Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Shuk HaCarmel


I went to Shuk HaCarmel (the market not far from my place) on Friday morning and as expected, it was a scintillating multi-sensory experience: clothing of all styles, top-notch produce, fresh cheese direct from the dairy farm, butchers in action with their massive carcasses on meat hooks in the open, Jewish paraphernalia and trinkets, colorful Russian candy shops, music stores blasting their wares above the sounds of relentless haggling, and toy shops for the kiddies.

Started with a fresh-squeezed pomegranate juice.

Bought some zucchini and tomatoes. Then salami, parmesan, and lettuce of which I made a nice salad. The figs were impossible to pass up so I got a basket of those and ate a few on the spot!

I bought an Israeli Army cap for Rebecca to replace the one she lost several years ago. The thieving wind swiped it off her head while on the ferry and dropped it hopelessly into the chilly waters of the Puget Sound.

Then procured some dead sea face creme, sampled some wine from Galilee, and ended with a dark chocolate hazelnut bar, just for good measure.

Then the rains came. First of the season--downpours! Everyone was excited as it was a long awaited cleansing. I was happy about it too, but sadly I was wearing the wrong shoes; one has a giant chunk out of the bottom, about 2 inches in diameter. I don't know why there's a hole in the sole, but these shoes came from the Goodwill one time when I needed some black shoes quickly for a catering job a few years ago. Last week I was stoked to find some caulking in the box of goodies that our building manager left here after renovating, and filled up the gap in the rubber. Unfortunately, it didn't make a good seal and the sock became saturated and the foot drenched. It was a squishy right foot all the way home as I watched the aftermath: a collective effort to sweep water off balconies, stoops, and even swish it down the street to the drain. The scene of all these happy working people in the neighborhood could make a compelling communist propaganda poster; that and the thought of all the new tasty treats put a smile on my face and made the shoe problem largely irrelevant.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

The MIT Enterprise Forum at Tel Aviv University

I was connected through the MISTI program at MIT (which is how I got this internship) with a mentor. I have yet to meet him, but he suggested in an email that I go to this MIT Enterprise Forum yesterday which took place here on TAU campus. He suggested some other people for me to meet there, which I did and it was good. The morning consisted of presentations by twelve startups and twelve established small and medium enterprises, from Europe and Israel who are competing for a prize--it's the Global Security Challenge. Their products ranged from facial recognition software to take the place of usernames and passwords, to counter-terrorist diver-detection technology for protection of ports and other vulnerable water/land access points, to imaging technology that can accurately 'fix' digital images where fog or rain renders the view through the camera too obscured to be useful, to privacy-respecting surveillance systems of which the image is clear except for the humans which are pixelated beyond recognition to the view of the security guard, but able to be decrypted should the need arise. In addition to explaining their product and technology, they were asked to compare it to competitors and describe how its technology eclipses similar products, then in what sector the prize money would be used for further development.

It was fascinating to see all of these technologies and think about how they have and continue to revolutionize our everyday lives. It is inspiring to see creative minds taking action and making progress, but it also is very sobering to think about this topic and what it means in the broader scheme of things. Economic growth and technological advancement are so intertwined with security. It made me recall Eisenhower's words of warning about the military-industrial complex.

"This conjunction of an immense military establishment and a large arms industry is new in the American experience. The total influence -- economic, political, even spiritual -- is felt in every city, every State house, every office of the Federal government. We recognize the imperative need for this development. Yet we must not fail to comprehend its grave implications. Our toil, resources and livelihood are all involved; so is the very structure of our society.

In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the militaryindustrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist. We must never let the weight of this combination endanger our liberties or democratic processes. We should take nothing for granted. Only an alert and knowledgeable citizenry can compel the proper meshing of the huge industrial and military machinery of defense with our peaceful methods and goals, so that security and liberty may prosper together." Dwight D. Eisenhower, Exit Speech, 1961

The military-industrial--and now security--complex is alive and well and continues to prosper, all things seeming to lead into the pockets of a few giants with a stranglehold on the industry and political lobby to match. Not to downplay the importance of security, but I think we have become distracted, and in so doing, fail to honestly consider the idea of being alert and knowledgeable citizens.

