5:30 came early. But I got up anyway. I desperately needed a shower. Of course, I picked the hostel that doesn't have a drain on the floor. So, I showered, then tried to get dressed with standing water on the floor, with my clothes balanced precariously on the rim of the sink and toilet tank, since there was no lid on the toilet seat. I felt rather like an acrobat. It really is a good thing I'm so nice. I should have just made Travis get out of bed and stand outside while I dressed in the bedroom. He'd better be grateful for me being such a stinkin' nice sister. I guess he made up for it though a bit later. We went out to get the advertised breakfast, but there wasn't anyone out there, except sleeping "fairy dust" on the couch. Instead, I jumped on the Internet and let Travis do all our packing. Awww... such a nice brother... At one point, Travis broke the computer, so while he tried to fix it (unsuccessfully, I might add), I sat there looking at Crookshanks on the floor. Yes, that's right, Crookshanks was at our hostel in Amman, Jordan. Who knew? We were trying to decide if that meant Hermione was somewhere in the area, or if that meant Hermione was going to die in Book 7, and Crookshanks was now on his own. We were pretty sure that meant Crookshanks would not die in Book 7. Who knew that Crookshanks would actually be kinda cute? I always pictured him as this hideous cat who walked into a wall. But, he fit every description and was actually cute! Ha! Travis left to do more packing, and I fixed the computer. We did a bit more Internet until our taxi came.
The taxi took us straight to the airport with only one small detour... the detour being him stopping and making us get out of his taxi and get in another one. I'm not even sure he planned on this stop. He was driving through a small town, spotted another taxi coming the other way, stopped, got out, yelled, the two conversed in typical Arabic seemingly-hostile-but-probably-actually-friendly fashion, then next thing you knew, our bags were being taken out of the trunk and transferred to the other taxi. We're still not sure why.
We got to the border... finally. We weren't sure where to go, so we kind of wandered until we figured it out. We were told the border opened at 8, so we had timed our arrival for 8. By the size of the lines and the amount of people leaving, it had been open for awhile already. When we finally got to the front of the line, they took our pictures with this little camera that you'd see on a computer... I wonder what they used that picture for... Wanted posters in Jordan, perhaps? There was an American group of four behind us. We ended up talking to them for awhile. They were great. They were in Amman on a business trip. They had finished up their business and had the day off, so they decided they wanted to jump over Jerusalem for a few hours. They actually could have stayed all day, but since it was Saturday (Shabbat, remember), the border closed in the early afternoon. So, they had to go over, spend about an hour, then come back before the border closed, because their plane left the next morning. Travis and I thought they were both crazy, especially considering the lines in this place. They'd spend, probably 4 hours at the border, 2 hours in travel, all for one hour in Jerusalem. However, had I never been to Jerusalem and if I was that close and in their position, I probably would have done it, too. We kept letting them cut in front of us so they could move faster, but we ended up sticking with them the whole time.
After the initial passport check, we had to board a bus that drove us for miles across the apparently ginormous border and dropped us off on the Israeli side. Which was ten thousand times worse.
We got in a line to go through security gates and x-ray machines. At this point, we're pointed back outside because my backpack was too big and need to be "checked." I'm not getting on a plane, why do they have to check my luggage? But, I couldn't understand a word they said, and they were insistent, so I complied. Best I could figure, they were sending it through some heavy duty x-ray machine. With this fear, Travis refused to surrender his camera bag. They let him keep it. Problem is, no one in the Middle East has ever heard of a line. Which is a problem when you have no idea what you're doing. I found myself in the midst of this huge crowd, trying to get to the front. I took Bro. Merrill's advice and was "politely aggressive." I finally got my bag to the front, and they put a little sticker on my passport. We finally made it through.
I made it through without problem, but in typical fashion, Travis got flagged for his suspicious bag. As I waited for him, I realized I had a perfect view of the x-ray monitor. It was really cool watching things go through. I was curious what Travis' camera bag looked like—could I see all his film?—so I paid close attention. Turns out, there's something in the lining of his bag or something that makes it look like one big metal box. No wonder they make him open his bag everywhere we go.
This was my first experience with an air puffer. That shocked Travis. He said he goes through them every time he flies. I think he's silly. I'd never been through one, and they let him skip it. It's... weird.
