After spending nearly a month in Israel (part tour, part R&R) I have a truckload of stories. One such story involves Israeli taxis. On our last day in Jerusalem, we ordered a taxi to take us to Tel Aviv, which is about 60 minutes away. We’d been assured by our hotel (who booked the taxi) that the driver would come right to the door and help us with our luggage. The driver arrives late and takes one small suitcase and one large suitcase from us. There’s still another small and large suitcase, plus two backpacks.
As we exit the hotel, there’s no taxi in sight. Our taxi driver starts walking up the street, which is quite a hill. Stupidly, we follow, all of us schlepping heavy luggage. One of us is wheezing, feverish and coughing from a bad chest cold. That would be me.
At the top of the street, I’m kind of curious as to where he’s hidden his taxi. I’m also winded and angry. Wondering where we are, the taxi driver turns around, sees me limping with my knee brace, coughing wildly, and says “Wait here. I get taxi.” So, I’m thinking he’s going to call another cab to drive us to his cab. Against all odds, I remain optimistic.
We wait. And wait. Twenty minutes goes by and I’m certain he’s taken our luggage. I’m imagining what I’m going tell the insurance company when we get home. Finally, he shows up, loads the rest of our luggage in his precious taxi, and proceeds to drive us to Tel Aviv. Or so we assume.
Harvey quickly notices that the taxi driver is not taking the standard Highway 1 route, but instead, is heading directly for the West Bank. As we pass Ramallah, Abu Dis and other well-known destination resort towns, we’re getting slightly nervous. Harvey, however, remains calm, because at least he’s got his fancy Swiss Army luggage back. Me? I’m wondering what it’s going to take to get us back to Highway 1.
Our taxi driver is lost, but eventually lands us back on Highway 1, but not before pulling over on the side of the highway and map-questing our destination. With Harvey giving him directions, we finally reach Frishman Street in Tel Aviv. Did I mention it’s 27 C outside?
And Frishman Street is shut due to construction.
If you’ve been to Tel Aviv, you know that there are lots of one-way streets. The taxi driver apologizes and tries to find us a street nearby where he can let us out. Eventually, we are left standing on an uneven gravel sidewalk in front of a construction site a good block from our hotel.
But we are thankful. Mighty thankful. At least we got all our luggage back without having to pay a ransom. It was a good day in Israel.
Shelley Civkin, the retired “face of Richmond,” was a Librarian & Communications Officer at Richmond Public Library for nearly 30 years, and author of a weekly book review column for 17 years.
