Travel Log #35

April 23, 2010
When a group of Americans in their early twenties was asked to list cultural differences between themselves and Israelis, this was what they came up with: Israelis are aggressive, lack the notion of personal space; they are direct but simultaneously laid back, abrupt, are quintessentially inefficient and have no idea of how to plan anything; they smell, they have no sarcasm (I think this is false, and that the group of Americans has no sense of dark humour), are task-focused, are less prompt (e.g. multiply every ETA by at least three), and lack professionalism. They are always out to screw the system, are quick to take over-advantage of office supplies; they can't drive, they dress less formally, and their cell phones are always on--all two or three of them--and they answer at any time*; they are aggressively hospitable--if you knock on their door, you will come in and you will, goddammit, drink a full pot of nana tea and eat all refreshments, a full meal, and dessert.

Americans usually get a bad wrap for being loud and obnoxious when abroad and infinitely moronic. Israelis by far outdo us. Apparently India has a separate set of tourist maps highlighting the roads and regions that are Israeli-free for those who would like a quiet and uninterrupted vacation; Indians are surprised Israelis aren't actually from India (they have their own country??) because there are so many romping around their country, it's hard to believe they all don't actually live there. Many of my Israeli friends declare that they turn away and run fast when they run into a group of their fellow countrymen abroad--no, they have nothing to do with that group of cretins--new nationalities are conjured out of thin air in moments like this and new accents are created.

May 10, 2010
The fields here are lush. They go on until they fade into fog or until they run into the sea or mountains, depending on which direction you're looking.

I've met more than one Israeli who has an aversion to east coasts--"they're unnecessary because Israel doesn't have one".

Maybe I'm paranoid. I know this is all ending. Happiness is foil-wrapped, like candy: sweet illusion.

So much fits into this tiny space of a country where everything can be said but doesn't have to be. It's all already understood. And when I go back, I'll have everything to say and nowhere to say it. Blank pages must suffice.

Words spill with precision, as blades of the shochet through flesh. Is it possible to find yourself destroyed and remade at what you thought was the end of the world? In the one place you were so certain you would never really be? No, I'm thinking. I'm not just a visitor here. I was a visitor at home and a guest nowhere.

Sometimes, I'm alone with a well-kept secret. We embrace; he kisses me lightly on the cheek, giggles, and runs away. I keep it to myself. Some people are only meant for speculation, for dreams, and he is one of them.

In the car, my friend tells me that he's worried about another war ruining his travel plans.

"Don't think about it," I say. "Not until it happens."

I don't add my usual hopeful "if"--"if it happens" doesn't exist here. War is an inevitability. And we're due.

Back to the mundane insanity of everyday life here:

On the train from Haifa (another doctor's appointment--I'm doing well) back to Tel Aviv. The train stops at Binyamina, the station I would get off at if I were going to Zichron Ya'akov.

They kick all of us off the train and chaos ensues. I hear many stories: there is a fire between Binyamina and Hadera, so no trains can run. Not to mention that the entire line north of Haifa is out for maintenance until Thursday. Other stories: there is a chemical fire right on the tracks, no one can breathe there; there's a volcano, there's a terrorist attack, etc etc.

Everyone gets their ticket stamped: "We're sending three express buses to Tel Aviv". People are idiots. They pile into the middle of the street. The usual pissy Israeli drivers get more pissed. When buses arrive, people step farther into the road, smack on the bus, bang, scream. The drivers yell and gesticulate angrily. People get trampled. I think they want to get hit by the bus they claim to want a ride on. I love mobs.

I look over and see a familiar face, then lose it in the crowd. When I get out of the gates, I find him again. His back is to me, he's on the phone. I walk up to him.

"Hey," I say. "Are you Raz?" By some advanced miracle, I remember his name: Raz, from Avichai, where I met Assaf back in February.

We pair up and wait in the mob, under the burning sun. We find a tree. Yay for shade.

Over ten buses show up, lots of 70s--all to Hadera, none to Tel Aviv.

