“Ah, I can see you are still in shock. Take your time, when you’re ready we’ll have coffee.”

Our AirBNB host had correctly read our confused faces. How was it possible to fit so many pieces of art on the walls? Did he buy the 15 sets of mugs at the same flea market, or over a period of many years? The apartment — a century-old Arab house with modern appliances and plumbing — would be our home for the night in the city of Acre, in northern Israel. We had arrived moments earlier after a bus and two trains from Jerusalem.  Our host, a friendly man with a face tattoo, is an artist and has been living in this house for over a decade. As he told us poetically over our coffees later that morning, “I love to find new life in old and forgotten objects. I love to make old things new again.” He uses broken and discarded tiles to create mosiacs on tables and wall-hangings. Beyond this, I noticed many other creative projects in the apartment. For example, a dinner plate as a portal window in the bathroom door.

The apartment was a five minute walk from the Old City of Acre, a port city dating back thousands of years. As one of the oldest continuously-inhabited cities in the region, it has a rich history which we enjoyed learning about as we ambled around the old market and toured the mosque and town hamam. It has seen British rulers, Egyptian kings, Ottoman rulers come and go, with subsequent modern day ethnic diversity. Some of the streets were slightly dirty, causing pedestrians to hop single file over the puddles – even though it had not rained for weeks. One highlight of our walk was the templar’s tunnel, an underground passageway used by knights during the Crusade era to access the port from the city palace. This tunnel, surprisingly, was not discovered until 1994, and opened to the public in 1999.

We were lucky enough to come to Acre during its fringe theater festival, and as a result were treated to some interesting street performances including a skeleton dancing to reggaeton (!) and a couple standing and embracing in an elastic cube with a few holes cut out for spectators. There were also dozens of street vendors hawking their wares, with shouts of “crepe, crepe, creeeeepe!” and “kanafe kanafe kanafeeeeeee!” adding to the festive atmosphere.

The next morning we woke up in the eclectic apartment and packed our bags to head farther up the coast. Despite our initial impressions of sheer randomness, after one day in the apartment it started to make more sense. Similar to the old city next door, this apartment had been continuously-inhabited for many years, with each tenant adding his or her own personal flair. It fit the neighborhood perfectly, and our artist host, who was now a friend, had chosen the perfect place to live to make old things new again. Acre, despite it’s old age and somewhat run down alleyways, was a beautiful place.

I wanted to include some photos of our neighborhood. I enjoy walking around it, getting lost in the alleyways. Sometimes I almost walk into someone’s apartment – the distinction between an alley and a front entryway is very small. There are friendly stray cats, and a few small neighborhood gardens.

Storefront in Nachlaot

Street signs in Hebrew, English and Arabic

Another sign

Archway to another alley – can you imagine trying to give directions around here?

One of the alleys in our neighborhood, usually with smells of cooked food, a few stray cats, and sounds of Hebrew in the background

A street in Nachlaot

At the wine tasting event the night before, one of the guests had beautiful earrings. When I asked her about them, she said they were from this outdoor market that happens every Friday in Jerusalem. Lo and behold, the market was right next to our house! The next morning I woke up and explored the Bezalel market (after almost an hour at the post office), and was pleasantly surprised. There were many vendors, none of them too pushy, and a large variety of handmade items.

Small beaded animals

Ceramic flowers

Necklaces for sale at the market

I wandered the market and talked to a few vendors. It seemed that overall everything was made by hand. If I were an artist, this would be a nice place to spend the day – it was breezy with plenty of shade and foot traffic.

Tal (roommate Tal) invited us to her friend’s vineyard for a wine tasting event. They were celebrating the end of the harvest, and opening up some bottles. There would be some live music and “fun surprises” for food. Hunter and I were IN.

On our way to the bus stop, Jerusalemites protect themselves against the dusty weather

We took a small bus for part of the trip before getting picked up by Tal’s friend Alon for the remainder of the trip. Alon and Tal met during their year of service before joining the Army, a year that she mentioned was very special to her, and a year that gave her several of her closest friends.

The Adulam Winery & Vineyard is located in Givat Yeshayahu, about 45 minutes southwest of Jerusalem. The dust storm was making the views less than spectacular, but we were told that it is normally “gorgeous.” Tal said we would come back on a clear day and enjoy the scenery. The vineyard is run by Tal’s friend Ashley and her husband, and for the party they were offering their three red wines: a Cabernet Sauvignon, a Merlot and a blend that was my personal favorite. They have a trip advisor page, and I have a feeling that Hunter and I will be back to visit on a sunnier and clearer day.

The wine tasting event

The evening was cool and breezy, a welcome respite from the hot and dusty weather in Jerusalem since I arrived. The other guests at the party were very nice and lacked the level of intensity that we found so off putting with other people we had met. We both agreed that it felt like we were in Northern California, and despite the fact that everyone at the party was a stranger, it like we were surrounded by friends.

The “fun surprises” for food – mostly dips, breads and other Israeli offerings. All were delicious.

I arrived to meet Hunter and Tal for a coffee after leaving the post office. I ordered a Mint Lemonade and was treated to the most delicious thing in the world. It was equal parts refreshing and sweet. I could have drank a gallon of the stuff!

