well suited to
contradiction, where worshipers of three faiths that each teach peace
and love have been killing each other for millenia. “All the
world's a paradox, and each must play a part.” Is that how the
quote goes?
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| Traffic under Dizengoff Square |
When I came to Tel Aviv I had two
friends in the city. This quickly became three, then five, before
reaching...hard to count exactly...I'd say nine by the time I left
yesterday. But locals have their own lives and visitors have other
places to visit, so nine dwindled until I said farewell to the
French, and found myself alone again.
There's not much to do at that point
but walk.
I got a slice of overpriced pizza and
followed my feet to a man playing a peculiar modern violin, his music
sweet, slow, and just a bit sad. It was exactly what I wanted, and my
spirit smiled in gratitude as I weighed out a hefty tip in my pocket.
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| Moments before he took objection to this photo |
But first I took a picture of the
scene, then watched as he stopped playing, put away his instrument,
and marched up to me. I was about to thank him for his music when he
started ripping into me in angry Hebrew.
I don't speak the language, but he
clearly had a number of things to say about my conduct, character,
and probably ancestry. He chewed me out for awhile, even after I had
made a gesture of apology and put away my camera.
I definitely respect an individual's
personal space, but if you object so vehemently to being seen,
perhaps you should consider a career other than street musician
playing an interesting instrument on a pedestrian-friendly street on
a balmy Saturday evening?
I think this man enjoys conflict...
I kept walking and reached the Fire andWater Fountain in Dizengoff Square. It wasn't working the first four
times I walked past, but now it was, turning slowly, displaying
different colors and water jets. I took a picture for an older couple
who smiled toothily and thanked me profusely. I love them a little
bit.
I continued on my way, and found a
protest beginning in Habima Square, where the city's concert hall
overlooks a small, tidy, and colorful sunken garden area where people
sit to chat. Normally a sunken place like that would quickly become
the territory of “undesirables” but I saw no sign of that here.
I went with the march (against a
rhetorically populist politician's selfish opulence as I understand
it) for awhile, playing at undercover journalism until my feet and
eyelids formed a coalition to remind me that I hadn't slept nearly as
much as I'd walked over the past few days.
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| Flier/business cards for strippers and/or prostitutes litter the streets of Tel Aviv at night |
Back at the square, I stopped to listen
to the classical music being piped in (no more angry violinist
harangues) and just as the loneliness, longing, and isolation were
setting in, I spied a fellow from the hostel who had seemed amiable.
Now he was with a female however, and kept picking little fights with
things I said, and eying me with a well-hidden but desperate
resentment. Ah, I see. I am not the type to cock-block anyone,
laddie, I'll be on my way.
The walk back was an adagio past the
city's homeless, dropping shekels in their wrinkled paper cups, where
they lay on the pavement among the city's expensive footwear and
used-up cigarette butts. Back at the hostel I climbed in my bunk
above the odd older lady who never spoke to anyone. All the lonely
people...where do they all come from?
Where do we all belong?
The next morning I came to Jerusalem.
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