15 Things I'm Going To Miss About Israel

So Long.....Farewell

This post has been a long time in the coming.  I've made two serious attempts - both totally unfit for publishing.  The first was a complete spiral into Sopsville (i.e. heavy focus on my Israeli friends and family.....and halva); the second was cold hearted (i.e. it was blank). I seriously considered publishing this second one for fun, but realised it was just a reflection of the final two weeks of 'over it-ness' you get when preparing to leave somewhere you have loved - basically you hate everyone and everything.  It's a defence mechanism.  Either that or it really does suck, and everyone you know is a dick....

Anyway, this is my third attempt to finally close the doors on almost three years of life in this crazy country.  Because it's over now.  It's all done and dusted, finito, splitsville, gone Daddy gone.

Packing up my life was painful.  As a friend of mine said, who also just packed up her own life - after 10 years overseas - "Shifting countries is like childbirth, agony at the time but since forgotten".

The actual day of leaving was smoother than expected thanks to 3 burly men, some bubble wrap and a crane; but the saying of goodbyes hurt like a frontal vagina waxing.  I cried, I deep breathed, I took  a Xanax.  I always knew it would be great in Israel, but it was an experience that far exceeded any expectations I may have had.  Parting is such sweet sorrow.  Actually, it was just sorrow......  

And now for my Incredible "Most Missed List";

1. Tel Aviv:

You may look like crap, but it's part of your charm

Obviously top of the list.  Jerusalem may be the spiritual capital of Israel, but Tel Aviv is the heart.  The beating lively pulsing heart.  It may be filthier than a human shit squashed on the bottom of a flip flop, but make no mistake - it is a fucking legend of a city.  Vibrant and happening - there is nowhere else like it.  They call it The White City, but it's more like The Off White City, or the White City With a Layer of Brown Filth On Top.  Make no mistake though if it's fun you're after, you're going to get it in Tel Aviv.  Noisy, unrelenting fun with a heart of gold.

2. The Beaches:

It's warm as well

The entire west coast of Israel lies on the Mediterranean Sea - need I say more.  The beaches are tops.  Ok yes, in summer you may literally burn blisters into the soles of your feet when you cross the sand for a dip, and the after-weekend ciggie butts floating in the shallows may be a little gross.  But toughen up Princesses, this is Israel - enjoy.  But no matter how much you do actually enjoy it, you will never love lying on the beach as much as the vast number of French geriatrics burning themselves to a caramel crisp every single day of the year.  The beach is their world people, and don't you ever forget it. 

3. The Food:

I'm going to miss you so much Lover

Lets make one thing clear; the food is so fucking good that you will become a complete porker unless you have extreme vigilance about what you shove into your piehole.  There are lots of salads available at every restaurant sure, but it doesn't count as health food when you dump half a kilo of tahini all over the top.  Surprisingly you don't see a lot of obese Israelis.  Usually anyone clocking in at 150kgs are American tourists who got slightly carried away at the baklava stand at the markets.  And despite a diet heavy in sugary treats (they give candy out at school as rewards - it's fucked), you never see a chubby Israeli kid.

4. The Markets:

This woman was not attracted to me at all

The Shuk HaCarmel is one of my favourite Israeli experiences.  I actually feel a little sad that I didn't get the chance to go down and bid farewell to all my market buddies; Shlomi the fish guy (he admitted that no matter how many times he scrubs his hands the smell of fish never comes out); Elan my fruit and veggie guy who is seriously in love with me (I am extremely popular with the over 70 market crowd for unknown reasons); the Wah Wah Wee Wah Man (who cannot stop saying 'Wah Wah Wee Wah' about 2000 times a day - I have no idea how the stallholders around him cope with it), The Nut Fella - best nuts in Israel......not that I'd know.  So the whole place would probably get shut down in Australia due to about 100 food and sanitation regulations being broken, and yes there may be large rodents crawling over everything at the outskirts, and chicken blood on the ground; but live a little everyone.  The Shuk is one of the last third wordlish things left in Tel Aviv.  I hope they never change it - rodents and all. 

