It's surprising what you bring back from your travels. For years now our fridge freezer has become adorned with fridge magnets from all over the globe - ceramic remembrances of work trips and holidays, adventures big and small - and our walls and cabinets have art and ornaments of varying size and merit. However it seems I brought back something altogether more insidious from a trip to Sicily, something that will cause havoc in the days to come.
Having just spent 8 days on holiday, we’ve flown back to London’s City Airport from Palermo and had only a few hours' sleep in our own bed before I kiss Coman goodbye in the wee small hours and make my way to Heathrow for this trip to Israel. I may be tired but I’m blissfully unaware that lurking in my ear is an infection picked up from the swimming pool at the place we've just been staying at... and with not a clue what disruption that will cause.
A view of Tel Aviv
I meet Kerrang's James Hickie at Terminal 5 and we have breakfast in the BA lounge, before I fall fast asleep on the flight to Ben Gurion Airport, landing bang on 3pm. Our immigration process is smooth with entry cards issued rather than passport stamps and our driver waiting as planned, leading us out of Arrivals past a giant menorah, to deliver us to the Embassy Hotel, the radio playing 'Would' by Alice In Chains as we wind through Tel Aviv's streets. He's oblivious to the tune, but we take it as a good omen for the next few days.
As its moniker suggests, our hotel is right next to the US Embassy in Tel Aviv, much in the news recently due to Trump's decision to relocate it to Jerusalem. It's still very much a working affair though, judging by the queues of people outside each day, and our driver jokes that we're in the safest part of town.
In fact, Tel Aviv feels completely safe; a hedonistic, relaxed, feel-good city full of fitness freaks and foodies, holiday-makers and stoners, super-hot models and happy families. It's like a cross between Rio, LA and Miami with a touch of the Middle East creeping in as you venture south towards Jaffa.
Promenade
This mixing pot is on display as James and I stroll along that Schlomo Lahat Promenade after check in, soaking up the ambience of this tropical, sweltering evening. The manicured beaches, with breakers out to sea creating circular bays and perfect waves, are golden and inviting with clear blue water crashing into shore. Everywhere people are living an alfresco vida loca, jogging and playing volleyball, using the outdoor gyms, swimming and surfing or racing past on electric bikes and scooters down the well-thought out cycle lanes.
The beach-ready women and half naked men, all tops off and pecs out, are as tantalising as the landscape and despite my now sun-kissed Italian complexion brought on from days of yoga and swimming in our Sicilian villa, neither James nor I can compete with the bodies-beautiful on display. Rainbow flags flutter and as we wander further along, the inclusivity of this Mediterranean playground becomes ever more evident with Orthodox Jews and hijab-wearing Muslims happily splashing around or eating and drinking amongst the heavily secular, wildly diverse population.
Beachfront Tel Aviv
We walk through Charles Clore Park towards the old city of Jaffa which has stood for 3200 years, the only City in Israel never to have been destroyed. For millennia it remained the closest port to Jerusalem so each new conqueror needed to keep it functioning, preserving it through generations, and it was populated far more by Greeks, Romans and Arabs than Jews, as - I later learn - the Jewish people have traditionally not been a great sea-faring nation.
With its clock tower proving a focal point for entry it boasts ancient winding streets, a famed flea market, a church dedicated to St Peter who first started preaching Christianity here, spectacular views of modern Tel Aviv and some of the funkiest restaurants in the city. We follow the curve of the sea round through the old port area, stopping for a few beers on the marina as the sun starts to set before walking up into the old town.
Stopping in the dusky light in the main square, we snap photos of the views and explore the Ramses Gate, Wishing Bridge and the gardens of Abrasha Park before descending towards the flea market and the gorgeous little area of bars and restaurants, starting to twinkle prettily with fairy lights as chilled beats play out.
Jaffa
We choose a place called Onza, buzzy and cool, with tables filling up outside. We're told the tables on the street are all fully booked but they can seat us at the bar, so we opt for that having checked out the menu, which looks suitably cool for vegetarians. Being a firm fan of Ottolenghi, I've been looking forward to diving into proper Israeli cuisine for years. In fact my first ever taste of a falafel was from a street stall in Jerusalem when I paid a fleeting visit to Israel in the late '90s for a wedding so the chance to come back for a work trip is most welcome, especially for the food!
Onza doesn't disappoint. We have tapas style baba ganoush with pistachios, a fried cauliflower and almond salad, with the ubiquitous tahini that adorns almost every dish, along with juicy olives and a vegan pide; a flatbread with peppers, sweet potato, beetroot, broccoli and pomegranate. It's all utterly delicious, especially washed down with a South African sauvignon blanc.
Our walk back along the seafront is hot and humid and by the time we make it to the hotel all thoughts of a nightcap have been put to one side. It's been a long, long day and we're ready for bed!
