My excitement was reaching fever pitch. I was going to Israel, the Biblical land of milk and honey. On my own.
The Husband dropped me off to the airport: "Look, I think they're going to Tel Aviv as well."; he pointed in general direction of an Orthodox Jewish family rushing through the airport building.
"God, you're so presumptious. They might be going on a family holiday to Malaga."; I dismissed him.
The Orthodox Jewish family took their places at Tel Aviv boarding gate.
"Oh, they're not going to Malaga after all."; I was mildly disappointed.
I looked around. There were Orthodox Jews everywhere. Some of the men got up to pray and were busy readying themselves with great seriousness. They were wrapping what looked like high performance bands (Tefillin Shel Yad) around their arms and placing what looked like Go-Pro cameras (Tefillin) on their heads. Jewish praying was clearly a high intensity sport.
I was strangely soothed by presence of that many pious, religious people. The plane was unlikely to go down with quite that many believers on board.
I could truly relax...
Halfway to our destination, the air hostess got up and announced that back galley is now open for prayers. As if on cue, the entire Orthodox male contingent got up, put their long black coats and hats on, wrapped themselves in scarves, took their "athletic" equipment and occupied the back galley. They were rocking back and forth and praying. The terrible and extremely curious human being that I am, I rotated my body for 180 degrees, craned my neck and STARED!
The rest of the flight passed uneventfully. Mostly because I was asleep.
Upon arrival to Tel Aviv, a stern immigration official enquired about the purpose of my visit.
"I came for the wedding, bruv! JEWISH wedding!!"; I said.
He changed his demeanour, smiled and waved me through: "Enjoy!"
I breathed in the fragrant Mediterranean air and thought to myself: "Tel Aviv, this is going to be awesome!"