Shervs said Tel Aviv reminded him of Baz Luhrmann's Verona.
Tel Aviv is dilapidated and grimey, but lively and nook and cranny-ish.
This cafe was my favourite. It was completely riddled with books. Albeit in Hebrew. But it didnt matter, cos only their spines were showing and we were too tired to read anyway.
I drank a very gross tap-water mint tea, with a whole sprig of fresh mint in it. Mint tea is my least favourite Israeli beverage, but i needed to catalyse my digestion of the death-by-sushi-train we had just before. Shervs had an iced coffee. We talked about getting a pastry, but didnt.
Five 13 year old-looking girls sat at a low coffee table behind us with art books about them, giggling over their phones.
Some older men, mostly in jeans and brown leather shoes, sat around small round tables in the room next to us, their legs crossed, elbow on knee, hand under chin, in that contemplative pose people do. They had thicker, more tattered, and less colourful books by them. One man in a forest green velvet blazer smoked out the window.
Young punk kids with skateboards casually walked in and out for the whole 2 or 3 hours we were there.
We outstayed the 13 year olds, but not the old men.