Terminal

The following could be chalked up to a case of pre-geriatric cerebral flatulence. regardless, I am reminded of how I should have easily known better.

Since December, I have been taking Hebrew classes for 5 hours a day and five days per week. For Passover, we have two weeks off from school. I didn’t want to sit around for two weeks so decided to try to find a travel buddy to take en inexpensive trip somewhere. My Israeli friend, Miri, had somewhat of a similar itch. I wanted to go to India while she wanted Italy. We both don’t eat bread during the week of Passover. So, when I explained that we would not be able to enjoy the Italian bread, pizza, or pasta while in Italy, she agreed there might be a better time for that trip. We looked at an Israeli website for last minute trips and found a cheap all-in trip to a supposedly 5-Star resort on the Black Sea in Bulgaria. Food was included as was the airfare. I have had limited exposure to Eastern Europe and I really wanted to see some of the towns and villages.

Miri called the travel company to determine if we needed a visa to enter the country. We were informed that Israeli citizens would not need visas. As I was packing my bag, I visioned how we would rent a car and take many day trips from the resort town and return in the evenings. I always want to have my USA passport with me in case it is needed but for some reason, couldn’t find it as I was rushing to meet Miri to go to the airport. I brought my temporary Israeli passport instead. We were asked to arrive three hours before departure in Israel. I assumed the security could be the tightest in the world and that we would become chummy with the touchy-feely airport security. I prefer the generous body searches by hot Israeli girls instead of the burly Russian guys. Never happens that way.

The early arrival to the airport gave Miri a chance to shop and shop and sample fragrances and cosmetics at the Duty Free stores. All went smoothly as we checked in at the counter for our two-hour flight to Varna, Bulgaria, on the Black Sea. Our documents were checked and I was able to land an emergency exit row for my long legs. Our flight was delayed a couple of hours and we arrived around 10:00 PM. I assumed they combined two flights that were scheduled instead of burning fuel in two planes.

We waited in line for our documents to be checked in Bulgaria. Miri cruised through and saw our guide and bus waiting to take us to the resort. When I handed my travel document, the Border Policeman said, “Do you have an American Passport?” I said, “It’s in Tel Aviv but I have this one”. As I am a new immigrant to Israel, they require you to live in the country for at least one year prior to gaining an Israeli passport. You get something called a Teudat Me-Avar. It says in English, “Travel Document in Lieu of Passport”. I was naively under the impression that this was a temporary passport and that it would be treated as such. Instead, I was informed that this document needed a visa to enter the country. I knew there might be a few more questions but that, eventually, they would let me get on the bus and go to the resort. I stepped aside as others came through. Miri waited on the other side and retrieved our baggage. As they closed down the line, the travel guide stayed with me to translate. He told me that I was not able to enter the country that night and I would have to sleep at the airport. He said that I would have to speak with the senior officer the next day but that I would have to leave the country on the first available flight back to Israel. Miri had read about women trafficking in Bulgaria and was afraid of taking a cab so late at night and of staying alone in a hotel. She wanted to stay with me overnight in the airport. After my insisting, she finally left and was given a ride there by the guide.
This is a small airport. There is a duty-free area, a café, and a snack bar with chips and junk food. No beds and it is pretty cold outside. Will there be heat in here? People are wearing heavy coats. I was told that people would come to fly early in the morning and that the cafes would then be opened. OK, I can rough it. After all, I’ve done my share of camping in Israel and this was at least inside. I wandered upstairs to a café area and found a couple of narrow Formica-topped tables that I could pull together to stay off of the floor. The cold metal chairs were too angled to be comfortable. I bundled up in all of my warm clothes and brushed my teeth in the bathroom. After pulling the tables behind a temporary divider, I lay on top of a pair of jeans to soften the hard Formica table, used my backpack as a pillow, and threw a pair of clean underwear over my eyes to block out the light. Not much sleep here but I’m fantasizing of an adventure where I am in solitary confinement before the morning torture starts. I really don’t sleep but try to rest knowing the next day will be adventurous. Miri calls me several times to from her hotel. She is nervous and chatty and I remind her that using our Israeli cell phones from Bulgaria is very expensive. We should use them as little as possible and will have to use them a lot following day. As I had expected to turn off my cell for a week, I had not brought my charger.

I remember the person arriving to open the nearby café at 4:00 AM and I how good and relaxing the music was. There must have been a 5:30 flight because it became much colder in my semi-hidden spot near the café. People would open the doors to smoke outside and let the freezing air in. The following morning, we met several other Border Police and awaited the senior officer. We called the American Embassy in the capital of Sophia and the Israeli Embassy. The woman at US consular services said they had to interview persons who lost their passports in person. I could not travel to Sophia because it was a domestic flight. They had no other consulate. The Deputy Chief of Bulgarian Border Police arrived and said the airline had a responsibility to ensure that its passengers had the appropriate documentation to enter the country of destination. The next flight back to Tel Aviv was Thursday and I would have to stay until then unless I could get a hard copy of my American passport. This was Monday morning and Passover begins on Wednesday at sundown.

