Next Weekend In Zion

Inspired by true events

Boring. Expensive. Sub-par grocery selection. Say what you will about Geneva, but one major advantage of the Swiss paradise where I lay my dopp kit is that it's incredibly easy to get to the airport from anywhere in town, and incredibly easy to fly around Europe and the Middle East without having to suffer crushing jet lag. For this reason, I decided to spend my hard earned birthday money on a quick puddle jumper over to Tel Aviv to hang out with my little bro. The gluttonous over-indulgence of pita and hummus was a happy bonus, but believe you me I was looking forward to some good ol' fashioned family throw-down.

My last trip to Israel was about three years ago on the ever-famous and ubiquitously brainwashy Birthright experience. Needless to say, the shiny chaperoned charade that is Birthright was a slightly different experience than crashing with my brother and his six housemates in the relative ghetto of Ramla, about twenty minutes and a thousand gunshots away from Tel Aviv proper. I had received some prep info from my globe-trotting sibling, eight years my junior and a chiseled physique my superior, but as soon as I stepped off the plane I knew I was in over my head.

I was warned that the cab drivers were going to try to screw me on the ride into Ramla, but I had no idea that they would do it through carefully lodged guilt trips and excessively convoluted mind tricks. The jedi behind the wheel of my late model sedan talked to me of family, of past and future, of love and learning. He asked me my opinions on the world and why I was not already living in the homeland. He questioned the status quo and engaged me in thoughtful discourse. Then he demanded three times the going fare for the airport trip, name dropped his kids at home, and reminded me that the quoted price "did not include gratuity".

Good start so far.

Even though he screwed me out of a few bucks, the cab driver had in fact brought me directly to my brother's place so I hopped out and got the grand tour of my new crash pad. The triple occupancy boys bedroom smelled exactly like you think it would, and the triple occupancy girls bedroom appeared full of laughter, hair dryers and dirty talk - exactly like you think it should. Kitchen sink full of dirty dishes and front room stacked with beater couches and food scraps, I dropped my bag, kicked up my feet and lavished in the dorm-style simplicity of my weekend chalet. It took nearly ten whole minutes to see that my brother was in fact living in the functional equivalent of The Real World house, replete with passive aggression, chore assignments ignored and unwashed shot glasses. Truly this was my homeland.

Figuring that I had a few days to help my lil bro live it up Eric-style, we wasted no time in heading straight to the local market to pick up snacks and grab some brews for the evening. Thanks to a favorable exchange rate and a currency value that I had no chance or desire to fully grasp, I was makin it rain shekels on the shook and we got out of there with a messiah's bounty of pita, hummus, halvah, peppers, avocados, and pomegranate juice that would serve as our breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next three days.

It lasted two hours.

Undeterred but slightly tired, we decided to make it a home evening and convinced some of my brother's friends to hang at the Real World house with us and share in some Goldstars and cheap arrack. One Real World roommate decided to try to best me in a drinking contest and passed out by 11:30. Much like how the NFL requires rookies to be at least two years out of high school before competing with the big boys, I will henceforth require all would-be challengers to have at least two years of college drinking experience before letting them into the ring with me. Otherwise it's just dangerous. Luckily I was able to rabble rouse a bit and me and little bro had an awesome time catching up. After participating in a relatively raucous match of "never have I ever" it was determined that my brother and I have led far more interesting lives than the other players, or at least more debaucherous ones anyway. We hung out until the wee hours and my brother said I was in "24-year-old Eric form". Eric - 1, growing old gracefully - 0.

We capped the evening off with some late night Futurama as we retired to the triple occupancy stink hole of a bedroom I was blessed with for the evening and passed out before the opening credit's stopped rolling. All in all, it was looking like a good start to my triumphant return to Israel.


For all the fans out there mad that I took like ten days to get a new post up, I can only say that it's been a big week here for a lot of crazy reasons which you will see unfold over the next few posts. But, it would appear that I owe everyone a soda pop cause (drum roll please) we topped 10,000 page views this week! That means that people have looked at the various posts, pictures and rants on Dear Lonely Planet 10,000 times...or, realistically, like 7,000 times aside from my own personal hits. But whatever I'm counting it.