There is one thing that Palestine and the Middle East has shown me. It is called being assertive. Bus schedules and prices are always negotiable; you will seldom find any consistency but in the mass of the chaos comes harmony because it does work out e.g. with the Servees taxis. You must ask all the time and rely on other people because you will certainly not orient yourself alone.
So I get back to Bethlehem, buy a few souvenirs from the cultural center, photograph the refugee camp and eventually walk towards the bus station.
Along the way I notice a steady progression from poverty to wealth- from the refugee camp to towards the
heart of the city, and am greeted many times.
There I take a bus back to Jerusalem and take one last look at the land and the settlements; also reflecting on the future. I see the landscape and see how beautiful it is. And I think back to the Israeli girl who told me, “Why would you want to go to Palestine, Israel is so much better and prettier” and think to myself, “You have no idea.” After seeing just a short preview of Palestine, I wanted to stay longer- more than I have ever wanted to anywhere else.
I arrive in Jerusalem and know immediately where to go- back to the dorms. I go there, act casual and am waved through the security once more. I head towards Melissa’s apartment and to my dismay, not a soul is home, so I go back to where I started initially- the student café.
Oh Wi-Fi.
About everything thirty minutes I go to check if someone came home. I ring the bell each time, and the only thing I hear is Diina in heat meowing. Great. Just what I need.
About two avocados and two hours later, I check again and to my pleasure, people are home. Melissa disappointingly tells me that no Sheruts are going to the airport and that my transportation issue may become an even bigger issue. I take it easy, take a shower, look up my information, and confirm her suspicions. I decide to give her a few presents, a Palestinian keffiyeh, an avocado, and a hug. She was having a lousy day because of a self-righteous classmate. Her roommates send me their farewells prior to going to sleep and I’m off to try and hitchhike. Wait…what?
So I walk out of the dormitory without any clue what is going to happen and I just cannot feel anymore excited. I make a withdrawal of 150 Shekels- 30 Euro, 55 USD, and hail a Taxi. He tells me 333 Shekel, I tell him 200. He tells me 250. I say no and flag down a car that has just stopped. The Taxi driver then bargains to 200. They offer to drive me to the old city and I tell the taxi driver goodbye. Three Jewish men- all of which just came from Salsa dancing greet me and we take off. We stop at an Arabic market and they buy me a calzone-like thing. I offer to pay but the driver tells me, “it’s on me.”
He drives to the entrance of the Old City then suddenly changes his mind and drives me towards a location 10 minutes away from the bus station.
“There you should find an orange taxi, no more than 50 Shekel. You have five hours, you have plenty of time. This is for your first time in Israel and to show that not everyone here is bad.”
He has my gratitude. I walk 10 minutes and see a familiar place, but it’s totally empty. I walk to the bus station to find a guard half asleep. I knock on the window and she gives me this pissed-off attitude. I walk further down the street and still no Taxi in sight. So I read my instructions I wrote, notice they aren’t really matching my actual whereabouts, and go to a petrol station that actually ends up corresponding with the instructions. There I see an empty Sherut and start asking around whether or not the people are drivers. A few Orthodox Jews happily communicate me and then with the driver and we are off. At the first stop-light, the driver stops.
“How much are going you to pay me.”
Expecting such a question, I retort with, “How much are you expecting?”
“250 Shekels. I want to help you" (That's the so-called normal price).
I do an inventory. I see my 50, but I do not count it aloud. I pull my coins out and a one hundred bill. “20…100…120”
He looks at me and I tell him
“I’ll just walk”
“Okay. 120”
I hand him 117.5 because I had a miscalculation.
“Usually it’s just 50…”
“You said 120. We are not picking anyone up either”
And so we start the drive into the night towards the airport. It was actually a damn good price in comparison to everything I’ve read, although the circumstances were drastic. Knowing that the previous driver was so willing to go for 200 tells me that they were looking for some business especially at a time like this; so late on a business day. We small talk, he tells me about Israel, his children, Israeli women, and in the corner of my eye I see an empty Sherut pass us. Funny.
We arrive at the airport and he tells me good luck and so on, I wish him the same, that he get many fares, and we may see eachother once more in the future. He drives off. I walk up to the airport departure gate and am promptly stopped, but I was expecting it. Ready to expect anything, I happily oblige to “follow the rules.”
“Where are you from, how long did you stay, who did you stay with…”
Still standing there, he tells me to wait. While waiting, other people are just passing through. They key is to speak Hebrew and they’ll just let you through. One noteworthy event was this family that was coming through.
“Where are you going?” says the security officer.
The family stops dead in their tracks and begin to look at one another, wondering what the hell is going on.
“Where are you going?” says the security officer more slowly.
Again, the family confused, sharing shocked glances, and speaking another language.
“Do you speak English or Hebrew?” inquires he.
“Hebrew! Hebrew!” the family shouts in unison.
And just like that, he lets them through without any more questions.
About fifteen minutes later he calls another security guard over,
“Good morning sir, how are you?”
“Sleepy, other than that, fantastic, how about yourself?”
“Wonderful, where are you going?”
“To Marrakech through Athens and Italy.”
“What is your flight number?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know your flight number?”
“I suppose this is the best place to not know.”
“No it’s not,” he smiles.
I dig into my backpack and pull out my flight reservation I had printed off two months ago. Someone was thinking of me!
“Very well, please proceed sir.”
“Have a great morning.”
So I get in and take a seat and do some people watching as the time draws near. I set my alarm and fall asleep for an hour or two, with my bags interlocked into my arms. I wake up and go to the security check in.
