Another Great Trek

Mount Meron

The Great Trek - Part 1

Sunday

Hectic and calm. Succah serenity and street noise juxtaposed. The reality of this world and the promise of things to come. Who knows but being in Israel created much internal debate and frequent discussions. However, that is much too serious a subject for now.

The journey to Seattle began after Shabbos, in fact, on Sunday. Our imaginations are not fertile enough to make up this story. We also don’t like to bore with ordinary travel (bore with special travel is okay?) but this might be of interest:
We arranged for transport to the airport early. All foreign bound flights, we were told, emanate from terminal 3, our drop-off point. On checking the departure advice, we found no listing of our flight. Ah! ‘Your flight is scheduled from terminal 1.’

Down the stairs, find and board the crowded bus and off to the correct terminal. Terminal 1’s entrance indicated entry through terminal 2, which we did—it was close by. Security was closed, for lunch we suppose, so we sat down and waited. Later, as is customary, the young security agent asked about our Hebrew. ‘We speak a little,’ we answered, ‘but our Russian is really starting to shine.’ Our ribs are turning black-and-blue with the constant jabs from our editor, though well deserved. We arrived at the airline ticket counter to find that service would commence 40 minutes later. They have to eat, too we realized. We stood in line and waited—hoping that someone would provide us lunch.

Not a star in Bethlehem

Immigration control gave us all the required rubber-stamps, followed by the usual security check for hand luggage and the metal detector walk-through. Interesting that, in arguably the strictest security system of world airports, ‘Sea Biscuit’ did not set off the alarm. This was a first. We hope metal is not a problem in issues of security these days but it gave us pause for thought.

A rush to the door by the other passengers raised our curiosity. ‘You are going to terminal 3 on the bus,’ the attendant told us.’ We were, for a change, confused. ‘If our flight is to leave from terminal 1, and having checked into that terminal, why are we now going to number 3? We should have gone there in the first place then—in fact we did.’
‘Do you think we’ll meet our plane somewhere on the tarmac?’ asked our editor. ‘Perhaps, a compromise,’ we answered. ‘We’re at 1, the plane’s at 3, how about meeting in the middle at terminal 2—sounds fair to us.’ To summarize, we took a shuttle to terminal 3, a bus to terminal 1, two hour check-in process and another bus back to terminal 3. Okay, it’s a system, we suppose.

A little work on the computer, board the plane only to have an hour delay while we waited for a take-off slot. ‘I hope our hotel is open for our 1 am arrival,’ our editor wisely asked. She had no argument from us.

We obviously departed from Israel, heading towards Geneva with a hotel booked in France as there were no vacancies in the former. Sounds strange or as we say in America, ‘neat’. Not really. The Swiss and the French are such ‘good buddies’, they share an airport and a language. Our idea was to land in Switzerland, sleep just over the border in Ferney Voltaire, returning to the airport to catch our Delta flight bound for Seattle via Amsterdam—see a lot of the world in twenty-four hours. ‘Man plans and G-d laughs.’

The trick is to leave Geneva Airport and pass through the French exit. As we arrived at midnight, the Swiss authorities only had two officials on duty causing a further delay. Finally, when we checked through immigration, we asked about entering the French side. ‘France is closed,’ he informed us curtly. “Closed,’ we exclaimed. We understand that it was the early hours of Monday morning and people need a good night of sleep but surely closing the country is a little extreme. Well, when you don’t like an opinion, you ask for another. ‘Yes,’ said the information attendant, ‘there are no taxis on the French side.’ We suppose they also went home to bed. We had no idea things were so strict in that country.

We decided to make our assault on France from the Swiss side as the taxis were operating locally. The plan was to make a border crossing by road, Jen would lie down on the back seat and we would wear our French beret. In an anti-climatic finish, the border post was unmanned and we alighted from our taxi, we suppose, successfully. We were then in France unchecked and only slightly scathed, mentally.

