visiting Tel Aviv, but also attracts various Anglos, Indians, and other random tour groups. They come to a 3-star hotel, check in for their vacation/meetings/Hi-Tech Conferences, and are entertained by--for whatever reason-- Carly Simon.The irony of me hearing her yesterday is that I was at the beach, in desperate need of a tan. I like to spend a few hours, a few afternoons a week, relaxing at the sea. I often study there, because my other study spot, Cafe Hillel, doesn't get sun at the outside tables past 9am, plus it is as hot as balls downtown where I live, and the sea often offers a bit of a pleasant breeze. And, while I am improving my Hebrew and becoming a better Israeli, I also want to get tan because I'm so vain. Soon enough, I will have a real job and won't be able to escape to the beach. I will only have weekends, and I hate the beach on weekends.
The way I pick my beach du jour is by looking for a place where there are happy children playing on swingsets and jungle gyms, their parents slathering sunscreen on them and giving them shekels to use the public bathrooms.
Then I go as far away from that as I can get. I settle in the quietest spot, an oasis away from people, but where there are chairs to rent. I simply can not enjoy the beach when there is sand in my bathing suit, or I have struggle to sit up and read comfortably. And did I mention the sand in my bathing suit? I really, really hate that.
I went to the beach this one particular day, hearing Carly Simon as I settled in. I turned my chair to face the sun, knowing that the Chair Guy would be around soon to collect 12 shekels and give me a receipt to prove I had paid him. The Chair Guy kills me. The first time I saw him, I did a double-take. This is why:
Two things about Chair Guy...no, three things:
1. He is wearing a large fanny pack. 1987 called. It wants its fanny pack back.
2. He is wearing a bright red Speedo behind that fanny pack, but, from most angles, we do not know this. I mean, Dude looks naked.
3. He sets up and moves around chairs, tables, and umbrellas. This means a great deal of bending, squatting, lifting, and carrying of heavy things. Dressed like this. Let your imagination do the rest.
It is obvious walking around Tel Aviv that there is a heavy European influence on fashion here. Speedos, while not common, are not at all considered odd. I am finding this to be a tough adjustment. Bright red, while shocking enough to my conservative American sensibilities, is nothing compared to some of the things I see in store displays. Next blog entry. I promise.
But I digress.
Although my back is turned, I can hear that Chair Guy (or Fanny Pack Guy, if you prefer) is busying himself with setting up quite a layout. There are tables, umbrellas, lounge chairs and yellow sitting chairs being carried past me by both FP Guy and his employee, perhaps and FPG-in-training. There is a lot of yelling going on. This isn't because FPG's helper was hard of hearing. Israelis enjoy yelling. If someone doesn't understand you, say it louder. If they still don't understand, then shout. The whole country is kind of like watching Al Pacino's performance in "Scent of a Woman" (his only really bad performance ever, in my opinion). Although Pacino's character in the movie was blind, he shouted throughout the entire movie, as though maybe he was deaf instead. FPG was yelling as though he wasn't being heard, although I'm pretty sure that FPGs-in-training were jumping to their feet three beaches down.
A man showed up wearing black pants and a black button-down shirt. He sat down in his self-proclaimed Taj Mahal (sounds the same in Hebrew) and began to settle in. I turned around and asked, since there were so many chairs and umbrellas together, if he was expecting people with children. He said no, and asked why.
I was honest and told him that I would move if kids were coming. He laughed. He is probably 50-something, and he has very good English. So we talked a little. A few people showed up, and FPG sat down next to this man.After a short conversation, I asked the man his name. He said "Peter". I told him that didn't sound very Israeli to me. He explained that his real name is "Pini", but he lived in New York for 20 years, and you can't have the name "Pini" in New York. Fair enough. I could tell, since my Israeli man-radar is getting stronger by the day, that Pini was harmless. So I continued talking to him.
Then, in a whirlwind, a woman showed up wearing a black dress over a red bikini, talking up a storm and kissing everyone in the ever-growing group I now found myself in the middle of. That's another Euro-thing I've adjusted to. In America, we are huggers. Here, it is kissing on the cheek. Close friends get both, but the kiss is mandatory. I find it very sweet, but probably why I have had the flu twice since I moved here.
The woman introduced herself to me and we got into a conversation. Her English was quite good, but I was reminded of the recurring "Saturday Night Live" skit in which Chris Kattan plays Antonio Banderas, and is always speaking in English, then saying "how do you say...?" in his most provocative Spanish accent, and then having the English word anyway. With this woman, whose name escapes me (as most names do, except perhaps, I don't know, Pini), every few sentences it was "Ekh Omrim...?" and then she would either find the word, or Pini would supply it. That day, my valuable conversational tool du jour (I try to learn a truly practical word or phrase every day) was "ekh omrim...?" which means "how do they say...?"
The woman, in a flash, whipped a joint out of her purse and lit it. She held it out for me, but I declined, as did Pini. I think everyone else partook. I was mesmerized by the rate at which this woman could speak, and how quickly topics changed. Then she took off her dress to reveal a very tiny red bikini (whether or not she and FPG coordinated this, I can not say for sure). She has a very nice body, but she is older than I am and has huge boobs. Her bikini top was not tied up very tight, so, try as I might not to notice, and as much as I liked this woman and enjoyed talking to her, I kept hearing the same song running through my head:
Do your boobs hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Can you tie them in a knot?
Can you tie them in a bow?
Can you throw them over your shoulder
like a bag that's full of boulders?
Do your...boobs...hang...low?
This is why I keep a lot of thoughts to myself. I am eternally about 9 years old.
As several joints got passed around, beach security came over. The young man stood and looked around our group for a minute, and then sat down after receiving kisses on the cheek from everyone , ignoring the smoking. I realized I was sitting with people who were connected. Pini had that air about him, but I always make that assumption when someone reminds me in some way of my Grandfather, so I wasn't sure. He told me that he is at the beach every day, that he grew up here and knows everyone, and I should call him any time I need anything: if someone is bothering me, if I want to get into a night club, and so on. It was kind of "Godfather-by-the-Sea", only we were all Jews instead of Italians. Marlon Brando Godfather, of course, before Michael took over (although Pacino's performance throughout the series of movies was flawless).
Then a woman yelled over to us, offering massage. As an American, I found this very strange. The only people to offer you unsolicited massage are usually trying to sleep with you. But this was at the beach. And a stranger. I now know that at this beach, you can sit in a chair, have a cocktail and fresh fruit, smoke a joint, and get a massage. THAT is a full-service beach.
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