Ben Gurion Airport, in Murphy's lair
A million horrible things can happen to you in life.. No matter how much they have told you, the path is not always rosy, On the contrary, it is plagued by phimosis operations and endless visits to the dentist., there are broken condoms, bags that don't open in the supermarket and your first crow's feet lurk around every corner. The world is full of idiot bosses and June is full of tax returns that have to be paid. contagious diseases, primroses with allergies, irrational fear of death...There are happy moments yes, but also terrifying days that pass between Barcelona triplets and words that are closed without being saved.
There are the risk premium and climate change and if you still retain a little faith in the human race ... out there awaits Leticia Sabater, willing to regenerate hymen as a lizard. Remember that there are ships that spill their oil into the sea, Brides who want to introduce you to their parents and bathroom without toilet paper, And it's time for you to know that no self -help book is going to get rid of the thirty. However, none of that is too important if you compare it with Ben Gurion airport.
Out there awaits Leticia Sabater, willing to regenerate hymen as a lizard
Ben Gurion airport is some 20 kilometers from tel a vivo, It is a wide building, luminous and functional. With broad halls and glazed vaults, Mechanical tapes take you from one place to another with a soft slice and make you feel the miracle of technology and civilization. Ben Gurion, That gigantic and intelligent building, It is the pride of many Israelites and as they talk about him at times it seems that he had his own life. His boarding halls full of comfort smell like the future and if you try to rely on an information counter you can almost hear it breathe. But among the wonders of Ben Gurion the most fascinating of all is that it can start very far, kilometers away, specifically in T4 of Barajas when the security chief of the Israeli Airlines flight looking like a Mossad agent ,kindly asks for your passport.
The interrogation begins with simple questions, How many days are you going to spend in Israel?, What cities do you plan to travel to??, What is the reason for your trip? etc.. The problems arise when those same questions are repeated three or four times., interspersed with questions such as; Are you planning to visit the Palestinian territories out of curiosity??, Do not?, Not even Bethlehem?, Why not? It's a beautiful city... I'm absolutely sure I'm not planning to stop by there to buy a kufiya or any other similar treat.?
Absolutely safe…?
Do you really?…..
By then you have been separated from your family and you see your parents undergo the same individual interrogation with up to three different agents. Where have I packed my luggage?, At home?, and in the seven hours that have passed since then... Has my suitcase been in more places?? Oh then before billing I won't mind opening it right there and checking the contents, just to be sure I'm not carrying a load of Goma2 or have accidentally slipped a couple of machine guns along with my toothbrush. Almost an hour later when they have made sure that we do not plan to turn the flight into confetti, The security manager gives us his best vulture smile and says goodbye, wishing us a good flight..
When they've made sure we don't plan to turn the flight into confetti
We land at dawn and Ben Gurion welcomes us like a lethargic animal, There are hardly any people in the halls or at baggage claim and the customs queue moves quickly. There are soldiers everywhere, most are very young. In Israel, military service is mandatory for boys and girls and lasts about three years.. The country is full of teenagers with machine guns and the ones in front of me are yawning early in the morning while they reluctantly flip through the pages of my passport.. The girl who chews gum suddenly seems to see something strange and studies me up and down., He asks for the country that corresponds to a flag that he points insistently with his finger.
The flag and the visa belong to Guinea Bissau and I explained it to them several times, But she has never heard of such a place and those bright greens and reds seem like an ideal home for thousands of terrorists.. He calls two other colleagues who start looking at the passport as if it were Superpop, Surprisingly, someone pulls out an Atlas from somewhere., They call a superior and after several consultations they let me in. We leave Ben Gurion and I would swear that it is the airport itself that provides us with a taxi and smiles slyly when saying goodbye..
The peaceful days pass quickly. Visits to the Western Wall and the Holy Sepulcher between the transfer of tons of hummus and pita bread, a few days of golden light that spills over the Rock Mosque and the cobblestone streets that sag under the weight of history. Of course we go to Palestine and without realizing it the vacation is over and we head back to Ben Gurion.