We got into yet another line to stamp our passports. ~sigh... But Trav and I, by this point, had learned to be patient in all things. I mostly just felt bad for our other American friends that were in a hurry. We got passed around from line to line until we finally found the line for foreigners. That was not the line I wanted to be in. Sure, I'm a foreigner and everything, but the lady at the booth was ornery! At one point, she looked up, pointed to a guy just behind us and yelled, "Sir! I told you to sit down!!! The guy looked utterly alarmed and started looking around, hoping she was talking to someone else. Fire was shooting out of her eyes. It was frightening. And then, the fire was gone. Her eyes had flicked over a few feet to see another guy sitting on a bench by the wall. "Oh, never mind. I thought you were someone else." No apology in her voice at all. We listened to her as she questioned every person that went through the line. You'd think every single person was a known terrorist trying to enter the country. Almost every single person had their passport taken to another room where I'm sure a full jury sat to decide their fate. We finally got to the front of the line. I'm glad I don't bite my nails, or I'm sure I would have had none left. We had watched some people hand her more than one passport as family, so we decided we should do the same. I handed her both passports. She glared at me and told me one at a time. I quickly took one of them back. Turns out she kept Travis'. She started questioning him. What was he doing in Israel? Did he know anyone there? Now, you could quite possibly question his honesty in his answers, but by this point, he feared that any remarkably suspicious answer would land us in that jury of death room. So he told her we were on vacation, taking photos. Was he a professional? (He was carrying a tri-pod, we couldn't hide that.) He dodged the question by saying he was here for his own personal leisure. He also claimed he knew no one in Israel. Ok, that was a flat out lie because of everyone at the Center, but really, that answer could lead to no good. She finally cleared him. Assuming I'd have all the same answers, she asked a few minimal questions, then let us go with only our eyebrows singed. We took a deep breath and moved on to the next line.
The other Americans were well ahead of us in this line. They waved back at us. As they were about 10 from the front, a border guy came and opened up the barrier right in front of us and told us we could go through there. So we ended up in the next room (where I found my luggage) before the other American group. The looks on their faces when they saw us there, after they had just waved to us far behind them... ha! It was great. We decided we could surpass the next line because we were foreigners... I'm not sure if that really was allowed, but no one stopped us.
Ok, now we're outside. How to get from the border to Jerusalem? Everything we read said we could get a taxi. Sure enough, there was a little booth that offered taxi services. We tried to get a van that would take us all, but one that held just four was ready to go, so we shooed them on, since they were in a much bigger hurry than we were. We took the next one. Getting closer to Jerusalem, we realized that we were going to be late for church. Especially since we didn't know where we were going. Luckily, the lady that sat in front of me spoke English, so I asked her. The Central Bus station. That didn't help me. I told her that when Travis came from the airport, they dropped him off at the Center... could this driver do the same? She asked him, told him it was by Hebrew U. He agreed. We sat back, content. Travis started getting confused when we entered Jerusalem, I kept assuring him it was fine, the driver knew where we were going. Travis kept insisting that we missed the turn, but I figured he was just dropping other people off first. We discovered where the Central Bus Station is. It's right next to the Garden Tomb. Like, when you look at skull rock and can't see the mouth anymore because they built a bus lot? That's it. So then the driver drove us back up the hill, but dropped us off on the other side of Hebrew U. Think being dropped off on 800 E when you really need to be at the Temple. Yes, hill included. Actually, a worse hill. Up and down. Many times. We kept pointing over to the Center (which we could see) and trying to get him to understand that that is where we needed to be. He kept pointing down the road and telling us to walk. We were frustrated. It was soooo far away. Finally he told us, "Allenby to Jerusalem." (Allenby is the border) Then he pointed around and stated, "Jerusalem!" Then, frustrated with us, he said, "Get a taxi!" And left us there on the side of the road.
