Of monks and men

Growing up in a city like Bombay your awareness of smaller, more distant regions and cultures isn't exactly acute. I was aware there was a place called Sikkim, and a kingdom called Bhutan, and I'd been to Nepal - but I had little understanding of those people's cultures - their similarities to and differences from what I considered 'Indian.' So obviously, this trip was much needed. History textbooks in school made me aware that there was this princely chap called Siddharth, and then there was big thing called Buddhism, and that while it was born in India, it wasn't really en vogue anymore.

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To the promised land shall go I

Food served on an American airline must surely be the absolute worst form that food preparation by the human race has ever taken. Being on a rather old 747 with no in-flight TV doesn't make said food go down any easier either. (Shhh, Delta, you listening, you big lugs?) But thanks to some very high quality company, the journey wasn't anywhere near as bad as it could have been.

Louise and Do at an eat place in JFK

Fast forward several hours and I'm at Ben Gurion international airport outside Tel Aviv. And it is a damn good looking airport. Wouldn't mind being stuck here for a bit. Of course, I got singled out by some security-type dude and asked five questions on what the hell I was doing in Israel. But several overly sincere answers from me later, the guy clearly lost interest and let me go on my way. Customs/immigration was a breeze, and suddenly there I was - free to walk into Tel Aviv. (Suckers :) )

Our hotel was in the quaint Yemenite area of Tel Aviv - an absolute maze of very narrow cobbled streets that look pretty much the same. Hats off to our spiritual tour guides Shany & Rafi for putting together a great list of Tel Aviv restaurants, for the very first place on that list that we hit was phenomenal.

If you go to Israel and want to take even the slightest break from hummus, you must go to Nanuchka, a Georgian restaurant on Lillenblum, just a block off of the south end of Rothschild. Georgian food, where have you been all my life!? The starter plate with eggplant (in various forms), bean salad, mango salad, grape leaves and other good stuff is kind of to die for. And so is the lamb with fresh taragon. And the blackened chicken with pomegranate that Louise seems to be disinterested in - also very good. Oh and some great Georgian wine. Sweet, but with a nice, thick edge that will please even the most sweet-averse pallete.

And so, tired, but highly content with the meal and our first evening in Tel Aviv, we returned to our tiny little pseudo-hotel, and rested our bones.