5. Old Shit:

I don't know what the hell this is, but it looks old as fuck

There are enough old ruins, buildings and crumbling structures in these lands to satisfy the most nerdy of all history lovers.  You can't even dig a hole in your backyard in Jerusalem with the Archeological Society moving in, roping off your garden and subsequently digging up the ruins of a Roman village.  This land is far out old alright - and of course part of the whole Middle East -  which is the fertile crescent where human civilisation reportably kicked off.  Jerusalem itself, is apparently 5000 years old. The cobblestone paths in the old city have had so many feet walk over them that the rocks are shiny and slippery.  If you're all into all things biblical and stuff, then cities and areas mentioned in The Bible can be visited.  You can go to The Church of The Holy Sepulchre where Jesus was supposably crucified, and where Marco Polo grabbed some oil to take to Kubla Khan's palace - and not only can you see this amazing church, but you can descend underneath the church to where the ruins of a pagan temple are that the Christians just build over the top of.  This is just one measly example.  All of this kind of archeology thing makes me blow my load. And its not just from watching Indiana Jones, although Harrison Ford really was hot in his younger days.  Times have changed though and Calista Flockhart can have him in his twilight years.  

6. Smoking Joints In The Streets:

Or then again you can street smoke a bong

Suck back a fattie in the middle of the city streets at anytime of the day or night and you will barely get a glance from passerbys.  You could probably blow a lungful of smoke in a policeman's face and come out of it unscathed (just claim tourist if things get ugly and don't mention I said it was ok).  In fact you can not only smoke freely in bars and nightclubs, but you can light up and smoke away in restaurants and not get told to put it out.  I once witnessed two dudes request a bowl and a pair of scissors from the waitress.  They then proceeded to mull up and strap up a number, and smoke it right at the table - nobody even looked at them (yes they shared).   Pick your venue though, you don't want to suck one back at the breakfast buffet at The Hilton - straight arsed tourists hang out there.

7. Going to Breakfast In Your PJs:

Goals

The slovenliness in personal style, and often hygiene, is something I will simultaneously miss and hope I never see again.  Most of the country looks as sloppy as a veggie burger with extra sauce, and they dress like they have no mirrors at home, and indeed maybe they don't.  Some of the outfit ensembles I have witnessed over my time here have made me weep tears of blood.  Either people don't care, or they care two much and dress top to toe in matching floral, including a pair of shoes in the exact same floral fabric (how would you find shoes that exactly matched your hideous outfit - they must have had them made especially, it's the only explanation).  Sometimes I really enjoy wearing the same clothing I wore to bed to drop the kids off at school, and then to wear out to breakfast.  I have learnt a couple of important things here - always dress in leopard print if you are over 60, and in Israel leggings are not only pants but they do not require underpants underneath.  Sometimes you just have to surrender to it, and god damn it, it feels good.

8. There Are No Spiders:

Look at those fangs

There maybe the tiniest of tiny little insy winsies on an old gate in the suburbs or something, but generally speaking there are no spiders here, and certainly none in your house or lurking in your clothes.  There are certainly none the size of your hand that run very fast, and like to hang out under the sun visor in your car.  There are no chunky bodied black ones that crawl into the neck of your shirts when you leave your clothes on the floor.  So long did I spend in Israel, that I am no longer hyper vigilant about shaking my clothes or my shoes out before I put them on.  I no longer jump a mile when I see something black twitch in the far corners of my peripheral field of vision.  I will have to readjust.  Israel has made me soft.

9.  The Directness of Communication:

That guy in the white is telling the chick to piss off

Again this is something both missable and unmissable depending on your mood at the time.  Sometimes it's enjoyable to bark an order at someone; bang into someone without the need to apologise; or have some slightly shitty interaction with a random citizen; while other times you just want to sob "Be nice to me you prick" to the bartender.   One thing is for certain, my skin is a lot thicker than it was before I moved to Israel, which is a good thing really, as I got tears in my eyes the first time I went to New York and someone yelled at me for not saying 'coffee' clearly.  What a pathetic pussy.  Now I do the yelling, I do the yelling.  

10.  Feeling Secure:

Nothing says safety like a teacher with a gun

Now this may be a bit weird, considering I once had to run for shelter when missiles got shot over my city, and my apartment actually had a steel enforced bomb shelter serving as it's third bedroom laundry dumping space.  But seriously, I feel safe in public areas in Israel, because not only is security tight at all public events, but every single citizen has been army trained.  When shit goes down, instead of running from the terrorists people run toward them to fuck them up.  It also makes me feel safe that two armed men sit behind locked gates at my children's school all day.  These dudes would defend my kids with their lives.  I don't know if I would myself.  I'm often glad I have two minis to toss at any danger, as it's a better chance of escape for me.  It probably sounds strange that I feel so safe here - especially because a week before we left, our street was closed off by the police who put on bomb protection outfits and did 'actions unknown' over the road from us.  And yet, it really didn't worry me.  The Israelis mean business, and they take no chances, if there's one thing they know, it's security and disaster relief.  They are the world's best out of necessity.

