Mr Felix gets the boot from Israel! The Geography Game

I handed my passport to the Immigration Officer behind the metal bars. She glanced up from her seat, took it, and then began ruffling through the pages, paying me no mind.

I stood and waited. It was almost 1 pm.

I was at Allenby Border Control, about to cross into Israel (Palestine), from Jordan, at the West Bank. I'd been warned that the security was tough, and to expect questions, but all the world loves a cyclist, so let's roll...

Rooster, my bike, was leaning against the railing to my left. I'd cycled down from Amman, Jordan, a few days ago, and so far had been enjoying the riding, the roads, and the surprisingly warm and open arms of the Arab people I'd encountered all over Jordan.

Now for the Israeli experience.

I figured I'd be through the questions, through the gate, and on my way pedaling into Jerusalem in no time at all. The city was only 30 km away, due west.

The Immigration Officer was short and plump, and her sandy coloured hair hung loosely down across her forehead, framing a smooth, creamy, unlined face. Like the rest of the late teenager, early twenty-somethings here at Allenby, who were busy as bees, and just as numerous, she was dressed in loose tee-shirt and jeans.

It looked like the kids were running the institution, and it disturbed me.

Not only were they were so young and in possession of so much power, and fire power - some of the young lads carried machine guns, but I couldn't help but think there was almost a Borg quality about these young people. They moved with a communal mind, and dare I say it, an unforgiving demeanor.

These kids were with the program, and wired, and it was scary.

“What is the purpose of your visit to Israel, Mr Felix?” asked the girl.

In this game we were playing, the Immigration Officer always leads off, and the Purpose Question is the standard opening play.

“Ah, I’m a tourist,” I said, brightly. She looked back, not exactly hostile, but sure as hell not interested in sex.

Note to self: Forget about flirting, Felix.

“And where do you intend to go in Israel?” she asked.

This is called the Place Question, which quickly leads into the more important Activity Question, viz.; ‘What are you going to do in our fair country, drink beer, or bring down the government?’

Everything was going to pattern.

“Well, I have a bicycle, and I thought I might stay in Jerusalem for a few days, then go down to Bethlehem, and then cycle up to Nazareth in the north,” I said, easily.
“Why are you going to Bethlehem?” she asked, flatly.

I was momentarily flummoxed. "Um..," I mumbled.

I hadn't expected that. My brain whirled...


I kinda figured mentioning 'Bethlehem' and 'Nazareth' in the same breath would imply the obvious, viz.;
Bethlehem + Nazareth = Jesus = Christian = (peace loving spiritual guy),
and so, peace loving spiritual guy that I am, I walk straight in.

However, there was something in the way this girl asked 'Why are going to Bethlehem?' that told me I'd walked into a brick wall.

Bad start, and I had no idea why...

Perhaps presenting myself at the Immigration booth with long hair flowing and my shirt hanging out, wasn't such a good idea. Perhaps I looked a little free thinking for her tastes? It may also have been the three day growth, and the overall sweaty demeanor. I had, after all, cycled up from the Dead Sea today, via Bethany-beyond-the Jordan, and it was pretty hot out there.

Or maybe, I wondered, being Jewish, the Immigration Officer didn't know who Jesus was. Perhaps it's not covered in the school curriculum, and this girl was definitely not long out of school.

What is this brick wall made of? What is this brick wall made of? What am I looking at...

The other thing was that she totally ignored the bicycle reference, usually my strongest card. All the world loves a cyclist, I think, viz,;
(peace loving spiritual guy) + bicycle = (peace loving furry spiritual guy who cares about the environment).

Mind you, that can easily start leaning over into environmental activist, which is not too far from peace activist, which is not so far from Palestinian sympathiser, which means I may well be here to bring down the government!

Shit, I'm a cyclist on a slippery slope...

“Mr Felix, why are you going to Bethlehem?” she repeated, fixing me with a cold stare.

I obviously wasn't answering quick enough for the program. Was she smelling blood? Was I bleeding?

What the fuck?


Surely going to Bethlehem couldn't be a problem? Surely? The baby Jesus, the crib, the shepherds, the lowing sheep! (Do sheep 'low'?) What could be cuter?

Hell...

“Ah, Jesus was born in Bethlehem,” I said, “and ah, I thought I’d look around, and stuff.” (When in doubt, stick to the basics.)
“Look around?” she asked, flatly. This girl was a Rottweiler.

