All I need is to be free...my Mumbai Video, with subtitles

White Nights in Israel - Part 2

The great wall rose up imposingly in front of us. Ghostly white light lit up portions of it, while the others were shrouded in darkness. To our left, stood the Tower of David, bathed in the same ghostly light. Behind us, across the hill stretched the new city, lit up in gold. We stood in front of the huge stone arch, about to enter a world that had existed ever since, probably 3000 BC. This was the holy land of Jerusalem.

An eerie silence descended on us as we entered the old city through one of its eight gates. We walked through the deserted stone corridors into its streets. As we descended down, the golden dome came into view - The Dome of the Rock, from where Prophet Mohammed ascended to the heavens. Next to it stood the Al-Aqsa Mosque, the third holiest site in Islam after Mecca and Media, and below us was the Western Wall, the most sacred place for Jews, where the first temple existed. The place was no longer so deserted suddenly. We were in the midst of a sea of humanity. This was the meeting place of three faiths.

It was a weekend for old towns. The evening before was spent in a city that was inhabited more than 7500 years before Christ. This was Jaffa. Walking through the winding alleys of the artists’ colony, and looking down at the old harbor, it looked like an oasis. This was the place where the likes of King David and King Solomon imported cedars for the construction of the Jewish Temples. It was the place the Crusaders under Richard the Lion-Hearted fought for against Saladin. It was a complete contrast against the modern coastline of Tel Aviv, which is visible from the top of the Jaffa Hill.

The beaches have become a constant companion to me. As I wake up and open the curtains, the tranquil blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea greet me. People brave the jellyfishes - the reason for Anke to keep herself away from the water so far - to go out for the morning swim. A few miles away from the hotel, lies the old harbor of Tel Aviv. Climb onto the wooden promenade, and you can have a tussle with the sea water crashing against the rocks down below, sending up white pearls of water spray to drench anyone who ventures near.

Tel Aviv so far, has been made memorable by the taxi drivers – ever since the first week, when the taxi driver recognized me as an Indian and Bob as an American.

Bob: “How do you know I’m an American? I could also be an Indian” (referring to me)
Taxi driver: “If you were, you would be colored like us, because of the sun” (again, ‘us’ referring to me)
Bob: "I have lived in the shade”.

But the Coke bottle gave him away.

“Americans..." said the taxi driver. "You always drink Coke - McDonalds and Coke!”

Among all the taxi drivers, Eli has been a regular. He waits for us everyday, at 8:00 outside the Renaissance. But we are never regular, thanks mostly to the sumptuous Israeli breakfast served everyday at the hotel. The taxi ride takes us about 45 minutes. It is the time to use our little knowledge of Hebrew, much to the amusement of the taxi drivers. Lessons in Hebrew and speed driving would follow – the first one very amusing, the second one not so.

The old building across the road to the Renaissance Hotel always looks forlorn and empty. There is nothing remarkable about its appearance. It resembles the average office structure that one would find on an Indian street – a five storied building with dark glass windows. You wouldn’t give it a second glance if you passed by. But yesterday, it was windy, and the flag atop the mast was fluttering gracefully in the wind. It was perhaps an indication for me that my time there was coming to an end. The time to fly home was approaching. For a few moments I stood there, watching the Indian tricolor rocking gracefully.

White Nights in Israel

The sun had set ages back. But the crowd had not dispersed. They were still dancing down below on the esplanade, as we sat on the terrace of the marina sipping our drinks. It was 1:00 AM in the morning and surprisingly I was still awake. It was White Night in Tel Aviv. There was a concert on – a huge song and dance festival. Perhaps it was the weekend, I thought (Trust me, it was Thursday.). I did not know at that time that I was witnessing a yearly spectacle. For us, this has been a daily (or, should I say, ‘nightly’?) routine – after the hard day’s work, head down to the beach and seat ourselves on the small plastic chairs laid out by the shacks on the fine sand. We imbibe the cool breeze that floats in from the Mediterranean Sea and gently rock t the rhythm of the dance music blaring out from the speakers. Shisha, Kebab, Hummus and Tahini are all part of my vocabulary now.

Today, we walked along the stone steps of the old city of Jaffa, through the maze of the narrow walls and slender corridors of the artists’ quarter. The waters of the old harbor glistened below us and in the distance lay the mass of skyscrapers that form the hotel chain on the beaches of Tel Aviv. Their facades gleamed in orange, reflecting the setting sun. Today, there were no evening clouds obscuring the beautiful sunset. The old and the new blend in within the city of Tel Aviv. People are simple and straightforward. You can rarely spot a sports car on the massive highways that snake out of Tel Aviv into the vast countryside. Old buildings, their bare walls dotted with painted windows and doors, crop up between the glassed modern ones, on the immaculately laid out streets of the city. Every door carries the small rectangular strip, filled with a biblical scroll that blesses those who dwell inside the room.

As I draw back the curtains of my 11th floor hotel room, the blue waters of the Mediterranean greet me. The road winds down in front of the hotel to join and run alongside the beach. A beautifully laid out pathway separates it from the white sands. Tel Aviv reminds me strongly of Mumbai – the marine drive, the skyscrapers, the old quarter, the relentless honking of cars, people in a hurry in the mornings, the haphazard traffic and the busy beaches. This city is never empty. The worst thing than being away from home is to be in a place that reminds you of home.

It’s almost a week since I left the United States and landed in Israel. I am yet to see the city as a whole – the thirst still lingers in my throat. I left USA unfulfilled – the lost opportunity to meet Sheeba’s family rankles me. But as Mr. Malik parked my cab at the Terminal entrance of Newark’s Liberty International Airport, the song that was playing on his music player was “Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna” (Never say Goodbye).