On a lighter note, and to expose myself as one who is distracted as I mentioned--not even by the heavy things in life like unemployment, but by the frivolous--the lunch served at the forum was glorious! The gears spinning in my head turned from the security industry to my palate. The program said "lunch break: wine and cheese." This was no Costco cheese platter. A cheese artisan who owns a store in town had a table, spread over with a copious array of cheese wheels, logs, and bricks. He had sizeable cutting boards where he was slicing up the lambs’ milk cheese infused with apricots, figs, herbs, and a 12-month aged type as well. Next to the cheese was a pile of sliced starfruits--from his garden! Excellent pairing. You can imagine my face and demeanor as I flitted about the room. It would have been fitting if i were wearing a tutu. Another table had fresh cream cheeses with peppers or herbs, drizzled with olive oil and served with crackers. Another table had sprawling mountains (like when you try to make a castle out of dry sand) of many types of cheese and at the back, the wine table--a cabernet was being served. It was all so dreamlike and wonderful. My only regret was that my stomach has shrunken as I have been eating meagerly since I got here, so I couldn't gorge myself as I would have done in the past. All’s for the best really.







Wednesday, September 21, 2011

The Soundtrack of the Everyday



Who would have thought--I move to the Jewish homeland and wake up to the chanting of the call to prayer at the mosque. This one is a very gentle sound, not the super-enthusiastic and emphatic type. I am not sure where this singing is coming from; there is a large mosque not far from my house in Jaffa, but I think it is too far for this sound. Perhaps there is a closer one. We were commenting on the oddity that the mosque in Jaffa has neon lights decorating the minaret [photo not mine]. Vertical green bars surround the top and give somewhat of an eerie green glow, but more powerful is the feeling that Las Vegas isn’t too far off. This would do well if reconstructed in a hotel there. It seems strange at first on a religious structure, but then again, religion and lights theoretically go well together. Rhythm, singing, dancing, exclaiming, watching, learning, absorbing, entertaining, being entertained, engrossed, captivated--all words that fit . Neon lights are indicative of entertainment, and entertainment and religion seem to have some commonalities.


As for other sounds of the morning, the pigeons are quietly chattering ever day in a constant melodious hum, like a babbling brook. They live under the currugated metal eve of the balcony roof below my bedroom window (the roof of the third floor unit). Yesterday while I was at work, a mean Mediterranean gale must have caused my drying garments to fall off the clothesline and onto the corrugated roof. I had to walk on this perilous 4th story structure to retrieve them, while not smashing the pigeons' abode underneath.


As for the sounds of the night, my street quiets down by midnight or so, then it's just the occasional chatting of passersby. The more dramatic sounds I hear frequently at night are in the passionate realm of the cats. They are so docile at other times, and then at night when I'm trying to go to sleep, the howling, fighting, screaming...it's outrageous. There are a ton of stray cats here, and I think it's maybe not so common to spay and neuter them either. But it wouldn't be fair to place all the blame on cats; there also are dogs howling sometimes, but they sing at a lower pitch, so it's a little less startling and grating on the nerves.



I am in the flight path from Ben Gurion airport; for all practical purposes the only international airport in Israel, so commercial jets are low, loud, and frequent over our humble neighborhood. Though I hear them more often at night than in the morning. Also there is a singer nearby, I mean one who practices the voice instrument and it projects out the window and into mine. Maybe she lives in the building next door or across the alley--I haven't looked. She is actually very talented though, so that sound is not an unpleasant one. This neighborhood is full of music--there is a lot of small warehouse and industrial space interspersed throughout the small blocks here and some of the peripheral areas are almost all industrial buildings, which means there are also a lot of bands practicing in these nice spacious interiors, away from complaining neighbors. I don't hear them from my window, but when I walk around in the evening, I'm sure to hear a few on any given stroll.


A feast for the ears, this city!

First Weekend

This one's a bit rambly.


I spent nearly all day Friday in a café, after the second unfortunate circumstance of my Israeli existence, this one a matter of poor judgment. My roommate, Jess, invited me to a house party the night before with some of her friends from the African Refugee NGO that she works for. Jess is in her mid-twenties, a gorgeous girl from London. “Do you fancy going to a party tonight?” she says in a quintessential English accent. Certainly, as I had nothing else to do on the biggest party night in Tel Aviv.


