Wednesday, 5 November 2014

Dear Diary...Tuesday 17th December 1991. Numb.

7.30pm, nursing a large coffee and the after effects of cheap plonk at The Israel Museum.
And numb.

Thankyou, Bo, for lifting my mood this afternoon over red wine and crisps.
And for overseeing the babyfeet card, which probably shouldn't have been written with a wine fuzzled head.
The waffling expanded away from the straight lines...
As did Bo's walking when I waved her off at the hitching post.

Today is my last full day in Israel, fitting really that it should be Jerusalem.
But I'm numb to the core.
Each and every time I've come to Israel I've known I'd be back, but this time is different.
It feels so final.
And it wasn't meant to be like this.

Yesterday I left SdotYam.
My safety net.
Willie organised a brilliant farewell party the night before, where I broke my no drinking rule in truly shocking style, getting really drunk, and had a great time.
So many people were there, and then there were the ones who weren't, who we visited anyway!

A last walk on the beach, with Bo, Michael, four legged Jessica and I have no idea who the other two were, and a farewell coffee with the wonderful Yosi Seri. 
Max was passed out in my room - I had to prod her awake to say goodbye, then Bo, before waiting for my lift, and it was there, all alone with Jessica at my feet and the sun rising, that I broke down and cried.
It was tough.

Back in Jerusalem, after lugging an overflowing rucksack through the soggy back streets, The Jasmine was eerily silent.
Letting myself in, I was suddenly ankle deep in water, and it was deserted.
Best laid plans...
Luckily, the King George didn't require flippers, so I dumped my stuff, pocketed the card and, after wandering round aimlessly to put off the inevitable, I found myself at the door of the one place I knew I had to go.
Full of nerves, apprehension and the urge to run I eventually managed to knock the door.

And no-one answered.

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