I've been struggling with how to express how I feel about coming into Israel (or Palestine, depending on your political perspective). With its incredible religious significance, conflicted politics, and importance as both a current and historical travel destination, I don't know what made me think I ought to skip over it. Something about it being different from the rest of the Middle Eastern countries perhaps? Possibly my own religious convictions (or lack thereof) made me feel slightly apprehensive about arriving in such a holy place? And maybe it had to do with the fact that I have remained blissfully unaffected by the conflicts that have occurred in this area and I don't fully understand them, even now. I'm working on that one. It's easy to do here, as the politics of the region thrust themselves into every part of daily life - in conversations with locals and visitors, everyone has an opinion. Walking through the streets, religious perspective is on parade. Even public transportation in the region is a lesson in politics - metal detectors in the bus stations and check points at all the borders between Israel, the West Bank, the Golan Heights, etc.
Despite all this, I found that it was not these more weighty elements of Israel that I found so profound. It was the abrupt changeover from the Arabic cities of Jordan, Syria and Eastern Turkey to modern Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. I was experiencing culture shock.
My transition into Middle Eastern culture was a slow and steady process. I left Istanbul, that city famed for its amalgamation of Eastern and Western culture, and moved down to the touristy, yet distinctly different cities of Izmir and Selcuk. The grocery stores were replaced with market stalls, the jeans and t-shirts with headscarves and salwars (long dresses). By the time I reached inner Turkey, Capadoccia's carpet shops and kebab restaurants seemed like natural replacements for CVS and the Gap. Crossing over the border into Syria, I expected a vast change, but it was more subtle than I anticipated. Certainly, the religious conservatism of the people was evident as women wore full burkas and men kufi hats or keffiyehs but I'd grown accustomed to the food (felafel and doner sandwiches galore), strange smells of cardamon and olive oil soap in the streets (and garbage, but I'm keep that in brackets as I am romanticizing!), and slightly rundown sidewalks and buildings. Entering into Israel was like a smack in the face from modernity. It had dramatic effects.
Despite (or perhaps even in addition to) its facade as an ancient holy city, Jerusalem still harbors a sinful side. The day I arrived I wandered through yet another magnificent walled city (despite the many wars waged here, it is the best preserved Old City I have encountered so far on this trip) dipping into each of the four quarters - Jewish, Muslim, Christian and Armenian, each with its distinct personality. I walked in the Damascus gate to the south, and out of the Jaffa gate to the north. Carrying on straight, I walked straight into the open air mall. Three nomadic weeks cannot a New York Conde Nast W Magazine Intern change. It took all my willpower not to buy out TopShop. I almost bought out the pharmacy (clearly I thought I would be needing hair clips, and hair scrunching gel, and real body wash on my travels). This wasn't even the half of it. I was able to resist most of my temptations until I reached Tel Aviv.
Tel Aviv screams cool. Tall skyscrapers, pristine beaches, manicured parks. Referred to in the Lonely Planet (who are actually right, for once) as a "fashionable," "liberal," and "glamorous" city, it certainly fits the bill. Groovy boutique clothing stores, chic cafes and hip bars. The people living here are perfect samples of those forcibly attempting to differentiate from the religious devotees in Jerusalem. They are successful. They seem to live a wildly luxurious lifestyle, with the beaches packed through the weekdays with beautiful people. Joggers combing the beaches. No one wearing business suits. Bars full every evening. I wanted to go out, buy expensive cocktails, put on a new dress, meet these new and exciting locals.
I make it out like this was all a big wonderful dream. And for a night, it kind of was. But I woke up, slightly hungover, with the realization that being in these two cities was turning me into the insecure, shy, fearful girl I had left behind in the US. I felt the urge to spend - what if people actually see me in the same ratty outfit I wore yesterday? Clearly, I need a new pair of jeans. What will they think if I ask how much that coffee costs? Clearly, I should be acting like money isn't a problem. I felt the need to fit in - find a bikini and a book and sit at the beach wasting the day. Ignore the politics and the history of the place. The materialistic world packs a hard punch. I am ready for my falafel sandwich for five shekels and a dorm room for $10, thank you very much.