ISRAEL: DAY ONE

When I landed in Tel Aviv, I was exhausted, confused, nervous. My mind was filled with questions:

• Where do I find a taxi?
• Where do I buy a sim card?
• Should I get a sim card for my phone, or does Paul already have one for me?
• He probably has one but how do I know for sure?
• How do I get ahold of Paul to find out about the sim card?
• Where do I go to get shekels?
• Will the taxi take credit cards? I don’t have any shekels.
• Where do I go to get shekels?

My mind was going in a million different directions and, after a sleepless, 11-hour flight, I was as emotional as a pregnant woman – not that I would know. As I came around the corner from immigration, grabbed my bag and entered into the Israeli world where hundreds of people were gathered to welcome loved ones, I felt completely alone in a place where my language was not assumed to be the standard.

I glanced at the crowds of people as I desperately searched for signs to lead me toward currency conversion counters and sim card providers while I debated what I actually needed. Then, a blessing beyond belief appeared from the crowd. Paul slowly caught my eyes and wandered toward me. I fell into his arms, held him tightly, let out the biggest sigh of relief and began to cry – just a little – on his shoulder telling him over and over, “I have never been so happy to see you in my entire life. I was lost here, so alone, I had no idea what to do….Thank you…”

He arrived in Tel Aviv a few hours before I did and decided to take a taxi to the airport to meet me. I cannot explain how amazed and just how grateful I was to see him – and his shekels and the sim card he had already purchase for me.

“I’ve got something to tell you that will make you even happier,” he said as we walked outside. “I cancelled our tour tomorrow.”

“Oh thank God,” I announced.

Not that I wanted to waste a day in the Promised Land, I was just really looking forward to an opportunity to sleep in and go at our own pace. We rearranged our three tour days and instead planned two days of tours before Paul was to leave on Thursday.

Monday morning, after arriving at our hotel around 1:30 a.m., we slept in. We had breakfast in the hotel and then we just wandered around. We walked the streets of Tel Aviv, following a walking tour app Paul had on his phone – except he forgot to actually follow the app and we really just ended up walking around a neighborhood until we found a shopping mall.

The streets were quiet on a mid-day Monday. Most of the shops were open but none were crowded. The buildings were what I imagined, whiteish, all similar in construction and façade, preserving the old-world feel in a city that is anything but modern. Most of the buildings are unkempt on the outside and likely older on the inside.

Our hotel, with its $450 a night price tag, was not worthy of the Marriott name and, though it was beachfront property, was not worth the price tag either. Our room looked like it was decorated in the 60s and time just froze.

The doors in the hallway resembled what I pictured to be ship cabin doors.

Inside, fake woods and dark green carpet (at least it wasn’t shag) greeted us.

There was no thermostat, only three switches on the wall for the fan; off, low and high were indicated on each switch. Paul’s favorite feature was the radio.

We opened the sliding door and stepped out onto the balcony to breathe in the Mediterranean Sea and were surprised to see a used coffee mug on the ground next to one of the plastic chairs.

The view was great; we had a view of the city to the left and the sea to the right.

Early evening, we set out to watch the sun set in Jaffa, the oldest village in South Tel Aviv, said to be settled by Noah’s son, Japeth, who built the city after the great flood.

Jaffa is a beautiful old city built of stone. Many of the homes and businesses have preserved the structures, melding old-world construction with modern art galleries, restaurants and craftsman shops.

Casa Nova, a restaurant

The city is full of narrow passageways that wind up and down stairs and around corners. At times I felt we were inside a maze and I was excited to see what was around each corner, whether another passageway, a beautiful shop or a dead end awaited.

I have never been to Europe and have never explored ancient cities like Rome where the history just exists. Standing in front of a building considered “new construction” knowing that the building is still older than the country in which you grew up is a crazy experience. We walked by one restaurant in a building that was 400 years old – older than the original colonies. Archaeologists have determined that Jaffa has been inhabited since times near 7,500 B.C. That’s a lot of history!

After being driven up the stone hill, we made our way to the top to watch the sun fall beyond the historic structures including St. Peter’s Church, built in the 19^th century.

Tel Aviv, in the distance

We continued to walk around the gardens before winding our way through the maze to the shops and restaurants, stopping to gaze at monuments, signs and an archaeological dig site. We just had one problem – neither of us understands Hebrew so we really had no idea what we were looking at most of the time.

Monument - the sign was in Hebrew so we have no idea what it is

Archaeological dig location - remnants of an old temple, I think

 We decided to have dinner at a Trip Advisor-rated seaside restaurant called The Old Man and the Sea. We sat meters from the boats and watched the sun duck behind them as we perused the menu. 

