Holidays in Tel Aviv: dancing, living, being happy

Ilan laughs when I arrive at the reception at half past three in the morning, alert and dazzling. "See you had fun!" He says, with a hint of "I say it" in his voice. Yes, the man said it. The day before yesterday at the check-in, when I asked him if in Tel Aviv really does not go out before eleven o'clock in the morning, I probably sounded worried, I'm a late riser. Ilan had nodded, with this Tel Aviver certainty, that once you get there, things will just happen. Half past two, I'm going to my room, out of my jeans, the sand still crumbles from the beach, in my head, the house music from the club in which I was last, I'm happy for a short time and then fall asleep on the spot.

Tel Aviv is four hours flight from Frankfurt, it has a fabulous beach, rarely rain, there is an impressive density of boutiques and shops with little nice things, and there is great food and nightlife that does not need weekends. Ideal conditions for a city trip with beach share, just what I'm looking for. And yet you do not even drive here. But Tel Aviv's situation is too neuralgic. The Syria conflict and the way in which Israelis and Palestinians deal with each other determine the parameters of the city, including the security situation. I'm blanking it out, but at the airport I'm still going to google "Foreign Office" and "Travel Alerts".

What seems ridiculous to me, four hours later. 33 degrees, the women wear pinafore dresses and shorts, so short that the lining of the trouser pocket looks out, the men's short-shaven hair and thick sunglasses, and although it's early afternoon, it all looks like the beach is heading all the way. My head shifts two gears back, I breathe. First impression: It may be that the threat here is part of everyday life, but Tel Aviv is not noticeable.

My hotel, whose boss is the nice Ilan, has only ten rooms or better said: chic furnished shoe boxes facing the air conditioning on the concrete facade opposite. For me, it's perfect, it's central, and the employees are kind in a friendly way, so I'm just wondering if we all want to go out together.

I'm leaving, heading for the beach, five or six blocks, along beautifully restored Bauhaus facades and empty apartment blocks still waiting for speculators. Tel Aviv's real estate market is booming, prices have been rising for years, in 2011 there were months of protest camps on the central Rothschild Boulevard, but nothing has changed.

Politics may dictate the parameters of the city, but the beach defines the attitude to life. I walk along the warm Mediterranean waters north, each beach part has its own scene where everyone is what he is, rich, gay, muslim, hippie. There are transitions, but no barriers, an open togetherness is where the greatest excitement lies in the question of where to park your car.

Athletic people play beach tennis, bikini girls doze on their towels, mothers play with their laughing babies, veiled Arab women stretch their toes into the water, a group of Hare Krishna disciples sing along the promenade, a pregnant woman dances at the Brazilian bar Art Pogo. Everything is easy and chilled and young.

Sometimes too much chill triggers a spontaneous depressive episode on me, and then I feel like I'm out of the woods with my 48. Not here. Everyone can join in here. I order a mint shake and watch the pregnant dancer until the sun sets, and as I go, she is still dancing.

It takes half an hour to the Carmel Market. It is famous for its oriental atmosphere, it is closing at the side exit I find the "Habasta", which looks like a food kiosk selling wine, but has a brilliant card: There is papaya salad with eggplant and a white pizza with Truffles and goat cheese foam. With the spicy taste on my tongue, I walk through the night, direction Rothschild Boulevard, the wide avenue. Everywhere people make music, I stop by a singer playing guitar with two friends on a bench, full of fervor, everything from the Stones to Beyoncé. People dance in their flip-flops on the street, an old couple puts on a Foxtrot, a young couple happily hops around. I think every evening that you do not dance here is given away. But first I just watch.

When I get to the hotel, the clock on Ilan's laptop shows midnight, I counter his questioning look with a smile.

Not only the party scene is young and urban, the whole center is it. Tel Aviv is no match, it was created around a hundred years ago, every profession, every immigrant group had its own quarter. The money with which the city is being retreaded, and the gentrification that goes with it, blurs these contours. They condense the city into a large carpet of shops, galleries, cafes, and studios.

But still the former peculiarities are clearly visible. In Florentin, for example, known for his many same-sex couples with prams. Its streets are divided into craftsmen, I walk through furniture, lamp, joiner's streets, in between young designers and artists who have their workshops in garages and warehouses. Often you just have to go through a roller door and find yourself in the middle of another world.

