And now a story of minor humiliation for your entertainment:
Getting out of Israel proved no less complicated than entering into it. Thanks to several stories from several travelers, I knew to be there well ahead of time and to be prepared for the regular routine of suspicious interrogation. I had a flight booked to Istanbul (no way into Syria, remember), so keeping things moving along was a necessity. I arrived at the airport with loads of time to spare armed with no fear and my sense of humor intact. Border guards were not gonna break this girl!
Line up upon line up of travelers with multiple carts of luggage, interesting outfits, and a variety of passport origins snaked their path through the typical airport mazes, inching their way towards the security check in before the ticket / boarding pass check in. So many people heading out of Israel but this short-arsed Canadian bowed under the weight of a ridiculous red backpack apparently looks very suspicious. Very suspicious indeed. *sigh*.
In line I’m asked a series of questions by a 12 year old security officer trying to look very serious. She then goes to get her 14 year old manager and he asks the same series of questions but in a different order. Ooooo… trying to trip me up! Nice one! I have some time to spare so on the second round of questions, I start telling him stories about the family I had been visiting, all the fun things we did, how amazing I think it is that they’re on a home swap program, where I’m going next and blah, blah, blah. Not quite the “yes” or “no” answers he was anticipating. Seemed to lighten the mood a bit, not that he or the 12 year old girl were scary in any way, but yeah, if we’re going to play this game, then I’m going to have a little fun.
I get pulled out of line (of course) to get my pack dumped and spread out on a metal table (again, OF COURSE!) while the sweetest, slightly older version of the initial 12 year old interrogator apologies profusely for having to go through every single possession in my bag. She was joined by a 16 year old boy so to move things along, I started telling them my story as well. Lovely, sweet, chatty couple of luggage examiners and the “sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m really sorry” girl kept her eye on the time reassuring me that I had lots of time before my flight. At one point, the ULTIMATE SUPREME 18 year old mama supervisor got called over to ask me the SAME questions again while the two pawing through my possessions exchanged rolled eyes glances with me. Too funny. I’m sure they meant to be scary, but it just wasn’t working. My bags and belongings were opened, sorted, x-rayed, scanned, questioned, swabbed, and tested. The item that raised concern? Bottle of shampoo from my backpack. Not the hair conditioner or the fruit nor the unlabelled pills or pocketknife. The shampoo. Fine, chuck it. No, no, no. They proceed to bubble-wrap it (I’m NOT kidding!), pad it in paper, place it in an enormous box the size of a store bought new boot box then CHECK IT IN alongside my backpack. I said they could just throw it away, they insisted on packing it. No sense to it all, no sense at all. They loved that I was laughing my head off at this.
The humiliation… escorted to a private room with the “sorry, sorry” girl who proceeded to blush cherry red as she did a full and thorough intimate pat-pat down. As she finished with a final scan of her magic wand, it sent out a warning beep at the zipper of my jeans. She checked in along the waistband again and I thought we were all good but nope. ULTIMATE SUPREME mama supervisor comes in and I’m told to drop my jeans to my knees. Pardon? Please, trousers down to your knees. Are you serious? Yes, down please. Oh GAWD! Please can I keep my underwear on? Yes, that’s fine. So now I’M cherry red as these two girls are thankfully only visually (yet closely) inspecting my crotch and waving the magic wand over me for hidden what? weapons? drugs? a mini-sized bottle of shampoo? Oh let me fall into a hole now, please. Apparently I along with my crotch turned out to be completely harmless and we two red-faced girls returned to repack my life still strewn out for all to see.
By this time, my departure was looming so sweet, still red-faced, “sorry, sorry” girl helped me gather my belongings, sort my boarding pass, and bypass the regular person security straight up to my gate. I felt like I should hug her or ask her for her email or something as we had been through so much together by this point but no time, no time.
Everyone must come to Israel… the entry and exit experiences alone make it worth it!
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