Our waiter was a true salesman who took it upon himself to tell us what we wanted and, though we tried to interrupt him to ask each other questions, we just spoke to each other with our eyes until he had finished.

Paul decided on the grouper, one of his favorite fish, while I chose a mixed seafood platter. Immediately after the waiter left, we were presented with flatbread that had to be at least 12 inches in diameter. Before we could break bread, another man approached carrying a jug of lemonade garnished with mint.

As we began to tear the flatbread, another man came rushing over carrying a cafeteria tray filled with small bowls, unloading them one by one. My eyes grew larger and larger as he continued to place each dish in front of us. After eight or 10 dishes were placed and even more awaited on the tray, I looked at Paul and exclaimed, “I think we’re getting all of these!” Sure enough, we were being presented with the famous 20 salads.

That’s 20 separate dishes that included hummus, pickled vegetables, carrots, beets, tomatoes and basil, egg salad, tuna salad and tabbouleh. They were all amazing.

Shortly after, our seafood arrived. Paul was presented with a fish the size of his plate along with some potato wedges and a bit of lemon. My plate was filled with mussels, squid, shrimp and small crab. 

We ate until we could not reasonably eat anymore for fear of overstuffing ourselves.

“When did we get another flatbread?” Paul asked.

I turned and looked at Paul’s side where our mostly-eaten flatbread sat with a newly-placed second giant flatbread. We had no idea someone even approached.

Just when we thought we were done, a man came to stack all of the plates and 20 salad dishes with all of that left-over food and take them away and another brought us one more dish containing five small honey doughnuts called sufganiyot. Of course I had to try one, so I did. Fried honey exploded in my mouth. The treats were definitely rich so I could not handle more than two.

After a walk down a few more old streets where I really felt as if I had gone back in time, we found a cab and headed back to the hotel. And so ended the first day, and it was good.

I GET IT

Dear anyone who would be suspected of being from Middle Eastern descent – even if you are clearly not – who has ever travelled through the United States in the last 12 years:

I get it.

Really.

Paul had warned me that the security in the Israeli airports would be more thorough than the TSA but I was not expected to be grilled so early into my trip. I arrived at the Bangkok airport well before my scheduled departure time – three hours before – because I was in a foreign airport and I wasn’t sure how long it would actually take me to enter into the safe zone.

I was surprised when I checked all the departure boards, which, by the way, flipped between Thai and English every two seconds so that it was impossible to actually read any of the information, and did not find my flight. I ended up finding an information counter representative who advised that I needed to go to the far end of the ticketing zones.

At the far end, I was pleased to see only a dozen people in line for the El Al Israel flight to Tel Aviv. I was even more excited to see an express check-in line for people like myself who just needed to drop a bag…or so I thought.

The line was vacant so I gleefully wheeled my suitcase to the young man at a pulpit five yards in front of the ticket agents. Within 30 seconds he advised that I would need to move two pulpits down where a slightly older man (we’ll say my age) would have a chat with me.

The new man, clearly the area manager, greeted me and immediately initiated the interrogation. In the beginning things went smoothly. He asked where I was going, where I was staying and if I had ever been to Israel. No, I advised I had not, and stated I was going for holiday, accompanying my husband on a business trip, when he asked.

For the next 12 minutes I stood in the same spot and watched as everyone else in the area was quickly cleared and ushered on to the immigration area. Three separate times the manager conversed with an even older man, though not more than mid-50s, who was clearly the director. The director came over the first time and confirmed for the second time that I did not speak or understand Hebrew, and then they began to speak Hebrew as I stood mere inches from them. Thanks, by the way. I appreciated that.

They asked questions about who had been handling my luggage and why I had visited Malaysia, Indonesia and Dubai, in the past, all countries with mostly Muslim populations. I had to state the dates and reasons why I stayed in each of the countries; I also had to state on more than one occasion that I did not know anyone in either of the three countries or in Israel.

I was told they wanted to make sure no one had put anything into my bags and they made me promise not to let anyone give me anything to take with me on my flight. Then my mind started swirling. Why would anyone want me to take anything on the flight? Who was going to approach me? Did people often have other people carry seemingly normal things onto an airplane on behalf of a stranger? When the manager left me to go speak to the director 20 yards away, the looks they kept giving me actually made me worried that I would not be allowed on the flight.

They didn’t like that I was a solitary, well-traveled American girl who resided in Papua New Guinea. They did not like that my husband would be in Israel with me but was not traveling with me. I had to explain three times that he had already left Bangkok on another plane that he was flying.

