28, July
It is less than a week until I leave. Although i am slightly concerned about the possibilty of being detained at the airport on the way into the country, I find that my anxiety is squarely focused on the impending plane flight. The only thing I remember about my previous plane flight, when I was 7 or 8 and went to Florida to visit Disney World with my grandmother, is that the man next to me was very nice and that I hated every minute I was in the air. I don’t think it will do to take a stuffed animal with me this time around.

I wonder how far my humor is going to carry me during this.

2, August – 12:32 p.m.
I left Charlotte on a small Delta plane. The stewardess was nice but unintelligable.

Thanks to Sarah and Patricia for taking me to the airport!

2, August – 2:21 p.m.
I’m sitting at gate B7 in Cinncinatti. The flight to Paris leaves at 4:35. A man, obviously late for his flight, just sprinted by. With one leg finished, I am right on schedule.

This flight had satellite tracking available

3, August – Early
Easy landing at Charles DeGaulle airport in Paris. The airport does not live up to the legacy of France’s powerul liberator. It has, thusfar, reinforced American stereotypes of the French. It’s dirty, the people are not rude but very short bordering on disrespectful. If they are going to get upset about the passangers not knowing what to do, then they ought to spring for some signs. The total contempt for traffic laws in the airport area is shocking. It would be funny if I wasn’t one passanger on the automotive transports dodging and weaving around each other like drunken ballet masters.

Somewhere lost in Charles De Gaulle International

3, August – ~5 p.m.
A little more turbulance on the plane coming down than expected. Cultural contrasts: a plane full of older Jews from outside Israel reacts to turbulance with collective gasping, clutching other peoples arms, and grabbing onto the seats in front of them. Not quite the reaction onboard the trans-Atlantic to CDG, but on the other hand the cabin broke out into applause when we landed, so who the hell can explain?

The real turbulance came, however, at the entry gate. After walking into Ben Gurion Airport proper under bold 3D aluminum letters jutting “Welcome To Israel” off of the entranceway, passangers are immediately (and I mean immediately) herded to one of about thrity or so booths where an Israeli with some agency looks out for anyone who may be, well, like me.

An older Jewish lady from New York was in front of me and had, apparantly, filled out her entry declaration card incorrectly so the agent in the booth had her squeeze over while she dealt with me.

This was the moment when I realized I had been deficient in following friends advice about considering my demeanor and story when I went through. Sorry guys, I’ll nail it next time.

The questioning was sharp and very harsh. What was I going to be doing in Israel? What made me come to Israel? Who do I know in Israel? How do I know them? Where am I staying (“most people know where they’re staying before they come!”)? How much money do you have? Where will you get more money? etc, etc, etc. All of these rattled off before I had finished with the last answer. She cut me off and picked up the phone.

A somewhat animated conversation in Hebrew produced another girl, not in uniform, at the booth.. She took me behind the booths to an office, telling me to wait and dissappeared inside. This pause allowed me a chance to really get myself together. Girl #3 opens the door. She’s very much in uniform and she asks me to come in.

There were four women in the room so immediately I’m intimidated. One was obviously in charge because she had a desk. Girl #3 leaned on the wall behind the desk and seemed to tune out most of the proceeding. The other two sat at a round table in the corner conferring between themselves. The girl at the desk started into the same questions but this time I was better prepared and didn’t get flustered. The phone started to ring and no one made a move to answer it. Desk Girl was not happy about that and it seemed to distract her. When she asked me again “why” I was here, as if a citizen of a free nation travelling to a free nation needs an ironclad reason, I replied, “Well, I’m Jewish, and I’m looking forward to visiting as many biblical sites as possible.” She said, “Oh! You’re Jewish?,” waved me off and that was it. Girl #2 took me back to the booth, got Girl #1 to stamp my passport and just like that I was “Welcome(d) To Israel.”

3, August – Later
The shuttle driver didn’t want to go to the Damascus Gate. So I’m spending the first night at the Petra Hostel. It’s oh-kay. See for yourself…

My john…tonight.

I didn’t even ask what was going on here. I guess you lock the two outer doors and lean this one to…uh-huh.

But you could say the view is decent.

Earlier in the day looking toward the Jaffa Gate (it’s that big door down on the right).