As I am writing this I am sitting on a granite bench on the beach promenade of banana beach, Tel Aviv. Despite the sun already having set, I can see a few kite surfers using the strong wind to practice. The wind, while strong, is not unpleasant, I’m wearing swimming shorts but I am not cold.
It feels aeons ago that I was on my terrace in Maastricht, celebrating my last (carnival) cantus. Covered in beer, the cold penetrated deep into my bones, despite my futile attempts to feel warmer by consuming more barley juice, which ultimately only led to a very early departure from the party.
The last weekend in Maastricht, my first real carnival, was ultimately a last hurrah, a cheers to the city that has hosted me for the past few years. Now, being literally thousands of kilometres away, everything is behind me, the maniacal cyclists along with the perpetually distant locals and the expensive red trash bags. Compared to Maastricht my favourite thing about Tel Aviv is that it doesn’t pretend to be something it is not. In fact, it does not pretend to be anything at all. There is no overbearing municipality desperately trying to cultivate an image of Disneyland-on-Maas, despite the area being infested by (underground) gang crime. Here everyone knows to not mess with the mafia, and the run down Bauhaus townhouses next to the modern skyscrapers create a harmonious ensemble. Anyway, the sun just went down completely so its getting cold, and I am feeling the effects of tel aviv wrk-life balance, so I will go to a bar now. Shalom, and until next time.
Konrad von Klitzing