At one point I was asked my occupation in Papua New Guinea. I advised that I was not working but that I was seeking work. When he asked what I did in the U.S., I told him I worked in communications for an aviation company. He assumed that I had people working under me, and I advised that I did.

“How many people?” he asked.

“Seven,” I replied, wondering where this was going.

“Seven….ah. And what were those people’s responsibilities?”

“Well,” I began, determined to fully answer his question this time (I tend to be very direct with airport people). “One person was responsible for media relations, meaning she handled press inquiries and big company announcements; one person was responsible for emergency communications – you know, how the company responds in the event of a plane crash or a crisis with one of our aircraft owners or vendors.

“There were four people responsible for an in-house employee inquiry hotline, answering non time-critical questions from anyone in the company, and one personal acted as the assistant manager who helped me develop internal communications.” He looked bored by the time I finished but he asked. If he wanted to dissect my response, I was going to give him every little detail.

He consulted with the director for the third time, came back and asked me for the third time where my husband was flying – specifically, the route this time – and on which airline he could be found. I had almost reached my I’ve-had-enough-of-this interrogation mark.

“As I previously stated, he is not on a commercial flight; he is flying a private jet.” The manager went back over to the director, they annoyingly looked at me and allowed me to roll my bag to the ticket agent, but not before tagging all of my bags for additional security checks.

Once I passed round two, I headed into immigration. The lines were long and slow but that part was easy compared to what I had just completed. The agent didn’t say hello, good-bye or have a good day. Nothing.

Decent Asian airports typically save the security checks for the gate, which, in my opinion, is way more convenient than standing in line with every person flying out of that airport that day. When I checked in at the gate, I was asked to go down the stairs for additional screening. Because of my initial interrogation I was not surprised to be checked again.

Downstairs I entered a tiny room where two men and a woman were already seated on a couch. I was asked to hand over my handbag and walk through a metal detector. Once on the other side, my purse and carry-on bag were taken into another room where I was told they would be X-rayed. I was down there for no less than 8 minutes so I know they were more than X-rayed. While I was waiting both the manager man and the director man from my check in interrogation entered my room and then the secret room. Awesome.

At one point a man came from the secret room and approached the two men on the couch, asking them to confirm which person owned the cell phone in question. The cell phone was handed to one man and the man was asked to turn it on and make it do something. Freaky, I thought. Cell phone bomb? The phone was taken back into the secret room for more examination. I was suddenly glad that I had not yet received my new phone; I would have had no idea how to work that thing.

After a few more minutes my items were returned to me only after the man handling my bags posed and asked the security guard how he looked with my pretty bag. Why yes, the owner of the bag is in the room so thank you so much for modeling. The items inside my bag were a bit disheveled and I was asked to confirm that I all items were returned to me.

Once finished, I headed upstairs and waited with the other passengers to board my flight. Once seated I realized that even though I had gone through additional security, the people in the room with me were of varying races and ages. The extra security did not apply to everyone like the TSA restrictions do. I did not feel violated. I actually thought that the extra security measures served a purpose, unlike anything the TSA does on a general basis.

Shortly after, I boarded a flight bound for the Promised Land. T-minus 11 hours until I was on the ground.

FINAL DAYS IN BANGKOK

Waking up on my birthday, I knew three things:

1.       Saturday was going to be a good day

2.       Paul was on his way to Bangkok

3.       The fact that I was waking up in Bangkok on my birthday was a great start to a brand new, amazing year

Megan’s sister, Danielle, joined me overnight. Danielle lives in Seattle and was, lucky for us, doing some work around Asia. She had a free weekend so she decided to pop down and spend a couple days with us; we were thrilled.

Danielle and I at Chatuchak

We spent the better part of the late night getting reacquainted and catching up on things that had happened since we last saw each other, even though we knew we needed to sleep because Saturday was going to be a long day.

Danielle and I wandered down to breakfast a little late – we needed a little extra time – where we met Megan and Troy and began to plot out our day. We had three things to accomplish. First, we needed to find the Chatuchak Market where almost anything can be found. Second, Troy needed to be at his fitting for 3 p.m. and I needed to switch hotels since Paul and his crew were booked down the road. Third, we needed to make our 7 p.m. dinner reservation at a place called Nahm.

Though we left the hotel a little later than Troy would have liked, we made it to the market quite easily and had several good shopping and wandering hours ahead. When we first entered the market, I was taken aback by the store quality housed in front of me. I was expecting an open-air, dirt floor, cheap table setup with lots of older ladies pawning cheap goods.

This place looked more like a second world Easton Shopping Center. There were actual walls, doors, windows and, in some shops, changing areas. These were real stores. With real stores came real prices and we quickly came to realize that not everything was negotiable.