11.  No Rules:

Prepare for safety

Again the easy going casualness of the shoulder shrug is appreciated when something works in your favour (i.e.  when you continuously crash your rental car into the side of the driveway and talk your way out of being fined when you return the car); and yet simultaneously, the lack of societal structure does you no good when it's against you (constantly getting shoved in front of at the grocery store, unless you go bananas at a particularly pushy woman or two).  My first introduction to this was at a car rental place when we arrived.  My husband pointed out that the car we booked stank of cigarettes and that there was a "No Smoking' sticker on the actual steering wheel.  The young dude looked unmoved and replied "This is Israel.  There are no rules".  We learnt fast.

12.  Krembos:

Melt in my mouth anytime darling

I don't know what these sweet puffy chemical concoctions are, but the way they melt in your mouth when you shove them in whole is extremely satisfying.  Could they be whipped nougat on a plain unremarkable biscuit dipped in chocolate?  Or possibly fairy diarrhoea on a dog biscuit dipped in unicorn poo?  Who cares, they are fucking unbelievable, and I am going to miss them so so much, hopefully they're available on Amazon.

13.  Nightlife:

There I am....!

Its the best.  The absolute best.  There are no curfews so everyone goes out after midnight and parties until the sun comes up.  There are no residential areas (everywhere is residential), no noise restrictions (everywhere is noisy).  It .  Is.  On.  And the booze is cheap.  Alcohol laws are so lax that you can set up a bar in the front of your house by buying a few six packs and pumping some tracks out of your iPhone.  Sometimes there are street parties with DJs cranking it, and beers being sold out of eskies.  Because of the weather, heaps of the partying goes on outside, and in courtyards of nightclubs  Although, some clubs are in the basements of buildings (and were once the building bomb shelter - maybe still are - who would know).  The fun never stops.  Seriously it doesn't.  Enjoy it for me, as I'm far too old and Mumsie looking.  I'm going to miss at least, the knowledge that it exists. 

14.  Hot People:

Undies and guns = yes!

Some people find Italians the hottest race on earth, some the Danish or the Spanish.  Many people find Tasmanians the most gorgeous people on this God given earth and who can blame them?  I however, can't not get over the sheer volume of hotness on the streets of Tel Aviv.  I have never seen better legs sticking out of short shorts, and that's just the men.  It's also an army thing - hot people with guns is something you never get over either.  But they work for it - I've never seen more people exercising in my life than along the boulevard at the Tel Aviv beach - running, riding, skating, playing fucking beach paddle board, doing some stupid hand-holding kind of dancing.  And everyone is all tanned and healthy looking from continuous all year sunshine.  It doesnt work that way for me - I'm spottier than a dalmatian eating a packet of 100s and 1000s after 3 years under a Middle Eastern sun.  The hotness around me would be intimidating if it wasn't so enjoyable.  Hell, you don't even have to go outside, just follow 'Hot Dudes And Hummus' on Instagram.  The only saving grace is that after 40, following too much sun, ciggies (and hummus) they all go to seed.  Then the chicks have massive amounts of procedures and boob jobs, and before you know it you're a 60 year old slut.  It's a popular look, I might go there myself one day.  Granny sluts are hot.

15.  Attitude To Life:

Woo Hoo - we're SO fucking happy (how did they get the dog to jump?)

Life is precious, family is most important and peace can be fleeting.  Enjoy your time while you can, because who knows what is round the corner.  I really think that Israelis live in the present moment more than any other nation - even though their existence as a nation is under threat, not to mention often international condemnation.  But their enjoyment of life, and the pure joy they savour from their national identity is inspirational.  Israelis know how to live, and their pleasure from the simple things in life runs through everything they do. 

And Finally.....

There are a myriad of other little things, and also larger things that I will always miss about Israel.  I haven't really expressed my love for my darling friends and family here - but I know they know how much they mean to me and always will, so I'll leave it at that for now.   I haven't mentioned the weather (for 9 months of the year), the baby hedgehogs that populate the bushes on the outskirts of the cities, the incredible nature, the produce from Kibbutzes, cheap avocados, Waze, old people, the Dead Sea,  single ciggies sold in stores, the beauty of the desert, Israeli cafes, cheap and freely accessible alcohol (I feel like I've already mentioned this), wearing shorts and t-shirts at night and never getting cold....it goes on and on.  Yes, there may have been moments when I have sat in unbearable traffic in my car and screamed "Get me out of this fucking country".  And there have been plenty of times when I've cursed the grime and the filth that invades everything, and been disgusted by the haze and disturbed by the sandstorms; but all in all I've had the experience of a lifetime, and one my children, my husband and myself will never forget.  

