Dearest Rachel –
It says something good about a hotel bed when you wake up in it thinking year at home in your own – although I think it may have had more to do with the ambient traffic noise that I’m so used to back there. It’s less complementary when you check the alarm, and realize it’s only 2:30 in the morning. Fortunately, our day of travel was exhausting enough that I can get back to sleep in fairly short order. We’re not even going to be here in Israel long enough to make up for the time difference (I’ve always heard it said that you need a day of rest for every hour of change you have to deal with – when you travel halfway around the world like this, that requires so many days as to make a trip like this impossible, or at least, not feasible), but the effect of the timing is such that we were all (apart from Daniel, who obviously needed his tub time) more than happy to fall into bed at what, to us, should have otherwise seemed like noon, and still have gotten a full night’s sleep.
And it’s not that my waking up at 2:30 is something for me to necessarily complain about. I am at that point in life when the words of Ecclesiastes 12 start to make a lot more sense; I get that line about waking up at birdsong, despite being thoroughly tired, even as I’m not as good as with my hearing as I’d like to be. When we were in line to check in with border control, there was a couple among us discussing which paperwork they needed; I don’t know what, specifically, the husband asked for, but for a brief moment, I thought he’d asked his wife whether she’d left the silverware on at home. That’s probably also a reminder for me not to eavesdrop on conversations, but it’s hard not to do when they’re within a foot or two from your ear. Then again, given that distance, I really should’ve been able to make out what they said.
In any event, the morning begins as mornings do, and have since the beginning of time, no matter where you are. The sun comes up, strikes you in the face with a beam or two, and you get up to clean yourself off (and wake yourself up) as you need to in order to begin – and take a look at – the day.
Of course, the devil, as the cliché goes, is in the details. The alarm app on my phone, unlike our first visit (when keeping it on would drain the internal battery), actually worked – not that I needed it, having woken for good at five minutes to six, so that’s good for a start. The ‘double’ bed in my room is actually two singles pushed together, and the covers open up in the middle, forcing you to roll toward each other. That’s all well and good for married couples, I suppose, and particularly for those on honeymoon (and with the long beachfront outside, this is an ideal spot for one of those), but it’s not exactly something I’m accustomed to – nor is it anything I need. The secondary bathroom is positively claustrophobic – I bump into the faucet some three times, turning off the shower each time, and the rest of the room is barely larger than that – just enough to turn around in. You probably don’t remember this, because we were using the bathroom attached to the master bedroom when we were here last time.
Fortunately, all my knocking about is enough to wake Daniel; while I did poke my head into his bedroom as I was on the way to shower, I didn’t expect any particular result of it. We have fifteen minutes to get ourselves together, in order to get ourselves breakfast before heading out.
One bit of confusion we deal with in trying to get to breakfast; while I recall us eating in a dining hall just beneath the lobby when we were here last time, the room was still under construction at the time. This time around, I thought the guide had instructed us to meet on the ‘eighth’ floor to eat. But when we (and one other member of our group) attempt to go there, we find nothing more than another floor with other rooms on it. What is the deal here?
Turns out, we misheard her. The restaurant is actually on floor ‘A’, not ‘8’. What sort of place numbers its floors with letters?
Anyway, we manage to make our way there, regardless – and it’s not like we’re the last ones here, either. Plenty of tables are still empty, in fact, and the selection is just being laid out. I encourage Daniel to ‘eat like you’re at Meema and Poppa’s,’ since he’ll need the energy for today; it’s one thing to only eat a single meal when you’re neither doing anything nor going anywhere, but today (and the next week) will be a vastly different experience. I also recommend that he brush his teeth before we clear out from our hotel; it’s a routine I’ve not made much effort to enforce upon him much, preferring to leave him to his own devices at home. But as long as we’re going to be more regimented anyway on this trip, I might as well add a few more decent habits (or at least ensure he keeps up with them) while I can. It can’t hurt.
Obviously, this means we’re going to barely make the bus, so I’ll have to leave you at that. I’ll contact you later today, honey. Until then, keep an eye on us, and wish us luck; we’re going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 