21 August 2006

The last few days have been surprisingly relaxed, especially since I'm storing up my first encounters with Israeli bureaucracy – Bank, Absorption Ministry, Cell-phone plan – for the middle of the week. Perhaps foolish, but I have my reasons:

~I'm getting a grant in NIS to become an Israeli citizen, and would like to open a bank account with a large initial deposit in order to build a higher credit line
~I can't go to the Absorption Ministry or a cell-phone company until I have a bank account

I spent the morning at a local café, self-caffeinating and checking up on email and apartment listings. 10.00 on a Sunday with quiet fellow patrons and La Habanera from Bizet's Carmen being played makes one forget that today's a week-day. I've looked at two apartments so far – one around the corner and out of my price range, and another that defines the real estate world's use of "cozy" and "fixer-upper." I'm exaggerating a bit on the second apartment – it's in a desirable neighborhood (Nahlaot) and has a lot of patio space of my own – but it's a studio that's in serious need of fresh paint and new furniture. As care-free as I was with packing all my stuff into three suitcases, two carry-on bags, and five boxes of books (to be shipped), I felt an inner hesitation to condense all of that into this ground-level square studio that needs a lot of work (yet would be my own and look like my own). There are few things on a silver platter to be had here, but the vast remainder should still feel right.

The two friends, who picked me up at the airport and live in Tel Aviv, have an attitude equivalent to New Yorkers towards the rest of America (the World?). As such, they called this morning to check in on me and persuade me to move to Tel Aviv. While we gave each other suitable reasons for living in either city, I eventually made my way to the computer to check out listings in Tel Aviv. Turns out there are flats to be had within my budget. Even though it would entail a round-trip commute to Jerusalem each day I have classes – one-way starts from at least 1 hour – I'm not against the notion. I've moved half-way around the world, what's another 40-minute move?

This afternoon I checked out a series of apartments owned by one guy that are advertised constantly on a popular English listing. Despite the advertisements of satellite TV, DSL cable, and other "perks," the fact that these places were still on the market three months after I first saw them were an easy cause for apprehension. I'd describe these apartments on a practical level as bordering on hovels, and on a melodramatic level as the End of Humanity. These places were so depressing – narrow rooms suitable for itinerant workers and the unsavory characters described by Charles Dickens – and made me think I would never find any thing in this city-town. The last apartment I was shown on the tour, located in the middle of the shuk and yet surprisingly quiet, peaked my anxiety. The place was decent for being located on the fourth floor of a dimly lit walk-up with a money changer at the entrance: a separate area for the kitchen and washing machine, space for the satellite TV and desktop computer, and a lofted bed. I tried to believe that I could do better than this place I might have to settle on, jokingly referring to it as the Convent or Monk's cell.

After wandering the shuk and deciding to stay downtown before the viewing the next apartment on my list, I began paraphrasing Annette Benning's character in American Beauty in my head: "I will rent this apartment." I knew the next place had to be a step up, and resolved to do whatever it takes to make it mine. Catching a quick bite at Aroma, a JDS classmate saw me through the window and came in. Turns out she's been living in Israel with her boyfriend, going back to the States to make some money, and return as a fellow Immigrant in the winter. We also have the same birthday, so my bubbling neurosis led me to believe that my karma was some how back on track after seeing my Monk's Cell.

This town is obviously making me even more superstitious than normal, noticing the several black cats crossing my path on the way to see the apartment that I self-affirmed would be mine. Since I'm being superstitious, I'll wait to describe the apartment until after I meet with the owners, tomorrow evening. All I'll say is after a long walk back, a necessary shower, and a breeze infused with a distant bonfire (one of the best smells of Israel), I feel much better.

Stay tuned for the eventual apartment find and inevitable saga-like anecdotes of how I picked it.