Thanks for having me Izzy - I miss you already.

Let's blow this popsicle stand.....

  

Travelling Without Children

Not a squirt in sight......

My friend said to me the other day - "Why do people want to have children if they then spend all their time trying to get the fuck away from them?".  She had a point.  I struggled to think of a valid reason for having children.  Of course we love them and shit, but why do people actually have them? My daily routine sometimes feels like; "Get them to school as fast as you can, and when they come home start focusing on getting them to bed as soon as humanly possible".  Breathe.  Drink.  Repeat.  We worry about them constantly as well - it's so exhausting.  I'm convinced I'm fucking up the whole parenting thing all the time.  I mean, we're definitely all going to fuck our kids up in one way or another.  That's what parents do, they've been doing it for generations - so why do we think we're going to do it so much better?  Well, we're not.  It's our destiny to make a right mess of it and to be hated for eternity.  And loved equally for even longer.  We also worry about their futures, and the state of the planet we're leaving for them.  Things just look so incredibly grim in the outside world of late. I feel like something's building up.  Things are changing.  The US November elections are going to be telling, lets put it that way.  But when not tossing and turning over world environmental and human disasters, I'm constantly trying to get babysitters during the week just to have 3 hours to ourselves now and again.  But a parents only weekend escape/// Well it's like the best thing ever.  Ever.  Even just for the joy of eating in a restaurant without telling some midget to stop tipping their glasses and then having to mop up the spilt drinks with napkins because they ignored me, and all the while they shriek how wet they they are.  Kids are, without doubt, total mini freaks.  All kinds of cute, but how long do they want to play that card for??? 

This was the early days, before they tried to eat her face off

It's totally the same in the animal kingdom. Kids are annoying and parents have to suck it up.   We watched a pigeon make a nest in our barbecue, and then lay and hatch two babies.  It was like a nature show around my place - the fascination reached new levels.  That's how urbanised my children are.  Starved of a natural environment (the foliage surrounding them at home consists of 5 withered cacti and an orchid I keep forgetting to water), they couldn't get enough.  The baby pigeons grew a bit and then the mother was gone.  Totally gone.  She was like "I've done my duty to those fluffy little knobs, it's all over".  She did come back at one stage and the two teenage pigeons almost killed her while trying to get food out of her mouth.  We were all screaming; "They're attacking her, they're attacking her".  Bloody little feathery ingrates.  She hasn't been back since.  Those little fuckers are on their own - just get out my barbie and stop shitting on the outdoor furniture.

The on the plane happy face

We had a "parents" trip on the approach with our besties - the particular weekend over the Jewish festival of Shavuot (not sure what this holiday is about either, I get confused after Passover - you wear white, have flowers in your hair and eat cheese, is the best I can do on short notice), had been set aside for quite a few weeks - dates confirmed, destination not so much.  We would go out to dinner with our mates and brainstorm possible places to go (however these 'business meetings' were really just excuses to get away from the kids, and we never decided on anything - just blabbed and got pissy).  That's the thing here, you can buy tickets to Europe, and other middle eastern countries (no, not Iraq, like Dubai, possibly Jordan......) for relative peanuts.....and flights are short.  It's a really fun game - thinking of places to go that is.  Now, that is something I'm going to miss while I'm sitting in Wagga Wagga during my long weekends.... thinking about Paris.

The most popular destination seemed to be Russia.  This is partly because of the exoticness of the place, and partly because my husband's business partner has Russian oligarch connections and we would have been shown a really good time upon touching down in St Petersburg.  I'm not sure what kind of a good time though - I imagined dancing on Russian grandfathers shoulders at a billionaires wedding while knocking back gold flecked vodka shots; patting somebody's pet tiger; being shown a private and extensive gun connection; trying on a floor length purple mink in a room made entirely of mirrors;  tasering a poor person; and finally, arriving at a rooftop nightclub in a helicopter filled with strippers.....The issue is that Australians need a visa for Russia.  Israeli's don't - they can waltz straight in, and seeing as my husband and mates were all in possession of Israeli passports those bastards were in like Flynn.  I, on the other hand has some issues going on.  I won't even bother explaining the process, lets just say you needed everything - flights accommodation booked and paid fore, an detailed itinerary of your movements while in the country, an invitation from Russia, plus you had to do things like list every school you ever went to and provide details of what your grandparents were up to in the 60s (I can only wish my grandparents were Cold War spies).  It wasn't going to happen......or was it.  Just a quick call to the billionaire mate and it was visas for Africa.......well, at least for me.  The only issue was the cost - there's a reason why these cunts are rich let me tell you.  Six fifty US for 4 days of holiday??? It was a no - it had to be.  Even though I loved the thought of a black market visa acquired through alternate channels, I also had a few concerns with fucking with the Russians.  I really didn't feel like taking the risk and living out the next decade in a Kremlin jail, despite how pretty that St Petersburg architecture is.

