69. Jaffa, 1999 - Some gorgeous hot Israeli dude?
In which Eleanor clubs in Tel Aviv.
The gang of friends goes to Tel Aviv. Eleanor makes out.
Eleanor
We kick off our shoes and stumble, arm in arm onto the beach. The gang of friends: we never seem to tire of each other, even though we hang out practically every night now. The sky is just turning from black to purple. We’re all still drunk. And high on dancing and clubbing the night away in Tel Aviv. It was Christina's idea, as she best knew the way around the bars in Tel Aviv. Jamal and Suheir stayed in Jerusalem—Suheir is too pregnant to want to come out clubbing.
We collapse onto the sand and wriggle our toes into the damp. My head is still pounding from the beats, and I feel sticky from sweat. For a night I’ve forgotten Francois and Jerusalem and Palestine and all of it entirely. We’ve danced and slammed and grinded, utterly lost in the moment. Somewhere in there I think I made out with someone. Thomas? No, I shake my head groggily, trying to remember. Some gorgeous hot Israeli dude? Whatever. I’ll never see him again. That’s okay.
We raise a cheer as the first sliver of sun rises over the Mediterranean. Jerusalem has nothing like this. We are drunk on alcohol, dancing, life, and friendship in this crazy, crazy place.
When Patrick gives a loud snore a while later we all burst out laughing. Slowly we gather up our things and wander back to the promenade. There are plenty of taxis. We pile into three and fall asleep as we head back into the belly of the beast. Jerusalem.
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Everybody needs a blowout sometime...but I would say this too could have been turned into an incident that would be an embarrassment to her country given the alcohol fueled nature of this catharsis...the devil is on my shoulder, sorry.