Travel Tales

  • Love All Around The World.

    There’s a dog wagging his tail, a couple kissing on the side of the street. It’s all the romance of the Earth twirling around us like the music on her spinning dress. They are there at the cafe, getting coffee discussing their former mates. They have wide smiles and wine filled stomachs for they love to laugh a little too loud in the dinner candle lights.

    All the love in the world, but somehow we are just magical observers who gets a glimpse of the lady he’s pulling himself into. We look in the mirror at ourselves and wonder, “Who is that? How have we changed into this person?”

    The reflection erodes our understanding of self and our egos are enlightened to the uncomfortable revelation of reality, we are not the center stage performer as we once were. There was a time of our moment in the spotlight but that time has come and may never come again, or at least it feels that way. Sticking to our way to big book, we can see the eyes gleam at us while we eat a sushi dinner for one.

    They were mocking the scene across the bar, and the woman couldn’t resist to ask the question, “What book is that?” Turning around to pleasant eyes radiating behind circular glasses, it wasn’t a mistake. The thought that the couple had been staring this way for the past 15 minutes had been confirmed with one question.

    “Lord of The Rings,” a voice answers, and somehow the next thing a person knows is they find themselves joining a meal for two as their plus one. Becoming a now third element to the type of couple family members pressure over wedding cocktails, “so when are you two planning the engagement?”

    But there was no reason to disengage as she started to describe,

    “In France, people start dating from the moment they go out. Right on the first date, that’s it, you are my boyfriend.” She looked at her man and smiled.

    Now being in no rush to leave, we discover they’ve been dating for one and a half years and just moved in together.

    In no rush themselves, she works here in Israel at a big time company dealing with blockchain of some AI program and he, being from Rhode Island, happened to find himself working as an employee for Fiverr and mainly as her man. A sweet, simple, yet modern couple. They couldn’t help but mingle with the meal words signifying a modified management of monogamy.

    There was an impressive chord struck when she claimed she wants the kids to be raised by him while she climbs the corporate cubicle. France, apparently, spiced itself with the same spunky feminism of the west, and there’s a moment where we listen to the fresh take on old told notion.  

    With the sight of their seamlessly solid twosome, we ask ourselves the subtle question, “Is this the new way for our future?”

    Pondering the rules to the generation’s new game, we conclude, “Whatever the rules, will we be able to stick by them?”

    Walking away with more questions than answers we think, “Who are we? And as a person, how do we view relationships?”

    The time has come to try and answer these questions.

    Friends tell us it’s time we go out and date, that we should step up to the plate.

    But what are we trying to swing at? How was the pitch for a relationship up at bat? Will it even be a home-run across the globe?

    More importantly, “Will these beliefs get us a definite travel ticket to the City of Love?”

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    PLEASE!!**  Share your thoughts 🙂 That’s how we all learn and grow, Thank you!

  • We Write at Night.

    This is the time we write, at night. Where no one can hear the sight of light because we are in the dark midst tormented by which way to turn and what to see.

    This is when the lights go off and the dimly lit street light becomes center stage and we can see the graffiti art on locked up stores. Who says these sprayed on smiles aren’t painted for us? See the silent messages of, “fuck yeah” as we feel the emotion well up from within. The spark that follows into the never ending rainbow of this art turning into the artistic thoughts we think. It’s ours if we claim it. Copywrite or continued connected consciousness?

    Report as a spam. Because we too speak the words, “I am my biggest problem” written in the alley corners of contemplation.

    These are the thoughts we think. This is the way we roll, behind street paths with funny names and and the not so funny moment when someone looks back at us as we take a hit of the moment.

    Why haven’t we ever taken the time to just absorb the atmosphere, to sit at the corner of Ha-Carmel and Allenby to listen to the bus beeps and the inhale to second hand smoke? We stop little ones from riding into oncoming traffic, and barely have time to look up and see that the city has been built off distress and art made in twilight.

    It’s the time when we can’t make eye contact. It’s not safe. Don’t talk at midnight, walk like we’ve got somewhere to go.

    In the waking hours of 4:44am we hear it, the not so subtle gargling of its underbelly. And the fact of the matter is we’ve sharpened all our nails for this point. Because we know we aren’t just being followed by our inner shadows as a random dark stranger follows us whichever way we go.

    We march for violence against women because the one to one ratio of offense is an alarming feat, so we pick up ours and walk to a new pace but it’s not at our own speed and it isn’t even in our direction. Something says we better pay attention. We are trying to see, there’s no need to stop and no place to go.

    We wonder.

    “Is this the station for the bus or where we get off to stop?” Stand still, breathe in the overwhelmingly sweet bread, and try not to act tempted. Are we our own superwoman? Could we fly away with wonder words waging womanly wars? We have a right to be here. But that birthright is on no basis at all.

    The holy land.

    The land of holy bibles and holy battles, like wholly bloodshed.

    If we were so above the days of sexism why are we deathly terrified to trail down that dark path?

