***Asterisks

Last week in December 2001. Our flight left Tel Aviv about 5 p.m. on Thursday evening and arrived in Brussels 5 hours later, 9 p.m. local time. Our friends Alon and Hadar Heller picked us up at the airport and brought us to their home in Overjise (the “j” is silent), a suburb of Brussels. Hadar doesn’t work and Alon was off, so they were both free to spend the weekend with us. They were wonderful hosts.

Friday morning the four of us went into the city, to a shopping district where we browsed through shops, and tried to keep out of the rain and cold. End of season sales won’t be starting until January 19th this year because of the switch over to the Euro currency. So there weren’t any bargains to be had.

At noon we headed to the US Embassy where I had arranged to meet my Young Judaean friend, Joe Pomper, who is now the US consul in Brussels (his career has already taken him to Hong Kong, Tel Aviv, London, Washington and Jamaica). The five of us had lunch together at a small cafe restaurant near the embassy. The place was packed and served by a single waiter, but our meal was tasty and served promptly. I especially appreciated the excellent coffee. Conversation was in English and Hebrew, with Hadar and Joe providing translations of the French menu. It was great catching up with Joe, whom I last saw a year ago in Israel when he was here for his nephew’s bar mitzvah.

After lunch Alon, Hadar, Yuval and I drove to a mall in another suburb of Brussels where we bought presents for the kids and boxes of Belgium chocolates for Yuval and me to bring back to share with our coworkers.

Thursday, August 5th, 1999. 4:30 p.m. Yuval and I are standing in a short line at the check-in counter of the Israeli airline company Aeroel, which is to take us to Cyprus. Behind the counter a uniformed young woman is checking in the passengers and joking with a young man in a t-shirt (company employee?) sitting beside her. We overhear them say the flight is delayed, and that the company planes are the type that you need to go “foo, foo” to make them move. The two behind the counter are still giggling as we check in. They tell us to be at the gate at 5:30 (flight is scheduled to depart at 6) for more information.

Up in the departure terminal, the Aeroel attendant arrives at 5:45, and tells us that the flight will be leaving shortly. Meanwhile we have seen the small plane land. At 6:00 we are on the bus ready to be ferried out to the waiting plane. And then we wait, and wait. Finally, at 6:30 we are bussed to the plane. Having settled into our seats we are informed that five passengers who checked in have not boarded. Would everyone please step off the plane and identify their luggage, which has now been offloaded next to the plane. Ten minutes later the door is shut and the plane begins to move. Two minutes later the plane returns to its parking slot. The cargo door is loose. Quickly fixed, we move off to the runway, and take off without further incident.

The Aereol company’s claim to fame is its service to Haifa. Once we are in the air the pilot announces that the flight is traveling directly to Cyprus, without stopping. Applause. Obviously, the plane should have been full, and no one was scheduled to get on in Haifa.

Succot – October 1995. Egyptian Sinai, the Gulf of Aqaba coast.
Three days with three families (6 adults and 9 children) from Maccabim

There ought to be a warning sign on the Israeli side of the Taba border crossing into Egypt: “Last Sanitary Pit Stop”. Although the bathrooms in the Lagona Village “resort” in Dahab were clean, the toilets barely flushed, and, since the water in the pipes is “salty”, large buckets of “sweet” water in each bathroom are provided for rinsing off after a shower. The first night of our stay we reported to the hotel clerk that we had no hot water; we were told there would be hot water “soon.” When we realized the second night that there simply was no hot water tank for our bathroom, we were moved to a room on the other side of the courtyard, which did have a hot water tank. That tank produced a trickle of warm water, not enough to shampoo our hair, but at least we could stand under the shower head and bathe. Since the running water is not potable, we brushed our teeth using bottled water. Indeed, we carried bottled water wherever we went, and drank lots of Pepsi during our stay. Aside from the one in our hotel room, we would not see a toilet again until we returned to Israel.

Egypt along the Gulf of Aqaba is like Gaza without the congestion or hostility. Like a third-world nation, it lacks an infrastructure and has no public utilities or services. Garbage is strewn everywhere, few roads are paved, street lamps and sidewalks are nonexistent. New apartment blocks look deserted, but hanging laundry indicates life in them. Not one Hebrew word is visible; nothing indicates Israelis ever inhabited this place. Although some buildings are clearly distinguishable as Israeli constructions, and are recognizable by the trees and plants which were planted years ago and still surround them, most have fallen into disrepair and blend colorlessly into the sprawl of Dahab and Neweiba.

The sights and smells were hard on the senses, but worse was the assault on my ears. Wherever we went, music on scratchy cassettes blared from tinny speakers on tape-players. Black rap-music, with a heavy boom beat, seems to be the most popular sound along the Aqaba coast. Sitting at the restaurant in “downtown” Dahab one evening, I discerned at least four different sources sending waves to my brain.

The Egyptians we got to know have all relocated from the main cities in Egypt to serve the tourist trade in Sinai. They all head home during seasonal lulls. Many speak decent English, and some a bit of Hebrew. They run the hotels, restaurants and shops. They are eager to serve and please, but have completely different conceptions of time and amenities. “Soon” means any time in the future, not necessarily within the hour; “toilet” means a hole in a shack out back. They treat our children wonderfully, indifferent to their rowdiness and bickering, fawning over them as a means of flattering us. Wherever we went, Amit drew attention. By the time we left Sinai I figured I could trade her for at least 300 camels.