Back in the USSR

Just eaten a classic meal at the flat of a friend of Effie's. Humous, vegetables and pita, with the unconvential musical sountrack of Mary Poppins.

Post modern.

Last night we found ourselves in The Good Bar in Tel Aviv, occupational home to Tal - a good India buddy. A fun evening was had in the dark, smoky atmosphere of a textbook Tel Aviv joint. Black, high walls with random paintings. A long bar stretching through the space with high seating all around. Tal was busy opening up as we arrived relatively early (about 10pm) but he passed me a drink and a complimentary bowl of freshly cut vegetables, nuts and humous. Apparently this is normal. It makes sense to keep people chomping on stuff in a bar and it just makes a refreshing change that it's actually healthy.

Israelis are not famed for drinking. So it was a revelation to see Tal at work as a barman. He's a smooth mofo most of the day, so just put him behind a bar: all high fives and 'how about a chaser with that?' as he fills Ha'arack (aniseed liquor) into a double shot glass.

This is how Israelis drink, through strong suggestion from the persuasive staff. Otherwise they'd just chain smoke and talk nonsense until bedtime was a distant memory.

Another good friend, Chen, arrived and we chewed vegetables, drank decent local lager and faffed on about music, jobs, life and India. Meanwhile, Effie was in the midst of her own reunion.

Chen explained to me that girls in Tel Aviv are famously horny. I kinda had that impression too. Many young, single women about town, dressed up like - let's not mince - hookers. And of course a percentage of them actually are on the old game.

The music in the bar, direct from a laptop, and mostly controlled by Tal, was handed to me for a brief session. Bad nobbage on the decks. A bunch of Pixies, Gomez, Eels and Tom Waits. You work with what you got, dogg.

I am really trying my best to soak up the atmosphere here. I can't put my finger on it. But on the whole Tel Aviv seems to be a pretty interesting, exciting city.

There is quite a sleazy vibe. Something about the numerous strip clubs and massage parlour calling cards floating about; the trashy chicks in short skirts, bleached hair, high heels and '80s sunglasses; the joggers; the pink neon lights on the beach.

First impressions lead to a kind of bastardo hybrid of Blade Runner and American Psycho. It's as modern as anything, but I guess the hot climate gets everyone's legs out. I dunno, it's like electro East European, but with hips-and-tits young people boshing past in tight fitting army uniforms.

The architecture is about as unappealing as possible. Grey mid to late twentieth century monstrosities. But as Effie pointed out, at some point Tel Aviv was informed that hundreds of thousands of jews would be just popping over to, I dunno, live there forever. Best get some digs together then.

The streets are not so busy. I'm told the population is half a million. For a capital city. Bless!

After the bar, we took Chen's guitar and staggered to the beach and sat and sang songs for a while. Pleasantly tepid water, reflecting the city lights with the relaxed atmosphere of beach walkers and strolling weirdos. I felt like I was on a deserted Chowpatty Beach in Bombay.

One particular weirdo came and sat with us for a while, doing his thing of taking the guitar, de-tuning it and then becoming selectively deaf when we suggest he take his chin off the top, stop strumming a non-chord and dribbling into the woodwork and give the damn thing back. Once he was nervously aware that he'd massively outstayed his schizophrenic welcome, he suddenly passed back the guitar and ran off down the beach, screaming at the waves. Bless.

We crashed at a friend's apartment in the city. On sober inspection this morning, I discover that the flats around here are very decent. Plenty of space, quite tasteful.

This particular friend of Effie's had a collection of 5000 records belonging to a late father. I spent a morning sifting through, reading some wonderful sleeve notes to an almost complete set of original Frank Sinatra, Tom Jones, Beatles and a whole bunch of entertaining looking tradiontal Israeli bands.

My favourite sleeve note essay was a long, almost meditation-esque soother suggesting you kick back, let the day's worries leave you, imagine a warm summers day and a beautiful place (floating down a river in a canoe, beneath the fading sun). There, have you left the stress of everyday toil? Are you drifting in a state of heightened and relaxed awareness, feintly conscious of the beauty and transience of human existence?

Well, you ready. You are ready for Dean Martin.

And after all that, I was denied listening to this relaxing classic. I was informed that despite this staggering vinyl collection, they have 'upgraded' to a cd/dvd combo so I couldn't listen to a damn thing.

I spent an embarrassing afternoon today trying to shop for shorts and flip flops. Becoming the sullen teenager once again, I moaned and hmmphed my way through a cool market and accidentally settled for some hideously uncomfortable flip flops and some nice short black fisherman pants. And I got through it without any major tantrums or threats of reduced pocket money, so that's something.

While withdrawing some negative funds from an ATM, Shani, a friend from India walked by. She was all lip kissing and big hugs and "oh my god oh my god!" etc. Welcome to Israel, English boy. Effie looked pleased. Ahem.

I closely inspected a big independent record shop and YES they do sell cds other than Pink Floyd, Led Zep and shit Israeli bands. Those India losers with their chronic bad taste were just that. There are large, varied selections of alt. country, acid folk, electronic and so on. They have no excuse.