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Rehovot at eight o'clock on a Friday morning is exciting
"SHTAH-yeem ba-BO-ker." "Two o'clock A.M."
Jet lag offers people like me, who would otherwise prefer to greet the morning after 10 a.m. via a mug of coffee and the mere hum of a BBC broadcast, a valuable glimpse into another world...if only for the two or three hours between naps.
Rehovot at eight o'clock on a Friday morning is exciting: people walk around upright, unread papers tucked under their arms; trays of pastries cool in the winter air; on the corner of Herzl Street and Geula Street, a trio of musicians plays accordion and violin music and sings Yiddish songs. The sun isn't yet over the buildings, and last night's rain still glitters on the street.
You can grab the best seat in the cafe, hot baguettes in the store, finish any errands that need to be done before Shabbat closes everything, and sit back with the paper while the rest of the world staggers out and slowly begins to crowd downtown. You can gloat over a cappuccino at having outwitted all of those drowsy, sleep-wrinkled Rehovot residents just beginning to start their weekend grocery shopping.
However, by ten a.m., you'll feel like lunch, and by two p.m., you'll be popping chocolate-covered espresso beans by the handful, in the fervent hopes of fighting off yet another nap. By midafternoon, jet lag can turn quite reasonable adults into whiny, irascible toddlers.
At this point, my body clock resembles nothing so much as a disco ball. Am I on Denver time? Frankfurt time? Should I just give up and embrace the morning-person lifestyle, and write off any mental activity after four in the afternoon..."
Source: Erin Israel. Rehovot.Blogspot.com (8 January 2006) [FullText]
Jet lag offers people like me, who would otherwise prefer to greet the morning after 10 a.m. via a mug of coffee and the mere hum of a BBC broadcast, a valuable glimpse into another world...if only for the two or three hours between naps.
Rehovot at eight o'clock on a Friday morning is exciting: people walk around upright, unread papers tucked under their arms; trays of pastries cool in the winter air; on the corner of Herzl Street and Geula Street, a trio of musicians plays accordion and violin music and sings Yiddish songs. The sun isn't yet over the buildings, and last night's rain still glitters on the street.
You can grab the best seat in the cafe, hot baguettes in the store, finish any errands that need to be done before Shabbat closes everything, and sit back with the paper while the rest of the world staggers out and slowly begins to crowd downtown. You can gloat over a cappuccino at having outwitted all of those drowsy, sleep-wrinkled Rehovot residents just beginning to start their weekend grocery shopping.
However, by ten a.m., you'll feel like lunch, and by two p.m., you'll be popping chocolate-covered espresso beans by the handful, in the fervent hopes of fighting off yet another nap. By midafternoon, jet lag can turn quite reasonable adults into whiny, irascible toddlers.
At this point, my body clock resembles nothing so much as a disco ball. Am I on Denver time? Frankfurt time? Should I just give up and embrace the morning-person lifestyle, and write off any mental activity after four in the afternoon..."
Source: Erin Israel. Rehovot.Blogspot.com (8 January 2006) [FullText]
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