As we wandered out into the street (more for walking than driving, though there were a few cars), the market began to unfold into more of what I was originally expecting. The shops were a bit flimsy but they were under cover and provided a lot of quality goods. The ground was earth and the pathways between the lines of stalls was narrow. Some shop owners would allow us to haggle or bundle goods for cheaper prices; some would not.

I went into the market looking for gifts and came out with a couple, and a few other items for myself. I ended up buying some really thin printed cotton drawstring pants for those lazy PNG days and a really cute sleeveless one-piece shorts jumper that I wore to dinner that evening. I was also able to find two really cool gifts for my best friend’s baby’s nursery. Awesome.

Once we had had enough of the market (and believe me, I had had enough), Danielle and I headed back to the Sheraton while Troy and Megan went back to Tailor on Ten. Once Danielle and I were finally settled at the hotel, we popped a bottle of champagne kindly provided by Nic and Duncan and had a glass or two before I moved on.

Getting to the hotel took a little longer than anticipated and neither the desk clerk nor I realized that Paul had already checked in. After 15 minutes at the desk, the representative called Paul and sought permission for me to ascend to the 17^th floor. Thankfully, he let me up.

While I awaited the elevator, I wanted to melt where I stood as I glanced over at the sound of beautiful music and, to my amazement, saw a man playing the violin in the entryway of what I assumed to be a restaurant. If I were not running very close to being late for dinner, I would have stood there for an hour. I had officially arrived at the Shangri-La.

I arrived in the room around 6:40; Paul had already showered but was not quite ready. I rushed around and was finally ready to catch a cab seven minutes after our reservation time. I didn’t think we would be too late – Google said we had a four-minute cab ride. Instead, it took 20 minutes and we were a full half hour late for my own birthday dinner.

Troy, Danielle, Paul, Rachael, Megan

The five of us ordered drinks, appetizers and main courses, saving room for the ever-important birthday dessert. Nahm is one of the top-rated Thai restaurants in Bangkok and came highly recommended. Nic, Duncan, Troy and Megan are huge fans of Thai food so I knew they would love it. Paul and I, on the other hand, had our reservations, for differing reasons.

Paul most of the time simply doesn’t know what to order. Growing up in Northeast Ohio, he only knows Greek food, Italian food and takeout American Chinese food that he only discovered after his girlfriend at the time (yeah, it was I) insisted that he get over his fear and just eat the goodness inside the carton. He knows what he likes but he doesn’t know what he would like when presented with alternative choices that have funny names.

I have two problems named chili and pepper. I have the weakest taste buds on the planet. I can taste spice where there is no spice – extremely tame will burn my mouth and I am so not kidding. When I order, I avoid chili, sambal and anything with a lot of pepper (that includes Singapore’s famous chili crab and black pepper crab).

We reviewed the menu and made our selections. I thought my dishes were spicy (even, again, after the waiter insisted that they were not), but Paul’s were on a whole ‘nother planet. Even Troy admitted that Paul’s starter, some sort of soup, might have been too hot to handle. Funny enough, Paul’s main course came with a side of the same spice used in his soup.

Troy was sweating while eating his dish but the kicker went to Megan who bit into something she thought was a tame vegetable and instead was surprised to the point of choking when she realized she had actually bitten into and eaten a whole pepper. She nearly died – mostly of laughter, and then of the incredible hotness. Danielle was laughing harder than Megan.

Satisfied with our meal, we decided not to order dessert. We instead wandered over to the Banyan Tree hotel next door and enjoyed chocolate brownies and ice cream sundaes topped with cookies. They sang the birthday song a little too loudly for comfort but it was really nice. I was thrilled for such a great day.

I was also thrilled to go back to the Shangri-La, an amazing, amazing place to spend my birthday. When I awoke the next morning I told Paul that I did not feel pretty enough to be in that room. It. Was. Beautiful.

The ceilings were soffited, there were dark woods, a beautiful, comfy bed. The bathroom was marble with a glass shower and separate bath tub in which I would have loved to have had time to soak. Instead, I went to yet another breakfast buffet with Paul and then watched him leave with his crew as they flew on to Israel.

My flight was later in the evening and it appeared that I had time for one more little adventure before I departed. I sought Trip Advisor for something exciting near the hotel and I found a place with a familiar name – the Jim Thompson House. I had only recently discovered Jim Thompson due to a shop in the Sheraton hotel with beautiful bags, scarves, ties and dining accessories that immediately caught my eye. Because the shop was closed when we first arrived, I Googled the name to see just how expensive the bags might be.

