It’s a Small World

There is no such a thing as sleeping in while on an Israel tour. Or should I say, sleeping in as you know it. Unless you want to waste literally hours in traffic, you really need to be leaving your house before 6:30. Even that can be too late if you’re headed to the Mediterranean. Traffic is a very real, very massive problem. The joy starts when you back out of Fadwa’s gate and head down the narrow, curving street towards the main drag. Narrow curving in this case really does mean narrow curving. Your mirrors constantly threaten to rub a wall, a parked car, a doorway, or a pedestrian’s shoulder. While the street appears to be a one way, it’s not, so when an oncoming vehicle roars into view you both slam on your brakes, assess the options through narrowed eyes and then surge forward, squishing past each other at a place where the road widens slightly. This could involve some backing up, probably a few horn toots and sometimes flapping the mirrors in for a few seconds. Nobody is mad or impatient, it’s just life. With a friendly wave you surge on. About 5 minutes from the house you get to the tricky spot. The road does a sharp, blind right turn and heads up an incredibly steep hill. The road sides are completely lined with concrete walls, so there is no margin for passing except where the occasional gate or curve makes things a little wider. By steep spot, I mean really steep. Take a run at it steep. Which is all very nice until you remember that it is in fact an almost blind corner. If you swing out to the very edge of the road you can see if the first 100 ft are clear, so that’s all good. It also helps to have more weight in the front of the van than the back, and if there’s luggage loaded you definitely have to take a couple runs at it. Add rain and you have to take a different route entirely. It’s always fun taking people up there the first time or two. They are already on edge from the narrow calls they’ve just witnessed, and then when the Proace suddenly surges ahead and shoots up a nearly invisible ally, spinning and cussing as it scrambles for a hold, it’s almost too much. Although most people start out by shrieking and grappling at the doors, by the end of the trip it’s mostly just smiling and generally cheering the van on. “GO van, you can do this!” Someone from our later group mentioned she was sure glad it was a one way, only to have a massive truck loom around the corner and threaten to squash us flat. We informed her it wasn’t.

The tricky ally spits you out onto Main Street Abu Dis and for awhile everything seems golden. The store fronts are still mostly shuttered, a few vendors stand next to their bagel and coffee carts and the occasional street sweeper makes an attempt to pick up at least the most accessible trash. Cars are still parked willy nilly on the sides of the street, and at the moment you can run at least 50km/h. From there you cross what my mind says is a bridge, but in retrospect I have no idea if or what it spans. I just know it has three massive speed bumps and a small coffee house that always looks good. Zam Cafe. Pretty soon the mosque, biggest one in the West Bank, looms into sight and you start seeing the traffic. A major intersection happens right after, and that’s where the chaos begins.

You could write all day and still never describe the unbelievable driving habits of these people. It’s the most incredible nudging match of all time. Bumper to bumper, actually more like bumper to passenger door to mirror to grill to rear door to bumper to human to bumper traffic. Very slow, very deliberate. Passengers leap out of cars, do some business like buy a bagel or maybe some paint, and hop back in a few feet down. The occasional horse prances by, dancing like a Lippizaner. You tell me?! Who are these horses, and why do they dance? And why are they on the street in Abu Dis?

Every morning we shouted with delight over drivers who could squeak into magically small spaces (sometimes it was us), gasped and chewed our nails when we knew, positively KNEW that we would hit, and felt deep satisfaction when a rude driver,who had gone wizzing down the lane into oncoming traffic was stopped by the police.

To help you understand that last statement, let me explain. A lot of the Palestinians have jobs in Israel, so every morning they all have to head to the same checkpoint to exit the West Bank. That means that 95% of the traffic is all headed out, and that leaves this big beautiful two lane road almost completely clear on the other side of the median. It’s just too much for some of the drivers, and they just cannot resist suddenly shooting down it, rocketing around the few oncoming trucks and then squeezing back into the correct lane further down. It makes the whole traffic scenario much worse, and those who persist in the narrow way are rarely accommodating when they want to rejoin. This can have some major implications, as they end up blocking the whole road, creating great wrath in the inbound traffic and provoking people to yell, toot and wave their arms. The renegades are determined to rejoin before the police show up, and the righteous are determined not to let them. They stay so close together their bumpers nearly kiss, the renegades nudge closer and closer (think centimeters), the blocked traffic sits on their horns, and we grimly proceed. I just laughed one day when I noticed the dance Heaths feet had to do between the brake and accelerator. It was some fancy footwork!

And then the rush is over and you sail around the roundabout and out. Everyone puts the pedal to the floor and you rocket off at breathtaking speed. The red signs that warn of the dangers of Palestine recede in your mirror and all you can see are big open highways heading down, down, down towards the Dead Sea.

And if you exit, because you’re going to Jerusalem or Tel Aviv instead of the Dead Sea, don’t exhale yet. You’re only a few minutes away from another jam, and then another, and another. But these are much more organized. They are, after all, in Israel, where people live more by rules and less by passion. You might see a random driver leap out and quick light a cigarette for a fellow driver, or a vehicle wiggle it’s way 180 degrees so he can quick give a boost to the poor car that’s being pushed instead of driven, but that’s about as wild as it gets. Well, there was that angry pedestrian who attacked our van when we eased over a crosswalk and he thought we shouldn’t, but really, all’s well that ends well.

In the van we visit, realizing that life out here slows down and we must embrace the moments, not fret about the plans. Stories and experiences are hashed over, blooming trees and hillsides are pointed out and if Andrew is along there is singing. The joy is in the journey for sure!

And the kicker, it all happens in reverse on the way home, except you take out the renegades going the wrong way and add street vendors. It was clearly strawberry season, as towering stacks stood every few feet. They have them in plastic baskets just like at home. One evening a vendor must have decided to sort his berries, because as we crept by we saw him set up a table right there in traffic and start dumping his baskets out one by one until he had a HUGE mountain of berries. I mean, why not? I can’t think of a better place to sort, right there in the heart of the action. What does it matter if cars now all have to merge around you? Mere trifle.

Twinkle lights flash from the various stands and kids are running everywhere, oblivious that danger is licking at their heels in the form of a car. But it’s really not, because these drivers are seriously proactive instead of the North American reactive. Carcasses hang from meat shop rafters, and men are cooking kabobs right next to them. I can appreciate fresh meat, but maybe not served right next to the source? Fruit and veggies are everywhere, cabbages and carrots so big you do a double take. It’s easier to set up a speaker that bellows than to yell yourself, so the racket can be tremendous as the wares are advertised.

We often ate supper in Abu Dis. We’d nudge the van up to some trash littered curb, dodge rubble, goods and smiling babies and enter our favorite schwarma joint. They happened to be renovating so had no seating, but that’s immaterial in this land of hospitality. The neighboring furniture store owner welcomed us warmly onto his outdoor display and we ate our delicious food cuddled up on a large sectional.

Is it any wonder that Heath would fall asleep almost immediately after reaching home? No. Driving here is a serious mental workout. You take praying for safety very seriously as well. To return unscathed is nothing short of a miracle.