Shalom and fucken hell.
A few things before I go out and drink myself silly in Jaffa, the old city of Tel Aviv, with a Frenchman:
1) I did 17 hours on a plane and did not die of deep vein thrombosis. It's nothing short of a miracle.
2) I got a boarding pass in London to Tel Aviv without throwing a hissy fit. He yawned, basically, and handed it over.
Fucken love the Brits.
3) Both flights were fucking insane. In fact, hello I am still alive. Somewhere over Germany the thermals were throwing the aircraft around like a pinball. Pleasant.
4) I felt the cultural difference the moment I stepped onto the Israel-bound flight. I was one Heimie Shroderberg short of being even slightly Jewish. Guys were getting up mid-flight to pray by the exits. Like wrap that leather stuff around their arms, open a torah and chant quietly to themselves mid-flight. With that box thing on top of their yummicahs. Fascinating indeed.
5) It’s warm. And the boys are looking hot.
6) Walked into a baggage strike at the airport. Chaos. Everywhere. Had to wait for bags for 3 hours. Made friends while doing so. One worked for Crayola. He is in...the crayon business. And is sending me a box of free crayons. Seriously.
7) View from the 17th floor of my hotel (where I'm staying)
Then the Frenchman arrived, and Jerusalem was forgotten for one more day (tomorrow maybe after work), and now I’m off to drink in Old Jaffa and …I dunno…eat hummus and smash a fuck-off falafel.