: :coming down the mountain: :

special report #2 - aGent rey, Y(J)erusalem.

and so i left. my mother (and father would he be here) will laugh. the
absolute wrong direction. i was seduced by the downhill (ref. uphill
slog on the way there) and didn't really think. i knew it was toward
tel aviv - just not toward the train station. so i get to the
precipice - a perennial favourite of mine - and seek guidance. nope,
wrong way, diametrically. on advice from boxer.com, who tells me
hitching is commonplace, i look up, i look down, i look silly, i take
off. down down down. thought i was going to wear a hole in the shoes
(courtesy agent x) with the vertical drop. massive speed, huge busses,
narrow margins. i'm on fire - haven't done this since the barcelona
decline. anyway, as they say, what goes down, must... hitch a bloody
ride back up. so moshe, an interior designer from jerusalem, gets the
gig of a lifetime. he spent a year in sydney, his wife curiously sat
in the back covered in luggage, and we chatted furiously. only problem
was - given that i had ambushed moshe at the bottom of the hill where
he had paused to reload - that he was only going to get me halfway.
that was 24 kms short of tel aviv, plus another few to jaffa.
its mid-morning, i have water, no sweat. first ride came easy enough -
second cant be famous last words again, could it? fame. i skate and i
skate, the sweat, the tears, the singing, the cursing, the insane
laughter, the freeway, the speed of the trucks and their proximity!
oh, the humanity! 'TEL AVIV!' painted on the bottom of the (former
art show) deck achieved little. actually nothing. i see a roadside
stop with police everywhere - i cunningly climb down the embankment
and sneak UNDER THEIR VERY NOSES and get back on freeway flying. the
trucks actually became my friends - the rush of wind as they fly past
gives me a little, unexpected kick. thanks fellas. an hour later, i
would LOVE to be picked up by the police. i am doing nothing wrong,
and my situation is unavoidable. i am now delirious. cue, police
siren. oops. i am resigned to whatever fate awaits when i open the
door and whoa - my ZZ Top Moment. the solo female officer
is...absolutely smokin'! i actually laughed. voluptuous, fully made
up, flicking hair and smiling flirtatiously as she tells me off. i
tell her she's pretty. it must be hard to be an attractive officer,
and i didn't help. she takes me about a mile down the road and
diverts off to a backstreet - i only later realise adding several
kilometers to the already herculean task. back on
deck. some hours later, as i finally enter tel aviv from the N/E, i
pass by the ubiquitous sports stadium where not a week previously i
saw what must be an endangered species - a phil collins. filed in the
'where is he now file' since ... well, for me since he was flown by
concorde so he could play BOTH live aid concerts way back in '85.
though he married a jewish girl, apparently he was outed as a former
neo-nazi anti-semite skinhead. and i thought he was just prematurely
bald! anyway, the press achieved a positive outcome when phil
acquiesced to leave hampstead heath (playing cards over tea with boy
george and george michael) and play tel aviv. the locals hadn't seen
anything like it - and for those of us roaming around the stadium all
night (i was a clockwise person. 'others' were anti-clockwise. shiver)
we never actually did see him - but heavens above...The Hits! back to
back, wall to wall, start to finish set full of Hits. i was seriously
ecstatic when the drum solo from 'in the air tonight' boomed out. does
anyone know the actaul story of that song - the guy (protagonist)
invited to a massive concert, front row, singled out by phil...blah
blah - if so do tell me. anyway, for the next week in tel aviv and
jerusalem, if i heard one phil song i heard a hundred - cafes,
hostels, cars, churches, monasteries...really struck a chord did phil.
and why not? unlikely looking pop star, to be sure, but he can hold a
tune, and the sentiments expressed...well, i will never lose billy's
number again. anyway, with that, i knew i had arrived, and the old
jaffa hostel - with the permanent residents going quietly insane -
welcomed me back with customary warmth and hospitality. they changed
the code at the front door.

rey, over...