I walk into line where yet another young lady is standing, allowing people through.
“30 minutes”
“Okay”
“Hold on, I’ll be back”
She comes back, interrogates me and lets me through.
I get into another line and am interrogated again. This time though, the girl is much more friendly and congenial. I go through standard protocol, jacket off, laptop out of the backpack, backpack into bin, and everything through the scanner. I walk through the body scanner and my belongings shoot out the other side.
She wishes me a safe trip.
A man with a rather French sounding accent comes over to me and begins to give me the general interrogation questions. I already get a feeling I do not like this guy.
“How long have you been here, are you traveling by yourself, where have you…”
Please come with us. We walk over to where they dissect people’s bags. I look over to my right and this woman is just standing there, arms crossed, with a pissed off look on her face; her belongings strewn across the top and younger girls just pecking through her things.
“Sir, please open your bag.”
“Which one- the small one or the big one? Let’s start with the small one.”
I’m in a ready mood albeit tired as hell. I’m up for anything and I’m feeling good and confident. I tear open my small black bag- usually my carry on and you may see it in nearly every picture- and begin to take items out, until we get to the small black bag of assorted nuts and dried fruit.
“What’s in that bag?”
“Oh that? Those are just nuts." I give the bag a gentle pat. "Would you like to touch my nuts?”
“Please step back and put your arms to your side” he says to me, with a rather agitated voice. He finishes with my small black bag and a woman comes to replace him.
I take a seat and just delve in the pleasure that my personal belongings are being looked at and they must be so confused on what my motives are considering the artifacts, not to mention that they have to go through my dirty laundry. I look at the woman and her situation- I can see the security guards- who are girls- just eye her up and down, taking her clothes and just feeling them. It even gets to the point where the dude with the French sounding accent asks her to put her hair down (it was in a bun).
“No, I do not want to, I have a meeting tomorrow and I have to look somewhat presentable.” I could feel her agony and dislike.
The lady inspecting my belongings opens the bottom hatch of my backpack. I roll my clothes when I travel because it conserves space. I knew what they were going to find- keffiyehs from Palestine wrapped in bags stating, “Made in Palestine” and souvenirs from the IBDAA Cultural center.
A few minutes pass by and I am taken to be body searched.
He tells me to go into the small cubicle. I smell his Slavic roots through his accent so I start to talk about it subtly.
“Is this going to take long? I really need to use the restroom.” I make rubbing motion hovering over my stomach.
He stands there, gazes into the distance, snaps back into reality and says, “You better go now.”
I go and I consider flushing my Palestinian business cards away, but then refuse to, finish up and go into the cubicle.
“Empty your pockets.”
“You’re Russian aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I spent a month in Bulgaria, the languages are incredibly similar. Although Bulgarian sounds like Old Russian. You say the phrase, ‘kak dila’, we say, ‘kak si’.”
I pull out nail clippers from my pocket (I had been meaning to clip my nails, I wanted to look presentable for my impending interrogation date). “I better put those in my checked-baggage.”
“Yes you should.”
“Dobre.”
"Dobre..."
We finish and we walk towards the baggage-dissecting area. I could feel his sympathy, but he did not want to express it.
I walk back to my section and the other woman, the one who has a meeting, is gone.
“Your bag is a security risk, you are going to have to use this” says my bag-inspecting friend, motioning towards this box with a handle on top of it.
She finishes inspecting my bags and walks me to get my bag checked in.
“So…you usually work this late?”
“I choose to. Less hours, more pay.”
“Cool.”
She escorts me through more gates, waving me through scanners where a huge line has formed and lifts up the velvet protectors, until we reach the terminal.
“I’m sorry it took so long, have a good flight” she says smiling.
“Thank you so much, have a good morning.”
I go to get my passport stamped, walk up to the booth, where yet another young lady is occupying.
“Because you hate me” she says to her accomplice in the next booth.
“Excuse me?”
She looks at me while blushing, “It’s from a song.”
I hand her my passport.
“You’re a singer?”
“Only when I’m alone or in the shower-”
“Or stamping passports.”
She stamps my passport and smiles.
“Have a good flight.”
I always feel like a freed animal whenever this happens at any airport. First you go through stand in line and go through the security and hassle, you’re forced to remove some clothing and open your bags, then finally you pass and you’re set free to go roam around the terminals without anyone or any lines telling you what to do.
I walk into the mega center, pull my netbook out of my box, and find some free Wi-Fi. Yes YES YES!
I speak to Kaytay Raynalds about my experiences so far and notice a child acting up.
“If you do not be quiet, we are going to leave you here at the airport,” says the mom. And in return the child shuts up. I do not want to draw conclusions, but that’s just fucked up. That’s so manipulative and I can only imagine what the hell her relationships are like; some way to raise a child.
With time crunching down, I make way through the airport to my destination. And while down a huge corridor I cannot help but notice Israeli propaganda posters on my left.
"Don't YOU want your children to have a good future?"
Posters supporting the settling of the Palestinian territory essentially.
So I go into my terminal, charge my netbook, and sleep.
It’s 6:30 AM in the morning and I board my flight- with my box, it’s raining outside while the sun barely sheds its golden dew, and I fall asleep. I wake up two hours later to the sight of a Mediterranean reef and Greek Isles with the sun in the background welcoming me to Athens- amazing. I miss my breakfast but ask an attendant for it. I like airline food, I know, it’s totally weird, but I like it. Let’s keep that a secret between you and me.
 |
| So inquisitive to know whereabouts this woman came from, I asked her and she responded with a blunt "India." |