He may be the lefties darling these days but he is a hard core cunt, and don't you forget it

Pretty

We compromised.  Bulgaria.  To be honest, I'd never considered it as an option - I barely knew where it was, and nobody had ever said to me "You GOT to go to Bulgaria dude".  But this is kind of fun, no?  The random trip to nowhere in particular.  I like that kind of thing.  Just roll up with no plan, and see where it takes you....  And where it took us was as fun as.  The first night was spent in the capital - Sofia - with a late night trip to a hidden bar lit only by hundreds of candles.  The next morning it was up to get a rental car, and road tripping we did go.  Waterfalls, rivers, monasteries in the middle of the forest, the mountains....You decide as you go.  The monastery was astonishing - over 1000 years old and smack bang in the middle of the mountains.  As we walked inside, a special group of monk tourists (possibly Russian orthodox - it can be difficult to tell) were having a little singalong - their deep voices echoed under the high fresco painted ceilings in the dim, cool interior.  The acoustics inside were soul stirring.  The only fly in the poo was exactly that.  The toilets.  I've been in some dodgy toilets in my life but this was new levels.  I don't think they'd been cleaned in 1000 years either.  It's surprising how long you can hold on  for when you have to.  My friend tried to warn me.  I was still ill prepared for the reality.

  

Think about the paintings, don't think about the poo, the poo, don't mention the poo

See? Repulsive....

Bulgaria is bloody big though, and because of the mountains you have to go round and round - short distances take ages.  Apparently in winter, the skiing is unbelievable.  That's where we stayed the second night - in a ski mountain town at an extremely fancy pants hotel for a mere 100 euros a night.  There was a slight kerfuffle at the start - I'm usually against ski towns out of season - they are creepy, and I've discussed The Shining several times in this regard.  The female members of our little gang were not too pleased with the apparent outcome, and we were not holding back with our outward displays of displeasure; "This place sucks! We hate it! We want to go to Melnik - they have really nice wines! What are we doing in this shithole?".  This went on for quite some time, I'm sure it was very irritating for my husband who booked and already paid for the hotel.  We even refused to get out of the car when we stopped "NOOOOO we're not getting out!  Don't open the boot! It sucks here, let's go already".  My husband was having none of it.  My friend said she felt my husband mentally smacked her like a two year old.....But I think he went easy on us, as I write that, I realise how annoying we must have been.  But far from being as crap as we imagined, this place was unbelievable and actually packed with Bulgarians on weekend breaks. There was obviously much less chance of being driven insane by ghosts and putting axes through each other's skulls.  Every guest in the hotel wore their white towelling dressing gowns all over the place - to the pool, to the bar, cruising round the corridors.  As we were sitting up at the bar with half a bottle of chilled rose in each wine glass and a giant plate of cheese (which we ate so much we both got the shits), we had to admit we were temporarily wrong.  Only to each other of course - there was no going the other way - my husband was just itching for that slight hint of vulnerability - like admitting we were mistaken....there would have been carnage, shit would have got ugly.

It's no Melnik....

It pains me.  Pains me.

So it really was actually cool in Bansko, and all kinds of beautiful.  That night we ate in 'traditional' Bulgarian restaurant (basically, think animal body parts), in a place decorated with bear skins and a large fountain in the middle of the restaurant - they were obviously channelling the minimalist vibe. We were picked up and dropped off by the owner who had his band serenade us as we were leaving.  Following that, Ivan was instrumental in burning our oesophagus's out, by handing round a special 'Bulgarian brandy' which tasted like cleaning fluid and was apparently 70% alcohol. Afterwards we had some drinks with some locals who told us we had to come back in winter for the snooze, and then it was back home to the fluffy dressing gowns.

Spotify some Bulgarian folk music, its touching.  Really.

It may not be a purple mink - but bear will do.