Again children dressed as G.I Joe and rifles everywhere
I make the return alone, They have notified me and I arrived more than three hours early. The first checkpoint is one kilometer from the airport, again children dressed as G.I Joe and rifles everywhere opening the trunk and checking the luggage. They wish us a safe return flight, but there is no space to relax because when entering the building lobby there is a new control, At this rate I'm beginning to think that the best thing would be to enter Ben Gurion naked.
Here they are more conscientious and the boy in question finds a newspaper written in Arabic that I have kept as a souvenir in Ramallah. Have I been to Palestinian territories? ,Do not? ¿Seguro? I decide to save myself a lot of explanations and stubbornly maintain that I got the newspaper by chance in the Jerusalem souk.. The boy doesn't believe a word but he seems to be happy that I'm leaving the country as soon as possible., so let me pass. Within, hundreds of travelers move with resigned slowness towards the boarding queues, while a battalion of soldiers help them with “the paperwork”.
Because of course you have to fill out a lot of paperwork., customs, statements, Boarding cards ... And to answer a lot of questions. The cursed seal of Guinea Bissau causes fear among the staff again and this time they have also discovered on the back page that of Mali. Once again, a council that looks like the Spanish Geographical Society is meeting, They try to determine if they are countries that can threaten national security. Of course I have to open my luggage again.
A reconciliabulus that seems to the Spanish geographical society is gathered
A few meters later there is a guy who wraps suitcases, Rolle my backpack without contemplations like a mummy without leaving space for the handles and sends me to load it on the shoulder until the next control by if perhaps. The next control comes fast and seems taken from some Isaac Asimov novel. Some phosphorescent colored cylinders apparent, We expect our hand luggage hungry. The friendly chaqui employees make me parade from tail to tail and tube to tube, First class to airport officials until I find the one that corresponds to me, The one of specially pissed off tourists. By then two hours have passed and twenty minutes since I entered Ben Gurion, The shipping calls on the flying “Madrid-Barajas” rumble and I start to get a little nervous. The airport, The very son of a bitch, It seems to delay time and enlarge the spaces at will, As if playing with puppets.
Because when the tubes return our luggage from the future, Wait for the fourth morning control and incomprehensibly I have to tear the plastic and spread the desolate guts of my luggage on a table while those children inspect them conscientiously.
When I get to the scanner, fifteen minutes are missing for the flight to come out, But it seems that something is going wrong. The damn coach pita without pause, belt, bracelet, Mobile shoes, Camera ... is the first damn scanner of the world where I have seen a piercing whistle. A girl with precious blue eyes introduces her hands with her plastic gloves in my mouth and talted my tongue delicacy to verify that everything is in order.
I delicate my tongue to verify that everything is in order
I run at full speed while drawing ultra -orthodox Jews of endless beards and shelves of the Duty Free loads of kippas and liquors, border the heart attack and a couple of sprains, But I manage to find the boarding door and miraculously ... I get to see how my flight takes off. From the windows I observe as the star of David painted in the tail gradually sinks in a glowing blue afternoon of the Mediterranean.
After many discussions, I get me compensated with a flight that leaves five hours later, Ben Gurión Entero seems to get out while I ended up a coca coil., The only thing I have been able to buy with the few Shekels that I have left. I spend the whole afternoon contemplating wide halls and glazed vaults, The mechanical tapes that take you from one place to another with a soft slice and make you feel the miracle of technology and civilization ...
The flight passes without incident, In the front seat a religious congregation of Mexicans returns. A priest remains all the time standing and comments expansive with his parishioners the anecdotes of recent days. Laughs non -stop and protest a bit to the flight attendant when he forces him to sit down for landing. Only when the wheels touch the ground with a damped noise and the passengers begin to applaud, rise again and shout.
-We are already in the Holy Land!
