Tel Aviv's first tourist trap

In Tel Aviv, as a string of complexes geared toward entertainment, culture, tourism and shopping near their completion, the battle over public space, leisure habits and resources invested has reached its peak. Only time will tell if the pockets of resistance to the sweeping trend will persevere. In the meantime, the theme parks abound.

	Marketed as a historic site, what remains are prehistoric background props.
	Photo by: Daniel Tchetchik

The complex at the Tel Aviv Port has established itself as the country's yuppie stronghold; the Jaffa Port, which the city's Arab residents have again been deprived of, is trying to find its way; Tel Aviv's Sarona complex, the former Templer colony, is taking shape as another luxury area featuring a park, a preservation, office towers and elegant residences; and on the Tel Aviv-Jaffa border, the old train station Hatahana was recently refurbished and is shaping up as the city's first tourist trap worthy of the name.

First the White City, the beach and the vibrant night life were enlisted to help the causes of tourism, real estate and branding. Now the Hatahana complex is picking up the slack, keeping pace with leading tourist traps around the world.

While tourist traps may have acquired a bad reputation, they do give sites added value. With the many charms of the Italian island of Capri - its fragrant lemon orchards, wonderful vistas and Axel Munthe's grand Villa San Michele - none come close to the Blue Grotto, the mother of all tourist traps.

Millions sail all the way to the cave, hold their breath as they make their way through the scary entrance and part with their hard-earned money only to find that it's barely a cave and hardly blue. Those who return from Capri keep this well-kept secret to themselves, perhaps because they don't want to admit to having fallen for the trap or simply because it makes no difference.

A tourist trap is an experience of its own, leaving its own unique mark in the photo album and in one's memory - just as much as the real thing, if not more so. After all, without its Blue Grotto, Capri would be just another run-of-the-mill tourist site.

Parting tourists from their money

Like every self-respecting tourist trap, Hatahana is also purporting to be the real thing. While the complex is marketed as a historic site "that preserved its original character," after not functioning as a train station for some time, what remains are prehistoric background props. This gives off an effect resembling the television series "The Flintstones," which created a kind of taste of the schizophrenia of modern life during the Stone Age.

No trains or vehicles travel along the train tracks, preserving their original character, while the station's surrounding facilities have been turned into cafes, boutiques, a souvenir shop and one store with nothing - which no self-respecting tourist trap would be without. The complex was mistakenly crowned "the next hot thing in Tel Aviv." But a tourist trap is a tourist trap; the cooler revelers will see through the forgery and stay away. Tourists from Paris or Rishon Letzion, however, will innocently wander through the refurbished area, scan through clothes selling for the price of a mortgage, search in vain for something else of interest and agree "Wow, look how nice they made this place."

	The Hatahana complex, mistakenly crowned “the next hot thing in Tel Aviv.”
	Photo by: Daniel Tchetchik

From the start, one could have guessed that Hatahana was destined for commercialization. Residents of nearby Neve Tzedek called for the complex to be allocated for educational institutions to serve the needs of the community, but this was rejected. Around five years ago, the renovation plans were disclosed by the Tel Aviv municipality, the owner of the land, at a well-publicized event. At that event "the complex" was on one side, in its last moments of unrealized charm; on the other side, developers considering the land's inherent potential longed, as in every tourist trap, to separate the tourist from his money. Tel Aviv Mayor Ron Huldai said at the time, if memory serves correct, that one day "a place" of its own would open there. As far as anyone knows, Huldai has no business of his own there, but the plans were realized.

Perhaps Hatahana could not have become anything else than what it is today. Like every architectural-historical treasure in the world that has exhausted its original purpose, its fate fluctuates between two extremes: razing and destruction, or alternately, preservation and overload. Demolition is considered barbaric, but on the other hand, preservation, with all its cultural and aesthetic value, is a fast track toward commercialization, development, higher prices and tourist traps.

Tel Aviv has not reinvented the wheel. Anyone who's traveled abroad is familiar with tourist traps in the guise of preservation projects. Many even seek them out and have their reasons for doing so. It could be campaigns marketing "authenticity" (subsidized by the local tourism ministry ), quaint "historical" German villages or "traditional" fishing villages. Hatahana now joins this illustrious group.

Both sides of the equation

The synthetic feel of the refurbished Hatahana is another indication it has become a tourist trap. Except in Israel, unlike in the quaint German village, there is no reason to worry. The locals will not leave the complex in the same condition as when it first opened for long. Before the area has been filled completely, it's already apparent there has been some deviation from the preservation guidelines, as well as clashes between preservation and function. Add in natural wear and tear and minimal maintenance, and it won't be long before the complex is authentic the way no other tourist trap has managed to be. One can already imagine stalls and stands - and not the kind found in the organic market on Fridays, with yuppies in front of windows displaying brand-name fashions, colorful umbrellas, t-shirts at closeout prices. When that happens, perhaps the complex will longer be the next hot thing in Tel Aviv, but it will at least be lively.

The illusion behind Hatahana is not in the harmless trap it has set for tourists, but in the declarations that have accompanied it from the start: that it would connect Tel Aviv and Jaffa. This is a task assigned to every development project on the border between the two cities, a border that has only grown thicker over the years.

With regard to Hatahana, these are cynical, empty statements that mock the locals. The complex is another brick in the wall separating Tel Aviv from Jaffa, one which camouflages itself with forced innocence as a venue for culture, art, leisure and the like for the general public. This is not the way to develop a connecting link, this is not the way to repair the divide between Jewish Tel Aviv ad Arab Jaffa, this is not the way to do historical justice - which could have seen both sides of the equation thriving, beyond the commercial success of another exclusive boutique.