MeMoi ?!

"Code red to green light"

I crashed the trolley in the supermarket today. I felt perhaps I was in a little dream.

On my way there, to buy a watermelon, (I could write a whole other post about watermelon!) I found myself nostalgic, thinking of all my beautiful experiences here.

I felt wistful and wonderful; in the warmth of the sun I recalled endless magical moments. I feel I could make manuscripts, fill volumes; tell tales of the tremendous times which I’ve lived here.

You must understand that in Tel Aviv, it is quite normal to wait so long at the traffic lights - one has all the time in the world to reflect! In fact were it not for the ‘tick tick tick’, to assist the blind, I might have missed the little green man, altogether!

Nov 20

A boring day is just what we’d been hoping for! Although it began with jumping out of bed as if I’d a rocket up my bottom, for I heard a siren, but soon realized it was not the forewarning of an explosion kind.

How terribly embarrassing I thought, climbing straight back in.

When I awoke for the second time, a more civilized hour and having slept off my shame; birdsong was abound and sunshine effervescent. Careful not to get carried away, with thoughts of peace and perfection, I went about my routine - although as if treading on eggshells - aware that any moment, (and as I’ve discovered it’s normally those most embarrassing!) a siren can sound and I’m no longer of sound mind.

Although hesitant to say it, since this day still has two hours remaining, we have had no disturbances. Just from friends taking exception to my frivolous play on words, Hamas, Harm us and Hummus. Had they tasted my lunch today, they would agree the hummus was to die for!

Nov 19

Rocket bottom

I’m noticing a pattern. Each day ends with apprehension, yet when I awake (from those times I’d actually been asleep), I feel glad, surprised even, to find myself in one piece, in my bed. That my night had been undisturbed and that outside looks like holiday. I notice the birds are singing again and my neighbor has even resumed making music on the piano.

I deemed today the day to wash my hair. Flirting with the idea all morning I decided to just go for it. Upon entering under the water, I was reassured that should the siren sound, I would certainly hear it, for I could clearly decipher the sounds of a sonata from next door. Writing this now, I’m not sure how one relates to the other -but anyway - I did hear the siren, for yes it did sound and yes it was whilst I was washing my hair.

Fortunately I was at the final stage; applying cold water to close the cuticles. For a moment I questioned whether I might just stay there and not address my neighbors in such a state of undress. But I’ve discovered that war is not for the vain hearted.

Code red and funnily enough reaching for my red towel, I wondered whether to put my wet feet into my Four Seasons slippers or Havaianas. I astonished myself that I’d been so silly to lose a precious two seconds from one petty ponder.

The piano stopped and I had an appointment on the third floor. (Thank goodness he hadn’t been playing Mozart’s Requiem, I thought!)

Three neighbors, and my heart beating so fast, I realize now, I didn’t even give another thought to the fact I was completely drenched and undressed. For the first time, the entire building actually shook. Nava commented ‘even the cat is scared’. Ten minutes and then we said our goodbyes, strange to hope never to see them again.

Nov 18

Rockets falling and I am crestfallen.

m7a3 asked: Thank you for sharing your story about what is really going on.

Thank you!

Nov 18

Ever since the first siren, two days ago, I’ve been too afraid to wash my hair. I just don’t think I will hear the warning. Not that my shower is all that and the water pressure is something to envy; simply, I don’t find the sirens to be so loud.

When the third siren sounded today, I scrambled to find my keys and unlock my door. All taking up precious seconds which I needed to make it down to the floor below. Almost comical, I slid down to the third landing, nearly colliding with Gidi and Nava who stood as representatives to number 6 and 7. All of us in some sort of pajama combo - It was Saturday after all. Albeit sometime late afternoon, but this is meant to be the day of rest (ha ha ha).

I feel you might know the drill as well as I do by now. We stand, we wait, we can’t help but gasp with horror and we wait some more. Even though this is now my third experience, I noticed how my arm had intuitively found the banister and clung to it, my limbs shaky. I joked to myself that this must be a grave situation if I was touching the banister!

After hearing the explosion my new friends were turning to reenter their apartments until I relayed the instructions I received. We must wait ten minutes to avoid any potential after effects (I don’t even wish to think what that might mean). It was not long until we heard a phone ring and Gidi was gone, his family, checking he was ok. On returning to my apartment I searched for updates on BBC news and nothing had been reported, still nothing, so I did not ring my family this time. I wish to avoid alarming them at all costs.

This is hours later and my heartburn has only just calmed down and that’s also after half an hour of giggles with an Australian in the launderette. Having been home all day I braved the outside, I thought unlike my hair, my clothes won’t wash themselves! Unfortunately immediately on exit, I encountered a monster cockroach; (they should have a siren for those things!), but on my way I recalled the conversation I’d had with my neighbor the day before the first rocket.