As in the case of Samy D., 45, whose workshop I first think of a ceramics shop, with beautiful, spreading fruit bowls, but while I search for the price tag, I notice the white balls that he just polished and the like heads look dead children. Samy is a ceramic artist, he has exhibited all over the world, his art is between table decoration and object, it has definitely something morbid, but also a lot of joke.

His white undershirt shows his perfect arm muscles, music is booming, it's hot, his stove is running or better: his crematorium. He shows me a latest idea, a plate on which a porcelain dog skeleton is mounted. He was talking about transformation, about another kind of burial, he says. The idea came to him when his dog Osho died: he burned it, made the finest white porcelain out of the calcium of the ashes, and used it to reproduce the animal's skeleton. Osho's remains are now hanging on Samy's bedroom wall, and a cat is burning in the oven, lying dead in the street this morning. In view of these fire blends I do not buy the beautiful fruit bowl then.

The mood in the pita kiosk "Miznon" distributes all transient thoughts on the spot. Here is food pop. "Miznon" is on a main road, but the mood is like a beach bar, crowded, loud, the staff behind the U-shaped counter cut pita bread in the chord, stuffing strange mixtures like bananas in liquid chocolate, in between get their drums out or throw one, two, woppa, one round of schnapps for all. I suddenly get into a good mood and decide that my night will be tonight.

Starting in Jaffa, which looks like a fortress from the sea, narrow streets wind their way up the hill, sandy yellow and ingrown. I take a taxi, it's only a few miles, and I'm in an ancient Arab setting. Jaffa was merged with Tel Aviv in 1950, but it's still more comfortable than its busy sister. The harbor is one of the oldest in the world, the warehouses house art workshops and organic cafés, and old men smoke hookahs in front of them.

The party is raging in the old town. People eat at long tables, it's like a big celebration together, I do not recognize any groups that would be by themselves. I sit down, the people pull together, I watch the hustle and bustle, high-heeled women in short dresses, the curls pulled out of the black long hair, the men casual, in jeans and shirt, they flirt with their women, court them.

I drive back to Rothschild Boulevard. It is half past one in the morning, all the tables are occupied in the streets, the secret of how to deal with late working hours keeps the city to itself. I'm wide awake, I ask a group of women where to dance, they google the address of a club around the corner. I stand in line in front of the "radio", expect the bouncer to turn me away, the people around me are in their mid-thirties. But he waves me over. I go down two flights of stairs, loud bass, good mood house, it's dim, crowded, people laugh, talk, dance where they stand, around the counter. I order water, watch. Then I put the glass away.

Travel Tips Tel Aviv

Stay

AL Boutique Hotel. New, central, very nice service. Double room from 175 Euro, 16 Montefiore St., www.altlv.com.

Shalom Hotel. Close to the beach, sensational roof terrace overlooking the beach. Double room from 220 Euro, 216 Hayarkon St., www.atlas.co.il.

Old Jaffa Hostel. Hostel directly at the flea market in Jaffa. Quaint and cheap, cheapest overnight stay: on the roof under the stars. From 15 Euro, 13 Amiad St., www.telaviv-hostel.com.

Getting Around

Tel Aviv by bike: Goes well, even more and more Tel Aviver cycle. For example Wheel Bee, daily rental 15 Euro, 7 HaHalfamin St. Jaffa, www.wheelbeetlv.com.

eat

Kedem 60. Beautiful bistro in a quiet location in Jaffa, Chef Michael Zaccak knows all about the history of his neighborhood. 25 Sha'arei Nikanor St., www.bistro60.net.

Habasta. According to "Newsweek" among the 100 best restaurants in the world. 4 Hashomer St.

Miznon. Pita kiosk where tasty but absurd concoctions are stuffed into pita bread. 23 Ibn Gvirol.

Abu-Hassan. The best humus bar in Jaffa. Small shop with street vendors, at noon meters long snakes.1 HaDolfin St.

Shops / Galleries

Sabon. Shenkin Street is a kind of small rodeo drive. Exquisite soaps from the salt of the Dead Sea are available at Sabon - great as a souvenir. 28 Shenkin St., www.sabon.co.il.

Neve Tzedek. A quarter older than the rest of the city, narrow lanes and galleries with squishy kitsch art alongside small Thora writing rooms. To stroll.

Samy D., Ceramic artist with a morbid touch, great exhibition. 23 Abulafia St., www.samy-d.com.

Israeli Folk Dancing I Tel Aviv, Israel I celebrate Shavuot holiday (May 2024).