I stayed in my hotel today, slept late and went down to the outdoor pool. There is a snack bar there, which I was relieved to find open, but not much appeared to be cooking. Are you serving food? “Only shulli.” Excuse me? “Shulli.” What’s that? “I show you.” The barman opened the lid on a vat of chilli. I was relieved again. He served me up a huge plastic bowl-full, and added some bread and a plate of olives and gerkhins. I sat on a picnic table in the shade overlooking the pool and ate, but couldn’t finish it.
I went for a swim, read my book, went for another swim, read my book, it got cold, I went to my room, fell asleep, woke up and went down in search of dinner.
Once again the cafe and restaurant were closed. Argh! I went to the desk. Is anywhere open for dinner? “Dinner?” Some conferring in Hebrew. “No, we don’t have dinner. Are you in a group?” No, it’s just me. “Oh.” More conferring in Hebrew. “The dairy restaurant is open in an hour, but only the dairy one.” Phew! I like the diary food, and this might mean that Shabbat is finally over. Everyone will stop joyously celebrating and I can look forward to a reliable supply of food.
Update: I went down and had a nice dinner of broccoli quiche covered in a cheese and tomato sauce, and the best strawberry milkshake ever, with chocolate sauce smeared over the inside of the glass. I’m always going on about how good the service is in America, well in Israel it’s awful. One friend even recommended a place to me on the basis that it was traditional, complete with terrible service. Tonight the waitresses sauntered around taking their time, and at one point one even walked past my foodless table, looked right at it, and sauntered on by. At least I got what I ordered and it was good.
Afterwards I went for a beer in the lounge. It’s quite comfortable, there’s a pianist, and it’s good to have people around when you’re travelling alone. Each table has two two-seater sofas. I was reading my book alone when an entire family came and sat round me and then left as quickly as they’d arrived. Soon after an older guy appeared and sat opposite me. He said something in Hebrew. I said that my Hebrew was a little rusty and that started off a conversation. We chatted for about ten minutes before I left with him wishing me a good flight home. I’m getting to like the culture here: people are very rude and abrupt and will barge into the lift without giving you a chance to get out, and they’re simultaneously very friendly and willing to chat to strangers, and to be honest, I can live without false politeness.
More Jerusalem Travel: previous day (exploring the city); next day; first day.