Indiana Jones and the Interns of FFIPP
Mathilde, Audrey, and I took off from Nablus on Thursday afternoon to begin our trip to Petra, Jordan. Never before have the problems of restrictions on freedom of movement been so clear to me. We took a service to Ramallah and then a bus to Jerusalem. At the Qalandia Checkpoint into Jerusalem, you are required to get off the bus and go through security before getting back on. We had to get off with all of our luggage (literally everything, since Audrey and I were not returning to Nablus) and go through the narrow queues made of steel fencing. The first turnstile was a challenge. My rolling suitcase + me in the tiny stile was nearly impossible, and turning enough to get to the other side was a contortionist feat. We got through though, and got on line to wait for security (and another turnstile). A woman on line told us to bring our suitcases to the front of the line and press a call button to ask the IDF soldiers to open the gate for us so we could roll our suitcases through. Around the seventh or eighth time I asked, they finally responded and the gate opened for us. Our suitcases were almost too big for the conveyor belt of the X-ray machine, so they got temporarily stuck, holding up a line of Palestinians trying to get through. We showed the soldiers our passports and then asked if they could help us get our bags.
These soldiers, about my age, exemplified the professionalism of the IDF. The female soldier stared at us and did not respond. The male soldier kindly woke up from a nap to get on the loudspeaker and start imitating everything we said in a funny voice, in between making noises into the mic to entertain himself. They both sat there and watched us attempt to pull our bags out of the machine, seething as every word we said was repeated in the soldier’s echoing voice over the loudspeaker. How can they sit there, wearing their uniforms and representing their country, and mock Americans? I don’t want to be treated better because I’m American, but it’s my tax money that’s paying for this security, and you would expect they would at least put up the front that the IDF is a respectable organization. I could have gone over and slapped that idiotic child in the face, so think of how Palestinians feel having to go through multiple checkpoints a day to get ANYWHERE, and being a constant target for immature soldiers who are on a power trip.
We finally got through (two more turnstiles), and got to the Central Bus Station to meet up with Joel and Jennifer to catch our bus to Eilat, which is in the south of Israel and has the Yitzak Rabin Border Crossing into Jordan. Unluckily, the bus we planned on taking to Eilat was full, so we jumped on a bus to Be’er Sheva, where we met Marrayam and continued on to Eilat. It was midnight when the bus stopped in the middle of the highway, closest to the border crossing. We watched the bus drive away surrounded by all of our luggage, and then headed in the direction of the sign pointing us to the Rabin crossing. Even at nighttime, the air was incredibly hot and dry. We walked a mile or so dragging our luggage until we reached the crossing - only to find out that it was closed until 6:30 in the morning. We had to drag our luggage back uphill another mile or so and find a hostel for the night.
The next morning we were back on track. Getting out of Israel and into Jordan was a breeze, and we arrived at our hostel in the mid-afternoon. After a nice lunch, we headed over to Petra as the sun lowered in the sky, casting amazing shadows on the rocks. We walked slowly, admiring the stripes of color in the rock formations and making guesses about how they were created. The tombs were almost unbelievable, considering the detail of the carvings and the age of the site. Arriving at the Siq, which is the most well-known site in Petra due to it’s appearance in Indiana Jones, was breathtaking. We sat and talked with some Beduin men who were there and met their camels before starting back to our hostel for dinner.
For our second day in Petra, we decided to take a tour with a guide. We chose the 5-6 hour tour that involves hiking. Our guide, Bader, told us a lot about the history of Petra, and led us through winding staircases and across the edges of cliffs to get to the sacrificial site of the Nabateans. When we were too tired to walk anymore, we took camels to get to a restaurant for lunch. That evening at the hostel, we all passed out on our beds for hours, bodies aching and too tired to even get up to eat.
We had planned on spending another day in Jordan to visit Wadi Rum, but we were so exhausted that we decided to leave early. On the way back into Israel, we handed our passports to the first woman. She handed Audrey and I our passports back, but held onto Joel’s.
- What’s your name?
- Joel Bitar
- What’s your full name?
- Joel Saleem Bitar
…And so it went… He was taken away for questioning while Audrey and I sat in the shade being brought cups of water by the woman, who kept apologizing that it wasn’t colder. Racial profiling much? Twenty minutes later, Joel was escorted to security with us as our bags were scanned. They grabbed our bags and opened them, examining my eyelash curler with precision. Audrey and I had shipped our keffiyahs and Palestinian flags out of Aqaba in Jordan, so everything was going fine until one girl uncovered a book in Arabic from Audrey’s bag. Luckily, Audrey explained that she doesn’t understand the book because she only speaks American, and they finally let us pass.
Audrey and I then continued on to Eilat while Joel began his trip back to Jerusalem for work.
