Jaffa Kijk*

There's nothing new about January sun. Well, yes, it is a rare phenomenon and can seem like something new and unusual after weeks of dreich winter cold and grey skies, but really, January sun does exist, shy and retiring animal it seems to be, or for one thing we'd be hurtling through space on a frozen lump of rock and ice in our most basic, star-dust form, not really caring very much about the concept of sun, never mind the months of the year. What I've never experienced, however, is a January sun that brings a warmth of which a Scottish day in June might only dream. 

Winter sun. I've seen the phrase many times on shiny posters with photos of bronzed families soaking up tropical rays on exotic, white-sanded beaches, while slurping on overly-fruited, fluorescent cocktails richly festooned with paper umbrellas and bendy straws.

I've never been a fan of the concept, which I suspect won't come as a shock. I have enough trouble avoiding summer sun, red-headed, fair-skinned, burn-under-the-glare-of-a-60-watt-bulb Scot that I am, that trying to avoid it when I'm supposed to be wrapped up in layers of warmth, and, presumably, huddled under a straining umbrella, is a notion that goes against the very essence of my cold-blooded being!

Colour me slightly lobster then, when the planets aligned to the extent that some dear friends from college planned on being in their home country of Israel at the same time as each other and wondered if I'd like to join them for a week or two, see the sights, dispel some myths, and maybe make a little music together if we felt like it.

Winter sun. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I was more perturbed to have to cobble together a new summer wardrobe (because there's not much left that's serviceable, fits, and looks nice after a clear-out revolving around a somewhat teary realisation that all my favourite comfy summer clothes were all now way too big and looked ridiculous on), or you know, to have to contend with our western, terror-laden, perception of Israel. 

But this as this it the place that houses my meandering thoughts on my attempts to lose weight, I leave any ponderings along other lines to those who know more than I about the subjects!

My friends had family to visit and spend time with while we were there, so I used one of my spare days alone to partake of a good, long walk down from where I was staying near the Old Port in the north of Tel Aviv to the outskirts of Old Jaffa. It was, according to Google maps, just under eleven kilometres there and back, and even with a ‘cool' twenty degrees, I wasn't sure if I'd be overdoing it to contemplate anything more, especially as my planned route down the boardwalk than runs all the way down the beach-line from the Old Port of Tel Aviv to the Old Port of Jaffa would be buffeted by a brisk sea breeze, as well as beat upon by an already warm (for me) and bright sun. 

But never one for shying away from a good seaside jaunt, I donned my walking shoes (brought especially), applied lashings of factor 50 sunscreen (see note above about burning under low-level lighting), made sure I had the spare battery for my phone safely tucked away in my shoulder bag (because photos would happen), and set off, pausing about ten minutes in to catch a view of the boardwalk, shrouded in sea-spray a little further on, the marina in the middle distance, and Jaffa way, way off on the horizon.

I enjoyed the opportunity to revel in sights I'd never see at home, like stands of sheltering palms on the beach;

and stands of sheltering umbrellas on a boardwalk look-out point.

It's a lovely long walk, though in places somewhat damp, where waves crashing into the rocks sent their topmost curls onto the path, soaking both the walkway, and passers-by unaware that the path was wet in places for a very good reason.

It was quite fascinating watching the distant skyline of Jaffa slowly come into focus; almost with each passing step being able to discern more of the buildings and landmarks as they separated from each other into individual entities. My camera roll, before it was judiciously pruned, bears testament to this! Had I my wits about me before deleting them, it would have been interesting to make some kind of electronic flip-book of the (otherwise very similar and not altogether worth keeping on their own) photos from the last couple of kilometres leading up to Jaffa's Old Port. But, as usual, I continue to come up with good ideas only after the fact!

But then, suddenly, you're there, at the Port of Old Jaffa, the port from which Jonah embarked (according to the stories) for Tarshish before getting swallowed by the whale.

You'll notice that I didn't, as originally planned, turn back at the outskirts of Jaffa, because by the time I was in the mutual outskirts of the old and new cities I was already of the mind that seeing as I had just walked 5k to get this far, it would be ridiculous to turn back without seeing a little bit of one of the original settlements of the region. Not that there's much left of anything original, mind you, being habitually turned to rubble over the millennia, but I was drawn to the sheer historical weight of the place, and decided to walk on.

Yes, yes, and I was also drawn to the possibility of finding pretty doors. I admit it. I continued on in part to search out characterful portals. What can I say? I like doors. (They're all over on the companion blog to this one, which you can find by clicking on my profile picture.) I wasn't disappointed, either, and coming across a wall in the centre of the old city that was the resting place of several gorgeous specimens (just the doors; no doorways) reinforced my feeling that exploring the old place had been a good idea.

My PRESHUSSSS!!

I walked a little around the port, finding the Greek Orthodox Church of St Michael to be rather photogenic,

wandered around a little cliff-top garden that sported lovely Mediterranean views and interesting flora (I won't tell you how many photos of cacti, palms, and other exotic plants I only ever see in botanical hot-houses, I took whilst on my wanderings. It was like wandering into an IKEA megastore for the first time, having only ever seen their merchandise in captivity on a magazine page, then actually seeing them live in the wild of the showroom. Forgive the comparison.),

and found St Peter's Church near a lovely square full of cafés, jewellery boutiques and a visitors' centre, (and I realise that I didn't actually take a photo of the beautiful peach brick and white stone building, the bell tower of which can be seen for miles around, although I did capture the doors, so there's that?...).

It was then that I realised the rabbit warren of tiny streets called ‘Old Jaffa' on the map, wasn't a potentially run-down, possibly scary labyrinth in which to get lost, but a gentrified (and no doubt extremely expensive, property-wise) tourist-trap of an artists' colony, whose enclosed lanes, named after signs of the zodiac, contained art galleries, craft workshops, and picturesque views.

And just when I thought it was time to turn back to Tel Aviv, I came across a suspended Jaffa orange tree; Oranger Suspendu by Ran Morin, made of steel, artificial stone, and an orange tree. A final photo before I retraced my steps north and headed beach-ward once more to discover, after plotting my course on the map once I got back, that I'd walked over fourteen kilometres. It was worth every step to experience more of this complicated, beautiful, and fascinating country!

*Jaffa Kijk is an unashamed pun over two languages for which I perhaps apologise a little... Kijk means ‘look' in Dutch, and sounds like ‘cake'. If I wasn't so averse to littering my blog with emoticons, here would be the perfect place for a sideways wink!