Today I emerged out of self-isolation I left my parents' home to a sublet apartment in Tel Aviv. Finally, after a transatlantic flight, self-isolation and two tests, I could begin my vacation.
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I took the train to Tel Aviv. I even reserved a seat as if this was some rock concert. Yes, indeed the train has a theatrical feature to it most of the time. The scenes that change as the ride continues through my window, the people, looking at each other or walking in the car, make this feel like this was a movie documenting a journey.
This was not the case in my ride. Inside the car, I realized that I was alone. The car, which is usually bustling with activity and noise, had become a sterile box, a waiting room. I got captivated by the low-key view until finally, the train reached the Hagganna Train Station in Tel Aviv
I decided to walk to the apartment nearby despite the news being filled with reports on how this was a coronavirus-infested neighborhood. The area, which even without a pandemic looks like it was the place where people send the ills of society to die, had this eerie feeling of suspicion to it. The unseen people were even more transparent.
When I arrived in the open-air market there, there was finally some energy in the air. The street was bustling with vendors and shoppers, people were sitting on plastic chairs, drinking coffee and beer. This is the Tel Aviv I wanted: A fusion of hipsters and old merchants.
In the 15 years or so that have been living outside Israel, I have become used to being a tourist in my native land. In every visit back home, I go to a coffee shop to write and read, browse the shops and galleries, the street food stands and visit friends' apartments.
In the evenings I go to bars, restaurants and parties. Summer after summer I have seen Tel Aviv flourish and grow. This time, when I sat down one evening with a friend over beer, I realized that there was a feeling inside me that had been distilling for many days, with every walk on the street, with every meal at a restaurant, with every perusing of old books: I am the only tourist in town.
The pandemic has decimated tourism the world over. In New York, the disappearance of the throngs of tourists that clogged the city's grid has given the locals some space. The city, a melting pot of cultures, languages and food, and the epicenter of global civilization, has now become ours.
The newly opened space gives us the opportunity to experience this cosmopolitan city in its purest sense.
Meanwhile, tourist-empty Tel Aviv is much different. Part of its growth over the past several decades has been due to the low-cost flights from London to Paris.
The contemporary Tel Aviv culture is an effort to showcase the city to the tourists. The names of the stores are in English, despite being locally oriented. The fusion of Western and Middle Eastern atmosphere, an eggplant that is served as a narrative on close-far authenticity, a party that moves from hip hop to Greek music, shows that cosmopolitanism is a product.
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Tel Avivians, like train riders, are extras in this movie set showcasing this product. In this not-so-big city, without foreigners, everything is now local again.
The eggplant no longer carries a narrative, it is just an eggplant. I sit on the bar, and the barman turns to me as an acquaintance. The cosmopolitan metropolis has become a small city at the Western end of the East. Every bar becomes a neighborhood pub in this neighborhood called Tel Aviv.