Thanks for the lighter fluid Ivan

Spontaneity is the most fun - and thus in that vein we made a random decision to drive 5 hours in the Rhodopian mountains to the Bulgarian/Greek border and attend Meadows in The Mountains - a festival started by a couple of British brothers a few years ago.  Here's a spiel;

....and it is through this very tradition that curator brothers, Benjamin and Damain Sasse have the most great and humble pleasure in inviting festival goers to cast aside their daily woes, shrug off the binding chains of the 9-5 and indulge in a debauched weekend of mind-expanding experience, community and free spirit to skip through the fields and forests with untamed abandon and to lay with the fireflies and nighttime skies in the long grass of the Meadows in the Mountains Festival!...." 

You bunch of (wealthy) hippies

Spin that fan scarf love

Sure.  Why Not?  Originally we were going to some hot springs town and then to the city of Plovdiv.  But as I reminded everyone - we can do that shit when we're old.  We were without the kids for the love of God.  The way things are going, we only have a couple more years of attending festivals before people spot us and think "Awwwww someone brought their Mummy along".  And this would be more than possible, as the entire festival was made up of 20 year old pommies with trust funds - or trustafarians as they are commonly known as..  I could have easily been their mothers as well.  Not all of them, there were 1000 people there - like one or two.  I wore sunglasses and a hat even at night, it was for the best.  The drive there was stunning.  Absolute mountain beauty and extremely memorable - even if we didn't spot any bears.  The only catch, was that all the tickets had been sold out.  Lara and I didn't mention this little inconvenience to the boys before we started out (and they were the ones doing all the driving - possibly for nothing but rejection at the end).  But where there's a will there's a way.  And seriously, who was going to tell four Australians who rolled up on their doorstep in the middle of the Bulgarian mountains that they couldn't come to the party?  All the same, we constructed a lie that we were party scouters, looking to bring groups of fresh faced Aussies over the next year.  Lara was the DJ, me the installations artist, Dan the promoter and Chalks the financier (although he despised his role and said everyone hates the money man).  Lara also had one of those moon cripple boots on her foot, which is not conducive to dancing on top of a mountain, but is useful for getting freebies, lifts and unlimited access to the shortcut lane in the airport.  Unfortunately one of the organisers was on to us.  He was dialling off his tree, and was like; "You guys are just milking it aren't you?" You can't hide from LSD gods.....  He explained that he had broken his pelvis once and the brace he had to wear got him so many shortcuts that he kept in on for ages - he knew we were using the cripple to our personal advantage and financial gain.  Nevertheless, we still got day tickets, festival mugs and a lift up to the top of the mountain with a Bulgarian farmer called Dimiter, while all the other suckers walked.

Chalks and Emi feeling the love up a tree platform

We were in -  inner than a belly button on an obese person.  And it was AWESOME.  I mean it when I say it was like going back in time to the old school techno parties/bush doors of old, but with a folky edge.  You know what I mean? - before everything became mainstream and commercialised.  All the musicians were unsigned artists, everything was constructed in wood - the bars, the seats, the stages.......the food was locally made, and they had things like a giant wooden Trojan horse, some kind of wicker man to burn, and a giant hammock - which looked really awkward to get out of, a pirate boat, and apparently a 'death slide' but I must have been looking in the wrong place for that.  All the people were so friendly, and the view was like heaven.  It was so so beautiful up there.  I was 20 again, only without a bindi, or a tie-on backless tank-top with pieces of reflective material sewn all over it, and matching pants.  I was also without the social anxiety you have at the fresh age of the late teens/early 20s.  

It really was a great festival.  If you get your shit together early and sort out tickets in advance,  you can even get accommodation.  The villagers at the bottom of the hill all move out of their old school country cottages for the weekend, and open their doors to the 'kids'.  There is also  'glamping', and of course the old 'bring your own piece of shit tent and stick it up in some field' option.  I always love looking at festival fashions as well.  My favourite looks were the neanderthal dude - he was wearing an animal skin across his arse and had a stick and really stayed in character from what I could tell.  Either just for the hell of it, or he'd got a bit loose with the amount of acid he was indulging in and literally could only grunt and wave a stick.  Also the guy in the wedding dress was having the time of his life, and another dude with an outfit made entirely of bubble wrap.  I'd imagine it'd be a touch sweaty though.  All the chicks wore flowers in their hair, bikini tops and shorts with their bums hanging out.  And those bums were good.  Very good.  I can't remember ever having a one that good, they'd have to be doing some serious squats wouldn't they?  It was impressive regardless. 