I pressured him to tell me where the nearest bomb shelter can be found. He thought my question was terribly funny, and told me vague locations of one or two, but couldn’t express enough that there was no chance of Tel Aviv being hit. It’s not happened in decades he said. He then lowered his voice and said that if it did happen, because I’m not from here, I should ‘get the f**k out!!!’.

I’ve not mentioned this conversation until now. Perhaps because I couldn’t find the f word in my vocabulary but maybe also because this really has come as a shock to everyone.

Nov 17

Is this rocket science?

I am writing from the fourth floor, where I have lit a candle. A blissful Santa Maria Novella; a treasured gift from Leo for my birthday.

As Bear Grylls always advises, ‘light a fire to boost morale’. So that is exactly what I’ve done.

Normally I would be listening to music too, but I’m fearful I could risk not hearing a potential siren.

My request was not fulfilled and rocket was on today’s menu. Peppery and bitter - a strong after taste for those, like me, who have no experience in such a field.

I had felt calm and cool that I knew the drill and felt the support from everyone around me, but as soon as I heard the siren, for the second time (in my life), my legs let me down. I did take on the stairs in my slippers, but it was purely from hearing the sound of danger that I don’t presume I, or my legs, will ever get used to. Not to mention, the wait to hear the rocket land. Who knows where, but it seems to be getting closer and closer.

I met a sweet neighbor from downstairs who had clearly not received the same briefing as me. She drifted towards the window, until I, who had only received tutoring the day before, insisted that she come and join me on the third floor. Her hand to her mouth, she gasped at how close the sound of the explosion was. We stood together, exchanged invitations for coffees and teas and then parted ways, to call our families to tell them we are fine. I’m not even sure this is necessary since these events barely seem to be featured in the news. But it is as much of a comfort to hear their voices as mine is to them.

I’d planned to go to the super market, the launderette but suddenly didn’t feel like it. Instead I replied to very kindest messages from old friends, new friends, inquiring about my safety, inviting me to their homes, to the north, everybody concerned and compassionate, refueling me for the next adventure. I’d been invited to a special service at the synagogue, and felt more than ever before, that now was the time to go, perhaps pray a little, but most of all be spiritual.

You might have seen profile pictures changed to red squares signifying ‘Code red’ sirens. Well my picture I have not changed, but I did put on a red dress, funnily enough one I have gone to every time I wish to dress up, but each time I’ve ended up dismissing it, until tonight.

I walked down one of my favorite boulevards, glancing into each wide and welcoming apartment as I passed. People playing with their dogs, others preparing feasts for their families, couples cosied up to one another. The air felt so soft and warmer than it’s been in recent days.

I met my friend on the corner by the synagogue, immediately enchanted by the sounds that wafted from ear to ear and then down the road and around the corner. I almost dreaded the service for I knew I was about to be moved. And moved I was. So many faces gathered together, some to read, some to sing, (others for the champagne reception that followed)! Whatever the reason, we were all together, our thoughts, all to the same place.

The service ended with the singing of the Hatikva, the National Anthem of Israel, a song of hope.

Before the first word had even been sung in it’s entirety, everyone stood up, as if the Queen of England had just entered the room.

Nov 17

Last night and I can only hope we have a tonight.

I do not wish to write anything political, you know I prefer other types of parties!

But I wish to describe a little, the situation here.

I have awoken, in mid November, to yet another day, which could be mistaken for the midst of summer. For the sun is shining, it’s warmth embracing and the light dancing from the bluest plains above our heads, down to the tops of breezy palm trees and darting from one wall of whiteness to another. This city, forever a glow, a buzz, alive - with living.

Despite last night’s attack and fears of further frights, windows are open wide and routines are recommencing. Just with the addition of a full briefing from a friend of mine. If I happen to be in my fourth floor apartment and the siren sounds (warning of an incoming rocket), I must go to the stairwell and in the seconds we have to reach safety, I must go to the third floor and stay away from any windows, and wait ten minutes.

It was only yesterday evening I had just left a dynamic event of entrepreneurs. Stimulated and charmed by their initiatives, I walked up the cities main and most beautiful boulevard, pondering whether to enjoy a carrot juice from one of the many juice bars or cafés, of the café with the juice bar. I chose the latter, and realising I didn’t have long until my next meeting with a fashion magazine visiting from London, then soon after, a sweet friends party celebrating his MBA graduation. I continued on my way. Until the sound of siren.