Tal (yes, another Tal) was born in Israel, with a father who is South African and a mother who is a New Zealander. As a result Tal has a funny combination of accents – a mix of pretty much all of the Anglo accents. Tal was nice, talkative and easy to open up to. As an Israeli who has spent parts of her life outside of Israel, she was no stranger to its idiosyncrasies and the frustrations of daily life. She said that every time she returns from the US, New Zealand or England, she is always taken aback by the lack of social protocol found here in Israel. Hunter and I had to laugh along with her – we had certainly found the same thing to be true.

At the market, old women will roll over your foot with their heavy cart in order to squeeze past you and grab a tomato. People of all ages will just take almonds, candies and occasional grapes out of the containers at the stores, sampling the goods before they decide to buy. At the bus stop there is no unwritten “you were here first,” and everyone waddles on the bus in a small herd, causing stubbed toes and crushed purses. The sidewalks are never wide enough, even if you are on a ten foot wide path. Someone will walk really close to you, or simply not avoid you – forcing you to change course because this person didn’t. These problems are exacerbated once you’re in a car – the traffic lanes are suggestions, and cutting someone off is not considered aggressive, it’s merely an element of being on the road. Why is this? Why do Israelis act so defiantly with their own interests in mind, ignoring the greater good and comfort of the strangers around them? I’d be interested to hear your thoughts. This element of the lifestyle is a reminder that although Israel is a first world nation, with a strong economy and modern lifestyle, we are certainly in the middle east. The rules of decorum and civility back home don’t apply here, or rather they are watered down into something completely different.

Slowly, but certainly surely, I have started to adjust to this change in attitude. At the market the other day I demanded a half scoop of olives, not the full scoop that the vendor originally handed me. “I can’t give you less,” he said, not too friendly. “I want half, is that not possible?” I asked, not backing down. He shrugged, “I need to give you a bag, not this container.” He acquiesced, I had won! I didn’t care that the olives were now sold to me in a ziplock instead of a thin plastic tupperware. I had followed the Israeli code of conduct – if a rule is unwritten, it doesn’t exist. Don’t ask for permission, demand it.

Well I suppose some things are universal – the post office just doesn’t work well. I have found this to be true in every major city I have lived. Here in Jerusalem, I was to learn, the case was no different. Surly Israelis behind every counter, an incomprehensible overhead speaker system and of course, as is true in many waiting rooms these days, an intricate and over-engineered numbering system. I pulled A008 when I walked in. Naturally my first thought was “wow, I’m only 8th in line!” Not so. The screens had a variety of numbers, all either A, B, or C groupings. The number on the screen when I sat down was A982. So I had a ways to go.

Ten minutes later, it was A989.

Ten minutes after that, it was still A989. Who the hell knows what Mr. A989 was up to. He was tapping his foot, and the agent behind the desk was nowhere to be seen. My mind started to wander … the whole point of this A, B, and C grouping was so Israelis could be served more efficiently. When you enter the post office, you specify your purpose: A was for mailing packages, buying stamps and other merchandise. B was for money orders (both receiving and sent). C was for legal matters, like notarizing papers, and perhaps other things as well – C was a busy counter and people, for unknown reasons, came in bursts instead of one at a time. Perhaps the most puzzling part of this, was that the A, B, and C counters would change all the time. So if you went to buy stamps (group A), and when you were finished the clerk hit the “next” button, the overhead would announce an A, B or C ticket holder to come to the same clerk. Surely, the efficiency of an A/B/C system would be improved if the clerk then only had to know the answers to 1/3 of the questions? As it stood that day in the office, the clerks were all over the place, and as a result had to leave their desk to fetch things from the other side of the office.

Now another 10 minutes had passed, and Mr. A989 had finally left the building. Little Ms. A990 was now taking care of business. I still had a long way to go before A008 was called, and who knows how long I had to wait. 30 minutes in and I was nowhere closer to buying my stamp. I had to leave to meet Hunter and a friend, so I silently vowed to return the next day and buy my damned stamp.

The next day, I arrived and waited 55 minutes before my number was called -A046 this time. Today it was the same song and dance of A/B/Cs, with the C group coming in small bursts from time to time. Maybe once I can speak Hebrew I’ll solve that little mystery!

I approached the desk and asked for my stamp, along with a few others so I wouldn’t need to spend an hour of my day at the post office whenever I needed to mail a letter. The clerk handed me my stamp, and then, just because, critiqued my method of applying the stamp on the letter.

“No, that’s not right,” he said.

“Oh, does it go somewhere else?” I asked. I had affixed the stamp to the upper right corner of the letter. Maybe in Israel it was the upper left?

“No, it’s wrong. Give.”

I handed over my letter and partially affixed stamp. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I simply hadn’t put ALL of my body weight into the stamp repeatedly, as I saw the clerk doing in front of me. He handed the letter back to me.

“Can you mail it now?” I asked. Maybe I missed something – but usually after stamping a letter AT the post office AT a desk it was the clerk’s time to shine.

He took my letter back somewhat awkwardly and dropped it in an unmarked burlap sack. A047 was already edging me out of the way.