What on God's good earth could be wrong with looking around Bethlehem? What dark secrets could it hold? What planet are we on?

“Ah, yeah, you know, look around, take a few pics, see the church,” I said, lamely. She bent down and scribbled some notes on her pad, ignoring me for a minute or so.

I stood there like the proverbial shag on a rock.

This wasn't going well. I felt terribly wrong-footed, and there was definitely something I wasn't getting here.

She looked up. “How will you get to Nazareth?” she asked.

More geography questions! We seemed to be stuck in Place, and were never moving into Activity. Was Activity somehow implied by Place in this game? It was confusing. Why not just ask me if I am working for the Palestinians?

Felix's mind to the Rottweiler behind the bars: I am not working for the Palestinians, I am not working for the Palestinians...

The whole thing was turning into Orwell's 1984. What was I suspected of? What was she looking for? What was she afraid of?

"Well, as I say, I have a bicycle, and I'll probably just go up through Nablis, I guess.” I said. “I haven’t really sorted it out exactly."
"Why Nablis?" she asked. Geography, again, Christ!
"Well, I saw it on the map and I kinda liked the name!" I said, attempting a little humour.

I gotta say, humour has gotten me out of more tight spots than Batman in a bad year, and it's one of my best interpersonal skills.

The girl snarled. This time I could see both canine teeth.

She's really got issues...

She took more notes, and then looked up. "So will you be visiting any Palestinian areas while you are in Israel, Mr Felix?" she asked.


A change of tack, but still another Place question, and then it hit me! Maybe this is what this whole thing is about. Maybe they don't want anybody visiting the Palestinian areas?

In which case, it also struck me, I was fucked the minute I opened my mouth. Bethlehem is in a Palestinian area, as is Nablis, and some fool, cycling free-form around the country, was sure to be crossing into Palestinian territory.

Well, it was too late to backtrack now...

"Well, I haven't really checked the map that closely, so I'm not perfectly clear on what is a Palestinian area and what isn't," I said. "But if you are asking me if I have any specific business in the Palestinian areas, I don't. The main thing is just to head north from Jerusalem, and then cross back into Jordan, and then I'm cycling to India."

In a nutshell, that was the basic truth of it, but then in this Orwellian landscape, truth was the wail of a baby lost in the woods. Mentioning India, really, was one last roll of the dice. Leading the Rottweiler out of home turf was about the only play I had left in this insane scenario.

"You are cycling to India?" she asked, surprised.
"Yes, that's what I said," I replied, coolly.
She fixed me with a stare, "That's strange," she said.

Strange? Strange! Am I dealing with a moron, as well as a dog? No wonder this has been so hard.

I looked her straight in the eye. "Well, not really, people cycle all over the world, sweety," I said, and I could hear a melody wriggling free from inside the tangle of my vocal chords.
"Can I ask a question?" I said.
"Ah, yes," she replied, a little surprised.
"Have you ever been out of Israel?" Over to my left, the cycling demon was stirring inside Rooster's left pannier bag, and I felt better. I knew I was going down...

She looked away, and took notes.

"What will your route to India be?" she asked, after a minute.

Geography, geography... and of course, I knew what she was getting at. India had opened a door wide enough for Blind Freddy driving a Mac truck to fit through, and this well programmed little girl was already warming up the engine.

I listed the countries: Jordan, Syria, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan and India. Of course, both Syria and Iran are effectively at war with Israel, and going there from Israel, or coming to Israel from there, is about as welcome as a ham sandwich at the Wailing Wall.

She took notes.

"Why are you going to Iran?" she eventually asked.
"Because it's on the way?" I replied, almost laughing.

Yea, the cycling demon was up, as was the Game, and I really didn't give a shit anymore.

Though I ride through the Valley of the Borg,
I will fear no evil...

I smiled. She snarled. Game over, and what can you do? Hail Mary, full of grace...

I was told to go and sit by the big rubber plant near the long row of plastic seats that bordered the back of the room, and wait. "We need to process your request to enter Israel, Mr Felix," said the girl.
Wonderful!" I said, giving her a big smile.

She snarled.

Now that the game over, I was starting to feel sorry for her...

I wheeled my bike to the back of the room, leaned it against the rubber plant, then curled up on the seats and went to sleep, as only weary cyclists can.

At 4 pm I was escorted out of the building and put on the bus back to Jordan.