I’ve been told it’s twenty-one years since Tel Aviv has heard that sound. I felt the whole city was in disbelief; there was a moment of total pause and then urgency to reach a nearby place of safety. I had been waiting for the sherute (a shared taxi minibus ~ more on that another time, simply wonderful!) and followed the group of people in my surroundings into a newsagent. I received a text from my friend telling me to take cover immediately and to stay there for ten minutes.

My group and I stood waiting, I did not know for what. Until, a large explosion was heard. I think I might have sworn and my eyes wanted to cry. But there was a strength in the air. There was no panic, no hysteria, it was clear that my neighbours were experienced in situations such as this. This is what saddens me the most. I wish to say that they are regular people, such as you and me. But in fact, they’re not. For when the rocket landed, I did not feel a sudden sense of bonding over a shared atrocity. We were already bonded. From my very landing in this country I have felt so completely at home, comfortable, cosy even. For people interact with each other, on an hourly basis, they are curious, interested, interesting and caring. Each day I could write a list of encounters, anecdotes, minutes of magic, friendly, romantic even. Although I have only been here for forty-nine days, I am now a part of it. I am aware that when applying exfoliator to my face before showering at night, that should there be a siren, I would need to go to the stairwell in this way. I am refraining from playing my usually loud music so as not to miss any warnings and I’ve put my earplugs away for the foreseeable future.

Nonetheless we did all turn up to celebrate my friend and his graduation. It was quite the loveliest party I’ve been to yet; we very almost forgot what could be happening outside.

Nov 16

No rocket in my salad days please.

"On day fourteen I noted “four half naked hunks stuck to sofas”. When they were still there on day twenty-one of eighty-one, you cannot blame me for being taken by surprise by their sudden signs of life (other than the occasional turn of the toned torso). For today, not only did they manage to stand on two legs, they also spoke. Words seem to spill out of their smoky mouths. Albeit in their mother tongue, “ma ze?” they challenged. Not clear to where they were pointing or to whom they were addressing, they repeated these monosyllables. I found myself jumping to attention, curious by these beings, finally awoken from their slumber. Like Miranda seeing a man for the first time in Shakespeare’s ‘The Tempest’, I indulged their delayed attempt of making conversation. Turns out it was a plant on my balcony which sparked their interest. Though not for long. Herbaceous soon turned to flirtatious, their bodies pressed closely to the railings, they had questions and they wanted answers. “Where you from?” “you live alone?”, “come for coffee!”. Evident my voice was not reaching the ears of these adonises, I asked them if they knew sign language. Not able to hear that either (perhaps they had neglected to remove their earplugs?), a passerby, four stories below - somehow able to hear every word - volunteered the role of our middleman, translator, if you will! Moments later, our passerby passed by and as though suddenly recognizing we’re in the twenty first century (for who knows how long they’d been asleep) they asked for my phone number, a way to continue our conversation without the neighborhood watch…!"

- My room with a view!

Oct 27

"From the lap of luxury to the lack of luxury!"

It was whilst attaching a peg to my pant that I became aware of the every day risks we take. Think about it. You put your laundry into the washing machine, knowing quite well, pairs will be parted; only one solitary sock shall survive - it’s common knowledge, there’s a place in the world where all the missing socks go. Yet still we do it.

So there I was, in my new place, hand washing my wears (for I have gone from living with Miele’s supertronic, to a bucket – superchronic!) Mostly thinking ‘what a bore!’ although part of me did fantasize that my appearance must be that of a Biblical beauty and smugly I noted the fact that sometimes it pays to be unassuming, for it meant I had one less risk to contend with that day.

Or so I thought…for I had not yet seen the washing line.

As soon as the sloppy strings came into visibility, I knew that should I cross the line, this would result in me losing much more than just a sock. The utmost precision was needed; my clothes must take on the balance of a tight ropewalker for I did not wish that the urban jungle claim my clothes as camouflage.

…to be continued!

Oct 8

"Call it superstition. I hear it’s all the rage, when reserving ones seat, to chose that which combines ones age and first initial. As with all rages, one must be well informed of their possible repercussions. So first row of economy and ready and responsible to man the emergency exit; doors to automatic and crosscheck etc bla bla bla. Here I am. In the clouds. Passenger to a Boeing 007 in seat 26K. Just grateful I’m not yet applicable to sitting in 35C, my destinations climate. God forbid, my luggage, weighing in at 39K. No. Happy to be 26 and Kara, with a K. Here’s to hoping I did such a good job, I shall return with 26K!"

Sep 29

"A bite for lunch"

Destination – lunch. Spotted all the way from the horizon, we aimed for the coasts most beautiful hideaway. Much needed after a morning spent on and off the boat, bathing between Greece’s finest waves and sizzling under the sun’s rays, it was now time to find shade and good service.