I learned that the Jim Thompson company produced silks and, without reading too much, knew that I should check out the shop when it was open. To my surprise, while I was perusing the merchandise, Megan, Troy and Danielle arrived loudly singing the birthday song (the first time that day), with a Jim Thompson gift bag in hand. Megan knew that one of the elephant bags had caught my eye, so she went ahead and purchased one without me knowing! I was thrilled and completely surprised. She made my bag choice easy.

So, on Sunday, when I saw the Jim Thompson House as an attraction, I felt a twinge of interest so I decided to read a little blurb about this American man who had served in the military and settled in Bangkok. In the late 1950s he built a home by the river after a career in architecture, army services, the old-school CIA and as a silk tradesman. Time magazine reportedly stated that Thompson nearly single handedly saved Thailand’s silk industry. He loved the Thai people and lifestyle and became the sort of expat who really becomes a funny-looking local.

Then, in 1967 while visiting a friend, he walked into the jungle and never returned. Google his story; it’s an interesting read. Some say he was kidnapped; I think the CIA may have had something to do with it. After a year the manager of Thompson’s estate petitioned the local government to protect the site which now boasts tours of his home, an art gallery and a museum.

He collected art from all over Asia and incorporated Thai traditions like a riverfront entrance, a spirit house and several Buddhist pieces into his home. Inside we were not permitted to take any photos but I can tell you that the teak house was strong, dark, open and the furniture reflected a masculine opulence.

Large, thick, dark tables and bed platforms were prevalent around the home but the detail on each of the pieces, either carved into the wood or etched in jewel tones, was spectacular. Old china pieces were preserved and displayed in cases; some of the art dated back centuries.

Anyone familiar with Jim’s story might like a visit but I wouldn’t say that the trip is a must see. I was hoping to learn more about Jim and the silk industry but the tour mostly just featured the home and the art housed inside. Art collectors, by the way, will love this house.

After my tour I headed back to the hotel to shower and pack. Within the hour, I was on my way to the airport where I encountered something I never expected.

ROAST & EAT ME

Thursday was definitely a day for wandering. We began our day eating our way through the hotel’s breakfast buffet, then we took a boat to the water taxi station down river, rode a water taxi up river, visited a flower market, rode on a tuk tuk, walked through a Buddhist complex, took a taxi to the garment district, found a mall, ate some street food and wound our way to a special tailor. Believe it or not, by then, it was still only mid-afternoon.

With the pants ordered, we decided to conquer mission number two: find a coffee shop that Megan had been to on her last Bangkok visit.

The coffee shop, aptly named Roast, was in another area of the city not that far from the tailor’s location. We walked back to the train station and took one of the two major trains just a few stops to the neighborhood where Roast awaited.

After walking in the wrong direction and then in a circle, we stopped at a Starbucks to buy a special mug and to ask for directions to a location bearing better coffee. We were pleased to hear that we were not far away so we continued on our journey and, within a few minutes, found our desired destination.

The coffee shop-slash-wine bar-slash eatery was on the second level of a small open-air shopping center that embraced outdoor cafés. Roast had a familiar coffee shop vibe with small tables and cozy seating options in addition to the bar and beverage displays. The coolest thing in my opinion was the menu, which was an actual newspaper filled with menu offerings, local happenings and information on the restaurant and its staff.

A huge fan of food pictures, I loved that my taste buds were salivating as my eyes were tempted from one picture to another. We settled on three desserts to enjoy before our dinner reservation: a warm chocolate chip cookie in a ramekin topped with vanilla bean ice cream, some hazelnut cannolis with a raspberry sauce and a dark chocolate soufflé with gran marnier sauce on the side. A-mazing.

The time in the air conditioning prepared us for our journey across the city in a race to meet our reservation time. Eat Me is a fantastic restaurant that was recommended by several Bangkok magazine editors situated on a side street near BNH Hospital. The restaurant was dark with dark colored walls and dark flooring; low lighting provided a special occasion feel. The menu was not huge but the span of dishes was large (appetizers to mains to desserts, wines, beers, specialty cocktails, teas and coffees) and we were all able to easily find foods that enticed us. (Side note for picky people: two out of three of us have dietary requirements that include food allergies; the restaurant was absolutely able to accommodate each of our requests including gluten-free, dairy free and mint free.)

Since we had recently eaten our desserts, we did not feel the need for any appetizers. We ordered a braised oxtail dish with tiny pasta and chorizo, a pork loin with a corn and bacon hash, a black cod with a light coconut cream and an assortment of vegetables consisting of greens, potatoes, carrots and mushrooms.

The food was fantastic and the service was excellent. That was the best meal I had in Thailand, and I would definitely recommend Eat Me to anyone visiting the area.