In classic Israeli fashion, when my friend and I get to Akko, we’re told that all the major tourist attractions are closed.
My friend (in Hebrew, because joke’s on you if you try English in Akko): “When are they open?”
Man from the tourist center: “For the time being, only Tuesdays.”
Akko (or Acre) is considered one of those must-see Israeli cities that you’ve probably never heard of. Up north, past Haifa, you’ll find the ancient city which is known by many for its fortified sea walls, fortresses, and underground Crusader city and tunnels. Unfortunately, my friend and I don’t get to delve into the city’s rich history. Instead, we get to experience its present.
The old city has what I’d refer to as “old-school air conditioning.” For most of your visit, you’ll be walking through a maze, closed in at both sides by high stone walls. These walls focus air flow in such a way that the passages stay cool.
Despite being closed in, you won’t feel bored. My friend and I realized very quickly that this was basically an open-air art gallery. Everywhere we went, we saw murals, mosaics, random bric-a-brac made into 3-D collages on the walls. Take a look below at some of the art we encountered.
There are also specific art shops and galleries. One gallery we enter has an extremely creepy installation that I can only describe as an artistic catacomb. Or maybe a re-imagining of Hell.
On a TV screen, we catch a glimpse of a beautiful fountain. My friend asks, once again in Hebrew, where we can find the fountain.
“It was destroyed,” the curator explains, barely looking up from his desk. “The artist didn’t feel like restoring it.”
You’ll find all sorts kinds of good, cheap food around Akko. A seeming majority of the restaurants have almost five-star ratings for falafel and hummus. And they deserve it. You can walk through the souk (open air market) and find all the sweets you can imagine. We indulge in red-colored knaffeh, which has the kind of cheese pull I imagine would exist only for the best slices of pizza in the world.
Much of our trip can be characterized by how many hours we got lost between the walls that Google Maps can barely comprehend. At one point, we decided to sit down at an artist café.
The café is almost psychedelic. All over the walls, we see pictures of the owner and souvenirs he brought back from his travels. We sit down on the make-shift stools. We notice the owner’s shoes match the couch, which is decorated like a deck of cards. Click through the slideshow below.
The menu is oral. The owner gives us categories of drinks, and we’re able to inquire further if any sound interesting. My friend orders a cup of tea with what looks like an entire flower in the water. It tastes sweet and spicy, like a non-creamy Indian chai. It’s delicious.
I order fresh orange juice (Israel has what I consider to be the best orange juice, or meetz tapoozeem in Hebrew). It’s so fresh I freak out because I confuse a seed in the juice for a fly. The owner offers to add pomegranate to cut the acidity. I regret not taking him up on it, just for the novelty. It’s not a combination you often see in America.
Before we leave the cafe, I use the bathroom. When I get to the sink, I realize there’s no soap. I look over at the owner, and ask, “Where’s the soap? Efo saboan?”
The owner runs to the kitchen and returns with half a lemon. He motions for me to turn on the sink, which I do. He squeezes juice from the lemon onto my hands, and then hands the lemon half to me.
“Soap,” he says with a smile.
I instantly regret forgetting to bring my hand sanitizer. My friend assures me lemon can be used in place of soap (turns out he’s right).
Right outside is a small community garden with chickens and cats. They get along well. As we exit, we see them all napping in the sun.
We finally end up at one of the few tourist attractions that’s open: the Al-Jazzar Mosque.
Again, in classic Israeli fashion, a man wanders over to us and starts chattering on in Hebrew. He explains that he’s Polish, and that his father was saved by Oskar Schindler. He continues for another ten minutes, and I can’t understand anything besides “Biden” and “balagan (crazy).”
Was Akko nice to visit, even though most major attractions were closed? Yes. But hopefully I’ll be able to experience it in its entirety someday soon. And if I do, you can bet I’ll write about it.
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