As with yesterday, I can’t help but feel that I should really start the day 2 report with the end of the previous. Last night I dashed out of the apartment, barely awake, to visit the fourth and final apartment of the day. After a near 20 minute walk across town and actually finding the correct building (as it was three blocks from where I’d been promised), I look around at the busy street with 3 clubs underneath and am already perhaps better of this decision not to go straight to sleep.
Nevertheless having dragged my arse across town to view a flat at 11 o’clock at night, I’m going to damn well see this flat. So I climb the stairs, after deciding better of the lift. After two flights of stairs I get to the door and as instructed “knock loudly”. After 10 seconds, I look around at the empty corridor. I knock again, as I’m plunged into darkness as the timed lights clock off. Leaving me to grapple with a corridor and open staircase that I didn’t take the time to remember. Immediately after finding the light switch I find that another half step forward would have sent me tripping over 2 loose concrete flags that someone had helpfully left stacked in the corridor. With the new light source, I risk the hidden and grubby door bell button. Nothing.
Well, blow this for a barrel of monkeys. I go downstairs and check that I have the right building, reminded again at just how loud the street and club are. Nope, right place. I’ll give it 5 minutes. Which in hindsight lingering at gone 11 o’clock at night down a black alley next to a club could have been a mistake. After five I go back upstairs and hammer on the door one last time. Nothing.
Bed calls.
But bed is at best a 20 minute walk away. Ah well. What else is there to do?
The walk in the end takes me half an hour, but the (relatively) cool air of the evening (22 C) has awoken me enough from my zombie like state. Sleep will evade me if I try. As sleep is a fickle mistress. What do I have to lose at this point? Let’s give Israeli television a go. Impressively around channel 40-something I find the Discovery channel that’s mostly in English with Hebrew subtitles filling only a quarter of the screen. So Deadliest Catch it is until midnight.
Once sleep comes, it comes deeply. Unmovingly.
That is until exactly 2 o’clock in the morning when I’m rudely awoken by the worst of all noises. That of a mosquito in my ear. Again.
No ifs, no buts. This could be the same f**ker from last night that escaped. It will not elude me a second time. It might have taken a further 10 minutes to hunt the devil down. But die it did. It did not die well. I made sure of that.
Content in the knowledge that justice had been served and ignoring the serial killer markers for taking such joy in animal cruelty; sleep came easily.
Until again at 5 AM when the housemate got up to shower and start making his morning biryani. Too tired to contemplate the day, I rolled over.
Day 2 of Israel started better than day 1. Namely because I’d made the effort to track down a shop the night before so I had cornflakes for breakfast. Of course accompanied by more Discovery channel. Curiously, the previously early rising Indian had disappeared. Allowing me the luxury of eating without forced small talk.
Half way to work I recall that there is a group meeting at 9 o’clock. Which I should just about make with time to grab a coffee. Thank Christ I didnt hit that snooze button and forced myself up.
Note to others: Israeli coffee is terrible. Seemingly every shop in existence here only sells instant Nescafe.
A quick check of the emails reveals that the girl from last night was actually in and awake when I called at the flat. She even asked if I wanted to rearrange the viewing, but given that she couldn’t hear me hammer on the front door of a studio flat, I might give it a miss.
The group meeting comes and goes. I understood approximately none of it. But then I do not pretend to be much of a physicist and it was upon a topic I’ve only ever heard of. The silver lining is that I’ve seemingly started just in time for the new Jewish financial year so the group is immediately blowing all of our “professional development” budget on a Segway tour of old Jerusalem.
But a day isn’t a day in Israel without your wrist nearly dropping off from signing your name again-and-again on 17 different forms. So of course it was time to run off to HR. I say run off, it was a summoning.
I get to the HR building with plenty of time (because I’m British and passionately turn up early to everything, as opposed to “Israeli time“). I want the 1st floor. I walk into the lobby, staircase on the left. Go up one floor. Logic would deduce this to be the 1st floor. But no this floor all there seems to be is a lecture theatre and large open balcony. Going out to the balcony I can see it disappears around the corner of the building (past the tree above). It turns out the balcony goes all the way around the building. Thinking this is nuts I decide to go up a floor and find someone to ask for help. As I get upstairs, to now the 2nd floor a sign greets me with a list of things, on this, the 1st floor.
The HR does her best to suck my life essence from me, in what can only be thought of as some form of ancient Japanese wrist torture. No matter, I’m British, I will not outwardly show any form of emotion. I have the reputation of a country on my shoulders.
Ironically, all of these forms I’m signing are in regard to prior medical conditions. Repetitive strain injury is not listed. Though I can’t say that I’m terribly happy with the idea of perhaps being called for a medical exam or waiving the right to maintain medical confidentiality. Nope, the Institute not only gets all my intellectual property but also gets photocopy of any medical procedures, exams or consultations I might have in the future.
Still, no time to breath. Why not sort out a housing contract? Well that’s no more than a trifle. Contract sent to the landlord. Which may later cause a problem as I might have to make a large withdraw in cash from my UK account to cover the deposit as my Israeli cheque book for the bank account I opened yesterday has yet to materialise (I know! What are they playing at?)
But a good effort put in before lunch. The afternoon brings about me trying to create a figure and suitable targets for a grant proposal for the new boss on a project that I know nothing about. A grant proposal due before Thursday afternoon. “Trivial!” I hear you cry. Well never one to disappoint, least of all the new boss. Head down, crack on.
Using the Scotty principle, a beautiful figure is delivered to her inbox and desk simultaneously at 10 to 6. With her most impressed, I ask if there’s anything else she needs this evening because I’d quite like to head to the supermarket so I don’t have to keep eating out – of restaurants, get your mind out the gutter.
But jee-whiz. Israeli supermarkets are a bit like a Tesco local after there has been a fit of panic buying. Organised chaos is generous. A lot of vegetables that I don’t understand. Dry pasta. Bread. And a deli counter that as far as I could make out only sold chicken and feta cheese. But, it’s ok. I can live with the horrifically drab food. Even if this is the largest shop in the area. The others I’ve checked out see to be the resulting barsted child of a Spar, small studio apartment and beachside shanty. And I’ll tell you why it was ok. Oh the customer service! I’ve never before seen a till worker that flat out refuses to use her right hand (no, she wasn’t disabled cos she got the change with it) and made simple counting of coins look like a chore.
Still eating alone never gets boring.
It’s going to get better. I know it is. Just got to hang on in there through this first part.
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