Some of her friends are refugees, some revolutionaries, pushing for government reform in Eritrea, and for Israel to recognize them with refugee status and the commensurate rights. Others at the party were volunteers in the organization: an American from Washington D.C., one from Connecticut, a young flaming Italian boy who said “dahling” in every sentence, sometimes twice per sentence, and various other friends and locals. I have not been drinking much since I got here but tonight was different. I was overserved, passed out on the couch, woke up way too late.to the midday sun. I opened my morning eyes, squinting at a pine tree through the window straight ahead, utterly disoriented. I put the pieces together, gathered my things and slipped quietly out the door, while the rest of the house still slept.


So, after I wandered the long route home, I got a text from Guy that I should meet at this café. Guy is an Israeli friend of my now former roommate Edwina, and their connection is the Media Lab at MIT. We met in Cambridge last July and emailed a few times since. He was the only person I sort of knew in this country before I got here. We had met briefly in my apartment but only got to know each other out of coincidental circumstances.


Guy was visiting Edwina and was in the States for a few weeks. The night before I was to fly to California, a bunch of Edwina’s friends were hanging out on our porch, me as well. I left early and somewhat abruptly to go to the airport, much to the dismay of the group. Six hours later, my flight to Long Beach that I had been sitting on for two hours on the tarmac, was cancelled due to inclement weather. I left the airport in a huff, knowing I would not be flying until the next day, and upset to lose one of my few days in California. I sulked all the long way through the airport to the exit, sulked on the Silver Line, frowned on the Red Line, scowling at everyone that looked me in the eye, until my mood started to mellow out by the time I got near Central Square.


There were only a few people left on my porch: Edwina, Guy and another friend. I ended up talking to Guy about Israel for the remained of the night, until I left for the airport again around 4 am. We exchanged emails before I departed. Thankfully I made a good impression. He likes to recall how I was wearing board shorts and a bikini top while drinking absinthe when we first met in my living room. Cambridge summer can be intolerably hot and humid. And don't worry, he has a girlfriend. In any case, he was my first friend in Tel Aviv and has been the biggest help to me, lending me money, showing me the ropes, introducing me to others.


So on Friday noon we met up, along with Tamar and Roni, to eat omelets, Arab salad, and drink cappuccini. Around 4pm, after sitting in the same place for hours, we were hungry again. Thinking to not eat twice in one day at the same café, we headed off to one of the better hummus joints in Tel Aviv (the real good ones are in Jaffa). The girls wanted to have a smoke instead so they stayed at the café. I ordered the pine nut hummus and it came with two falafels and some amazing pickles. I ate precisely half and saved the rest for dinner. We hurried down to the Levinsky market as it was nearing closing hour for shops. I bought a variety of nuts, laundry soap, and a jar of carob/halvah spread that struck my fancy.


The cafés in Tel Aviv are packed all day Friday (the first day of the weekend) with people who dedicate their day to sitting there. Then after everything else closes around 6pm, it's "the hour of grace" when all is at rest, the sun is low, the cars have left the streets, and café conversations are all that matter. Everyone goes with their family for dinner around 8pm, then by 10 or 11, the chaos begins as the bars liven up for the night. Dance clubs open, music pours from the doorways, rowdiness ensues. I went home and sat peacefully on the moonlit roof.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Expanding my Sphere

Last day of the week at the lab, I had it in my head all day that I would go swimming when I got home. I ended up staying later than I had planned at the university, door-to-door commute is an hour, and by the time I got my swimsuit on, the sun was low. I walked briskly toward the shore, and on Rehov Salame, a main drag, a woman yelled at me out of the blue, waving a piece of paper. Short, hunchbacked, perhaps in her 60's, wearing sandals, a long skirt, and a scarf on her hair--looked like some sort of pilgrim. "Sorry I don't speak Hebrew" I said emphatically but apologetically. "Oh, English, okay, do you know where is Florentine?" She spoke nearly perfect English and this questions was something I could certainly help with; it's my neighborhood. She was not comfortable with my directions so I offered to walk her around and show her.

Nicole is French, third time in Israel, and heard Florentine was a great neighborhood and something to see. She took the bus down here from up North, just to walk around and take in the scene. We walked back toward my house and into the heart of the neighborhood, we chatted and observed dinner-time Florentine in all its glory. Half-hour later we parted ways and I went for a swim.

I found an exercise park on the way to the beach which I was happy about, except that it doesn't have a chin-up bar. I wasn't sure about swimming in the dark for safety reasons, but saw other people in so I joined. Having things to do tonight, I didn't stay long. Guy called and I went to meet him in his sketchy neighborhood near the printing press. We went to a bar that he described as "a New York type of place" called 'Taxidermy.' It did have the sort of vibe you might find there, but the heads and antlers of deer, gazelle, antelope adorning the wall behind the bar put a hunting lodge spin on the place.

