The sea is that way

My travel buddy Ethan sent out a link to his blog today in which he gave my new favorite description of friendship. I am happy to say it was describing me: “I know details about her that she probably doesn’t want me to share publicly, and I’m pretty sure she knows stuff about me that I don’t want her to share publicly.  That’s the definition of a friend, right?” Absolutely.

His account of his travels (some of which I was lucky enough to share in) can be found at the controlled release of diamonds. You will find him a much pithier writer than I, and I’m looking forward to hearing another point of view on our journey as well as finding out what the hell happened to him after we parted ways at the Tel Aviv bus station. My guess is that he asked enough people the right questions enough times to get where he was going in a single attempt. I, on the other hand, immediately proceeded to get on the wrong bus, ask two people who didn’t speak English for help, decide not to bother anyone else, turn around, get on the right bus, ride that bus past my stop, turn around, ride the bus back, and ask about twenty people for directions until I got where I was going. Which was Nazareth, incidentally.

This was one thing I have to give Ethan credit for; he is very persistant, and he is a Fact Checker. Where as I am a Intuition Follower. You can guess which of us was right more often.

The best indicator of this was us trying to find our way to a hostel in Tel Aviv. We were exhausted, having traveled all morning in order to reach the city for an afternoon meeting. This meant leaving Palestine early after a night out in Bethlehem.

For the most part the trip went smoothly. We had a little trouble finding the right bus in Jerusalem, but figured it out soon enough, and maneuvered the Tel Aviv bus station like pros. Tired, cranky, bickering pros maybe, but pros nonetheless. After a little snafu that involved getting off the bus too early and walking many blocks with our travel gear on, we found the office, and had a nice meeting. Tel Aviv was pleasant; wide tree lined boulevards and a sunny Mediterranean climate. We sat on a patio and scarfed down a shared meal of falafal burger and a veggie burrito. Then it was time to get back on the bus.

Our guide book told us which bus line to take; it turned out it went right down the street we were on. On my directions, we crossed the street and stood waiting for the bus.

“Are you sure it’s this direction?” Ethan asked, as we stood waiting.

“Of course I am,” I scoffed.

We stood in silence for a minute.

“Really?” Ethan ventured.

Exasperated, I sighed. “Of course,” I responded.

“How do you know?” he asked.

“Because,” I said in that tone that really said, because, stupid. “The sea is THAT way.”

Now the truth is, the sea being West of us had no real bearing on which way the bus to get us to Old Jaffa would go. The funny thing about buses is that they sometimes turn around, or change direction. But I was tired, I didn’t feel like talking to anyone, and damn it, the sea was that way.

So we waited. A bus going the opposite direction went by. We waited a little more. Ethan may have poked at my theory a bit, or suggested we ask, but I stood firm. Until finally the bus pulled up. As we started to get on, Ethan leaned in and asked, “excuse me, does this bus go to Jaffa?”

“No–other side,” the bus driver said. We stepped down and he pulled off.

I don’t really remember the ensuing conversation. To Ethan’s credit I don’t think he gloated too much. And once we did get on the bus going the right direction, we missed our stop and rode it to the end of the line. Then we stood at a random bus stop in view of the sea, and got on the same bus going the opposite direction. This time the bus driver told us where to get of. Otherwise we might have ridden the bus all night.

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