Stranger among us
London visit proved to Tali Farkash that Brits are not necessarily much better than Israelis
To be honest, I thought that some time off from Israel would do me good. I liked the idea of "complete anonymity" that a huge metropolis like London can offer. You can stand next to someone in the Tube, without knowing anything about him. As long as he doesn't say anything, you can't even tell whether he's a local or a tourist, because in 2007, the Brits come in all shapes and colors.
My first three days in the capital went by in utter admiration of everything I saw. "They are so polite, we have so much to learn," I told my husband with an old aunt's righteousness. I marveled at the incredible order and cleanliness in all the tourist sites, and discovered that even the security checks we know so well can become a bearable experience in their British form.
But within a few days, the enthusiasm subsided. Perhaps it was time taking its course, or the strict, dull kosher menu I've resorted to that began affecting my feelings.
Bubble burst
On the following day, the bubble finally burst. While me and my spouse were quietly cruising one of the castles, I lauded, as usual, the British superiority and their wonderful toddlers. "Look how quiet they are," I whispered in his ear, "what fine education they're getting. Our kid would have started running around and trying to sit on the royal throne by now."
Before I even finished my sentence, Her majesty's little subject dropped himself on the wooden floor and started screaming in a polished British accent that he wanted a sword like the guy in the picture (a 15th-century count) was holding. All attempts to promise him a similar sword from the gift shop at the entrance failed. "Look at those little English with their perfect upbringing," my partner winked at me.
What can I say? I started missing Israel. Those perfect people I so adored suddenly seemed like human robots, the busses too red and the prices too steep. I switched sides, rediscovered my long-lost patriotism, even stopped for a chat with the Indian clerk at the hotel's reception desk. I told him how Israel was the best and that the Foreign Ministry was simply doing a poor job. Two hours later, I met my first Israelis in London.
Posing as a French tourist
In the 20 minutes I spent next to them (they thought I was a French tourist and I made no effort to correct them), they picked rare flowers, scared the geese out from the lake, entered a hedge maze and screamed their way out of it.- "Shimon, it's so scary here, didn't they think people could get lost, the idiots?"
- "Don't use the word 'idiots,' it's an international curse.
- "Is 'imbeciles' okay?" she screams back at him.
- "Yes, I think I see the exit. Worst comes to worst we can go through the hedges, they'll grow back anyway. Say Esther, do you remember where the house with all the fat ladies' paintings is?"
- "I couldn’t understand a word that oaf at the entrance was saying, maybe we can ask the French tourist here."
As the French tourist (that's me) heard this, she fled from the place to Golders Green to have a decent meal and relax a bit. Shortly after dessert I came to the not-very-brilliant conclusion that Brits are great, but Israelis are too. Big time.
