Tourist or Terrorist

I admit - I was a hot mess getting to the Ben Gurion Airport. I got lost returning the rental car, and had trouble finding a gas station. Apparently, "they" say you should leave yourself no less than 3 hours in Tel Aviv. Well, I didn't have a chance to talk to "they." I was working with less than an hour and a half.

Picture it:
Sweating, frantic SJM goes racing into potentially the most highly secured airport in the World. Baggage trolley on two wheels, screeching around corners. Instantly surrounded by security guards. Somehow, my quick utterance of "I am a tourist" must have been misunderstood as "I am a terrorist." My passport and laptop are confiscated.

I am interrogated at length by a posse of six guards about why I am in Israel, why I have so many stamps on my passport, why I have only been in the country for a day, what I do for a job, why i am going to Cyprus. Most of the questioning revolved around my visit to Morocco.

A burly woman shuffles me over to the baggage inspection station, where she proceeds to take EVERYTHING out of my carefully and tightly packed backpack and wipe it with a piece of special toilet paper. She does not seem alarmed by the smell of my shoes or the Leatherman. She is quite concerned about why I have a stuff sack full of electronic equipment....an audio recorder and a tin waterbottle wrapped in duct tape. My underwear falls to the ground. I pick them up and wonder if there is another flight to Cyprus later in the day.

Burly gal briskly motions me to follow her for the "metal check." We leave the general terminal and go down a long hallway...into a private room filled with sensor devices and machines that look like they could give you an MRI. Looking over my shoulder to the left and right as she locks the door behind me. Suffice it to say, that this phase of the security screening ended with my pants around my ankles and my chin buried in my neck after a hearty pat down.

Fear not, Americans...this story has a happy ending. I get the passport and laptop back. Backpack and pants are zipped up tightly. Burly woman calls her friend, Tough Gal Airport Golf Cart Driver. I get an LJ VIP ride to my gate. Psyched on life that I am going to make the flight. The three of us pass by all the other LJs in the airport -- waving at the short-haired lady selling cell phones....laughing at the surprising speed of the cart. All that was missing was a radio with some Beyonce blaring out the speakers....

Lesson learned: Ununciate the "ou" in tourist and always travel with clean undies.