Frolog and I always seem to gravitate to beaches when we're travelling. Given his Francophone difficulty in differentiating between 'beach' and ''b%#&ch', this is never boring. So this time we decided to go to a place on the Mediterranean coast, more low-key than the crowded resort towns. Kind of cute. Seemed very popular among middle-class Israeli families. At first we had some trouble ordering food, since nobody spoke English at the first 3 places we went. In fact they didn't speak any language at all other than Hebrew. Several places in Israel I found that quite puzzling: meeting young people who look outwardly very 'globalised' / 'modern', and who're reasonably well-educated, who've never learned any other language - not Arabic to speak with their neighbours within and outside the country, and not English to speak to anyone else either. What would they do if they ever wanted to go outside this little strip of land? Or just talk to someone from the neighbouring suburb? At the same time the Palestinians I met, who in outward appearance looked very different from 'us', all spoke English.
Anyway. When we finally found a place where we could communicate, I had the best Chicken Caesar salad I can remember eating. And I don't even like eating at beaches - that's Frolog's thing. I always feel the sand gets in my food - was overexposed to beach lunches as a child I guess.
So here I am, after 2 consecutive Chicken Caesar Salads al Michmoret, looking like that drawing in
Le Petit Prince - you know, the one of the snake who'd just eaten an elephant:
1 comment:
Thanks for writing this.
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