Goodbye Israel, hello the rest of the middle east!

To say that I am tired is an understatement. My last 24 hours in Israel were undoubtedly eventful. I didn’t have much on my agenda – pack, send all stuff I don’t need to Barcelona, and come up to Tel Aviv for one last day on the beach and a nice dinner + wine with Paula before heading to the airport in the morning.

Packing was easy enough, and I stuffed an entire backpack of stuff I definitely wouldn’t need, weighing anywhere from 10-15 pounds.  (See previous post on my Post Office Adventures)

Two hours later, after making myself a final Israeli breakfast of some Shakshuka, I’m on a sheirut to the Ashdod Central Bus Station with my huge duffel bag and backpack. Sheirut drivers don’t like me. I take up too much room with all my shit. I hop on the bus to TLV, and manage to find the correct bus at the Central Bus Station in TLV with minimal effort – I didn’t want to take another sheirut in Tel Aviv. My bag is too fat to fit through their little doors. I walked down to the beach and enjoyed a free lounge chair – despite sitting right next to the guy who was collecting money from people sitting down, no one collected money from me! That never happens to me.  My last errand was to buy a visor, since my sunhat was falling apart, so I went to the Carmel shuk and got one for 15 shekels, stopping for some falafel balls along the way. I didn’t used to like falafel, and I still don’t like how they eat it here, but I get the sandwich and then pick out the tehina-drenched deep fried balls of crunchiness. Yummmmm. Dinner #1.

Then Paula and I went to an amazing sea food restaurant called Goocha for dinner #2. We had mixed seafood in a garlic lemon cream sauce, with a  bottle of wine. It was seriously the perfect last night, sitting in the warm, but not stickily hot, evening, sipping cold wine, enjoying delicious food, and great conversation. It was so enjoyable, in fact, I bummed a cigarette off of her. Just what I need. More vices!

We then bar hopped a bit and by my 5^th glass of wine, I realized I was drunk and could no longer be held responsible for my behavior. At this point, Paula stepped in and made some fantastic decisions for me. Luckily, I sobered up before any of those decisions could have any negative consequences. Nevertheless, when I set off from her place at 8 am on 3 hours of sleep, I was not the happiest of campers.

I got to the Savidor train station just as my train to the airport left, apparently. I walked around the platform looking very confused, and finally asked a security guard for information. He got VERY excited that I was talking to him and got very close to me, with a look on his face like he just might take a bite out of me. In the end, he was very helpful but man, this lack of personal space thing takes some getting used to. I guess the alternative is people like the woman who sold me my train ticket, who had an expression on her face that she did me a favor by even selling me the ticket in the first place and how dare I put her out further by asking what platform I should take the train from. I also met a really nice girl named Julie who moved to Israel a year ago. We bonded over the Luna Bars we were both eating and she told me about her travels all over the world and her 6 months volunteering in Thailand and we found out we both studied in Aix! She helped me make sure I got on the right train and showed me where to go when we got off.

Apparently, smooth departures from airports are not in my cards on this trip. I got the standards 20,000 questions from a security officer, then had my bags x-rayed. I was then sent to go stand in the line to have every piece of my luggage examined by hand. I stood in line without moving for 30 minutes while they took all the passengers flying to Tashkent, and finally it was my turn. I thought I would be easy for them, just a simple American girl with a bunch of clothes and toiletries. Apparently, not so much. All my flashlights, chargers, converters, cell phones, and external hard drives caused more drama than I could have ever imagined. Every single bag and ziplock baggie that I so thoroughly and logically organized (trying to learn my mama’s talents) was shaken out and every item was inspected. They then took ALL of my electronics, which fit into a large bin, and took them away to be examined. Despite the fact that I had shown up to the airport 3 hours early, I was now pressed for time as just the searching of my belongings was now taking over 45 minutes. The security officer then told me she would go check me in, because we were running out of time, and then I would be escorted to my gate so that I wouldn’t have to wait in line. By the time they were done with my search, there wasn’t a soul left in the inspection area. It was fine, nothing bad happened, but why me? 