We looked down the road he had pointed at for us to get to the Center. We looked up where we had just been going. We debated as to which way would really be the better way. The way he was pointing was guaranteed to have a steep downhill then uphill climb. Cursed (said: curse-ed) hills anyway. Straight ahead was uphill for awhile, but it was gradual. And we figured would be on the same height as the Center. The salt in the wound was that the taxi driver had driven down the road that he had pointed out to us. Jerkface. Without much other choice, we started hiking. I quickly learned that the backpack I carried was made for a man. I had never carried it for such a long distance to figure this out. Sure, I had been responsible for it all week, but it was typically just from a car to a hotel kind of distance. After twenty minutes of straight hiking, the tops of my hip bones were indisputably bruised from the straps. Oh well. We meandered through the Hebrew U campus. We got to forks in the road and tried to use the Hebrew U tower as a guide. We finally found our way to the Center, after having walked around the perimeter of the entire Hebrew U campus, a gradual incline the entire way. I almost wonder if the shorter steep up and down wouldn't have been better.
We got to the Center just a few minutes before noon—just as church was ending. We didn't have anywhere else to go, however, so we headed on in. We had tried to make reservations for a hotel online the day before, but after we had made the reservation, we found the fine print that said the reservation office was closed all day Friday and Saturday. We had made the reservation on Friday, and now, here it was—Saturday. And we needed a hotel. We moved over to the phone and started making phone calls. We tried to call the Reich hotel over and over again. (How ironic is it to stay at a hotel in Jewish Jerusalem called the Reich?) No one would answer the phone, however. It just rang and rang and rang. So we tried calling Avis. We were hoping we could pick up our car that day, instead of having to get a taxi, but no luck. It was, after all, Saturday, and everything was closed. We finally got ahold of the Avis office at the airport, who at least assured us that we could drop off the car the next Saturday at the airport, however, the office in Jerusalem was most definitely closed today.
As we checked our email and tried to catch up on life, Bro. Lee came over and visited with us. I had never spoken so much with Bro. Lee before. He told us a lot more about his life, and how he used to work on some river (I don't recall the details... the Colorado River, perhaps?). He told us about some US President's child came and wanted to do a rafting trip, and all of the security that had to go into it. And how said child was an idiot and didn't listen to the guide and ended up flipping their raft. We all just talked and talked. It was fun. Finally, we had security cal us a taxi who drove us, first to Aladdin's so we could get some Israeli money, then off to the Reich.
This hotel is by far my favorite hotel of the trip. First, it was actually a nice hotel for a not-so-bad price. Second, it's a fully fledged Jewish hotel. Kosher food and total Shabbat observance. And, of course, we showed up on a Saturday. Can I just tell you that a Shabbat-observant hotel on Shabbat is by far one of the most unique experiences there is? We got to the front desk and started speaking with the receptionist, who turned out to be an amazingly non-observant Jew. We told her of our quandary of trying to reserve a room and how no one answered the phone. She told us it was Shabbat, hence they could not answer the phone. We asked if they had laundry services. She said yes, but that it's not offered on Shabbat. We asked if they served dinner (it was 5 pm and we had not eaten all day). She said they did, but that it was a Shabbat dinner, and hence, very expensive. [sigh] We asked if there were anywhere close that would be open. But of course there wasn't--we were in the middle of Jewish Jerusalem. However, this is when she became very helpful.
"You could order in food," she offered.
"Really? Do you know anywhere? Any numbers?" we asked.
"Yeah, of course. There's a pizza place, or a burger place."
"Those both sound wonderful."
"May I make a suggestion?"
"Please do."
"If you get the pizza, I would suggest getting extra cheese. With—"
I'm going to cut off her sentence for one moment to explain my train of thought. At this point, I am thinking she is going to insert some type of vegetable. I mean, this girl is a Jewish girl working at a Shabbat observing hotel. Surely she wouldn't offer us something that was not kosher. Which any meat would do. But, then again, she had been kind of sarcastic as she told us all the things that the hotel didn't do because it was Shabbat. I had been certain she had stopped herself from rolling her eyes on several occasions. So even if she were to finish this sentence with a meat, surely it would be anything except pork. Because, really, even if you're not going to be kosher in Jerusalem, you still don't eat pork. From what I hear, it's nigh unto impossible to even find pork in Jerusalem. Neither the Jews nor the Muslims eat pork. That leaves approximately 12 people who will eat pork. (Yes, I realize this is grossly under exaggerated. Just the students at the Center alone are about 8 times that number.)
