Israel, how should I put it. Those past two and a half years in Denmark managed to wipe those memories.

In short, Israel is a country, whose existence is more or less on a limb as it is filled with a majority of Jews. The stress levels are somewhere between “extreme” and “insane”, the common language is Hebrew (with varying accents and vocabulary depending on socioeconomical status) and the common layman is a hardline fascist.

The weather was for a change something I can cope with. Not too bad at all, a slight breeze every now and then, 22°C more or less. To be honest, it’s rarely ever this great and during the summertime the heat is absolutely unbearable, often rising to 35°C or even 40 in some places. Life can be a bitch over in Israel without a proper A/C as my grandmother demonstrated - she’s got about 3 of them in her house.

The common Israeli person is a loud somewhat dark-skinned, short in European scales, has no sense of respect/manners/etc. and wears cloths with poorly phrased English slogans printed on them.

Last Thursday (I believe it was) I paid a visit to the post office to mail some postcards. I stood in what I thought was the line, and waited. Some old woman who could barely walk decided to cut me in line, ask how much some little notebook cost, pay for it, get the change back and leave all the while I was standing in line in front of her. I came there first, and she saw me there when she came, it was no mistake. But I mean, whatever, it’s just one person, right?

Along came a young trendy man with the usual marine-style haircut common around Israel. He stands right next to me and directs the clerk to bring him some sort of package, again, while I’m just there standing in line, or at least trying to. The clerk brought him that package, and gave him some tiny piece of paper to sign. So in other words, he was cooperating.

I eventually handed my postcards, he put some stamps on them, charged me 3 shekel or so (less than a dollar) and told me he’ll take care of them.

And I was there for only 10 minutes..

So now I’m here down with some sort of a disease which seems to affect my stomach for the most part. My back is killing me, because there’s hardly anywhere in here where I can actually sit, making it really hard to use my MacBook. But hey, at least I have an internet connection.

I can’t wait to come back to Denmark.

Seriously, this is some reasonably good advice. Don’t fly El-Al if you can help it. Why? Pretty simple. Overbooking.

With El-Al, you could find yourself trying to get on your flight only to realize that your flight is full. Yes, full. How does that make sense, I mean, you bought the ticket, right?

Wrong. El-Al sell more tickets than seats. They assume a certain amount of people will cancel their flights, which might not happen at all times. Which was more or less what happened to me.

I had to take an El-Al connection flight from Zürich to Tel-Aviv. The flight to Zürich was smooth, no food or anything, but at least the flight was smooth and the boarding went smoothly and professionally. An SAS flight from Copenhagen.

In contract, El-Al’s flight was absolutely, horrible. I was lucky to even actually get on the stupid flight. Oh, right, and their food absolutely sucked, I just refused it right away, same with their coffee and crap like that.

On the flight there were a whole lot of orthodox Jews. The kind that looks a lot like ZZ Top. Annoying little fellows who screw things up wherever they happen to be at the time.

Seriously, take my advice, avoid El-Al if you can.

I keep a log where I write down all my dreams. I haven’t actually published anything I wrote down in there, but, I saw this entry and thought I should publish it.

The following entry was written in the 1st of August, 2006.

I went to see my old house.

I passed through a bad neighborhood, and saw the burning of communist flags, and thought how bad they’re treated. (Afternote: I was passing through a pretty tough neighborhood.)

Then I got into the building, and told Judy (a person I never knew existed), who apparentaly was the guard who guarded the exit from the elevator and convinced her to let me go past her. I told her my name and she didn’t remember me. I got out of the building and got back, and she wasn’t there. Interesting, so I went to the right door, and listened. I heard my mom talking to some more people. When I opened the door, nothing. They weren’t there.