November 5, 2010. Well, after our daunting jaunt up Mount Moses, we grabbed a quick breakfast and went back to the mountain. Torture? No. We visited the monastery, St. Catherine, at the base of the mountain. It was built in the 6th Century. As you can imagine, some pretty old stuff there.
Then we set out to Israel. A long bus ride through the wilderness. It only seemed like 40 years because there was nowhere to stop and eat or go to the bathroom. We arrived at the Red Sea and then headed north. It was pretty deserted and not very developed. Finally, we hit the border with Israel. Food and bathrooms awaited on the other side.
But first, we had to pass through Egyptian security and customs on the way out. Wait in line. Show passport. Wait in line. Go through metal detector. Why we needed to go through an Egyptian metal detector to go into Israel I have no idea. Wait in line. Show passport. Etc. So, we showed our passports a gazillion times (and believe me, its not cool to have a passport photo that looks nothing like you do, especially when viewed by someone of another ethnicity) and then walked to the Israeli immigration station.
Maybe it was just me or maybe because we had spent five days seeing mainly traditionally clad Muslim women, or maybe it was the midnight hike, or no food (we didn't know we were going to have a fast after the pilgrimage -- we could have prepared ourselves spiritually, and packed some food from the breakfast buffet), or maybe it was the never-ending bus ride, or maybe it was because I haven't gone this long without seeing my "smokin' hot wife", but the young Israeli women working the security detail looked pretty cute. They even had trendy low-riding, hip-hugger uniform pants (sorry, no photos. The Israelis don't like you using your camera at a security point). This is going to be a breeze. Not.
First, we waited in line. Then, we were individually quizzed. "Where all are you going?" "Where have you been?" They were students of body language and looked you dead in the eye. Then they paused after you answered, their gaze never wavering. A test of our truthfulness (thanks, Christine), but very uncomfortable. Then more waiting in line (see a pattern here? Perhaps they assume terrorists will get tired of waiting and just turn around and go home). Then, our bags went through a metal detector and so did we. The young babe scanning the luggage let half of our group go without any problem. Then, perhaps there was a change in hotties or maybe she got in trouble for not making us wait long enough, but something happened because all of a sudden, they started hand screening about 70% of the luggage coming through.
"Is this your bag?" they would ask before guiding you over to the humiliation table, where the whole world would see how poorly a job you do at packing, how much souvenir junk you had purchased, the fact that you travel with your blanky or favorite pillow, or that you are fond of fancy undergarments. Then, "Does everything in this bag belong to you?" That's tough. Well, it did when I put it in there. But what if some bellhop put a grenade in there? If I say yes, then I have admitted to trying to bring a grenade into Israel. They don't take too kindly to that sort of thing. If you say no, then I'm sure you get reams of questions and perhaps a very thourough examination (I could see the exam booth behind the humiliation table, what with its pull curtain, dispenser of disposable gloves, etc. Yeah, you get the picture). Fortunately, there were no grenades in my backpack, but the fun had only begun. After I feverishly packed up all my things, I realized that my large yellow duffel bag was also sitting in the pile of "let's humiliate our visitors some more" bags.
They kept selecting the other bags for examination. Not mine. I just stood there as person after person kept getting humiliated and then meekly gathered their things and moved on. They went through our entire group save about 3 people. Twenty minutes went by before I figured out what was going on. The three young girls who were doing the screening kept grabbing the small bags, backpacks and purses to hand screen. None of them wanted to pick up my big duffle bag and dig through it. Finally, after they all tripped over it numerous times, one of them got it. They pulled out all of the electronic gear and chargers so they could run it back through the metal detector. Only now the conveyor belt was stopped. Something was wrong with the machine. Really? So, after the entire security detail played with the controls and the computer and giggled and poked at each other, my dedicated officer took my deflated yellow duffel bag over to another machine. She proudly came back and set it on the humiliation table and with a coy smile said, "Thank you. Sorry for the delay". No problem.
Then, another line, another viewing of the passport and a stamps, visa, etc., then more lines and more viewings. The whole process took over an hour. But, we made it. We were finally into Israel and could get something to EAT! Not.
We arrived on Friday night and it was after sundown by the time we got through Checkpoint Charlene. The Sabbath had started. Everything was closed. Everything. Even McDonalds. The land of milk and honey was not as we had anticipated. We weren't the first to experience that though, were we?
We eventually found a convenience store that was open before the talks of mutiny came to fruition. I'm sure we made their day when 56 people unloaded out of two buses and bought practically everything edible in the store. Who cares that all the writing was in Hebrew. Junk food is junk food. Me? I had cheese puffs and a grape drink. In that moment it was my milk and honey.
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