A Day That Will Live In Infamy

Weekends here can be very boring. We often find ourselves lolling about the apartment, occasionally getting up from our spots in front of the computer or TV, walking over to the refridgerator just to make sure that nothing got up and walked away. Usually, the celery has moved a few inches but it has yet to flee the fridge entirely. I think it may just be as restless as we are.

On Sunday Gillian and I decided to take our first trip away from our home base of Karmi'el. Haifa, a very pretty city on the water which happens to be not far from us seemed like the perfect destination for our maiden voyage. So we packed our bags for the day and went off in search of transportation. (We have yet to figure out our primary means of getting around. Renting a car is very expensive but everything else is a tremendous pain in the ass.)

Just outside the college gate we expected to take a taxi cab to the bus station and then catch a bus to Haifa. While waiting for the cab a small van pulled up with a sign in its window that said Haifa, but in Hebrew. We quickly asked the driver if we had read the sign correctly upon which he turned to a passenger and asked him to translate. It seemed that we were correct and he was indeed driving in the direction we wanted to go. You see, in Israel there are large taxi cabs called "sherut cabs" that follow the bus routes. As I understand it, they are a direct result of people's understandable fear of being blown up as a passenger on a bus. However, that being their origin, I think that in a more modern framework they are simply more practical and reasonably priced. Anyhow, back to the story.

We climb aboard and proceed to drive around looking for other people to join us on our trip to Haifa. It seems that two people you can't communicate with are not a sufficient fare for such a long trip. (It's really only about a half hour by car but in Israel it's only a six hour drive from one end of the country to the other.) So after circling around several times and picking up various characters, we actually left Karmi'el. 45 minutes later we arrived in Haifa without a clue in the world as to where to tell the driver who didn't understand us where to drop us off. So, he left us in the middle of a fairly run down area with the assumption we would find our way from there.

NOTE: I don't handle situations such as the one above very well. I have this little thing I like to call a control complex. I like to be in control. I like to know where I am going. I like to know where I am. I like to know how to ask where I am. I prefer to be in control. Gillian on the other hand has a fabulous throw-caution-to-the-wind-everything-will-be-ok philosophy. She backpacked across France never really knowing what to expect, perfectly comfortable not being comfortable. In this scenario, she was better prepared.

Soon after the cab pulled away from the curb and I began feeling like an abandoned puppy in the middle of a city didn't know, an awful feeling hit me. It started in my throat as if my ability to collect air and send it to my lungs had been put on hold. Then, it moved from my throat to stomach where each labored breath I managed to squeeze into my lungs felt as if a 10 pound rock had settled in my abdomen. No, breakfast was not the culprit, but simply my own stupidity and lack of awareness. I had left my bag in the back of the taxi.

Contents: 1 piece of paper with bus schedules and phone numbers, 1 flashlight, 1 pair of clip-on sunglasses, 1 iPod (2nd generation) including earbuds, 1 U.S. passport (authentic) and 1 brand new Nikon Coolpix 7900 digital camera.

Following 45 seconds of near breakdown antics Gillian quickly got on the phone and called our contact in Karmi'el. She in turn put her best people on the case, subsequently tracking down the two taxi companies that run service between Karmi'el and Haifa. Meanwhile, I continued breaking down, alternatively thinking back and forth about stepping into traffic and how it would feel if my mother threw me into traffic for being an imbicile. Gillian was smart enough to stand between me and the curb while making phone calls.

Only 15 minutes after making the call we received a call in return telling us that the driver had phoned in the bag to his dispatcher and that it would be returned to the college without a problem. I caught my breath, hugged Gillian for her fast-acting intellect and calmed down to best of my ability, still thinking every now and then that I should at least have my leg run over if for nothing else than the shame of being so careless and stupid. Nevertheless, Gillian and I proceeded to have a pleasant afternoon in Haifa, not seeing much, but in the least picking up a map to guide us on our next visit.

The next morning, Gillian picked up my bag so that I didn't have to face the shunning stares of the college administration. You know, the kinds of stares that make you wish you were a turtle, retracting your head beneath your collar, impervious to unpleasant glares. After breakfast I opened up the bag and took inventory.

Contents: 1 piece of paper with bus schedules and phone numbers, 1 flashlight, 1 pair of clip on sunglasses, 1 iPod (2nd generation) including earbuds and 1 U.S. passport (authentic).

I looked again.

Contents: 1 piece of paper with bus schedules and phone numbers, 1 flashlight, 1 pair of clip on sunglasses, 1 iPod (2nd generation) including earbuds and 1 U.S. passport (authentic).

Something was missing. Something was gone. Something had been stolen.

Someone had to go find a busy street.

Alas, it is gone. I will never see it again and will most likely have to replace it as I have no intention of spending 5 months in a country as beautiful as Israel and not have some visual record that I was here. But for now, don't ask for pictures.