I was delighted to find that of the two beers on tap, one was Franziskaner (the other being Goldstar, a local beer), but then disappointed when it was not served in a weissbier glass. Nonetheless, the bar was a great find for the atmosphere and special tonight was a live band. They played punk and I was quite impressed--their stage presence and rhythm was captivating. They were too good to be playing in a little bar like that. As we went outside to leave, we were entertained by some classic Jersey Shore types stumbling out of the club next door. As embarrassing as it is to have this from America, I was astounded to see the same types in Cork, Ireland, and now Tel Aviv--I guess every country has the Jersey Shore crowd, they just made a TV series out of ours.

Settling In

There are five bedrooms in this apartment, but last month there were only three. Two of the roommates moved out, and one remained during the renovation. Eden is half Moroccan, Israeli born and worked several years in London. She waits tables by day and tends bar by night--I haven't seen her much until this evening as she is either working or sleeping.

Tonight we she was hovering over the stove (not a range on top of an oven, but a set of two portable electric burners sitting haphazardly on the counter) and asked me if I'd like to join. I wanted to chat with her, since we live together, even though I was extremely tired. I also haven't eaten hot food much since I have to use money sparingly, and haven't cooked because everything's a mess. The apartment is basically in shambles--piles of junk all over the living room, tools and cords sprawled across the floor, a centimeter-thick layer of dust on every surface doesn't provide the most inviting cooking environment. So I accepted the invitation and Eden made a delicious dinner of quinoa with onions, garlic, tomato, cilantro, peppers. To compliment this was a tzatziki-like sauce with yogurt, mint, lemon. In a jar was a lemon chutney and on the side, a green salad comprised of lettuce, lemon, olive oil.

As the pot was simmering, she went to grab a diet coke and asked what I would like. "Some cheap-ish wine would be good." No cigars--a new law dictates that no alcohol shall be sold after 11 pm. It was after midnight, boo. So she left and I hopped in the shower. She said it would be fine simmering, but not six minutes later, she returned, I emerged, and the quinoa had already burned! It turned out okay--just a hint smokey, like chipotle. The whole meal was wonderful and I was so happy to have a delicious hot meal!

Monday, September 12, 2011

First Day in the White City

The White City moniker comes from its impressive collection of Bauhaus and International style architecture, specimens of which are interspersed among drearily forgettable concrete apartment blocks. The hostel in Florentine is on the edge of the neighborhood, and the Sunday night I arrived, I thought the neighborhood would take some daylight to really appreciate. In the late morning when I finally emerged from the hostel. it was indeed bustling with delivery trucks, carts, commerce, and plenty of building materials and furniture being shuffled down the sidewalk. The neighborhood is as eclectic as they come, from manufacturing to retail to gastronomy, from transient foreigners (me) to Israeli hipsters to refugees, there's something to quell the fear of boredom around every corner.

I spent the better part of the day walking around the city, obtaining minutes for my phone, and looking at potential apartments. Not knowing the bus routes, walking is much preferable to ending up lost and far away. The first apartment I looked at was in a good neighborhood just of a very busy street. I did not yet have phone minutes, and the guy showing me the place (Ilan) was late. I brought my computer along for this very dilemma (someday I'll have an iphone). I sat on the stoop and was glad to see an unlocked internet connection. I called Ilan to make sure we were still on, and we were.

As I waited on the stop, a guy zipped down the sidewalk on a scooter and screeched to a halt in front of me. Nope, not Ilan, but a very attractive one called Itamar. He knocked on the door, then sat down and waited. We got to talking, his friend lived there an was not answering the door, so I let him use my google voice to call. Friend not home, but we exchanged numbers and maybe I'll call him sometime. Eventually Ilan showed up and took me for a tour of the apartment. He, a young, half Finnish, half Israeli property manager. One roommate here a Polish woman working for a NGO, another a law student. Seemed nice enough, but at the end, the price was significantly higher than quoted on Craigslist. Ilan: "Must have been another of my apartments that is taken already." Me: "grrr" with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. A little fishy but I suppose I did not make reference to the particular ad when I spoke with him on the phone before. Oh well, it's all an exploration of the city.

