“I’m in Israel…what the hell?!”

This was essentially my internal cadence as I de-planed, walked through the airport, got my luggage, made my way to the taxi stand, was driven into Tel Aviv, and arrived at the university. “What am I doing alone in the Middle East? I’m supposed to live here for a year, knowing only a little of the language and no actual people? And good God it’s HOT!”. But let me back up first…

After arriving at my terminal at Charles de Galle (through pure luck, as Charles de Galle is the most poorly mapped airport on the planet), going though passport control, and finding the Royal Jordanian desk I wait in line for 35 minutes to find out that I have too much baggage. Now, this was not unexpected; there was no way that I was going to fit one years worth of clothes, research materials, and other various supplies into the same amount of baggage weight most people use to go on holiday. What I didn’t realize was that it was so bloody expensive! Charging me only half of what they could have (I was only allowed one bag weighing a maximum of 20kg; I had two that weighed 20kg), I was charged 21€/kg. for a total of 210€…or US$283. As I said, this was expected. What was not expected, however, was the system of payment which had to take place.

Now, before I explain further, I do need to give a disclaimer: if my French were better, this whole incident would have been shorter and far less panic-inducing. Not to say it isn’t a bit complicated already, but my lack of linguistic skill certainly wasn’t helping the situation.

I find out, upon being told I owe 210€, that I cannot pay her with a credit card as their system isn’t set up to do such. However, I am told, there’s an American Express kiosk outside gate 3; “aviance gate 3”. So I go back through passport control, having to explain in poor French why I re-entering the country having never actually left, and head to gate 3 to find American Express.

I arrive at gate 3, and there’s no American Express. Shit. I know, though, that I walked by one on my initial trek through the airport so it must be around somewhere. Between gates 3 and 4 are some restaurants, so I head back to gate 4 and find…American Express! I rejoice to soon, though; they’re closed. It’s 3:30p, I’m in a French airport and am 210€ in debt to a Jordanian airline so that I can fly to Israel. Only my life.

So I decide to just track down an ATM and withdraw the money directly. The first ATM I find is out of service, so I track down a second one. Money in hand, I head back down to the Royal Jordanian via passport control. Now, the first time I went through passport control, I got a stern bollocking by the border woman because I didn’t have proof of my flight or reservation. The problem is you have to go through border control to reach the desk, so unless you brought a printout of your reservation with you (and I don’t own a printer, mind you) you’re out of luck. Smartly, though, I put print outs of my flight confirmation in each of my bags so that, should they be lost, there’s a detailed itinerary of where they should have gone.

Before checking my bags with Royal Jordanian, I pulled out one of those copies to have just in case I needed it. Thankfully that meant that, upon my second trip through passport control, I had a confirmation sheet to hand in with my passport. With a smile and a “merci”, I head back to the Royal Jordanian desk. I find out, however, that I misunderstood. “Aviance” is not “avant”, as I had in my panic mistakenly thought it was. Aviance is the baggage handling company, and it’s to them I owe the 210€.

I truck it back though border patrol, back to gate 3, and find the Aviance desk. After paying them and obtaining the necessary receipts, I head back to passport control. At any point, having been running around the airport, been in and out of a restricted area many times, and withdrawing large amounts of cash, I am expecting to be slide-tackled by armed airport security at any moment. My fears are unfounded, though, as the passport lady saw me approaching, smiled, and just waved me through. Who says the French are stuck up and snobby?

My third arrival at the Royal Jordanian desk is finally met with success!! The stewardess apologized for the confusion, at which point I quickly apologized for my crap French having caused the confusion in the first place. All that forgotten, though, I finally have my boarding pass in hand and proceed to my gate. A quick jaunt through security (when you fly to the Middle East, each gate has its own security check) and I’m at my gate with 20 minutes to spare, nevermind I arrived at the airport three hours early.

I sit down at the gate, take a deep breath, and come to a terrible realization: I smell AWFUL! Between hauling two 50 lbs. suitcases and a backpack on two trains, through the airport, and then dragging my backpack with me throughout the whole “excess baggage” fiasco, I have long ago used up whatever deodorant I had applied that morning. At this point, though, I’m stuck; my baggage has been checked, I can’t leave the boarding area, and I have nothing with me with which to try and mask the scent. So I bunker down, keep my arms at my sides, and focus on the air conditioning.

The flight itself was pretty uneventful. In a moment of horrible stereotyping, I had a vision of the stewardesses being dressed in niqabs, and doing the safety demonstration covered from head to foot with nothing but an eye slit. Had that happened, given the madness of running around the airport I had just gone through, I probably would have giggled myself to Amman provided they didn’t throw me off the plane mid-flight.

In reality, the stewardesses and stewards were dressed no differently than any other flight attendants I’ve seen in my life, except for first class. The flight attendant that served first class wore what I believe is traditional Jordanian dress, that resembling a long-sleeved gown that is all black but for a one-foot, colorful stripe that runs from the neck to the hem front and back.

It was also during the flight that I came to an odd linguistic realization: I was an American (English) flying from France (French) on a Jordanian flight (Arabic) to Israel (Hebrew) to work with deaf people (ISL). The only two languages in which I’m competent, English and ASL, were going to do me little to no good upon my arrival and though I speak some Hebrew, I am certainly not conversational nor even truly functional.

I’m always up for a challenge.

Next entry, hopefully the last of these marathon catch-up entries, I’ll cover my arrival in Israel, settling in at Tel Aviv University, and my first full day as a goy in the Jewish motherland.