Having spent about 5 and a half days in Israel, I've already come up on a batch of things to do and tales to tell. Mainly, they're related to these foreign concepts of "having a job" and "working with others." Foreign for me, that is, and probably familiar to you. So while I may marvel at waking up to an alarm clock set before 9 in the morning, or talking with more than five different people over the span of a day, you won't find it so interesting.
Instead, I'll talk about Hebrew, by way of French. You see, the first time I went to Montreal was in the fall of '05. I was fresh off the first excitement of traveling from that summer in Eastern Europe, and the prospects of exploring thrilled me. I got in my recently purchased Honda Civic and drove the 4+ hours across the border and into Quebec.
All was well and good, except that I failed to appreciate the fact that the official language in Montreal and Quebec isn't English. Of course, I knew French was the official language. I just didn't think about what that meant: that all the signs would be in French, and that most of the people would speak French. Most spoke English too, but somehow that didn't matter. I went into shell shock, called home with fear in my voice, and only calmed down when I met somebody in a sports bar who had at some point wrestled at Duke. And I still left the city Saturday night instead of Sunday afternoon.
While everyone, or almost everyone, speaks English in Israel, they do it as a second language. In fact, in English and Russian I have the #2 and #4 languages covered in the country (with Arabic a co #2), and so I shouldn't have any trouble with language barriers. In theory.
In practice, many signs and reading materials are only in Hebrew, a language I can sort of guess at from 8 years of Hebrew school; by guess at, I mean I know the letters but am hamstrung by the lack of vowel signs that we used in my youth, so if I know how a word sounds already, I can "read" it. Not much help.
Also, people speak Hebrew first, which leads to the always mildly humiliating even if completely understandable moment when you have to ask if they speak English. I have learned how to say I don't speak Hebrew, though I can only write it in transliterated English: Ani lo medeber ivrit. This helps, but only a little.
Then there's my cell phone, a nice piece of work that completely befuddled me for a day and a half with its eternal Hebrew-language options, until I finally compared with another new teacher's phone, already switched into English, to take care of the change. Which still left a Hebrew-language display of whatever network I'm on. And if I try to make certain phone calls, I get Hebrew on the other end telling me that this won't do. I think. And I'm not sure what company my cell phone is with, or what everything costs, and so on.
But enough of that. In the week I've been here, I've also encountered Tel Aviv (well, not really, but it's close by); Jerusalem (great for the 4+ hours we were there, except for the commodified Western Wall, but I'll save those thoughts for a future Jerusalem visit/post); work; and the weather - very nice though not any hotter than a hot Boston summer day. The difference is that there's no variation or thunderstorms; it's 90 degrees Fahrenheit and sunny every day, at least so far. I was hoping it'd be miserably hot, if just because that portends for a nicer October. But we'll see.
The coolest, most worthwhile thing I've encountered so far? The beach. And so, without further ado...
Down on the Beach
To get to the beach, I exit my 3rd floor apartment, walk down the stairs, and turn left. Immediately, I hit the main beach road, Golda Meir St. I walk about 20 meters and turn right on Yigal Yadin, the street that runs to the beach. It's a small asphalt road, leading to a parking lot and the Mediterranean. There's a slight uphill and right hand turn at the end of the street, and while the steady stash of crashing waves is audible as you walk, there is almost no sea to see. The most impressive visual feature on the approach is an old, unused mosque that overlooks the landscape.
Then you get over the crest and go down to the sea, and well...
Mind you I haven't taken my camera to the beach yet. Once I do, this picture will be much better. Yeah.On the left is a tall, sandy brown bluff, the sort of overlook that would serve as a great setting for a movie finale, where the two antagonists throw down, until one crashes to the beach below. On the right the mosque's tower is still visible as I descend. The sea is now visible, the mighty Mediterranean.
The beach itself is small, with no more than twenty meters space from the edge of the sand to the water. There are five gazebos in a line at our beach, providing shade for those who foolishly decide a year or two increase in life span is worth more than a nice tan. A lifeguard's tower aspires to the bluffs on the right, though it comes nowhere close to their height or majesty.
So looking out at the sea is rightfully beautiful, but so is looking away from it. Those cliffs reveal layers of sand and stone, like something out of a Magic School Bus book, teaching about sedimentary rocks. There is the mosque, there are large buildings further to the south, and a little bit to the north there's some sort of housing structure built into the cliff. Add in sunny skies with littered clouds and a few assorted hang gliders, and it's all something to see.
There are a few intriguing differences about the beach here, compared to other beaches I've been to. First of all, a few judgments based on two hours or so: this is the closest I've ever lived to a beach, and this is the best beach I've ever been to. I'm not a typical beachgoer, but this was really pleasant. The water, for example, is clear and warm, so that there's no need to plunge in and adjust to the temperature. I waded out to the strong waves (there were many surfers out there today) and soaked in the splashes with nary a shudder. Actually, there were some whistle-induced flinches, but I'll get to that.
Also, while everybody says this, it bears repeating that this is indeed the land of milk and honey. That is; the people here are beautiful. Yes, I include the males; though I'm not checking them out particularly, they strike me as handsome dudes. Or almost as handsome as me, anyway.
Israelis, we were warned, tend to be more permissive about standards for acceptable clothing. Actually, there wasn't anything crazy from most of the guys there, dressed in long bathing shorts, and the women were in bathing suits, same as anywhere. But whether from European or Russian influences, there were a few men, mostly middle-aged or up, in thongs and the like. One old guy was in just tightie-whiteys, which became quite transparent as he bathed. Mmm.
Needless to say, when in Rome, so I hiked my spandex up just a little bit. Mmm.
The way the beach and swimming works is also a little strange. For one, the already limited beach space is restricted by barbed wire fences a few meters away from the cliffs. "Danger, Landslide" read one of the two types of signs posted along the beach. The other one says "No Swimming Allowed". Whether due to fear of undertows, crazy tides, or jellyfish, the authorities rule out much of the coastline around our beach from swimming. Black flags are posted periodically along the shore, marking not the band or anarchy but no swim zones. Each beach I stopped at today (that is, two of them) had an area marked out by red flags where one could swim. And black flags stretching farther out were the absolute boundaries.
To enforce these rules, the lifeguards blew whistles. Once their subjects' attention was earned, the lifeguards would gesture. If necessary, they'd get on the speaker system and announce their concerns. Since I don't really get the rules yet, and can't understand Hebrew, I was frightened every time I heard the whistle blow, until finally I realized they weren't going to arrest me for walking along the surf. I think.
So those were the limits to the beach trip. Considering the cleanliness, warmth, and company that the beach provided, those limits are trivial. And maybe if I sneak over there at night, the limits and company will be gone, and I'll be free to frolic in the sand and surf as I please. Which is to say, if I ever become a full-fledged nudist, Israel will have played its part. And on that note, I'm signing off.
I plan to post frequently if not regularly. And I am now experimenting with posting these "notes" on facebook. Ugh, I know, but I like readers, or the potential of having readers. So welcome!
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