By 6:30 or so I was back on the pleasant rooftop of the hostel. "Who wants to go the beach?" another guest announced. Michael, a Scottish twenty-something who had been working on a farm up north for the last few months and was heading to Jerusalem tonight for a few days before leaving the country and wanted one last swim. I first declined as I was more interested in my computer (lame-o). When he had no takers, he made the proposition again twenty minutes later. This time myself and a hostel volunteer both rallied. Noam, a half-Israeli, half New Yorker gets to live here for free because he puts in five hours a day of overseeing the common area. Not a bad deal.

We walked down to Jaffa beach and I changed into my swimsuit in a very sketchy and stinky cave-like underbelly of the high sea-wall structure. Unmentionable things certainly happen here with unsavory characters and I felt vulnerable. And it's not that good of a changing room because if I wanted to stay out of the pitch black, others could peek in by those very light wells. I emerged as fast as I could and dove into the sea. First time in the Mediterranean and it was glorious. We told swimming tales. Michael and I shared a passion for swimming. He told about his stint in the Scots Navy, and the poorly matched swimming competitions with Olympians. I told about dolphins off the Southern California Coast, and the sunrises over the Sierras giving Long Beach City an unforgettably brilliant pink glow. This our own sky darkened into heavier shades of pink, then purple, and our skin wrinkled to prunes.

Refreshed, we meandered up the hill to watch bats in a cave; the cave some sort of a castle-like ruin built into the hillside. Here we were greeted by gangs of feral cats, probably sharing space with the bats, much to the bats' annoyance. Cats on the ground floor, bats above.

Wandering through the Old Jaffa evening was curiously enchanting. I don't know much about this place but I got the sense that the Arab city has something magic in it, something intangible, rich with dramatic tales and big personalities and colorful history. Noam bought an amazing-looking grilled sandwich from a sidewalk shop. I bought a niblet of herbed bread from the same shop for 3 shekels. The vendor ventured guesses at our heritage: Michael, English; Noam, Ashkanazi (Eastern European Jew), me hmm... German?

Arrival in Tel Aviv; Circumstances Sour

All was well upon arrival, customs and immigration were a breeze. Again, no questions asked of me. Really, I thought, not "what are you doing here? how long will you stay?" not one question... in security-conscious Israel? I suppose I look extremely non-threatening, but perhaps it also speaks to the down-to-business attitude about security--no pretenses of "random" screening, or the frivolity of hassling people randomly. They probably use their national intelligence and resources better than that here.

I had booked a hostel in advance and my sources told me that a train station was within minutes of the hostel. So I exited the airport and bought a train ticket, only to find out the next train did not leave for an hour and a half! Not only that, the station I had planned to go to was closed at night, so I had to go to the central station which was much further from my hostel. A selection of friendly people on the train gave me this information and gave me other tips about transportation in Tel Aviv. Once at the station, I checked at the bus booth to find out there were no buses here at night... then a taxi it will be. I have nothing against taxis, buses are just cheaper, you know where they're going, more reliable and reassuring when you look like a naive tourist.

So I got into the cab with another woman and we dropped her off after about 15 minutes. We drove to the neighborhood I had requested, but the particular street was eluding the driver. He asked me for their phone number, but I could not produce it because it was written on a note that I put into the pocket of my suitcase, now in the trunk. He pulled over and I opened the trunk and grabbed the envelope with my important papers in it. I still could not find the phone number, so I opened my backpack to get out my book with a map in it. The map was too large scale to have every street name, and it was all in Hebrew, so I could show him the general area, but not specifics. I then took out my book to look at the map in it, and the driver, now frustrated, pulled over to ask a person on the street for directions. The fourth guy he asked jumped into the passenger seat and rode along with us for a few blocks, then he jumped out and we soon arrived.

A few bars were open around the neighborhood--the outdoor type of establishment with florescent lights illuminating plastic sidewalk tables, but my street was desolate, on the edge of the neighborhood. I paid the cabbie and punched in the secret door code, then tromped up three flights to the dark hallway that marked the entrance of the hostel. There were "shh" signs around the walls and they had left a sign saying "Jaime" with an arrow, marking which room and bed for me to take. I stopped in the laundry room to reorganize so as not to wake people in the 8-bed dorm where I was assigned; it was now around 3 am. In the shuffle of looking for maps and numbers, some of my zippers were not closed properly and to my dismay, my wallet appeared to be missing. Horrified, I ran downstairs to see if it had fallen in the stairwell. Not in the stairwell, not in the entry, not on the curb, not in the street. I returned to the top floor and unpacked every nook and cranny where I could have possibly left it. No results.

