Time is passing and I’m finding it harder and harder to keep my spirits up. Like everyone else, Corona is taking its toll on me and the effects are not pleasant - I’m grouchy, impatient and generally feeling lethargic. With no way of travelling (the thing I love to do most in the world) it’s easy to fall into a rut, and even with the freeloance work I’ve luckily managed to pick up, the days are taking on a ‘same-same’ quality.
Whilst the weather stays good - and it is one of the great benefits of Mediterranean living that Tel Aviv winters are notoriously mild and often very sunny - I’m trying to keep my spirits up with walks on the beach. I live so close to the sea that most people are amazed I’m not there on a daily basis. But it’s like everything - when you have it in abundance. you begn to take it for granted.
I’m trying not to though, and after the relentless heat of the summer months (which began in June and only abated at the end of October) the days are pleasant now, and wandering the streets (or shores) of Tel Aviv is a great pleasure. Within a few minutes walk from my door is a promenade that stretches for kilometres - both north and south, with sandy beaches, work-out areas (for those who are missing the routine of the gym), surfing spots and built-in seating.
What caught my eye on my last walk, however, were the yoga classes taking place next to the Marina, a lovely area not far from me that is usually packed with swimmers, surfers, cafe-goers and bikers—. It’s much quieter than normal, because there are no tourists in Israel now, but in a time of extreme uncertainty and anxiety, the yoga lovers have not abandoned their classes and this week I stumbled upon them.
Tel Aviv’s a city notorious for healthy living people - they love to jog on the beach, swim - come rain or shine - in the sea, stroll on the promenade and dance at the weekly Israeli folk-song group each Shabbat morning (actually a great thing to witness if you’re a tourist) Yoga is no different - whether at home, in a studio class or down by the shores of the Mediterranean, it’s not hard to stumble upon yogies.
Amd that’s the thing about Corona, as a friend of mine remarked. a while ago - it’s helped us see things we wouldn’t otherwise see (or at least take the time to see). Normally, I’d walk past groups like this, on a stroll, without paying too much attention. Now, with less to do and fewer places to be, it’s easier to stop and stare - and take pleasure at seeing them immersed in bending and stretching, all the while bearing Zen expressions upon their faces.
I’ve never tried yoga (either I’m too lazy or too neurotic) but I’ve thought about it and wondered if I should take it up, to help my posture as well as my current mood. But just sitting quietly, looking at these yogies enjoying themselves, has lifted my mood. For some time, then, I sit by the marina, quietly watching them go through their poses, and as the minutes pass, I begin looking at their background surroundings too.
I’ve lived in Tel Aviv over a decade now and yet I’ve never once noticed these strange mushroom-shaped palm trees in front of which one of the several groups has gathered. They are so odd, so unusual…I’ve travelled the world and I’ve never - to the best of my knowledge - seen trees like that. Has it actually taken a global pandemic to make me observant again…observant in the way I am when I’m off in far-flung climes, seeing things that I expect to be unusual, merely because I’m travelling instead of on my own doorstep?
I sit by the marina, watching different groups go through leg stretches, dog bends and warrior poses and let my mind drift. I hear the waves lapping gently on the sides of the wooden harbour. I stare up at the fluffy grey clouds, juxtapositioned against a pink sky. I cast my mind back to pre-Corona days, when I’d spend a lot more time in cafes, surrounded by the buzz of conversation, whilst I read or worked or just soaked up the atmosphere of city life. Of course, I am still in the city - it’s just that city life isn’t quite what it used to be.
Corona has been so hard on all of us - it’s a medical, economic and social crisis of a magnitude we can’t even begin to comprehend. Who knows what’s coming in the months to come? In the past, I had many plans. Now, I don’t think ahead more than 48 hours. The idea of returning to my local coffee shop and sitting there, either next to a stranger or with a friend, seems too far in the distance to think about. And yet, sitting here by the water, watching people bend and stretch, I feel a moment of calmness. A moment, mind you. But in times like these, maybe the tiniest moment of calm is something to be grateful for.