More Airport Tales

My last blog post about arriving at Ben Gurion Airport for the first time definitely struck a chord with some people and as always your comments and stories re-kindled my own memories and reminded me of some other incidents that either happened to me or someone close to me.  So in the best ISHTAV tradition here are some more Airport Tales.

The first visitors we had in Israel were my sister and my brother’s girlfriend who arrived to spend a week with us travelling around and seeing the sights.  Obviously, at the end of the trip, we returned with them to Ben Gurion and as their flight was early morning we decided to spend the night at the Airport along with many of the other volunteers and backpackers who were flying out the next day.
Among the arrivals throughout the evening was one of the ex-vollies from Erez, a Dutch guy called Ari. He had been travelling around Israel and Egypt since leaving the Kibbutz and was now on his way home to Holland to study.  He decided to join us for the evening.
I recall that a large group of us had congregated down at one end of the departures hall and set up a kind of dormitory area with sleeping bags rolled out on the hard marble floor. (And yeah there was the guy with the polishing machine who just ‘had’ to buff the floor in the middle of the night), but while he was shining up the area where we had been sleeping we decided to take a stroll down to the cafeteria and buy something to drink.  Ari, Dingo and me set off with orders from the girls. About fifteen minutes later we arrived back and handed out the coffees. Ari was frantic someone had walked off with his rucksack.
Then up pipes one of the girls.
“Oh that was the Airport security people”
“What did they say?”
“They asked who the bags belonged to?”
“And what did you say?”
“Well this was mine, that one was your sister’s”
“What about the rucksack?”
“They asked us if we knew who it belonged to?”
“And what did you say?”
“No, we didn’t know the person.”
Which in hindsight was actually true, they had spent precisely two hours in the young man’s company but as many of you will know lifelong friendships were forged in less time. Needless to say, I was well pissed at the woman concerned and was cursing freely under my breath as we went in search of one of the security staff.
After plenty of walkie-talkie comms, we eventually located Ari’s luggage. It was outside the terminal in a bombproof bunker with reinforced concrete sides and a rather hefty looking iron cover. In the dark depths of this bunker, Ari’s orange pack looked very scared and lonely.  Reunited with its owner we returned to the terminal building where life was beginning to return to normal as the day got going and the tables were rolled out for the security staff to begin the thankless task of vetting travellers wishing to leave Israel.

On that note, there were one or two incidents worth recalling from the security check area. One was when an unfortunate at an adjacent table was called forward.  I was in that waiting period between the first interrogation and the second where they ask you the same questions hoping to catch you out. But I was just leaning against the table that had my backpack on top and looking around me. So this lad arrives and hands over his ticket and boarding card. He is asked the first question.
“Is this your bag?”
“Yes”
“Did you pack it?”
“Yes”
“Has it been out of your sight since you packed it?”
“No”
“Would you open it please?”
ZIP
“Shit”
The last word came from the open mouth of the volunteer as all the colour drained from his cheeks.  It was also the last I saw of him as he swiftly disappeared under a mountain of flying security personnel who wrestled the poor lad to the floor and then dragged him and his luggage away at the speed of light.  I thought it was the last I would see of him but as if by some miracle about two hours later and just as the flight was being called forward for boarding he arrived, sweating and out of breath, having legged it from passport control down to the gate.
I couldn’t resist it. I had to ask him.
Apparently, he had packed his bag on the kibbutz and then left it in his room while he went to say goodbye to some of the other vollies. At this point, his room mates (and I use that last word with a degree of caution) thought it would be great fun to place a belt of machine-gun bullets in the top of his luggage.
Brilliant prank or rank stupidity? I will let you guys be the judge.

If you enjoyed this little slice of madcap humour then you might also enjoy my books based on my own and other peoples experiences while living, loving, thriving and surviving (mostly) in Israel. All three are available in both paperback and e-book format from Amazon/Kindle. You can find more information about these books elsewhere on my website www.nickcree.com or follow the shop links above to order your copies now.