Still not losing hope…

Did they want a bribe, was there someone I could apologize to, charm, pressure? The Deputy Chief of Border Police once came to me and said they would try to make and exception and issue a visa from the airport. However, it would cost me 120 Euros. Fine. He said there was a chance the request could be denied by the higher ups but that he would recommend it. I was fine with that and even a bit giddy. I spread my Hebrew books out on a table at the café and studied Hebrew and a few words in Bulgarian so that I could say, “good morning” to the Border Police as they passed by. A few hours passed and Miri had made her way back to the airport. She said she had no intention of staying by herself and that, if I had to return to Israel, she would too. She has 10 brothers and sisters and she was feeling a little guilty for missing the Seder.

I started calling friends in Tel Aviv to see if someone could get into my apartment, find my US passport, and ship it to me… somehow. One friend found my hidden key but later told me that I had hidden the wrong key. I called my Landlord whom I knew had a key. He went by and looked where I told him the passport should be and could not find it. He then had to leave and go to work. I was so looking forward to the visa that would be given soon. After a couple of hours, the Deputy Chief approached me and told me the request was turned down. They had to go by the book. I would be in the airport until Thursday. The woman in charge of consular services for US citizens appeared willing to help at first. We suggested filming me with the security officers and sending it via Skype. The Deputy Head of the Border Police said he would try to let us use his computer to do this. He told me I would be a liability sleeping in his airport and that it would be better if I left. He left again for a couple of hours and returned to tell me that again, the higher-ups don’t want him involved in helping me get a visa. Thursday…

I later found that there was a business lounge with nicer chairs than in the general boarding area. I entered to ask, what else?: “May I sleep on these?” There was even internet service there. Nearer to 5:00 PM, I met a couple of guys waiting for a flight. I had been asking if anyone had a Samsung phone charger. One of these guys was from Colombia. I told him my story in Spanish and how I could have filmed myself with my phone and sent it from the business lounge computer to the US Embassy in Sophia so that they could interview me and issue a passport that could somehow be couriered to the airport where I was now residing. I just didn’t have a way to get the film from my camera to the computer. The Colombian quickly handed me a zip drive and showed me how to plug the memory chip of my phone into the zip drive that would then neatly fit into any port of a computer – the business lounge computer! I could then send it to the Embassy in Sophia and they could interview me and issue a new passport. Eureka!

It was 5:10 PM and I knew the Embassy was closing. I had an emergency number to the woman in charge of consular services. She never thought I would actually be able to get her a film as she could not use Skype. When I told her I was sending her a film that she had agreed to use, she changed her mind. She told me I would have to stay in the airport. Meanwhile, I called my Landlord again to ask him to look elsewhere in the apartment. He said he was at work, the key was at his house, and couldn’t get there again until late at night. He works nearby and angrily agreed to go by again. He insisted that I put him in touch with the local official in Bulgaria. He said he knew the head of Border Control in Israel. I had a good relation going with the Border Police and I didn’t want an angry pushy Israeli making it any worse. Plus, the Deputy Chief was obviously not the decision maker as reported to the capital. My Landlord called me in a fury from my apartment saying he didn’t care if I slept in the airport for a week. He came and could not find my passport. I had to tell him there usually were no policemen around for him to speak with as most of the time, I was just waiting. I later sent him an SMS to ask his Israeli contact to contact the head of Border Police in Sophia but he never did. I had my landlord leave a key outside of my apartment so another friend, Eva, from Hungary, could try to find the passport. She looked so hard and combed the apartment. She went back again to dig through books to see if I had hidden it somewhere. Nothing. Eva was so sweet and tried so hard but came up with nothing. I was starting to think I would get a lot of Hebrew studying done until Thursday. But, Passover was approaching, Miri had 10 brothers and sisters, some of whom had come from abroad for Passover, I wanted her to get back for the Seder.

The Border Police found a flight that would get me back to Tel Aviv on Tuesday afternoon but I would have to pay for it. It was 250 Euros and it went through Hungary. It left at 5:30 AM on Tuesday. I would have to wait until around 4:00 AM, when the gate agent arrived, to check if I could get through the Budapest airport on my travel document. Would not be forced to leave and could have stayed until Thursday and flown for free. But, with all other options exhausted, I chose to fly back to Tel Aviv without ever entering Bulgaria. A few hours on the Formica and a trip for Miri to get her suitcase from the hotel, and we were ready to go at 3:30 AM. We had a 2-hour layover in Budapest and arrived in the afternoon in Tel Aviv.