We drove to Tel Aviv yesterday (Monday) morning. It was an adventure just getting out of Jaffa. My navigator took me right through the giant Flea Market. I drove very slowly to 
avoid the occasional shopper who would just step off the curb right in front of the car. The streets aren’t laid out in a grid and one-way streets pop up at the most inconvenient time. We took the super highway to Exit 18; our destination: the mall next to the Central Bus Station. We made it to the Bus Station but didn’t see a mall. We wouldn’t have gone there anyway since, as most bus stations in big cities, this one was in a seamy part of town. We had located another Mall on the map about five miles farther, so we headed there. It’s on Einstein Street. After a guard opened the door and looked in the back seat and checked out the trunk, we were allowed to drive into the underground garage. We took a ticket from the automatic dispenser and had no trouble finding a parking spot and getting into the entrance to the Mall. Neal noticed two tall machines prominently displayed in the Lobby on the parking level that had slots to insert money or credit cards, with instructions in Hebrew. Explaining the unexplainable, I declared it a machine for buying lottery tickets. We headed upstairs to the beautiful modern mall that was open, airy, spacious, and full of daylight. In the atrium, we found ourselves surrounded by coffee bars. We chose one and were seated by a waitress who warned us the credit card machine was out of order and we would need to pay cash. We ordered a cappuccino for me, a latte for Neal, and an almond croissant to share. Our friendly waitress asked us if we were in Tel Aviv for Passover. We told her no, that our vacation just coincided with the holidays. She said we should be ready to eat lots of matzo, but that some people continue to eat bread. They stock up on it before the holidays. We took our time, enjoying our coffee and the big puffy croissant, while I checked out the wide variety of fashion styles of the ladies who were passing by. Most wore painted on jeans or baggy, baggy trousers. We took a stroll around the mall, dodging the baby buggy brigade. We had taken our cell phones with us in case we found a store that could put SIM cards in them. We found the kiosk marked “Orange” which had been recommended to us and waited while the young woman helped two other customers. Our relief at finally being waited on was short-lived. She was out of SIM cards but was expecting them “in a couple of hours”. We went to another kiosk with cell phones and the man there said we should go to the “Orange” kiosk. Neal asked about renting a phone but neither of them had phones for rent. We figured we must not need a cell phone now and decided to head back to Jaffa. We found our car and drove to the exit where I put the parking ticket in the machine and waited for the arm to raise. Nothing happened. I turned it over and inserted it again. Nothing. I tried it every which way while cars were piling up behind us. The folks here seem very patient at such times. I waved my ticket out the window and the lady behind us backed up and went to the exit next to us. Her ticket worked just fine. Neal suggested I back up and find a place to park until we could figure out what to do next. I pulled up next to the door where we had entered the Mall. People were putting their parking tickets in the machines we had seen earlier. Neal went in, put our parking ticket in a machine, paid 8 shekels, retrieved our ticket, and we were on our way. We had had enough of big city life and got the heck out of Dodge. After a beautiful drive along the coast, we got to Jaffa in time for a late lunch at Dr. Shakshuka’s Restaurant. Neal ordered vegetable soup and couscous, I ordered beef stewed with eggplant and okra. We shared our meal and licked our platters clean. Afterward, we ambled over to the Promenade and down to the beach. The wind was high, the surf was kicking up, and the sun was shining. We walked along the sandy beach picking up sea glass, shells, rocks, and pottery shards. In spite of the wind and waves we were delighted to have a few “quiet moments” together after a day of cultural re-adjustment.
avoid the occasional shopper who would just step off the curb right in front of the car. The streets aren’t laid out in a grid and one-way streets pop up at the most inconvenient time. We took the super highway to Exit 18; our destination: the mall next to the Central Bus Station. We made it to the Bus Station but didn’t see a mall. We wouldn’t have gone there anyway since, as most bus stations in big cities, this one was in a seamy part of town. We had located another Mall on the map about five miles farther, so we headed there. It’s on Einstein Street. After a guard opened the door and looked in the back seat and checked out the trunk, we were allowed to drive into the underground garage. We took a ticket from the automatic dispenser and had no trouble finding a parking spot and getting into the entrance to the Mall. Neal noticed two tall machines prominently displayed in the Lobby on the parking level that had slots to insert money or credit cards, with instructions in Hebrew. Explaining the unexplainable, I declared it a machine for buying lottery tickets. We headed upstairs to the beautiful modern mall that was open, airy, spacious, and full of daylight. In the atrium, we found ourselves surrounded by coffee bars. We chose one and were seated by a waitress who warned us the credit card machine was out of order and we would need to pay cash. We ordered a cappuccino for me, a latte for Neal, and an almond croissant to share. Our friendly waitress asked us if we were in Tel Aviv for Passover. We told her no, that our vacation just coincided with the holidays. She said we should be ready to eat lots of matzo, but that some people continue to eat bread. They stock up on it before the holidays. We took our time, enjoying our coffee and the big puffy croissant, while I checked out the wide variety of fashion styles of the ladies who were passing by. Most wore painted on jeans or baggy, baggy trousers. We took a stroll around the mall, dodging the baby buggy brigade. We had taken our cell phones with us in case we found a store that could put SIM cards in them. We found the kiosk marked “Orange” which had been recommended to us and waited while the young woman helped two other customers. Our relief at finally being waited on was short-lived. She was out of SIM cards but was expecting them “in a couple of hours”. We went to another kiosk with cell phones and the man there said we should go to the “Orange” kiosk. Neal asked about renting a phone but neither of them had phones for rent. We figured we must not need a cell phone now and decided to head back to Jaffa. We found our car and drove to the exit where I put the parking ticket in the machine and waited for the arm to raise. Nothing happened. I turned it over and inserted it again. Nothing. I tried it every which way while cars were piling up behind us. The folks here seem very patient at such times. I waved my ticket out the window and the lady behind us backed up and went to the exit next to us. Her ticket worked just fine. Neal suggested I back up and find a place to park until we could figure out what to do next. I pulled up next to the door where we had entered the Mall. People were putting their parking tickets in the machines we had seen earlier. Neal went in, put our parking ticket in a machine, paid 8 shekels, retrieved our ticket, and we were on our way. We had had enough of big city life and got the heck out of Dodge. After a beautiful drive along the coast, we got to Jaffa in time for a late lunch at Dr. Shakshuka’s Restaurant. Neal ordered vegetable soup and couscous, I ordered beef stewed with eggplant and okra. We shared our meal and licked our platters clean. Afterward, we ambled over to the Promenade and down to the beach. The wind was high, the surf was kicking up, and the sun was shining. We walked along the sandy beach picking up sea glass, shells, rocks, and pottery shards. In spite of the wind and waves we were delighted to have a few “quiet moments” together after a day of cultural re-adjustment.More pictures of the Flea Market.
enjoyed the pictures and what life is like in Israel. Thanks Denise (Precept Cruise)
ReplyDeleteYour descriptions of life in modern Israel are so vivid, it is illuminating for me the evryday stresses the Israelis are dealing with. And the phots are beautiful. The only thing missing from feeling that I'm there is "smellorama". Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteVicki