Let the Games Begin

American Airlines employees are overage, overweight and way way way underbrained.

The check in agent at O'Hare looked like maybe this was her first day on the job. Or maybe she was transferred from the domestic desk. After several minutes of staring at the computer with that confidence-inspiring look of panic she had to ask a supervisor for help. I asked if there was a problem. She said no, she just had to make sure we had the right documents. Meaning that the passports weren't about to expire. That shouldn't have taken the help of a supervisor. Then she asked if we had return tickets. DUH. She was staring at our reservation. Then she asked what country Tel Aviv is in. I almost hit the floor. She said we will get a 90 day visa on arrival. The thing is, we're staying 94 days. But she couldn't figure that out. Anyone who was on the ball would have pointed it out to us. So much for checking that we had the right documents. Then she asked what country Amsterdam (where we changed planes) is in. Don't they teach geography anymore? 

The flight from Chicago to Philadelphia (where we also changed planes) was uneventful, in spite of the iffy weather in Chicago that morning (Oct 2). All 3 flight attendants were overweight. I'm not talking about a few pounds. I'm talking about 20. And they were thisclose to retirement. Not that I'm  a weightist or an ageist; I'm no spring chicken either. But these broads were really used up. 

We got to Philly in time to kill an hour in the Admiral's Club, which was 7 gates away from our next flight. Only problem was, it's under construction. They have a second Club, but it's a hike. Fortunately you can get there by golf cart, which you have to order at the white courtesy phone. I always thought those phones were just wall decorations, but they actually work. It was our first ride on a cart and I felt the stares of people saying to themselves "they look healthy enough to walk; why should they get a ride?" The Admirals Club was small and crowded, with almost every chair occupied. 

Then it was time to board the flight to Amsterdam. The flight attendant on my side must have been having a bad day. Or life. She had a mean look about her. At least she wasn't fat. But she needed more training. I have no idea what her mother tongue was, but her English wasn't so good. I ordered Glenlivet with 2 ice cubes. She asked if I wanted it with ice. Two cubes, I repeated. So she brings me 2 mini bottles of Dewers and a glass half filled with ice. I asked her for Glenlivet. She said she only had one. Fine, I said, I'll take it. Then came the hot towels. For  the life of me, I can't figure out why they still do this. Maybe they want to taunt passengers by reminding them that once upon a time air travel was actually an elevated experience. Then the towels had to be picked up. I had a pile of kleenex on the console next to me (flying with a cold or sinus infection, whatever I came with) is NO fun. So when she collected the towels, she picked up the kleenex instead. How do you mistake a pile of fluffy kleenex for a limp towel? We were still in the fasten seat belt phase and I needed that kleenex. At least she brought replacements without having to be asked.

Then there was the dressing. You know those cute little bottles of salad dressing they serve. Well,  neither Sid nor I could grip the little devil to twist it open. You needed something like a rubber glove, which we didn't have in our carry-ons. Sid finally managed to cut the seal on his. I certainly wasn't about to ask the flight attendant for help.

In Amsterdam we had to go through extra El Al security. The agent asked for our checked baggage receipts in order to match them with the arriving transferred bags. She asked if there was a missing receipt. I said no; 4 checked bags, 4 receipts. But they weren't sequential - 5,6,8,9. Where was 7? I told her how dumb the check in agent at O'Hare was, having to ask what countries Tel Aviv and Amsterdam were in. She just rolled her eyes.

When we landed in Tel Aviv the immigration area wasn't too busy. I went to the kiosk and checked myself in, while Sid went to the line for holders of foreign passports.What I didn't understand was why Israelis were in that line. I said to one woman that she should go to the kiosk. She said she did but the machine didn't recognize her passport. So instead of going to the clerk at the kiosks she went into the foreign passport line. Right in front of Sid. The immigration officer took quite a while to get her sorted out. Then it was Sid's turn. Remember the 90-day visa? The way around it is if you're staying a few days over you just tell the officer that you're staying 94 days, which Sid did. Well, the previous customer must have really pissed him off because he told Sid he has a 90 day visa and if he wants it extended he has to go to the Ministry of the Interior. 

On to baggage claim ...

There were no carts. Anywhere. We had 4 bags, but only 2 had wheels. Sid tried to find a cart but no luck. I spotted an airport worker with a couple of carts and asked where she got them. She said they're bringing a bunch in from outside. Sid rushed off to grab one. Then I noticed something odd. Between the baggage carousels there are cart corrals. All were empty, and the notice on the display said "Out of Order".  The carts are free, but you have to use a credit card to release them. When you return the cart you get the 10 shekel hold back on your card. Prevents theft. Great idea except that the machines are hard to work and break down all the time. I guess there was enough public grousing to go back to the old system of having plenty of carts all over the baggage claim area.

We got our bags, got our car and off we went to Jerusalem in traffic that wasn't bad at all. Until we got to the city. There is an enormous building project going on at the entrance to the city and it has caused traffic to be re-routed. Fortunately the signage is good. I got into all the right lanes, made all the right turns and got to the apartment. The son of the owner was waiting for us to help with the bags; I don't know how we would have made it without him. The apartment is on the 2.5th floor. At least that's how it's advertised. Bull. There are 54 steps, which according to my reckoning makes it the 5th floor. (Our apartment in Chicago, by way of comparison, is on the 14th floor and has 169 steps.) Just going up and down the stairs (no elevator) will put us in the best shape of our lives.

We ran over to the grocery store to pick up a couple of essentials and I ran into a friend. One of the things I like best about this neighborhood is that we know a lot of people. It's really like coming home.

We had Shabbat (Friday night and Saturday lunch) with my bffs the Hasanovs. All the kids and grandchildren were there. 

Today, jet lag and upper respiratory whatever notwithstanding, we had to go to the supermarket. Reminiscent of Costco in many ways, including the Kirkland paper towels. This was for basics - paper products, bottled water and club soda, dairy products (cheese and yoghurt) etc. But my first stop was the olive bar.  I'm an addict. I eat them by the treefull. There isn't a decent olive in North America. One of the first things I do when I get here, even before that first falafel, is to load up on olives.

A full grocery cart and 627 Shekels (about $185) later we went back to get the car. We had parked on the third floor of the shopping center where the supermarket is located. They have an interesting system for carts. There's a moving sidewalk that takes you up 2 floors. That's it. Then it stops. I asked the security guard (there's one at every entrance to everywhere) how we get to the third floor. He said not with the cart. WHAT?? 5 huge shopping bags full of stuff and we can't go up one floor? Grocery carts aren't allowed into the mall. I told Sid to stay with the cart and I would get the car and pick him up. Just one tiny little problem. When I drove down to the second floor I couldn't find him, and nothing looked like where I had left him. I drove around the floor a second time to be sure I didn't miss him, and realized that the lot where we parked didn't quite look like the lot that was by the supermarket. I wound up driving out of the lot and back in, starting the whole process over. I parked on the second floor this time and went to the mall entrance. The security guard on duty was way less than helpful, claiming he didn't know anything about the layout of the parking lot. But there was an information booth inside and I could ask. It turns out, as I had already begun to suspect, that there are multiple parking lots for this mall. So how was I going to find Sid? I went back to the supermarket, took the moving sidewalk up to the second floor, and there he was. At that point I was a bit beyond my breaking point and I said let's just take the groceries to the car. He said how? I had no answer. I asked the security guard if there was any way we could take the cart into the mall in order to get to the other lot. No. But he did call someone who helped. He explained about the multiple parking lots and how to get into the right one. Finally I was able to rescue Sid and our groceries. Fortunately we didn't buy anything frozen; it would have melted. Then all we had to do was shlepp about 200 pounds of stuff up the 54 stairs. 

Then I returned the car. Got gas, no problem. Found the drop off location, no problem. Nice people at the rental agency. Then I walked toward the bus stop to get home. Traffic was horrendous, vehicle and pedestrian. Tons of soldiers from all the branches - army, air force and navy. There must have been some kind of ceremony, which happens regularly in Jerusalem. We'll be going to my grandson's in November when he finishes basic training. My bus was almost at the corner, which is past the stop, but stuck in traffic. I tapped on the door but the driver wouldn't let me on. They aren't supposed to, but sometimes you get a nice one. So I walked the half block to the stop and there, on the display that tells you when the next bus is due, was a message that said there are no upcoming buses for a while. I was ready to keel over. Jet lag woke me up around 3AM and I couldn't get back into sleep. We just had this to-do with the groceries. No taxis anywhere. Now I faced the possibility of having to walk home. Uphill. Repeating my mantra "that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger" I trudged up the hill. There is another bus stop at the top of the hill and the display said my bus would be there in 4 minutes. Whew! I nearly nodded off on the ride home; there's no way I could have walked. When I got back to the apartment (54 steps) Sid wanted to go out for dinner. I said I couldn't take another step. I was done. And so is this blog entry.

Till next time ... Gmar hatima tova.