November 18, 2011
By RONI CARYN RABIN
By RONI CARYN RABIN
New York Times
Read the full article on the New York Times website.
We were biking through the Jaffa flea market in southern Tel Aviv when we found ourselves in a narrow alley, threading our way past vintage clothing, stacks of Oriental rugs and a life-size neon likeness of Marilyn Monroe.
It was the eve of a holiday and the sidewalks were crowded with shoppers — uniformed soldiers on leave, families with children darting about. My 14-year-old had just missed knocking over a vendor selling jewelry. Then my friend Judy shrieked: a driver who had parked on the sidewalk started reversing out of his spot — just as three of our seven kids, riding on the sidewalk, approached on their bikes.
I was beginning to wonder whether this expedition was a wise idea, but an hour later, as we glided through downtown Tel Aviv on a broad, shaded sidewalk, I couldn’t imagine seeing this bustling, seaside metropolis any other way. We had quickly learned that a car is an albatross in traffic-snarled Tel Aviv. And for tourists, biking offers a more intimate glimpse of real life here.
For those who aren’t particularly athletic, the city is almost uniformly flat: You’re not likely to get anything approaching a cardiovascular workout if you stay in the city limits. But this is urban biking, and it takes some getting used to. While the city takes biking seriously — it recently implemented a self-service bike rental system similar to the Vélib’ system in Paris — the bike paths, which are either on double-wide sidewalks or on shaded lanes that run down the middle of the street, are a work in progress.
The system tends to break down along narrower streets and alleyways. In general, biking here involves a lot of stops and starts, all the better for close-up people watching or taking a break at a sidewalk cafe for a cafe hafuch, Israel’s creamy version of a latte that is unmatched anywhere, as far as I’m concerned.
On a recent visit, my family and I rented bicycles at a shop near our hotel, and over the course of three days, cycled along the beach, through residential areas and the business and cultural center. We also cycled north of the city on a trail that hugs the Mediterranean, stopping to sample artisanal cheeses and baked goods at the farmers’ market by the old port just north of the city, and then biked along Hayarkon Park’s 3.5 miles of jogging trails.
The morning we took the coastal route to Jaffa, the beach was quiet. There were no signs of the plastic chaise longues that had covered the sand the day before. We rode along the broad Tayelet boardwalk, the sound of our tires startling the pigeons off the walkway. On the vast public beach, the sand had been shaped into gentle scalloped peaks by the night winds. Two surfers in wetsuits were already wading into the blue Mediterranean with their boards.
We were biking through the Jaffa flea market in southern Tel Aviv when we found ourselves in a narrow alley, threading our way past vintage clothing, stacks of Oriental rugs and a life-size neon likeness of Marilyn Monroe.
It was the eve of a holiday and the sidewalks were crowded with shoppers — uniformed soldiers on leave, families with children darting about. My 14-year-old had just missed knocking over a vendor selling jewelry. Then my friend Judy shrieked: a driver who had parked on the sidewalk started reversing out of his spot — just as three of our seven kids, riding on the sidewalk, approached on their bikes.
I was beginning to wonder whether this expedition was a wise idea, but an hour later, as we glided through downtown Tel Aviv on a broad, shaded sidewalk, I couldn’t imagine seeing this bustling, seaside metropolis any other way. We had quickly learned that a car is an albatross in traffic-snarled Tel Aviv. And for tourists, biking offers a more intimate glimpse of real life here.
For those who aren’t particularly athletic, the city is almost uniformly flat: You’re not likely to get anything approaching a cardiovascular workout if you stay in the city limits. But this is urban biking, and it takes some getting used to. While the city takes biking seriously — it recently implemented a self-service bike rental system similar to the Vélib’ system in Paris — the bike paths, which are either on double-wide sidewalks or on shaded lanes that run down the middle of the street, are a work in progress.
The system tends to break down along narrower streets and alleyways. In general, biking here involves a lot of stops and starts, all the better for close-up people watching or taking a break at a sidewalk cafe for a cafe hafuch, Israel’s creamy version of a latte that is unmatched anywhere, as far as I’m concerned.
On a recent visit, my family and I rented bicycles at a shop near our hotel, and over the course of three days, cycled along the beach, through residential areas and the business and cultural center. We also cycled north of the city on a trail that hugs the Mediterranean, stopping to sample artisanal cheeses and baked goods at the farmers’ market by the old port just north of the city, and then biked along Hayarkon Park’s 3.5 miles of jogging trails.
The morning we took the coastal route to Jaffa, the beach was quiet. There were no signs of the plastic chaise longues that had covered the sand the day before. We rode along the broad Tayelet boardwalk, the sound of our tires startling the pigeons off the walkway. On the vast public beach, the sand had been shaped into gentle scalloped peaks by the night winds. Two surfers in wetsuits were already wading into the blue Mediterranean with their boards.