"—bacon."
[stunned silence]
But then again, we had had our fair share of "pepperoni" pizza in Jerusalem which actually turned out to be not pepperoni, but rather another meat that was non-pork. Typically lamb. Maybe that's what this really was.
"If you go for the cheeseburger, get it done medium well—there's no blood in it anyway—with bacon on it."
I couldn't help myself this time. "Bacon?! I didn't think you could get bacon here!"
"Shhhh!!!!! Don't yell it!"
I had made the mistake of speaking rather loudly just as a Jewish family made their way across the lobby. "Sorry," I whispered. Travis just laughed.
We got the phone numbers and decided to call from our room. I mentioned getting on the elevator and the receptionist was like, "Yeah... about that..." I rolled my eyes and slumped down on the desk. "It doesn't work on Shabbat?" She laughed. "Well, it does, but..." The light went on in my head halfway through her sentence, "But it's a Shabbat elevator." She grinned. "Yup."
Let me tell you about Shabbat elevators, just in case you have no idea what they are. To push a button on an elevator has been deemed by the head rabbis as using electricity, and thus, doing work, and thus, breaking the sabbath. But, you can't just keep people from using an elevator—especially hotels that have many floors. Also, this hotel didn't have any rooms on the ground floor. So everyone has to go up at least one floor to get to their room. Without an elevator, that's not very handicapped accessible. So they created Shabbat elevators. On the sabbath, the elevator will actually stop at every floor, staying open for about 30-60 seconds. It just goes up and down all day long, stopping at every floor. This particular elevator emitted a very loud buzz when it opened. That way, you can always hear when the elevator is open on your floor. So while sitting in your room, you can make a quick break for the elevator as soon as you hear the buzz echoing down the halls.
We headed over to the elevator. The door was open, just waiting for us as we got there. When we got in, the receptionist said, "Hope it's not going down!" The doors shut. Sure enough, the elevator went down. The doors open, we sat there, the doors closed, we went back up, the doors opened, we smiled and waved at the receptionist laughing at us, the doors closed, and opened and closed, etc. until we made it to our floor.
We called the pizza place, deciding that pizza with bacon was more exciting, and the line was busy. We waited a little while and tried again. Same results. We decided we were too hungry to wait for the phone line to clear, so we called the burger place instead. We decided to take the advice of the receptionist and got our bacon cheeseburger medium well. When I told the guy the address of the hotel, he paused and asked a little nervously, "You do realize that we're not kosher, right?" Hello! I'm ordering bacon cheeseburgers! Instead I said, "Yeah, I know. I'm from America, I don't really care about kosher." Travis pointed out later that probably wasn't the best thing to say. Oh well. Either way, the guy laughed and told me that he only asks because the last time he delivered to that hotel, he gave the guy the box, the guy opened it and freaked out because it wasn't kosher. [rolls eyes]
Travis and I took the stairs downstairs and sat outside to wait for the cheeseburgers. (They told us we couldn't have it delivered to our room.) The food came and we headed back up to our room. When we were faced with the choice of elevator or stairs, we decided to take the stairs. The smell of bacon was permeating the halls already. It would be cruel of us to sit for 30+ seconds on every floor, sending that smell to a bunch of people who can't eat it. Along the way, Travis said one of my favorite quotes of the trip: "I feel like I'm smuggling cigarettes into a church." Hahaha!
Turns out that, blood or not, not fully cooked beef is not appetizing to me. Bleh. I ate most of it, but I couldn't finish... even though it was the first time I've eaten bacon in months. Besides, the bacon had more fat than bacon. Very anti-climactic.
We turned on HP 6 again, and we both definitely fell asleep. I woke up after awhile and decided to let Travis keep sleeping. So I changed to some music, then started working on my blog. This is turning out to take much more time than I expected. :) Travis woke up and started doing some stuff for himself, so I went over to the bed and called Mom. After a nice chat with her, we turned HP 6 back on for awhile.
Finally... it was time for bed.
Quotes of the day:
- "That's why I couldn't be Orthodox in any religion... Rationalization is just so much fun." - Trav
- "It's sad when you get excited about a bathroom." - Trav
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