Have you ever been in an epic romance?  You know, one of those this-could-be-a-movie, globe-trotting, camera-spinning, montage-with-beach-shots-as-a-pop-track-swells romances?

I have.

Let me tell you how that little story concludes:  You end up on a plane, headed to a foreign country, by yourself.  Not just any country, but Israel: Terrorism Capitol of the World™. 

Various scenarios race through your mind as the plane ascends into the heavens; situations that you might end up in.  There's the you-become-a-blood-stain-on-the sidewalk-after-a-cafe-bombing nightmare and of course there’s the your-face-plastered-on-CNN-during-a-hostage-situation crisis. 

As the jet engines roared, and my back pressed into the thin plastic airplane seat, none of these seemed quite as likely though as the-plane-breaks-up-over-the-Atlantic-Ocean-Final-Destination opus.  But I digress.  After all, I was traveling across the globe to a country that speaks a language that I didn't speak and where the local population hates everyone who's religion is different than their own.  It was the land with monuments to every religion, the land of “holy sh#t.” Or so I had been told. 

Supposedly it was also a "world-class-gay-tourist destination.”

These were my preconceived notions of Israel as an ill-informed American.

Naturally, I threw up. 

Twice.

---

Following

a plane ride of semi-edible food, general nausea, Twilight-as-entertainment, and Ambien induced sleep, I arrived somewhat groggy in Tel Aviv.   It was around three in the afternoon, warm, sunny, and in the mid sixties; a vast improvement over the rainy weather I had left behind in DC.

Hailing a cab I ventured into the city to my hotel, which turned out to be located a block from the beach.  The boutique hotel, ArtPlus, was quite nice and well designed.  Modern art hung in the halls and was in every room.  They even had an evening happy hour with Israeli wine and local snacks, which after my 13 hour flight, I'll admit I indulged in.

Slightly intoxicated I made my way down to the beach promenade where the sun was setting.  Walking along the shore  I came upon an old fishing dock where an impromptu drum circle had been set up.  Amongst the musicians a few belly dancers swayed to the music and a few jugglers tossed torches to the beat.  The crowd, made up of surfers, locals

, and tourists clapped along and cheered.  As the music reached its crescendo and the sun dipped beneath the waves a sense of calm washed over me.  Somehow I knew that this trip, the trip that had initially filled me with so much dread and uncertainty, was going to be eight days of unforgettable adventure, and that this explosion of culture on the beach was merely an amuse-bouche.

Morning was only a few short hours away.  Adrenaline pumped in my veins as the ocean roared in to the shore.

I couldn’t wait for the adventure to begin.