with a cocktail like this, it's bound to get messy
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I’ve been meaning to share this for a while.
“The airstrikes happen everywhere, anytime, day and night. At night is the most difficult time. The bombing intensifies and I can feel it getting closer and closer. I’m exhausted but I try and force myself not to fall asleep… the explosions are even scarier when they wake you up”
I prefer to be awake when they strike.
“I prefer to be awake when they strike”. Wow… that line blows my mind.
Think about that for a second.
How fucked up would my world have to be for me to utter a sentence like that…
the bombs are going to happen, I prefer them in the daylight.
It blows my mind that strikes are so inevitable as to have a preference.
It blows my mind that this is someones reality.
It blows my mind that for some, throwing rocks is the last little bit of resistance they can offer.
It blows my mind that we can label a whole people group as terrorists… the grandparents, the sons and daughters… the parents that hope for their kids just like parents all around the world do.
A people group whose hopes & dreams aren’t that different from yours or mine.
It blows my mind how indifferent or dismissive we can be…
Because acknowledging their reality would force us to confront our own.
The quote from the beginning is from Arwa Mhanna’s article for Oxfam, the full article can be read here.
Donations to Oxfam’s Gaza effort can be made here.
Somehow our religion has made it too easy for us to forget the radically inclusive, table-turning, paradigm-shifting Christ of the Bible, and instead, subtly buy in to the lie that Christianity is a little bit boring, a little old-fashioned and not quite true in the parts that count.
- Robby Dawkins
It’s possible to go through Amsterdam airport and not notice the extra security, it’s possible for Schiphol to appear like any other airport… unless you are flying Al El (Israeli Airlines).
A quick rewind: I left New Orleans early in the morning, flew to New York then straight out to Helsinki. Arrived in Helsinki at 9am, hung out in the city all day then caught a flight to Amsterdam, crashed in a Airport hotel overnight… and now we’re current.
After walking past 20+ other international check-ins, you come to Al El, but before you notice them you notice the 6 men in blue, full tactical, rocking MP5’s all kitted out (even their scopes have scopes). I’m still in the process of geeking out over their hardware when it’s my turn to be asked some questions before check-in, “Are you traveling alone?”, Yes, “stand over there please”. Now I get to answer questions for someone else.
I’ll refer to these as “The Questions”, they would soon become routine as I’d have to answer them 3-4 times with different people every time I traveled in & out of Israel.
Why are you traveling alone, why do you want to go (insert country I’m trying to get to), who do you know there, where do they live, what are their names, who is funding your trip, what is your job, why did you visit the Emirates, who do you know there, who are you still in contact with there, why did you fly here from (insert where I’ve come from), do you have weapons, do you have explosives, have you been given items to deliver to other people, how much do you get paid, do you have work ID with you…
So after answering these for the 3rd time, a guy introduces himself as the head of security & asks me the questions again, has a quick conversation with one of the others and leaves. I wouldn’t talk to him again but he’d observe every part of the process I’d go through.
All my bags go somewhere, I get my boarding pass & am told to go to Gate 10… on the way I pass another gate with my flight number, there are armed Amsterdam tactical police at both entrances to the gate, you have to show them your boarding pass to be let into the gate area.
Sidenote: A couple of things which jump out at me about this, there are no other airlines nearby, Amsterdam is clearly taking the security of Al El seriously (no one else has the extra attention), and all the security screening is carried out by Israeli airport & security personal… does this even happen for other countries? With all my flights into the US it always surprised me how relaxed their security screening is… sometimes there is none, you grab your bag, show your passport & go, it always surprised me how reliant they were on the security of the country you left. Not Israel, they have there peeps overseas.
I walk past this gate and head to G10… which is down some stairs… and not a gate at all.
I sit and I wait. I’m a little concerned I’m going to miss my flight, it’s taken an hour so far.
I’m assured I haven’t been forgotten & I won’t miss my flight.
As I wait other passengers come and go, they have a brief check of their bags & are sent on their way. I meet a family (brother, sister and dad) from Germany, we chat for a bit until we get asked if we know each other, “no”, “then why are you talking”… umm because I’m a generally-friendly-non paranoid-humanbeing.
I get to do the questions again.
And then I have to take every single item out of my bag & have it scanned & swabbed.
And then I get asked a bunch of questions about every electrical item I have, I have to turn it on, show that the camera is functioning & prove that it is mine by showing pics of myself… at this stage I’ve been asked the “who am I visiting” question at least 5 times, they can’t seem to comprehend that I’m traveling by myself to a country I’ve never been to or know anyone. So while I’m searching for pictures the guy tries super casually to slip in, “maybe you could show me some pictures of the friends you’re visiting”… ohh super smooth.