Amid mists of sea spray and views which vanished with our passing; we headed for land. Full speed ahead and firm grasps on our hats, we daydreamed. Images of being laid to rest under canopies of vine leaves, whilst local beauties feed us olives the size of apples and taramasalata the colour of our glowing cheeks, all the while, keeping us cool with waves of exotic foliage. All fantasies were abruptly put on pause, when we saw how far we must walk to this retreat. On entering the harbor, we geared ourselves up for the hike ahead, persuaded that what awaited us was well worth this unexpected exertion.

As we regained our balance, like mermaids stepping onto land for the first time, our starving stomachs showed us the way.

Paradise we found. Like a mirage before our eyes we sunk into sun kissed seats beneath bountiful bunches of grapes. I imagined popping each one releasing a flow of sweet wine; dissolving the salt from our hair and quenching our deepest thirst.

No time to see the specials, for commotion broke out. The father, stung by some drunk flying monster clutched his forehead. Swelling spreading at the speed of knots attracting the attention of the headwaiter. He bounded towards us, barking and demanding to touch, to see the scene of the crime when all we wanted was “VINEGAR!!” Invasive and speaking at speeds and volumes quite out of place in such a setting we knew we’d have to out shout him to be heard.

Vinegar, a word one so rarely uses was our only hope. Our SOS. We thank Zeus and all his divinity for the English speaking couple that we must have woken from their lazy splendor two tables down. Our fellow Englishman jumped to attention, vinegar in hand, we splashed the Fathers bronzed and salty forehead, concerned not to cook him in the sun.

Then for the creams. Forced inside by Mr. headwaiter, as if it were the highlight of his day, he proudly opened a draw to rival your Doctors medicine cabinet. Boxes galore graffitied in a language we don’t understand, he started applying creams not dissimilar to the tzatziki we ate the night before. The next fright was a green syringe looking instrument Mr. headwaiter was enthusiastically filling with an unknown liquid. Intent on pressing it to the Fathers head to remove any sting we let him go about his charade, concluding it would be less scary than stepping outside again. So the Father, endlessly brave accepted his attempt to remove the sting, whilst the rest of us buzzed around him in a state of hysteria.

Leaving me in charge to hold the syringe in position for a whole four minutes, Mr. headwaiter used this time to browse his iphone, eager to show us a photograph of a previous client, sporting this same green syringe, although in the cheek of her bottom.

Seeing the funny side of such an unexpected interlude to the day, we made it clear that it was not the fact that the Father was starting to look like a character from Avatar that was making us laugh!

Sep 20

"What could be more exciting than supermarkets abroad you might wonder? Well, picture this. After a lunch of local delicacies and sips of the Islands finest rosé, six boozy Biebers glided around the quaint little town of Fiskardo. What follows, I’m sure, is simply the error of drinking in the surroundings of British boats. Their haze of alcohol contributing to our state of inebriation quite considerably. For we were in the highest spirits to find a shop, marginally resembling something from back home. Not that anyone even remembers anything pre holiday, but the sheer sight of imported goodies thrilled us all. The aisles awaited us. Splitting up, we covered more ground, searching for familiar and unfamiliar tastes to spend our Euros on. Interrupted mid mission – the father, who’d been led astray by a sign claiming ‘Fish Spa’, returned with plans to treat our feet. And so, on to the next adventure! Crossing the piazza to the place where we would spend the next half hour, we diligently counted our toes and waited eagerly to hand ourselves over to the hungry mouths below. Some Biebers more anxious than others, we deemed it only fair that we should sacrifice our bodies for these ravenous creatures. For this holiday alone we must have swallowed schools of their relatives. But first, with twelve feet between us, Thenia valiantly cleaned and scrubbed each one, not a cold foot left amongst us. The brothers bait already, gazed dreamily into her inky Grecian eyes; ecstatic for this aquatic encounter. One after the other, we lowered our limbs into the deep tanks. The little bodies fighting for a nibble of our skin. Passing tourists gawped, as if we were the fish in the tank. From tickles ensued fits of giggles as they worked their way between our toes. My only concern was that they should return my freckles to where they found them. Otherwise we were in a delightful disposition, perhaps a little too excitable since Thenia rapidly replaced Django Reinhardt for the soundtrack of Chocolat. It’s hypnotic hum, the perfect accompaniment to her sudden change in mood. Sashaying before us in her turquoise trousers she narrated the tale of her love of four years, with whom after experiencing a decline in their relationship, she took herself to see the movie as a pick me up and realized it was he she needed to drop. So drop him she did and now working in this sleepy town, she’d great plans for the end of the season. She was set on kissing the giant sculpted frog in the piazza outside, in true belief that he would turn into her prince!"

- Gone fishing!

Sep 18