I want to bring you up-to-date on how life is going in Israel. Last week was literally sliced into two between business and pleasure. Work fit tightly into Monday 12.00am through to Thursday 4.00pm. The fun began Thursday night, with the attendance of the much anticipated ‘world’s largest Latin festival' (supposedly) with some friends in Tel Aviv. The atmosphere in HaYarkon Park was electric; salsa dancer ‘wanna-bes’ and samba-pros moved their hips to the sounds of the music booming from bands and DJ booths. The air was intoxicated with the meaty smell of empanadas, chorizo sausages and steaks grilling on barbeques. The event was fairly tacky and did not exactly feel ‘Latino’ at heart; chorizo sausages tasted like over-paprika-ed hotdogs and I didn’t hear one word of Spanish except in the lyrics sung on stage by the only Latin import, the singers. But hey, Israel was clearly demonstrating their ability to have fun, and a lot it. People of all ages got into the groove, either mimicking the movements of the guy on stage who wore a microphone headset and tight black pants; men and women twirled to the music created by maracas and the Spanish guitars; and girls gyrated to the beats of Latin pop on another stage, in attempts to win the ‘booty shaking contest’, and believe me, I was shocked by what they could achieve with their aged-15 hips!
Friday morning began with an early start, as Effy and I head off to Eilat to meet with friends to celebrate their intended engagement. A weekend spent in Israel’s hedonistic holiday resort is one vice I hope to maintain at least every two months in Israel. Every time I reach the lowest point on Israel’s map and enter Eilat, my body has an automatic reaction; anxiety slides out my joints, my muscles across my shoulders loosen and the mentally noted to-do list established over the past week goes on hold till Monday morning. The weekend was crammed with acts of pure indulgence, sunbathing, swimming in the hotel pool, excessive consumption of beer and whiskey chasers, hotel catering and ice cream. My trolley slightly overloaded, but there is always the promise for Monday detox.
One noticeable feature in Eilat is how well-dressed everyone appears. I always seem to develop something more than a glow and discover the location of hidden sweat glands that I never knew existed. My hair never stays quite in place, with strands often sticking to my forehead in the most unflattering of ways. I cannot do more than Havana flip-flops for day footwear, and make-up, well that never enters the equation between the hours of eleven to four pm. Israeli women, on the other hand, have built a huge resistance over the years to sweat, blisters and frizzy hair. The majority of them are able to strut around the beach front, styling tight-fitting hot pants and wedged shoes in the greatest of ease. Their hair and makeup appears as fresh as if, every morning, they step out of a beauty parlour; and not one damn pearl of sweat ever makes an entrance on their foreheads. Well, who needs small pores when you can have a whole lot of trolley to tot, something which is definitely missing amongst the Israeli female lower-back region.
Sunday night came, Italy beat France in the World Cup, and reality was to follow a much needed good night sleep. Question: why should work be viewed as the ‘reality’ of our schedules and the weekend as the snippet of time spent on life’s true pleasures? Someone got it wrong somewhere.
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