"Welcome to Israel," everyone keeps saying and rolling their eyes.

So much for "express buses". They're banging on the sides of a full school bus, hanging off the mirrors.

I call Assaf to find out what actually is going on. The Israel Train employee told me about the "chemical fire" and I relay this over the phone. He finds nothing.

"But the guy told me chemical because of some explosion," I say.

"Yeah, well, he's an idiot." He has to go to work, so we hang up. I relay the info to Raz. He tries calling a friend to come get us. Won't work.

I tell him about my interviewing project. He's interested, so I get his number and tell him I'll call him tomorrow to set something up for next week. This week is already insane for me and he's doing part of the Shvil anyway.

We wait for about an hour and give up on our days. But it's nice reconnecting like this.

A bus shows up. Sheirut size. "Are you kidding?" I ask. Raz laughs.

Then he says: "Someone just said the trains are running again."

A bunch of buses pull up.

We look between them and the trains, then at each other. We decide on the train.

He laughs. "Someone just said that someone probably screamed that the trains were working just so they could get on the bus."

"Oh, crap. Is that true?"

But we're already at security and they're letting people through.

"Guess not," he says, and we're in.

A very enthusiastic announcer tells us that all trains are up and running again. Yay!

We get on and amazingly find two seats next to each other.

Turns out, Raz is a counselor at Coleman, arch rival of Ramah Darom. But I get excited because it's Georgia and tell him to come visit. If I actually go back to Georgia.

We ride on the train for about two minutes before Raz tells me to look out the window. Lo and behold! There actually was a fire almost on the tracks. A farm burned and the tracks were lined with heaps of ashes. Remnants of bushes and crops stretched away from the tracks.

Raz and I commented on the terrible brush fires in the States and how they take days, weeks, and sometimes months to get under control.

"Well, think of the size of the area we're talking about getting under control," I say. "California, etc., mid-western prairie, versus some tiny little strip you can drive by in two minutes between Hadera and Binyamina."

It's worth noting here that for all of Israel's ETA x3 (because we're lots of Jews from concentrate), the rule does not apply to emergency situations like this one. True, the buses took hours to show up for us (and we didn't even end up using them), but the fire was completely extinguished in less than that time. That's about two hours total between start of fire (probably because of some idiot and a throw-away cigarette butt), discovery, extinguishing, and getting all citizens affected back on track--quite literally.

Raz got off around Netanya and the woman across from me started up a conversation about the day's insanity after asking me if I speak Hebrew, too, which I affirmed. She got off at the University, which left me with three stops to go on my own.

I got off at HaHagana and made my way around to the bus stop to get home. By the way, they need to rethink this efficiently (like almost everything else around here): bus stop is directly across from the station but there's no cross walk. Instead, there's a barrier. In order to get there, I have to walk about half a kilometer around and navigate two cross walks instead of walking twenty feet forward. Yay Israel. But we already know the priorities. And if it's not an emergency, act first, think later.

I and the other remaining passenger on the sheirut asked the driver to drop us off in front of Aroma. Beeline for the coffee after this nutcase day. God, it was good.

I get home and start to change. I'm pants-less and can't find what I'm looking for and there's someone knocking at the door. I tell them to wait a minute. They knock again.

I give up on the pants and answer the door with sweat pants on that I forget to change out of later. It's the maintenance guy seeing if the internet's working. He doesn't seem to understand our request for a secure network. Welcome to Israel! "Who would try to hack you?" he asks. "How should I know?! That's the point!" He says he'll work on it. Just like those light bulbs I requested last week that he'll get to me "this second".

He tells me he hasn't slept since two days ago because he was up until 5:30 playing poker. He leaves. The internet connects with a full signal but doesn't work...I use my usual mooch connection. Off to Ulpan now and then Assaf's. And Dexter...my latest addiction.


*In the Emergency Room, my doctor's phone rang and she promptly answered. A ten minute conversation ensued. When she hung up, our conversation picked up without a pause, as if nothing had happened.