Yafo.

Made it to Yafo. And I live in a house like a regular Israeli. Cool, hunh? I live through an extremely bumpy four-hour flight to TLV from Barcelona. Do you know that there’s a special Hebrew prayer to say when there is air turbulence? Well, there is, and the nice Hasid sitting next to me said it loud and clear. “Omein,” I said in silence.

It turns out that I had no address for M & C’s house, but I remembered it. I hired me a friendly, though slightly crazy – though I wasn’t going to press it – taxi driver to get me to Yafo. It seems that, in order to be a good driver in Israel, you have to try to hit people. And make many hand gestures at them, and yell through two panes of glass. But like I said, I wasn’t going to press it.

We found the street and the appropriate house. I bang and rattle the door to be let in till the nice man who lives across the square yelled at me to pull the cord for the bell instead of trying to break the door in. So I did, and behold! There was Dafna! I was welcomed and given my room and taken to dinner, and I am now sitting on the futon, blogging.

Hummus and garlic bread with homemade garlic butter! and salad of tomatoes and cucumbers and olive oil and some vinegar! And two beers. Yes, M, I do want two beers.

Dafna promises, at some point in time, to introduce me to the neighborhood goat and chickens and horses and goats and sheep and pigeons. I already met the jackdaws. She would take me out now and make the introductions, but I’m in my jammies now, and I ain’t gonna go wandering around Yafo in my jammies. I just aint.