The sun sets on Tel Aviv turning the UFO terminal of Ben Gurion Airport a shade of gold. Like a Rothko, the blank blue recedes from teal to purple. Just hours ago, I shouldered my bags, tossed the keys on the puke-green counter top and closed the door on another chapter. It seemed appropriate that a junkie perched on my stairwell, staring out of his stench and cigarette-smoke, eyes bloodshot. We regarded each other for a few seconds before I walked past him and out onto the street without a backward glance.
At arriving at Ben Gurion, the usual Israeli Special - the Security Final-Round Do-or-Die Challenge interrogation. And of course it wouldn’t be a proper flight out of Israel without security confiscating the Issey Miyake Pour Homme that I’ve traveled the world with countless times.
Later, bags checked and sipping espresso, I realise it was on this auspicious date three years back that a pair of brown shoes and blue trousers receded from my vision as the roar of the JMZ swallowed me up to JKF and a Paris-bound flight. Three years later, I am on the oppose site of the world embarking on yet another mystery to France.
Except this time it’s not a beautiful face staring farewells, but the sound of Hebrew blaring for some chap to gate C08. I've come full circle, none the wiser and without housing, penniless and leaving the Middle East with a blank slate. However come what may, stay tuned for the next on all things grand. Yesterday is history, tomorrow a mystery.