We entered the hotel lobby. Empty. We searched for assistance but of course, this was France— officially closed. Our editor spotted a note that instructed late arriving guests to proceed 200 meters to the left to get a room code. The problem was that it was vague. Remember it was 12:45am, a foreign land, two weary travelers, dark, language issues, cultural differences and of course, everyone else was asleep. The search for the room code had to begin in earnest.

Great Trek- Part 2

‘If we go left we will cross the border into Switzerland. Perhaps they meant on the left side of the road.’ We began to pace the distance, converting meters to yards as we progressed (regressed). No success. We flagged down a taxi and in our best French accent, asked for his advice. Okay, not a good idea. Another taxi driver stopped for us and, after explaining the issue, re-directed us. What a blessing! In parting, his words were: ‘Shalom, I’m Arabi.’ Our answer and sentiment: ‘And we are grateful.’ Says something about wearing a kippah in Muslim-France.

Look-out Post--Arbel

We now had direction and retraced our steps confidently, heading towards the establishment that held the secret code to our room. Time: 1 am, Monday. Place: Somewhere in France. What: Two aging ‘hippies’ wondering down a dark road apparently lost. We struggle with the concept ourselves but as we lived through it, it’s real. Our editor seemed to hit a high note when she made a statement that floored us. We suppose that after being in the Negev it does make sense. She said: ‘I really love walking in this cool air—I feel terrific.’ Context, my Love, context. Finally, we arrived at another hotel and found a person on duty. After some communication, he began his task. After ten minutes, he finally seemed to get the hang of ‘Windows XP’ and worked out the code. Off we went and after 100 yards, he chased and called us back about additional complications. Don’t ask what was discussed.

Fortunately, the code worked (we had serious doubt) and we showered and bunked down for the night. We felt wonderful that the next day could only improve. In fact, it was already the next day.

Later that day but in sunshine

The bus stop is outside our hotel and we elect to ride it to the airport, which is only two miles away. Things work smoothly and we are heading for Geneva airport. The roads in France are busy but appear orderly. A good night of sleep has obviously helped the populace. On the bus, we think about buying some tickets. We notice disinterest from the driver but see passengers feeding a machine with coins. Hmm! Coins. We just have a few pieces of colored paper issued by the governments of the United States, Switzerland and the European Union as well as credit cards. For a bus, we are paupers. We stand next to the driver but don’t wish to disturb him until he is ready. Meantime, the bus arrives at the airport and we approach him and say in clear and concise English: “We have no idea how to buy a ticket,” holding out ten Euros. He replies something that sounded like: Ugg jkafds gshdhns aaajjsjsj!!333@.” In our best French expression, we shrug our shoulders, jump off the bus, remembering to grab our lovely editor, too. Without her, we would only be half-a-person.
A ladder helps

Self-check-in procedures are in operation at the terminal. The system does not recognize us. Maybe the bus driver alerted the police following the ticket issue. At the check-in desk, a very nice Swiss fellow explains: “Delta overbooked the flight and you are now flying British Airways through London, later.” Obviously, buying the tickets 6 months earlier gave us no priority. We look at each other and smile. Then we know we are truly blessed. It’s easy to be happy when things are going well.

The fellow sends us off to the KLM desk where our new schedule is handed over and then off to British Airways. It works quite smoothly although we lost good seats booked so long ago. ‘How about the kosher food, we ordered?’ ‘Oh! You need to order that at least 24 hours before the flight,’ she informs us. Duh! We think the airlines do a great job—a great job making flying most unpleasant. Our plane was late from Geneva to London. We arrived in the chaotic terminal 5 at Heathrow with less than an hour to spare but not sufficient to buy standby items. Sure enough, there was no kosher food for us. South Beach diet? No. Weight Watcher special from London to Seattle—what a concept!

Although our editor likes boat travel more than we do, we’re starting to consider trying out a submarine. The way we are feeling, we think travel could only get better under water. As we write this, the cabin personnel brought us a bowl of fresh fruit. B’H.

We are disappointed that there is more excitement between hikes than during them. This is not the way it is supposed to be. When all is said and done, we are most grateful that we are back safely. B’H.

Finally, it was wonderful seeing our son, Gavin, waiting for us at the airport. A parent should have a child ‘in each port’.