Kav Imut, part 4

Sleepless in Tel Aviv: It is 03:30 here and I finally give up trying to sleep. Hot and sticky at the best of times, Tel Aviv turns into a sauna with today's heatwave. On the drive down, my car's air conditioning labors pathetically. It is like the dreaded Quality Triangle, only instead of choosing two from a menu of fast, cheap, or good, I get to pick one of AC, speed, or torque. I have visions of Jeremy Clarkson savaging my poor little Ignis on the track, all the while making nasty comparisons to a cement breadbox.

The drive down from Karmiel is relatively smooth until I hit the outskirts of Herzliya, just north of Tel Aviv. Here, traffic is snarled to a standstill, though that doesn't stop the intrepid Israeli driver (motivated more by testosterone than brains) from trying to ooze into the ten centimeters between two car bumbers. I scan the radio stations in hopes of hearing a traffic report, and am assaulted by a rap cover to Shlomo Artzi's Cham Yuli Ogust. Oh, this is so Not Right. Think 50 Cent doing a cover of the Carpenters. It is so wildly ludicrous that I giggle and forget the traffic jam (at least until the next knucklehead tries to merge into my back seat).

If you ever forget what a tiny corner of the earth we inhabit, just turn on the radio. Hebrew, Arabic, Russian, French, Amharic, and English (and every type of music imaginable) all jostle each other on the airwaves. It is quite common to pick up stations from Lebanon, Syria, and Jordan, and at certain times of the day, in certain areas, you can hear Greek and Turkish programming from Cyprus. When we go to visit Gill's father (who lives on a kibbutz near the Kinneret), our cell phones sometimes get confused and tell us that we are in Jordan.

The rap song segues into an old Dionne Warwick classic, leaving me once again nonplussed at the eclectic tastes of the Israeli DJ. Such a tiny piece of land, yet blessed with such vibrant variety.