Israel: because repetition makes it perfect 3

Have you been curious to hear about the end of my trip? No? Well, I’m telling it anyway. Haven’t been able to do that since I literally got swamped by work stuffs. I fell into the hole of the corporate world. And it’s not pretty here, but they pay money. And money is like good, and buys things, so I’m sticking around for a while here. You might not hear from me much, so cherish these damn words.

Continued from here and here.

Next day I woke up really sick. And threatened my significant other that I’m not moving a damn inch, and he can break up with me for all I care. He didn’t, and he agreed for a stay-at-home day, especially since we had a wedding to attend that evening, and would  need to look alive. And nothing much happened during the day, except – did you know that getting dressed up for a wedding involves a lot of ironing? Damn weddings.

I loaded up on medicine, and felt like a functioning human. We got all church-clothing-dressed and were out the door by 6, and at the restaurant by 7. And it was a beautiful venue. They had two stories reserved, breath taking view of Tel Aviv, elegant décor, the whole nine yards. Ceremony was as it usually goes sentimental. No matter how cynical you might think you are, you’ll still go ‘aww’ at one point. It’s like watching a cat video, nobody is immune. And we ate, and danced, and it was good.

Next day we went sight seeing. Or cramming as much information as possible into our heads because that’s how vacations work. Apparently. We went to Carmel Market just because. And this was a bad bad idea. Because it was Friday, which is Shabbat for Jewish people. And this means the day of rest, and they all take to the streets and just hang out. And this means everything is overcrowded, and packed, and loud, and like being in a chicken coup. We went to it sabich again , which is a pita with hummus, and different veggies. And it was great, and I took a picture of this local hipster.

Alright mister.
Alright mister.

And then something absolutely incredible happened. Our friends remembered this gathering that happens every Friday, on the boardwalk, as the sun sets. They got so excited that I got almost scared. It was a bunch of drummers of all sorts. And I’m not sure if they practice beforehand, or jus sort of come together, and do their thing. But it was glorious.

 

Next day we were flying home, but with a layover in Milan. We were to spend a night there, and meet with some friends. And instead of taking us sight seeing, or restaurant eating, they took us home and made a true homemade, Italian dinner for us. Which involved pasta with seafood. And lots of wine. Obviously. And they had a friends couple come over too, and hear this out: their names were FrancescA, and FrancescO. Till this day I think they were fucking with me. And I learned the difference between tortellini, and ravioli. And I’m not telling you because I’m mean like that.

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It doesn’t get more Italian.

Just kidding. Tortellini are cheese stuffed pasta that is served as a dish on it’s own. And ravioli are meat stuffed smaller pasta usually eaten in a soup. And you could probably google this information, but I learned it from an Italian. Go on, and spread the message. We’ll start a revolution. Maybe.

And next day, we were flying back to New York. And truthfully, I was glad. I was glad to be going home. And that’s probably a good thing. Let’s be happy to have homes?

Cheers.

 

 

 

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2 thoughts on “Israel: because repetition makes it perfect 3

  1. Oh great. I just ate and now I’m hungry again just from reading about that delicious Italian dinner. And I admire your willingness to iron. Even when I don’t feel sick I try to avoid ironing. My technique is spray my wrinkled clothes with water and put them the dryer for twenty minutes and still show up looking like an unmade bed.
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