It felt like 4 AM, but the sun was up and it was around 10 AM. This, the jet lag, seems to be my only excuse for both of the the following instances.
The first began on our plane to Israel, the third and final ride from Istanbul to Tel Aviv, and my phone was on red. Our previous plane had provided blankets, eye shades, head phones, the works. Including a handy USB charging port. But somehow in those 9 hours of ample opportunity, I failed to charge my phone. So I began looking for a port on this new flight.
I knew someone would be coming, my little sister was in seat C, I was in seat B, and seat A (a window seat) would surely be reserved. And sure enough, a middle aged man (I would guess around 45 or older) came to the row and motioned to the seat beside me.
I began getting up to let him into his seat, when he began speaking fast and started on his way to the seat. “Oh wow” I thought. “Ok, I guess we’re gonna squish?”
Have you seen how tiny that space is between your legs and the next seat? It is not forgiving to pounds, or obstacles like my backpack which was quickly tucked under the seat. The denim was stifling. And several times he stoped, and I thought “yep, he’s gonna go back to the isle so we can get up and let him through sanely” but oh no.
I don’t believe in magic, but it’s a true wonder he made it into that A seat and we all breathed happily ever after.
After that little adventure I felt invincible. I couldn’t turn my enthusiasm towards talking to my new but foreign friend, so I resumed looking for a USB port. I looked everywhere. My seat handle, the many gadgets on the seat in front of me, and as I began looking around the screen monitor, Mr. Squish made a disapproving sound, shook his head, and said “no”.
“No?” I thought. “No what?” It was odd, but I just smiled politely and kept looking for the blasted thing.
I don’t know what Mr. Squish thought I was doing. Stashing drugs? Ruining the electronics? As I moved the screen to feel around it’s sides for a port, he put the screen back, shook his finger at me and said “no”.
I had two options. Keep looking and probably have some kind of spat with my new foreign friend, or ask my oldest sister across the isle who was inquiring about a port. I did the latter, and found out there was no port. In retrospect, I could have pulled out my charging cord, and it would have been easy to communicate what I was looking for. But I didn’t think of that until later, and I didn’t care that much about what he thought of me.
I probably should have had a spat with him. Perhaps I needed to match his intensity for him to respect me more. Because the whole flight, he was helpful, but not always in a way I understood as friendly.
When I went to buckle my seatbelt, he did it for me. When I put the tray table down as drinks were served, he did it for me. And then ordered wine at 10 AM. Was he stressed? Everything from taking the remote out of the magnetic holder to plugging in the headset, he either showed me how to do it (helpful) or quickly did it for me (intense and uncomfortable). Keep in mind, this all happened not in the corse of polite conversation, but as he watched everything I did, and we were not able to communicate. I still am not completely sure if this intensity was typical to the culture, or something else.
I did get stoped by security, making sure I was traveling with someone as I “look younger than 18”. Perhaps Mr. Squish thought this was my first time flying, and I needed help, and felt a grudging obligation? I’ll likely never know.
I have not been outside of my house the past two years, much less out of the country, so I did feel clueless a lot of the time. I’m also apparently bad luck on a trip, as I must have looked suspicious and required getting an extra security search every time we went through security. Perhaps my feeling clueless is why everyone seemed comfortable ordering me round. Or, again, it could also be the culture, who’s people do tend to be more outspoken and direct than us Americans. Either way, it makes for some great stories.
My second hilarious but frustrating encounter was on a bus. Every morning we would leave between 6:30-7:30 in the morning, and travel on a tour bus (which had WiFi and a USB port!). The first two days, I felt so tired and stayed on the bus to nap as the rest went into the sites. This is important to know, only because it explains how well acquainted I felt with that bus. We were fellow sojourners of sorts, and it was my haven of rest. Well, until one day when the group and I were coming back to the bus from visiting the Sea of Galilee. From a distance, I saw our tour guide standing outside my haven. He carried the white-and-black “Levi” sign (the name of our group) and a lamb held high on a stick, his signature and hard to miss staple. By the time I walked through the crowd and reached where our tour guide had been standing, he was no longer standing there. I climbed onto my haven, and started walking back to my seat, when something felt strange. Hadn’t a hat been on this seat when we left? And where were all the water bottles that were usually scattered on the seats? About this time, another passenger entered the bus, and the middle aged man (what’s with all these middle aged men??) looked about as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Immediately he began shaking his head and his finger. “No no no! My bus!” If I wouldn’t have noticed before he did that I was indeed in the wrong bus, I would have sat down and said “my bus”. But I simply walked out. And, as if I didn’t have a clue, ran into the bus coordinator who pointed, “This his bus, your bus there.” Thank you, thank you very much.
How these people keep track of the busses, which are almost all Mercedes Benz and look identical, I don’t know. But apparently a lot of the tour guides and bus drivers know each other. My tour guide was talking with someone, which explains the accidental misleading.
The trip was full of adventures similar to this. Everything from getting locked in the bathroom to education on how their toilets flush (the science of which I still don’t completely understand). But these were the easiest stories to write out, as I wait to find words for the deeper spiritual adventures.
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