I get lost in the Jewish Quarter. Up the wrong stairs, down the wrong street. I find myself standing on the roofs of the Old City. It's nearly the end of shabbat, and the sun is setting. Across the way, framed by steeples and minarets, a group of Orthodox Jewish children are squealing and shouting as they slowly release a paper kite.
All eyes trail it as it ascends to the winds over the city.
From over the rooftops, I watch too, as the sun streaks us all in gold. All for a wrong turn. Plus 5 liters of water. On Thursday night, I decide to go out in Tel Aviv. Since my blue jeans still have Egypt smeared all over them, I have no option but to put on my black ones.