My flight to Cairo went through Jordan, and the first leg, TLV-Amman, had all of 10 people on it, on a plane for 100+. It was spacious and nice, but unfortunately the flight was only 45 minutes. Arriving in Amman was somewhat shocking. I look out the window and see nothing, for miles and miles and miles. Not to over dramatize. but I felt like I was in one of those movies where a soldier's wife arrives to wherever he's serving for some big important reason and is shocked and overwhelmed by the lack of civilization. Well, that's a little how it was. Once we got to the airport itself it was even stranger because I've never seen an international terminal so void of people. I didn't have to deal with passport control or anything like that, but waiting in line to get my transfer papers to go on to the transit area (which it turns out I didn't need) was somewhat creepy, as there were maybe 3 women in the entire terminal and, except for the ones who were working behind various counters, they were covered head to toe. Me with my bright green pants and blond hair and green eyes definitely stood out like a sore thumb, and it was uncomfortable.

 Its better now, though, as I've made my way through the transit area and am happily sitting at the Starbucks with a frappucino and internet... Only problem is, the plugs here are, for some reason, different so I only have about 20 minutes of battery left. I'm praying that my journey to the Cairo hotel is less adventuresome because I'm exhausted and nearly had an anxiety attack already today when my bags were being searched, I just can't handle two. 

You haven't experienced a foreign country until you've dealt with their postal service

The only task of any importance I had on my last day in Israel was to mail 10-15 pounds of useless stuff to Barcelona. Since I’d already unsuccessfully gone to the post office the day before only to find it closed, I at least knew where I was going this time. I didn’t have boxes or any packaging material, just my big blue oranim backpack full of stuff. I got to the post office and took a number – 37. I look up at the counter – 25. Ok, so I’m gonna be here a while. You could tell, just by looking around and the  “ready to pounce” look on people’s faces around the two tellers that sitting and waiting their turn in a system that actually enforced it was just contrary to every fiber of their being. Finally it was my turn and luckily, the lady spoke English. She stared at my backpack for a long time, trying to figure out how to mail it. Apparently, the post office doesn’t sell boxes. She thought about putting the label directly onto the backpack, then realized that probably wouldn’t work. “You know what,” she says to me “ go outside and find a box, and we’ll tape it.”

“Outside?” I ask, making sure I’m understanding her correctly. The only thing outside is trash bins.

“Yeah, outside. You should be able to find boxes there. Then come back to me, you don’t need to wait in line again.”

So, off I go, outside. I walk past 5 or 6 trashbins, all of which are empty. It looks like the trash was just collected. Then I go towards the other stores in the strip mall. First I find myself at the back entrance of a bakery, and I see a stack of folded down boxes. I ask the lady baking bread inside if I can take a box, and she tells me she needs the boxes. Strike 1. I then walk into a convenience store that looks like it gets stuff delivered in boxes. The man behind the counter speaks no English but, SHOCKER, speaks Russian. I ask him for a box and he says to come back tomorrow, tomorrow he’ll have boxes. Tomorrow doesn’t work for me. Strike 2. Finally, I walk into the small grocer/vegetable stand where Katie and I buy fruits and vegetables on Tuesday (they have the nicest looking tomatoes) and I ask the man , who informs me he speak no English, for boxes. He takes me into the back where he and another old man start digging through piles of boxes of different sizes. They find a box that’ll fit my backpack, but there’s no lid. So off they go into the back and emerge eventually with a lid, but definitely not for that box. That doesn’t phase anyone, though, and after some shoving and squishing and taping, I have a package I can send to Barcelona. Thank you, grocer man!

I come back to the post office but, alas, the lady that told me to come to her and that I wouldn’t have to wait in line again was no longer there. So, I take another number. 54. I look up at the counter. 42. Great. Nevertheless, 2 hours later and 200 shekels poorer, I had succeeded in shipping my completely useless crap to Barcelona. I hope it gets there.