I spent the next hour and a half looking up numbers and calling my four credit cards to cancel them. Thanks to google voice this was a breeze (sorry about the noise to the hostel folks sleeping in the hammocks in the common area of the roof). It still took a while and by the time I finished, my heart was still on double speed and I could not sleep for anything in the world. I looked at my clock and it was now 5 am, so I set the alarm for 10:30 so I could make 11:00 check-out.

At around 6:00, a fellow roommate took out his laptop, sat on his bed and bestowed a bright blue hue on the room while making irritating typing noises. By 6:30 the sun was peeking through the windows and by 7:30 people were waking. I must have slept for an hour or two because I woke up to my alarm and looked forward to a new day.

En Route: Paris



As I shlepped toward row 38 on Air France flight 309, a face to my right caught my eye--my cousin, whom I rarely see but had seen only a week before at his sister's wedding! He was sitting in the aisle seat with his girlfriend next to him, several rows in front of me! I had wind he was going to Paris today (his girfriend's hometown) and was astounded to actually see him--well, there can't be too many direct flights to Paris from Seattle I suppose. We chatted for a bit until the drink service cart threatened to mow me over, so I retreated to my seat in the hinterlands of the Airbus A340-300.

At Charles de Gaulle, there was a flight departing
for Tel Aviv around noon, so I asked if I could get on it rather than wait 9 hours for mine. The agent scanned my ticket and informed me apologetically that since it was a "cheapo" ticket (my words, I don't remember her exact term), non-changeable, it would require purchasing a whole new ticket. "Thank you" I said, "but I won't be doing that."

The B train into central Paris couldn't have been slower. It averaged about 10 mph and constantly stopped in between stations like a tired old mule. It to
ok an hour and a half and was not air conditioned; on the upside, it was fairly empty so was decently comfortable. They must have made announcements that I didn't understand, about maintenance or some such reason for delays. "Merci de votre compréhension" sounded at the end of each announcement, and was the only phrase that meant anything to me.

I wandered around the neighborhood behind the Musée d'Orsay, where I had hoped to spend some time but seeing the line to get in, opted to ramble about the neighborhood instead. Heading eastward, I came upon a Vietnamese deli where I refueled. I made my way to Notre Dame cathedral and got in line to see the interior (rushing to catch a train last time in Paris, missed the inside). I was impressed by the volume of space, but also the volume of tourists. Maybe third time will be a charm and I will actually go up the towers, and perhaps in December.

When I arrived back to
Charles de Gaulle in the afternoon, I already had a boarding pass, checked bags were in transit, so all I needed to do was find my gate and go through security. The B train was much faster this time so I had an extra hour to spare. I grabbed a disappointing espresso in the train station and went upstairs to the airport. As I found my way around, I noticed to "to boarding" area was mobbed with people. A the customs windows were closed entirely and masses of people were accumulating around the roped-off crowd control maze. I was a few million people back, standing next to some Americans who were terribly worried about missing their flight, and rightly so. They talked with an agent who was helpful and led a whole group of people on upcoming flights to the front of the line, so I nonchalantly followed, even though i had a few hours to spare. Since I cut it so close on the way out from Seattle (the usual), I felt to be extra cautious this time and not get stuck in Paris and potentially have to purchase a new ticket to Tel Aviv.

When I got to the entrance of the crowd control barriers, where they opened the customs line just for these few travelers, the agent looked at my ticket and said I must wait since I was not on one of the flights of concern. I stepped aside cheerily as I was now positioned at the front of the line for when they opened the gate for all. Not five minutes later, the first tensa-barrier was released and uncontrollable throngs began flooding into the first lane opening. The five or so agents were yelling and pushing people back as the crowd was unruly and dangerously close to stampeding. I was in the first group to enter and all in all, I came out very well, waited for a mere seven people before I got to the window, with thousands behind me! No questions, passport stamped (entry and exit all in one day!) I then
fled the scene by hopping on the near-empty inter-terminal train to Terminal 2E, feeling a great sense of victory and relief to have slipped past an hours-long crowd of frustrated travelers! I arrived in the serene terminal, knowing my select row of seats by the way the afternoon sun illuminated and warmed the vibrant vinyl orange ones. Here I would take a nap! But not before consuming my cheese and bread, found in my backpack leftover from the previous flight.