   

Beeeewtiful

We didn't stay for the long haul though - after all we were the Mums and Dads  Staying up all night and doing it again three times over is just beyond me.  Besides, I haven't had botox for a couple of years and my morning look is fairly scary.   I need a bed at night these days, I just do.  With crispy white sheets.  Call me Princess, but admit it - you all do as well.  Unfortunately the sheets that night weren't so white or so crispy.  They had that synthetic feel of straight out of the packet without being washed.  The little Plovdiv hotel were drove to post festival was brand spankin' new, and they made the worst breakfast and totally messed up the bill.  But give them their dues they did wait until after midnight for us to arrive.  Plovdiv was also very cool.  It's supposed to be as old as 6000 years and there were a lot of Roman ruins scattered around and underneath the new city.  But there's no time to linger when the babysitters back home in Israel are feeling the hardcore pinch.  Deal with it arseholes, now you know how we all feel everyday of our miserable lives. 

Under city Roman ruins - check!!

Yes, yes and more yes

Our last night in Sofia was spent living it up in a golden room of deliciousness - sometimes you have to treat yourselves.  We went a little hard on the drinks though, but surprisingly the waiters tolerated our photo session at various points around the restaurant pre-departure.  On our return, despite our husbands going on for days about wanting to visit strippers at the Gentlemen's club in the basement od pour fancy hotel  (there was also a casino a floor down as well), the two big pussies went to beddie byes.  It meant it was left up to the wives to carry the torch.  We spied on a wedding in the banquet room (which was more fun than it sounds I swear), and then popped down to the strip club below.  Even though we were there not drinking anything and taking photos they were really nice to us.  Saw a couple of girls in their undies to round off the adult excursion, and then after a small snooze it was off to our 6am Wizz Air flight back to Tel Aviv.  One aborted landing later (I hate it when the plane pulls out of a landing, it scares the shit out of me) and we were touchdown.  Back to reality.  The kids were happy to see....... the presents.  After all, it is essential to follow up on bribery; while we, the poor suffering parents  were back to planning our next trip away.  I don't think we'll be able to get away with another cherished parents holiday for a while, so it's back to fighting in the car, disrupting other guests in hotels and restaurants, begging for sugar laden treats, and screaming because we've dragged them on a walk of over 200 metres.  The good life.

So thirsty, So so thirsty

Mmmmmm

the barman really wanted to go home....

My vote for best trip photo

Well, she does look slightly manish here....

Where's the chicks?

But then our little sweeties have a birthday, and they're so excited and cute about it all.  You realise that you really don't care about anything except them, and you wonder how the hell your life had any meaning before they came along.  When they sleep, their little faces still look like they did the day they were born.  And as I keep reminding myself, soon the pictures and the love notes and the cuddles and the climbing into our bed at night are going to stop, and they'll be the ones wanting to escape us - as we all did to our parents.  Travelling without them is a lot of fun, but I'm always just waiting to see them by the end of the trip.  I feel like it's thanks to our parents that we understand that these years are precious.....and short, and despite having fun complaining, I think we all are really are making the most of being parents, shortcomings and all. 

1,2,3....Awwwwwwww

Lag B'Omer (Is Fucking Weird)

Our marshmallow toasting looked nothing like this

The cultural differences between Israel and Australia often don't make much of an impact these days - I barely notice them.  I don't flinch when somebody hard core hip and shoulders me, and then fails to apologise.  I barely register when I see rats crawling on the food stalls in the back alleys of the city market.  I don't bat an eye when a person rolls their car into me at the lights (or me into them is more the point), and I no longer get excited when someone lights a joint next to me in a restaurant.

But then.... the 'Super Fun" children's festival of Lag B'Omer rolls around, and it just appears nuts to me.  I also imagine that it must appear crazy to anybody who wants their kids to avoid getting third degree bonfire burns to their torsos - but who would know? For a start, nobody seems to get what it's about - and those who claim they do cannot explain it if their life depends on it.  I just come away from my cultural appreciation questions feeling more and more confused.  There is something about the number 33, a man in a cave for 12 years -then finally coming out and having to go back in for another year, and most likely is that it celebrates the beginning of Kabbalah - the mystical side of Judaism.  Who knows?  I sure don't, that much is for certain - and I've discussed it with quite a number of people in order to become enlightened (that could be what the flames represent now I think of it).

What I do know is that it translates today to a 'joyous celebration for children' and involves bonfires and bow and arrows.

