Chapter 43: Tel Aviv-London-Cascais: Karma with a broken GPS / Part 1
Okay, friends, hold on to your glasses, because the Tinderland roller coaster just broke its own speed record, and this time I'm not even sure I have a seatbelt on.
Anyone who follows my blog and my app stories already knows very well that these journeys usually don't end with the realization of romantic fantasies, but with a colossal crash right on the head. We've seen it all. Scammers, bores, philosophers on a dime, and particularly strange types. But the next story? The next story was probably written by a Hollywood screenwriter about ecstasy.
It all started, as always, with an app. This time, Bumble.
I'm sitting here, in magical Cascais, Portugal, enjoying the ocean breeze, and suddenly a profile appears. A man, 60 years old, a kibbutznik. Masculine, handsome in a way that makes you do a double-take at the screen, and he looks exactly, but exactly, like those men from the pictures I always imagine in my head.
How does a kibbutznik end up on my Bumble in Portugal? Very simple: karma, or in its modern name, faulty GPS. The guy was on vacation in some European country, the app's virtual mileage decided we were neighbors, and boom. Match.
From the moment the connection was established, my phone simply refused to calm down. Two days of non-stop talking. Okay, when I say "talking," I mean I write three-story scrolls, and he? Short. Very short. The guy doesn't believe in unnecessary words on WhatsApp. He's a kind of Israeli Clint Eastwood, sending one sentence, even that with great difficulty.
I discovered a few details about him that made me think he was a character from a book:
He lives on a kibbutz, but make no mistake, he is not a shepherd. His job is interesting, but I can't share it, we will maintain his privacy, but in the central region (yes, I also immediately imagined a Netflix movie, relax).
Hobbies? Riding a motorcycle, listening to rock-blues from the past (Peter Green, Fleetwood Mac, stuff with dirty electric guitars that makes you want to wear a leather jacket), and declaring that he likes "old-time kibbutzniks." Me? Listen, I'm starting to believe that I really belong in this category...
In short, after two days of intensity, the guy returns to Israel. The next day he's already at work. Routine, right? Hahaha, you made the gods of Tinderland laugh.
The medical equipment and the crazy plan
In the middle of the workday, Ben sends me a sudden message. Suddenly, a friend approached him, who was stuck and urgently needed to transport some medical equipment to London this coming Thursday. The friend asked him if he could make this gesture, take the equipment and fly in his place. Ben, without thinking twice, simply agreed and went alone. As spontaneous as possible.
I read that he's on the plane to London, look at the map, and something in my brain (the romantic? the crazy? you choose) lights up. London is right here, isn't it?
With typical Yael impulsiveness, I send him: "Say, if you're already in London... why don't you stop here in Cascais for two days on the way back?"
He answers me: "Checking" (I told you, short in writing).
A few hours pass. The tension is killing me. I can already imagine him telling me, "Leave it, it's complicated with the flights."
Then comes the update. And it's psychotic. Absolutely. "I closed. Coming to you on Sunday. For 3 days."
So I'll go to bed with Margarita.
Friends, it's coming. It's really coming! The man gets on a flight, lands in a country he never planned to visit, to see a woman he's never met face to face! It's the craziest, most spontaneous, and most exciting thing I could have imagined.
Of course, I was immediately struck by a slight anxiety, and I asked him the question of the questions: "Tell me... what would happen if we met and you got pissed off?" His answer made me fall in love with him a little more, or at least understand who I was dealing with. He wrote to me:
"Then I'll fuck you back, and go sleep with Margarita..." 😝 There's nothing to say, the guy has attitude.
The last minutes of silence
And now we have reached real time.
Sunday, it's now afternoon. My heart is beating at two hundred and fifty kilometers per hour.
My cell phone just vibrated. A message from Ben: I landed. Leaving the airport on my way to you in Cascais. He's in a taxi. He's on his way. In less than half an hour, the character from the profile, the maintenance man from the central region who loves the blues and motorcycles, is going to stand in front of me in the flesh for 3 days of fantasy or glorious crash (in the best tradition of the blog).
I'm wearing something that holds the passon, the heart in the throat, and the speakers at home are playing Peter Green in the background, so he'll feel at home.
Keep your fingers crossed. Part 2 of this episode is going to be either a crazy love story, or a survival guide. Updates coming soon! 💃🏻😻
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