How does he expect that to play out? Sure here’s a pic of me and my new friends at terrorist training camp 7, here’s me at my hijacking graduation.
My shaver has no pictures of me in it. Along with a few other items it doesn’t get to travel with me, instead it’s stored in a box in Amsterdam airport until my return.
And then we get to my clothes. The ones I’m wearing.
I have to get changed into these blue track pants and everything I’m wearing gets scanned & tested & I get the special pat down & scan treatment… at this stage I’m just thankful the rubber glove hasn’t come out.
I’m then left to change & re-pack before being escorted onto the plane. We depart 30 mins late, I’m happy they held the flight.
My carry-on bag has to get checked, I’m not allowed to take my tablet, phone, travel pillow, wallet, or anything onto the plane except my boarding pass & passport… oh, and my set has been changed from the extra-leg-room emergency exit to a regular seat.
As I’m leaving the plane in Tel Aviv a steward brings me a bottle of wine & apologizes for my treatment. I smile, things are looking up.
And then I reach passport control, and we do ‘The Questions’ for 30 mins, and the people lined up behind me have to be hating me, as my guy spends considerable time consulting with another. The German family pass me on the right, we share a few jokes & smiles about our experience.
“Do you know them?!”
Welcome to Israel
After four days in Springfield I arrive in New Orleans for 2 nights & 1 day, much like Vegas… Bourbon Street is also much like Vegas, just on a much smaller scale.
And while you have the same guys standing outside strip clubs encouraging you to “take a break for boobies” there seems to be a lot more culture to Nola. I’m crashing at India House hostel (a very cool hip funky hostile, neat space).
The Blur that is Bourbon street
After a decent walk to Bourbon St – I’d later figure out the tram system – I found a sweet sports bar called Bayou Burger, they do these amazing Kettle chips covered in blue cheese sauce, and I had an Alligator burger (because I could), tasted a little bit like minced pork/rabbit.
After that I ended up in a tiny jazz bar listening to some 50-60 old musicians make magic happen, met a couple of girls who’d just moved to New Orleans, we hung out at a very cool, yet crazy karaoke bar (that’s a sentence you’ll never hear me repeat) called The Cat’s Meow.
Wandered a little.
Caught the sunrise. Caught some Zzzzz’s.
The next day was pretty chilled. I wandered around a few areas that still had abandoned housing, much like some of Christchurch’s post-earthquake east-side, except the greenery was doing it’s best to envelope a few places.
Later in the evening I was walking through an area where the windows all had cages on the outside, storm proofing I thought, until I noticed that they were only on the ground floor windows… umm does this mean I’m no longer in a “safe” neighborhood?
I talk to some houseless people who’ve taken up residence at night under an overpass, they get chased off during the day. It seems a few have also taken to using abandoned houses when they can, but it’s hard for their presence to go unnoticed. They’re aware this can’t go on forever as housing is rebuilt or pulled down, the constant battle with the greenery a summer fire risk. I see none around Bourbon Street, they’re not welcome there.
On my way back I stop in for another Bayou burger before heading down Bourbon St one last time, then home, still Zzz’s to catch up on & an early flight in the morning.
Moment that best describes Bourbon Street
I exit a bar, a few tourist are stumbling down the road with fluorescent green grenades (that they’re drinking out of), to the right a trumpet band are putting on a show, across the road is a place for live sex shows, a family pushes a stroller along an evening walk…
to the left a man with a bull-horn is yelling something, behind him are a couple of old laddies & another guy holding a big white cross, it has a red LED display scrolling words along the center, I make out “hell” and something about “eternal damnation”. Behind them is another guy with a bull-horn facing and yelling in the opposite direction, some guys are doing the “party-boy” dance with him,. He yells louder.
I wonder if their message is heard, I’m left guessing as to what it might be.
I ask to take a photo, they say ok along as I’m not putting a video on Youtube (grandma is clearly with it).
side note. I have no problem with anyone from any form of spirituality wanting to pray for me, it’s led to some pretty special conversations, such as the first night I arrived in San Fransisco & a woman wanted to read my palm, initially I declined, then it ended up running & we shared the same souvenir-shop-canopy for shelter.
Bourbon Street: I’m standing in the middle of the street with an old lady praying for me, with bullhorns, cross, strollers, sex show, trumpets…. and nothing seems out of place or odd to anyone.
Welcome to Bourbon street. Definitely crazier than Vegas.