It’s a gamble—traveling is—but you always expect the best. Other people may have accidents, illness, flight delays, or bad weather. But not us. We had it all planned out in advance. For seven months we had dreamed, schemed, made plans, and anxiously anticipated the trip that Dad and Mom had hoped to do with us quite a few years earlier—a trip to Israel for the five Ross brothers and their wives.
Two years had passed since Dad left us, and Mom and I had spent many wonderful Sunday evenings together. She’s really an interesting person, and this is her time. While Dad was still with us, he carried the conversation ball, and Mom didn’t talk much. Of course we all miss Dad, but these evening conversations with Mom wouldn't have happened while he was still living. These visits are a treasure.
So this particular Sunday evening in March as we were talking about Israel and the time that Mom and Dad had spent there, I remarked that I would love to go there for a visit someday, but in the same breath said it will probably be quite a few years until we can manage to pull it off. And Mom, bless her kind generous heart, said, “Well, you need to go, and I’ll pay your way. Daddy (she always called him “Daddy”) and I were going to take all of you to Israel a number of years ago, but it didn’t work out. It’s time to do it now. I want to send you. I won’t be able to go along, but I really want all of you to go.”
Wow! That set the wheels turning! Talk about straight out of the blue. Mom wanted to surprise my brothers with the trip, but I wasn’t so sure that everyone would want to go. So I called some of the other brothers and asked them how they felt about going to Israel. After a little hesitation by some, it became unanimous. We began checking with travel agencies, and several of us came across Pilgrim Tours. They had a variety of trips and dates, very good reviews from many people who had used them, and best of all, excellent prices. Now it looked quite feasible and it was time to get serious.
“I want you to go as soon as possible,” Mom stressed. “I want to be around to hear all the stories when you get back.”
That made sense of course. At 94 years of age, you just never know.
So we took the plunge, arranged the trip with Pilgrim, and began with all the preparations of getting passports ready, purchasing a few light-weight clothes, making sure our carry-on luggage would pass the size requirements, and reading up on places in Israel. The trip was months away, but it’s always good to be prepared. Know what to expect weather-wise, how much spending cash to carry along, what information should be left with family, etc.
The experienced travelers in our family weighed in on how to pack lightly, and how to get enough clothing and necessities in one carry-on suitcase so we wouldn't have check in and retrieve luggage at the airports. Traveling light just made sense. We made some trial runs with packing, and sure enough, it worked.
As time went along, friends and extended family learned of our plans, and it became obvious that for some, our intelligence and decision-making capabilities were waning in our golden years.
“You’re going where?” some would ask.
“It’s dangerous,” they said, and if they didn’t say it, you knew they were thinking it. You could see it by the look in their eyes. ‘You’re crazy,’ they were thinking.
But think about it. American tourists don’t just disappear without a trace, or die a violent death in a foreign country without the US media jumping all over it. And how many tourists have you heard about dying in Israel lately? How many have you heard about dying in the USA? Right. It happens here more often. We figured it was best to keep things in perspective, and not give way to the fear-mongering.
Seven months seemed like a long time, but time flies, and before we knew it, it was November and we were down to the wire. We had planned from the start for all of us to leave from Washington Dulles Airport so we could make the journey together in it’s entirety.
We left our vehicles at a Comfort Inn near the airport, took the shuttle to the Air France terminal, and stepped into the lobby full of excitement, with three hours before flight-time to get through the required steps for our boarding passes and security checks.
But… as we stood in line, a nice young lady from Air France came along and sweetly informed us that there was going to be a five-hour delay. Our plane was making a round trip from France and back, and on the way to the USA, it had to turn back to Paris due to a medical emergency. Oh boy. A five hour delay in Washington was bad enough, but this would mean missing our connecting flight to Tel Aviv as well. We were all together though. That was nice. Whatever happened, we were in it together.
It seemed like a long time, but finally we boarded the wide body A380 Air Bus and took off across the ocean, headed for Paris. It was now mid-night, and we had been awake for 18 hours, but it was nearly impossible to sleep at the airport or on the plane. Just like little kids on a sleep-over, it doesn't work very well.
Roughly eight hours later, we landed in Paris, and soon learned that our next flight would not be leaving for another nine hours. What to do? Should we take a bus into Paris, and maybe even visit the Eiffel Tower? It was an hour away they said, and we would have to go through customs both ways. Nah, it just didn’t seem worth taking the risk of something going wrong. So we hung out at the terminal, playing games, taking walks, trying to take naps, and waiting.
Finally, it was time for the flight to Tel Aviv. This time our ride was on a Boeing 737 and lasted a little over four hours. By the time we landed in Tel Aviv and made our way through customs, it was nearly 6 A.M. Israel time. We managed to locate our shuttle driver who took us on a rapid ride to our hotel, nearly an hour away. It was around 7 A.M. when we walked into the hotel lobby and inquired about our rooms, hoping for a shower and change of clothes. It had now been around 41 hours since leaving home, and we were ready to freshen up. But no. The man behind the counter refused, and told us to go eat breakfast. What? We need a shower!
So we located the breakfast room and joined the others in the tour group for our first meal in Israel, a breakfast buffet. Right off it was obvious that we were going to have some new and interesting food. We expected that. In fact we wanted that. I especially was looking forward to that part of journey. I like to try new things, and Mom had told us how wonderful the breads were in Israel. She was right. But there were other things that needed to be sampled too.
I was browsing the offerings when I noticed some 2-inch squares of fish. Hmmm, I thought this might be interesting. So I took a piece back to the table along with a few other items. And the fish was surprisingly good. It was pickled. That was unexpected. I’d never had pickled fish before. It was similar in flavor to our pickled eggs in the States, with vinegar, sugar, and spices. So I went back for more. Four or five more. And then a variety of other tasty items that looked pleasing to the eye, and good for the body.
In the meantime, while eating breakfast, we had located our tour guide, Mickey, and asked him if he could possibly get us our rooms so we could shower and change. He soon came back with two keys. It’s the best he could do, he said. We looked at each other, looked at our watches, and ran for the rooms. We only had about 15 minutes until the bus was scheduled leave, and we needed that shower.
With scant minutes to spare we boarded our lovely purple bus along with the other 31 people, for a total of 41 plus our guide. It seemed remarkable how refreshed one could feel after a nice breakfast, a quick shower, and clean clothes.
And so we made it! We were in Israel, and just in time to begin the tour with everyone else. Thus began the third morning of our long “day.”
 |
| The blue image on the map represents Israel. It is a tiny country. In square miles, you could fit nearly five Israels in the state of Ohio. |
And this is enough for today. We’ll pick up right here next week, and bring you along.
From Kidron, Ohio; the little town that was named after the Kidron Valley that begins in Jerusalem. On the outskirts of Kidron, we own a modest ranch home located on Jericho Road This is probably not a coincidence. Just as the original Jericho Road runs east out of the Kidron Valley in Israel, so does our Jericho Road run east out of our Kidron Valley. Have a wonderful weekend. Enjoy the leaves. So long.
 |
| Amish home on Jericho Road a little east of our home. October 24, 2015. |
 |
| Ammon's farm. Photographed October 24, 2015 |
No comments:
Post a Comment