Israel was next on the travel journey. I wanted to spend a lot of time there but plane tickets and possible plans unfortunately only left me with a few days in the country. That being said, sometimes things work out all on their own better than if you planned them.
Okay, remember I told you I was going to head all the way back down south to cross a different border to avoid Israel being stamped in my passport? Up far too early and a long bus ride gets me to where I was going. Fairly easy to get to the Israeli border near Egypt and Jordan. Too easy apparently as my luck quickly ran out. Crossing into Israel is a bit of an intimidating feat even on a good day so I thought I was prepared. A few interrogations and then more interrogation; who are you? where are you going? where have you been? why are you coming here? who do you know here? and on and on and on.
Next… sorry ma’am, we have to empty and scan the items of your bag. Pardon? Step back, please. Crap. As a family of about 10 all sail through x-rays and scanners without so much of a blink, this very new immigration officer is slowly pulling every single thing out of my meticulously packed backpack. I have a BIG bag with LOTS of stuff; it takes FOREVER to get everything in there. My life spread out on a metal table. I laughed as he picked up and then quickly dropped a few feminine products that he obviously didn’t recognize then I scowled darkly as he unrolled and unzipped my neat and organized life. He tried to scan various items individually and made separate piles of this and that. I, in the meantime, was starting to get anxious. I had a bus to catch and time was running out.
Eventually the supervisor came over, shook her head at the guy pawing through my oh-so-threatening belongings of grubby t-shirts and shorts, snapped her fingers and dismissed him. I did my best to repack the entirety of my life and get a move on to the next phase as quickly as I could. I had no idea what was next… more interrogation? Body cavity search? Am I ready for Israel? Mid-afternoon blistering sun and I’m ushered into another velvet rope lined maze to approach yet another window and officer. I had paid money earlier to leave the country, I wasn’t sure what this one was. Passport please. Sure. Ka-CHUNK! Stamp punch, passport returned. Head that way please. Wait, I’m done? Was that passport control? What about a visa? No visa. Entry here is free. There was a piece of paper in my passport, I grabbed my belongings and hopped into an extremely expensive taxi. I was warned, Israel is insanely expensive and I was in for one heck of a ride.
We had driven all of about 5 minutes before I thought to look in my passport. Wanted to see the paper that I thought had been stamped. Oh no. Oh no. OH NOOOOOOOOO!!!!! Israeli stamp IN MY PASSPORT! NO! NO! NO!!! Made the taxi driver turn around and while I was frantically trying to find a way to get back into the immigration area, I had the sense to notice that my taxi was still sitting there, smiling smugly. He was keeping the meter running! Bolted from immigration officer to taxi man… Turn off the meter!!! No, no, your bags still in car. You jerk! I’ll take them out! Turn off the meter! When you take bags out, meter off. Asshole. I dumped my bags on the sidewalk and felt the sting of tears just pricking at the edges of my very tired eyes. My brain was trying desperately to come up with a way to undo what had just been done to my passport. Suffering from sweaty midday heat, too little sleep tiredness, and increasing anxiety at the realization of travel and JOB option doors being slammed shut, I throw myself at the mercy of the passport stamp queens.
Please, please, please help me! I thought you stamped this paper. I had no idea what was going on. PLEASE! I need to get to countries that now won’t let me in… please! Can you cancel it? Do something? Anything? 5 girls gather around, not one sympathetic eye in the bunch. Sorry, you should have said something about not wanting your passport stamped, nothing we can do now, goodbye. But PLEASE, help me! *sigh* Nothing we can do. And 5 backs turned on me. *gulp. choke. sniffle. sniffle.* Tears. I pull myself to a side bench, sniveling, angry, frustrated, humiliated, frustrated, helpless. It was my own fault, I should have paid more attention. There was just nothing I could do. Nothing.
I sniffed and wiped away ridiculous tears. Crying wasn’t going to help a damn thing now, was it? I’d find a solution, there’s always a solution. I was just tired and hot, not thinking clearly. Things would be fine. Got into another taxi and ended up in a yelling match with him as he tried to double the price at the bus station, shouting that he was going to get the police. Go ahead! Get the police! You’re being terrible and very, very MEAN! Ummmm… on second thought… yeah, I was in Israel, how about I DON’T get involved with the police 10 minutes into the country? I threw some money at him and made my way to the bus. I travelled all day to get to a point where my passport wouldn’t be stamped and my time in Israel would be an unidentifiable mystery but I was too much of a moron to pay attention at the moment when it was most important. I was NOT off to a good start in Israel.
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