Home is where your heart is, missing planes and security checks.

I left my heart behind I think.
I'm back in Belgium. Back in rainy Belgium. It feels so weird and depressing.

I nearly missed my plane yesterday, big stress. I never stress, but there I was in the taxi, crying on the phone with my mother telling me I would probably miss it but it was no big deal if I did.
At 9.30 am I asked the receptionist  if she could book a taxi for 11.30 and she told me I had to be 3 hours in advance, it was thus waaaaay too early for me to go when my plane was at 2.50pm and I should take it at 1.30. I got really confused "wait, are you sure?" of course she was sure. at 12.30 pm I go back to see her see if she could call a taxi since my plane was at 2.50 pm "oh you need to go, now, now, arshav! I told you three hours before!!!"
The stress is slowly coming.
The taxi arrives at 12.47pm. "Is it far?" I ask. "huh? Ma?" "Is it far?" I try again, "What?", "Ze Karov?" (Is it close? - because I'd forgotten how to say far...) "Lo, ze lo karov, ze, 140 shekelim".
Right, I'm sorry but I don't work out distances with amounts of money, especially in foreign currencies in a country when I've only taken a taxi like once.
My mom calls. I cry. I stress.
1.12pm I arrive at the airport. I give the taxi driver 150 shekels "Ze besseder?" he asks. "Ken ken ze besseder" but please don't keep me waiting!!
I arrive in front of the doors. I obviously look like I'm not Israeli. I get stopped by the security lady who starts asking me tons of questions. I finally get into the airport after a bag opening "besseder, you can go".
I find the El Al queue. It looks like hours and hours of waiting. Then I find there is one advantage to not having an Israeli passport; the queue for non Israelis was empty. I get questioned by a red haired woman who looks determined to make me feel very bad."How long have you been here?" "Six weeks" I say, she looks at my bag and says "and that's all for six weeks?" looking at me like I'm some dirty bum. "erm, well, yes" (I wanted to add that you know, it is possible that I did the laundry and that it is better to travel light - even though my bag wasn't that light... but I didn't want to make her angry).
My passport changes hands, I get the same questions from other people, they take my passport away, they come back. "Come to the machine, you're late" "Yes, I'm very sorry".
They scan my luggage. "Go there" "okay okay".

I queue for about 5 minutes. "Come here". Time to open my luggage. Shit, I'd done such a good job closing it. The guy was very nice though, chit chatting, checking the bag. He forgot to see I packed a bullet in my bag and a snake moult which is illegal to have so the guy in Mitzpe Ramon told me. (FAIL).
After a very good check, *cough*, he takes me in front of everyone to the check-in counter and then to deposit my luggage and then to the hand luggage check where he leaves me. I would have kissed him. it was 1.55pm and boarding was at 2.10pm.
Fifteen minutes to scan a bag in a machine that looks like a rocket and is about 3 meters long. And a regular metal detector for people which takes about 2 seconds to pass through. But seriously, 15 minutes to scan a bag.
I got to the gate when they were just calling the passengers for boarding.

*Relief*

texting parents mode on: "Ani ba-matos" (I'm in the plane).

What an adventure.

Comments

  1. If I had to stress like that each time I'm late for a plane I would be dead from it by now!

    Welcome home my darling love <3

    Dad23

    ReplyDelete

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