Rain Rain, come or stay

I'm happily walking, in TA.

That's my song and I'm sticking to it.

A hard rain decided to be a gonna fall this morning in Tel Aviv and I slept late. I never sleep late. I often don't even sleep but I slept late and it was wonderful. I can't make this a habit though. I finally dragged myself out of bed and breakfast, sans the breakfast, got myself all collected and went out into the rain. It wasn't really a driving rain, so I walked.

My AirBnB is on a street called Bograshov. Israeli street names are often short forms of a longer, formal names. The is Dr. Moshe Bograshov Street, I think. And this street turns into a couple of others for no apparent reason. Keeps one on his toes, and heels simultaneously.

I decided to walk the street. First stop, the Hungarian pastry shop where I hoped to get a drink and a pastry. I'm not sure what was Hungarian about it but I could watch them make hot pastries while I didn't any. I ordered a double espresso and explained that I was allergic to nuts. The woman had nothing to offer me other than an unsympathetic smile and an unspoken concern that I would die on her property. So just the coffee then. I sat outside and let myself get rained on. I soaked it and everything else in except the coffee, which I drank. A double short. Twelve shekel (at 3.40 shekel to the USD, that's some number that I can't compute. I was told that there would be no math on this vacay). Then, start walking. I aimed towards the middle of the town and walked. I passed the run down areas, the residential areas and eventually, the more urban areas.

In a large open area, I spotted a tree covering some benches. I sat. I was in the middle of Habima square in the rain. Drips splattered on me and my antiquated notebook. People on scooters scooted by. Soldiers soldiered in the rain. Moms and kids, delivery men in busy trucks honking in a Tel Aviv minute. A double espresso in me and a simple appreciation for the hustle and bustle of the city and a waterproof hood, pen and paper without. A city is being built around me, not caring that I am a vestige of a bygone era jotting notes down in a book, ignoring my electronics and in no rush. The names are familiar: Bronfman, Rothschild, Boulevard and rain is the international language which separates those with someplace to go from those without. You are either sauntering or running. There is no in between.

I walked the length of Bograshov (from where is becomes Carlebach and other names and eventually ends amidst construction of the new Light Rail, all the way back to the beach) in an hour and a half. I passed many food options but the more I walked, the fuller I felt. Just looking at the options and imagining the food made it as if I had eaten. I had to pay every store for the privilege so I thought of giving them money to pay for the imaginary lunch. All is fare in lunch and wharf. I walked on to the beach, braving the wind and the threat of sand. It is so exotic here that the local seagulls are pigeons and the ravens are wearing grey tuxedos. All this would be clearer if I could upload pictures but the 4G (under which I am supposedly covered) is so poor that my photos have remained on my devices. Once I return, I will make a proper photo essay so my snark can be enjoyed by me and suffered through by you.

Surfers enjoy the rough seas while announcements in at least 3 languages warn sane people away from the water. I am a mix between a local, walking with purpose and my head down, buried in my phone, and an ogling tourist, looking up and around, forgetting to close my mouth as I keep saying "wow." I take pictures on my camera (old school, iknowright?) and my phone, but keep them to myself like a lunatic.

The wind whips up and ominous clouds float in across the Mediterranean. That's not an allegory or political symbolism. There were clouds and I expected it to rain more. The local population and pup-ulation is non-plussed.

I thought about going into a South American meat restaurant for lunch so I did, and then walked out. Nothing that interested me. I ended up back, close to my lodging at Kanki, a sushi place that is the local hotspot. Just not for internet. Apparently, it always has a line of people but as the wind and rain have kept people away, I jumped at the chance to try it out. My first concern was that they might as well have renamed it "avocado and maybe some other stuff." So I ordered something that seemed to have less avocado, and waited.

A note about language -- My Hebrew skillz are not bad. Not great, but no bad. But even simple things, in an unexpected context become stumbling blocks. I had ordered and was awaiting my food. A worker came up with a tray of what looked like my sushi (a generic term -- this was fried and with little, if any, seaweed). She came to me and say "lit'om?" This is the infinitive form of t-ayin-m, meaning "taste." I figured she wasn't asking if she could taste my food, but was rhetorically telling me "it looks, tasty, right?" So I kept a blank look on my face and said, like any stupid American, "Yes."

She looked at me and waited. "Lit'om?" She asked. Finally I got it. That wasn't my food, and she wasking me if I wanted to taste it. I had said yes, and didn't take any. Duh. So I tried it. It was a veggie (non-fish_ fried roll with mozzarella cheese. Wow. I worked up the nerve to ask her in English which Item that was on the menu. She pointed to it and said that another great choice was the salmon-mozzarella rolls. That was what I had ordered so I felt pretty, pretty good about m'self.

The food showed up and I dag in. That's a joke. Dag is Hebrew for fish. This was sea food. I ate it. You know what? Just forget it. I know I'm funny and I don't need your pity. Just your validation. My food, coupled with a Stella Artois, sitting in the drizzle and wind was fantastic. The food was served with teriyaki sauce and that fake wasabi which is just horseradish sauce. Works for me. There was a lemon-pickled cabbage also but while it was OK, it was unnecessary.

I really wanted a pastry afterwards but I knew of no where I could go that would offer me a sweet with the guarantee that I wouldn't need a benadryl chaser. Back to the AirBnB. And here we are. More after dinner.