Being Israeli

Being Israeli is interesting. Not interesting in the 'this article in today's paper is very interesting honey, you should read it!' sense, but in the 'how's the food? Oh... ...It's, umm... ... In-te-res-ting...' kind of way.

I personally (so I'm told) do not look Israeli, nor do I have the behavioral traits that characterize Israelis.
But none the less, if asked as to my country of origin, even though I could easily get away with U.S.A., or even Canada (to avoid the nefariousness and macabre image that is usually associated with U.S.A.), answer Israel.

It's interesting to see how people's behavior can instantaneously, and precariously change. They become apprehensive, they eye you suspiciously.

So I have decided that one of my goals for this trip is to be an ambassador of Israel, to reprimand some of the extensive damage caused by Israeli travelers to both Indians and other travelers.

I'm not naive enough to think that through my own merits I can change an opinion pertaining to a whole race, but at least I'll be able to make a few kooks remember me - 'the nice one', next time a horde of long haired bearded solipsistic Enfield riding Israelis come along and start producing their hubbub and smoking their drugs with utter, infuriating disregard to the local culture, treating the Indians like disposable Kleenexes, like ephemera.

I think it's working (in it's own minute scale).

When I arrived at the guest-house I'm staying in (Auroville, next to the beach), and divulged my nationality to the French Canadian woman running the place, she gave me a wintry look, as if I'm some kind of volatile diseased cretin, capable of spreading continent eradicating plagues in a second's time.
Over the course of the next few days, I had a chance to prove my exuberant (and modest) nature to her, and we actually had some amiable, jocular conversations.

In the end (before leaving) she hugged and kissed me chummily, and apologized for her conduct earlier on.