Add some petrol Pops

This year my daughter's school organised a bonfire party.  "Come along" said my friend "It will be amazing".  Amazingly shit more like it.  Another friend enthusiastically told me it was to be held 'in nature' and the kids would go wild in the forest.  The only part of that sentence that turned out to be true was the 'go wild' bit.  I wasn't deceived though.  Every time somebody tries to sell me an Israeli nature experience I know I'm in for a crushing disappointment.  A rushing river is really a dry stagnant stream, a beautiful beach is actually an average one crowded with people with ciggie butts in the sand and off-looking foam floating in the water.  And in this case, the natural field turned out to be a dirt square surrounded by roads and suburbia, and the forest was about 5 spindly trees.

What was there in plentiful numbers were psychotic kids - about 300 of them, about 20 dangerous bonfires, and thick acrid smoke choking everybody.  There were tables of crappy food and one table entirely devoted to constructing marshmallow sticks.  All kids were eating only marshmallows.  It was true chaos.

Thats the way kids, get those flames higher

For a start, the number of fires in close proximity to a bunch of little kids seemed mental to me.  People had started them directly under trees and were loading them up to maximum as the wind whipped 8 foot flames sideways.  And still they kept loading stuff onto them.  And this was not some lovely pine logs from the woodpile.  This was junk.  One guy built a pyramid of broken wooden furniture that had been treated with some hideous chemical paint - poured a can of petrol on it and lit it.  Kids all around watching.  True madness.  The smoke billowing off it was thick black with a dark green tint to it, and it STUNK.  So so badly.  It was insanity.  Meanwhile there's kids everywhere feasting off the skewers of marshmallows and running around with the pointy ends almost taking other kid's eyes out.  Then they were all trying to stick them into the chemical flames and the big gobs of sugar were dripping all over the toxic logs while the fire licked at their clothes.  And nobody appeared to give a shit.  Parents hardly glanced around to see if their 3 year old were being burnt to a crisp or playing with the discarded petrol cans, or whatever.

Load it up boys

I left just as a couple of the fathers from our own class loaded a white painted door on the top of our already giant bonfire and more smoke plumed asunder.  It was all over for me then.  Apparently my friend got home from a bonfire session with her little boy who has asthma issues, and he vomited all over the place.  I think most of the city felt high after breathing in the haze that hung in the air for the following 24 hours.  But we got off lightly, some enthusiastic bonfire builders in Jerusalem lit a bonfire that got out of control resulting in housing evacuations.  Apparently hundreds of people were treated for injuries.  There is not a chance this kind of shit would happen in Australia - no chance.  Can you imagine?  I did notice that later on in the night it seemed to be a festival mainly for teenage boys who filled the streets by 11pm wheeling trolleys of wood to their next destination.  That shiz would not fly in Australia.  An opportunity like that just begs for teenage delinquency.

Jerusalem on fire

At least our class banned the bow and arrows this year - I simply can't fathom the chaos that would have resulted if 200 arrows were also being fired all over the place.  I remember my first year here, I turned up to the kindergarten class at pick-up time on Lag B'Omer, and 20 five year olds simultaneously shot me in the face with 20 identical plastic arrows.  I guess one factor that makes this celebration less lethal than it would be in Australia, is the lack of alcohol that is involved here.  All Australian teens would combine a night of fires and arrows with a shitload of booze - and let's face it, that shit would get messy.  

Add a few bottles of JD to the trolley lads

That is another massive cultural distance between Israel and Australia.  No drunks anywhere.  None walking the street, none in the bars and pubs.  People are definitely drinking, don't get me wrong - they all love a drink......but almost nobody drinks to excess.  It just doesn't happen.  This means that you can walk home through the streets and feel totally safe.  You don't have to keep your eyes down when you approach a group of young dudes, or resort to crossing the road.  Its a totally different vibe.  I accidentally got a bit pissy the other night. Not staggering drunk, just a kind of happy and loud sort of  drunk.  I really stood out - like wearing hot pink on a winters day in Melbourne.  My levels of intoxication were commented on by people at the table next to us.  And this wasn't in a fancy restaurant - this was a late night kebab joint in one of the most pumping areas in Tel Aviv on the biggest party night of the week.  You go into a kebab shop in Melbourne on a Saturday night and you will stand out if you're not spastic.  You can slop twenty tones of tahini all over your shirt and nobody would flinch.  You could even vomit out the front of the shop and nobody will care.

Although this isn't me I totally wish it was

Seriously, all I did was laugh loudly (although my friend did say I flashed some older Arab women patrons on the way out, but I'm hoping he was joking as I can't recall actually leaving).....but my loud laughter copped a "What the fuck is wrong with her" look from some dudes inside, directed towards my husband.  I gotta go home - mix with my own boganic alcoholic kind.....I miss them so much, even if they are a bit scary at 1am on a Saturday night in Chapel Street.