    “Grr” in anger as if we were growling like the zombie sounding man-of-the-street does at the stroke of night.

    No train of thought, just endless tracks that have no destination. We’re in Israel, don’t you see it? The motorcycle vroom-vroom on the move, but that social time has got us drifting in a rhyme. With this prophetic language we are speaking Hebrew just fine.

    Yes it’s  jewish, but not so orthodox. We don’t see things the same as them. They ask if we have a shekel or two to donate to a poor jew? But what if we are that poor few?

    What if we are the ones who need to fill our paper cups and spill out on a not-so-paper-page as we write down the way we walk in a story.

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  • This is Not New York, This is Tel Aviv.

    “Omg it looks like new york” she said with glitter in her blue eyes. I smile at her because, how could I not, she loves New York. She loves New York because she didn’t grow up 40 minutes away from it. The strangely familiar visual changed the whole perspective of the place. She was right, it did look like New York.

    But it’s just not New York. The air is different and the music is warming. This is not New York. This is Tel Aviv. This is a city that knows peace because it knows war. This is a type of place that has a tough exterior, but a loving inside. Not that New York hasn’t had it’s battles and Tel Aviv is the land of always peaceful, but something about the side street falafel and hummus assures you of it’s family values.

    The small hours wandering a museum of Yitzhak Rabin makes a person wonder why it’s always the person advocating peace who pays the price of resting in it. Why?

    The city marked on miracles and misfortune can make a mensch out of a menace. But who else can become a mensch but one who has been misfit? “One can only make peace with their enemies” the Rabin says. I say one can only know hurt by being so.

    Just as we women know love because we know heartbreak. We know proper educate because we know how to act a fool. We are both sides of the coin and we argue for both sides of the case. For love, all for love. Love that we will one day be there on that day of peace as one, one of love. And then it rains, then the people say to life, “l’chaim!” As we start to head down stream. The night after the full moon, and now we have an eb to this flow. A dance to this music. The splash sound to droplets of truth, the poetry of going out on a gloomy night. Because tonight even in lit up streets we prefer to be in the dark.

    This is not New York, this is Tel Aviv. This is where we know ourselves, because we don’t know what we will become. Where a night taking the one bus becomes the one night we acted like we were number one. Yes the night life is always face up, so we put our drinks down. Why not be young and free in the foreign priceless memories of a person’s early twenties. We have our youth, we are single, and we can choose to do whatever we want. Who cares if Jerusalem encourages us to wear sleeves.

    This is the city of Tel Aviv, who were they to know anything about us as we jog down the streets and pass on wearing a sports bra. Who are they to know what the context of our character consist of? We are here to be ourselves regardless of the fact that if we stop to take a breath from running we wind up unintentionally racking up a guy’s number without even wanting it.

    No I don’t think I’ll be texting you my name. It’s just too Israeli, it’s just so Tel Aviv. It’s too forward when you aren’t even in the mood. But we just keep pressing on like a soldier. We are fearless, and there’s a proud pace to our steps. But we can’t stop running, and the silence remembers that we are still that little afraid girl.

    This is not New York. This is Tel Aviv, the city of parties-parties, restaurants, businesses, and stores. The lifestyle is full of different sounds and beautifully lit hidden side streets. It’s a lotus in a pond and its petals are the walls of its skyscrapers. We aren’t protected by any of the realities of Israel even if all the apartments must legally have one bomb shelter room. Because this is so not New York.

    This is Tel Aviv. This is a new spring that flows from the eternal soul to seduce us with sensual allure. “This is the place to be,” a small voice may tell us. There has never been one who could resist the thoughts of temptation surrounded in a such a holy land.

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  • In The Ocean of Love.

    Hot, hot, HOT. We want to be so steaming we need a cold shower. One could spend their whole life looking for that irresistible intimacy. How will we find it? What do we do once it’s lost? People say that there’s a whole world out there, they tell you to swim far and fast to truly see what’s in the sea but do they really know of how lost love affairs sink into our soul? In the ocean of love why do we only want one fish in the sea? Here in Tel Aviv I see the waters beginning to change. Yes Jerusalem will still be a spiritual center with the enigmatic spectacle of street cat calls but, here in Tel Aviv we are in the land of free the nipple and hide your heart. So get prepared to take a few more showers, things are about to get dirty. Or maybe not. If a guy you find attractive is clearly checking you out, do you wish to cast a line? The eye contact was afloat on dry land so why do I feel moved by strange tides that make me latch to the shores? “Who needs the drama of real love,” one voice says, the other says, “Who needs the theatrics of sex?” Adrift as I may be there is one thing swimming in the waters I can see in full confidence, “Who actually starts a relationship from friendship? What’s the point of a soul mate if there’s not soul when you mate?” Of course it’s vital to be friends as well as lovers, but are we really to believe that is all we want from our partner is compatible conversation? Waves of warmth that’s what we crave, the spark of life, the build up of something that gets us sincerely soaked.

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