Israel is great...but it has its quirks.
I would like to say that arriving to my new home was hassle-free; but unfortunately that wouldn't be the truth. Although I guess to be fair, the issues started in Frankfurt, not Israel. I arrived there around 5 am local time and proceeded directly to my gate to wait for the 10 am flight to Tel Aviv. As is my international traveling custom, I found several unoccupied seats and laid down for a nap. After an indeterminate amount of time (who can really tell with these things?) those few of us at the gate were rudely awakened by airport officials telling us to "Get up! We have to clear the room. You must leave, go through security again (yes: AGAIN), and come back to the the gate...15 or 20 minutes, for you" (everything internationally is "for you". I've learned not to feel too privileged when on the receiving end of this token phrase).
Now, perhaps this wouldn't have been as annoying as it was, if:
1. It wasn't early am after a 6 hour overnight flight;
2. I hadn't been in the middle of a REM cycle on unusually comfortable seats;
3. I hadn't already gone through security in this airport;
4. Security had been hassle-free.
But as none of these things were the case, I was not feeling particularly amiable, so I decided not to go without a fight. Armed with my sense of justice and my mother's assertiveness, I looked one of the officers in the eye and said, "Look, I've already gone through security. Why do I have to do it again? This doesn't make sense." He gave an exaggerated shrug and motioned me onward. Great, how reassuring.
So I obliged. I went back and forth through the metal maze, emptied my pockets, removed my laptop, and waited my turn. This time, when I approached the official at the scanner, I said, "I've already been through this, and my exercise pull-up bar is in my carry-on. You will see it on the screen. It was already cleared the last time, so it should be fine, but I wanted to let you know." He smiled jovially and waved me forward. Next thing I know, the person on the other side of the scanner was pulling aside my bag and asking me to open it. I looked up on the scanner to see the 4 parts of my exercise bar glowing conspicuously blue. Sigh. I tried to explain the situation, but he too felt the need to take one of the pieces and go into a back room and consult with a face-less higher-up. I waited. And waited. After a few casual shrugs and several attempts at polite conversation with the woman official who was left ("so...is Frankfurt nice, this time of year?"), I was starting to get downright irritated.
At some point the guy came back with the missing piece of my equipment and I was then told to follow the woman to gate-check my bag. (Ok, not as bad as it could have been, but really, Frankfurt? Lest we forget...you already cleared me.) When I arrived at the counter, I asked, "Do I have to pay for this?" "No...do you want to pay for it?" "Um, heck no."
Thinking that would be the last of my worries, I boarded the plane for Tel Aviv excited to see my man at the other side of Israeli security. After I had gathered my 150 lbs of belongings (exercise bar in tow), I headed out. No Barrett. I scanned the crowd for several minutes, and then after being satisfied that he really wasn't there, I tried to formulate a plan. Do I try to borrow a phone and call him? No, because I don't have the number that I call from within this country. Hmm. Ok, well do I try to find an internet kiosk? None to be found. Well, this is fun. I decided then that the best course of action was to revolve slowly in place with my bags and hope for him to turn up. These things tend to turn out ok, after all. And they did. After about half an hour, he came down the stairs. The reason for his tardiness? Daylight savings-time. Well, he could hardly be blamed for that. At least he was there and we were finally together! Now...to leave the airport.
This should have been a simple task. Barrett had already reserved a car rental, so all was had to do was go to the Avis counter and sign the paperwork, right? Well...we got there and were told we had to go back outside, look for area "01", hop on a shuttle bus, and go to the actual Avis business down the road. So, ok. We schlepped my luggage outside, onto the bus, and to the Avis counter located a couple miles away. We got inside and I, being the one to pay for the rental, went to give them my card. They couldn't accept it. Why? Because the numbers on my card didn't "stick out." In other words, they weren't the analog type that protrude from the face of the card...thereby nullifying the Avis-members' intention to make a "stamp" of the numbers to keep on file. Seriously? Now, both Barrett and I are used to meaningless rules such as this, so we had no problems asserting ourselves. "Look, it's a real credit card. I have the funds. Go ahead: try and take the money." No dice. "Ok, can't you just write down the numbers instead of making a stamp?" Sorry, that's not policy either. So after some not-so-subtle mutters of dissent, we stomped outside to regroup. I must admit after traveling for about 18 hours, I wasn't feeling particularly compassionate toward the Avis people or their policies. "Are you kidding me?! Just because the numbers on the card don't stick out??" To Barrett's credit, he was more patient and in better humor. "I'm sorry Jess...your card is just too technologically advanced!" I grinned in spite of myself.
So, what next. How about we take the shuttle back to the airport and catch a cab to our hostel in Tel Aviv? Again: sounds simple enough, right? Wrong. The shuttle sidled up to the curb, the driver gave us a good look-over, and kept driving. We motioned for him to pull over, but he just waved his finger in a circular motion and kept driving around the lot, then parked on the far side many yards away. "Um. What does that mean?" "Jess, don't you know that waving your finger means you're supposed to...well...bring your bags over here and wait...maybe?" Again, good humor will get you anywhere. So we went to the other side of the rental-car culdesac and stood in the middle of the road with my bags. Yep, just stood in the middle of the road. The next shuttle that came around had a female driver who started motioning for us to move. I looked at Barrett to take my cues from him. A devious grin spread over his face, he planted his feet, and looked over at me. "Jess, when society digresses from logic to the will to power..."
The bus driver had to stop. She too started smiling. "Quick Jess, get on" Barrett prompted. She opened the front door. I went up to it and right as I was about to step on, she closed it and opened the back door. So this was a game. Perfect! I will win. I hopped up quickly (a true feat, I must admit, considering the weight I was towing) and jumped into the bus before she could close the second door. Graciously, she allowed Barrett to follow, still smiling. Shaking her head and chuckling in spite of herself, she asked us about our traveling plans. We bantered back and forth with her as she told us "What, you want me to just bring you back to the airport? I only do that for people who are flying!" "Great; then we will fly to the beach!" She dropped us off exactly where we had requested, and I told her, "Thank you! You're my favorite." "What, you think I'm going to let you off??" she replied, even as she opened the door. Ok, so not everyone today is going to be unreasonable after all.
...It was good to have adopted that attitude when we saw the line to catch a cab. And also when we went upstairs to try and avoid that line and were told that THOSE taxis were only for VIPs. And when we had to schlep the bags all the way back downstairs again and wait in the interminable line. About this time I became acutely aware that my patience was wearing off, as was my deodorant. But Barrett came through again. He pulled me close and said, "Jess, can you believe it? We finally live in the same place. This is epic." Well, that sure puts it in perspective, doesn't it? We made friends with a German guy named "Okre," waited in line with him and split the cab fare (not without plenty of arguing with the driver), and FINALLY made it to our hostel in Tel Aviv. It wasn't long before Barrett and I were dining at an outdoor restaurant on the Mediterranean Sea, sharing a bottle of wine, walking in the waves under the stars, and loving every minute together. "Jess, I'm SO glad you're here. This might be the most epic thing that has ever happened to me."
Thanks, Israel. It's good to be home.