NOT KEEPING SCORE

Freelancing abroad in the Holy Land for 18 days

I’m tired.

There comes a point in every travel adventure when the homesickness begins to whisper in your ear; when you find yourself thinking Yes, this pita is impossibly fluffy and falafal? Mindblowingly divine. But– I’d really just like a big, fat, dripping burrito from El Castillito at the corner of Church & Market, please.

Everyone in Israel speaks English. Everyone. Except, of course, taxi drivers, sharoot drivers, bus drivers, and every rider sitting next to you on public transit.

I don’t know how many times I’ve gotten lost, how many times I’ve handed my 10 shekel coin to the driver and gotten no change when I know the ride is only 5 shekels, or how many times I’ve found myself on a bus heading God-knows-where-but-let’s-hope-it’s-not-to-Gaza-I’ll-just-keep-on-riding-until-it-looks-like-a-good-place-to-get-off-think-this-is-near-where-I’m-going-hey-who-knows-let’s-try-the-next-stop.

But I keep following the pointed fingers and eventually I get to where I’m going. Usually, sweating from head to toe and broke.

What’s a girl to do when she’s exhausted, lonely, and abroad? Why, get her hair done and make friends with the gay hair dresser, of course.

And so, I left work early today (remember, us Israeli’s work on Sundays but not on Fridays*[1]) and made my way to Tel Aviv. Two hours (but under 25 miles) later, I showed up at Tamir’s — a hair dresser recommended by my recently acquired friend Heather (note: any and all friends here are “recently acquired”). He could see I was beat, and offered coffee (there are more offers of coffee here than there are “Shaloms.” I swear it’s like saying hello).

I told him Thank You, No — I’m not prone to drink highly-charged caffeine drinks at 8pm.

But Tamir? He. Was. FAB-ulous. Talk about feeling right at home — it was like visiting the Castro in Hebrew.

I don’t need to go into the details of the experience — any female will be well acquainted with the process, and any male won’t care — but a stylish cut, color and 3 hours of chatty conversation for under $100 is enough to make any girl feel less homesick.

I felt so good I went — on Tamir’s suggestion — to Rosa’s, a seductively ambient little street-side cafe with dark wood, red lighting and full bar and kitchen. I ordered the tahini, quinoa and beet salad with glass of chardonnay. The air was warm and sticky, a blur of car lights lit the streets, and young Tel Avivians flocked in little clumps.

For the moment, I am renewed; feeling optimistic and alert, I have suddenly the vigor to work and write deeper into the night… and I didn’t even have to take that cup of coffee.

*[1] Check out the “Etymology” section of the Wiki Link - tre interestant for you language nerds