Eilat.
January 14th, 2007 by chris
When I was getting songs for my “Israel Trip 2007″ soundtrack, I searched “Eilat” on the iTunes store. I came up with one song by a jam band with a stupid fucking hippie name like “The Zen Rapscallions” or “Buddha’s Jesters” or “The Tao of Jimmy Buffett.” It was, as far as I could make out, about a lesbian relationship that failed because one of the women valued wealth over the relationship, or something. It wasn’t about Eilat, the guy just kind of said “Eilat” once, at random, in the middle of the song. So I went to Eilat the other day. I originally meant to go on to Petra, but for various reasons I decided not to, with the result that I just kind of… hung around in Eilat for about twenty-six hours. The highlights:
- The airport is on the road… like, RIGHT THERE ON THE ROAD. You could stand on a bench and throw a peach pit and probably hit a plane.
- All of the signs are in Russian, except for the ads, which are in French.
- Like many cities, Eilat has a “hey, don’t just let your dog poop anywhere” sign campaign. Like no other city, Eilat has entrusted the creation of these signs to someone who is either unskilled at photoediting or has no familiarity with common breeds of dog. The result of this is signs featuring a GARGANTUAN Boston Terrier*. Seriously, the dog on these signs could eat a breed-standard Boston witout batting an eye.
- Seriously. Russians. Ev-a-rywhere.
- Almost no one was in the actual water. An enormous number of people were sitting around near it, some were even looking at it, but I probably saw ten people in it.
- There are road signs that just say “Egypt” and “Jordan” with an arrow.
- Apparently you can see Saudi Arabia from the seashore? So, I focused on the farthest hills I could see in that direction, and I had fun. YOU HEAR ME, SAUDI ARABIA? I LOOKED AT YOU AND HAD FUN, AND THERE’S NOTHING YOU AND YOUR METEORITE AND YOUR SAGGY, INBRED “ROYAL” FAMILY CAN DO ABOUT IT!
- They have an underwater restaurant! The fish watch you eat! Disinterestedly, but still! I spent a few hours talking to the owner’s daughter, which was very pleasant in its own right and also got me some free beer. It was an interesting conversation because she learned English in school and isn’t really quite fluent, but she still said “fuck” all the time. Also, they have portholes over the urinals so you can look at the water as you make water, which is fun in a “someone in a passing boat can tell I’m holding my stuff” kind of way.
- Oh, sweet merciful heaven, the bathroom at the bus station. You have to go outside, follow signs around the building, go downstairs through a broken turnstile, and then… look, human anatomy as I understand it precludes what I saw getting where it was from a standard posture.
- The Bus Back: In front of me are an Arab couple whose phone incessantly rings. Behind me is a Latin American man who keeps pushing the back of my seat. Catty-corner across the aisle is a terrified-looking Asian woman. Directly across from me are two thirteen-ish girls and a five-year-old boy, unchaperoned, who keep, keep listening to Fergie songs on their phone.
Oh, Eilat.
*Now, I love Bostons. I had one when I was growing up, and she was without a doubt the stupidest thing I have ever loved. (Loved, not gotten drunk and hooked up with.) You see, Bostons have a genetic bear-trap that’s activated when they get too inbred. If two Bostons that are too closely related are bred, the puppies’ skulls will close too early, and their brains don’t have enough time to grow, and so they are just amazingly dumb. Mine used to run into the wall, and also when it rained would go stand in the middle of the yard and bark and howl at the sky, as though she were remonstrating with God. Anyway, can you imagine an army of those enormous Bostons? Especially if covered in armor, and genetically tweaked so that they breathed fire? We could have Syria cleaned out in one bloody, adorable week!
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