The exchange between Jamie and the El Al agent would be familiar to thousands of travellers. It's a frustrating ping-pong causing the heart to race, the face to flush, and the rest of the body to generally prepare to turn itself into a projectile weapon, although a very un-aerodynamic one.
"If you want to get on this flight," she said sternly, "you'll have to buy another ticket--right now. We take Visa."
"All I have is a Check Card from back home."
"Well, it's cash then. 450 Euros."
Livid, Jamie dug his heels in for an argument. He opened his mouth to let the torrent of insults and accusations free. Weeks of pent up mental and sexual frustration was about to hit this woman with more stink and ferocity than a storm of hormonal baboons.
But like a drop of rain on a window, his mind suddenly changed direction. Where a second ago he would have been delighted to scream and pound the desk, he now had a vivid image of his brother standing at the airport waiting for him. And he did something he hadn't done for a long time: he acted.
Precisely how he acted may differ depending on who witnessed his mad dash across the airport to the nearest ATM. Sidestepping passengers and hurdling numbers piles of baggage, only one thing crossed his mind as he sprinted: "This place had goddamn better take Irish plastic."
Discovering the ATM actually gave him money was the first positive experience he'd had in days. He was uplifted.
Getting stalled at a security check for so long he missed his flight anyway pretty much dropped him right back to where he'd been.
A young man approached him.
"I'm sorry this is taking so long, and I apologise that you've missed your flight. Can I get you something?" He asked. Jamie could tell this was routine courtesy, and that the man was not so fussed about making him miss his flight.
"Yes, thank you. I'll have a tea. Earl Grey. With milk." Sympathy tea. He couldn't stand the thought of it.
When his bags finally cleared security, he was ushered through to wait in boarding. His tea sat untouched beside his chair.
What he failed to realise--or they failed to tell him--was that once in boarding, there's no going back. No trip to the bar. No sandwiches. No--and this was the worst part--smoking. Jamie circled the small, donut-shaped room two or three times looking for a dark corner, a hidden room where he could puff a sneaky Lucky Strike. There was nothing. Until his third lap.
He smelled smoke. There WAS a dark corner. Smoked seemed to hover, emanating from nowhere. He walked closer, closer, and he was almost on top of them before he saw that it was not a dark corner after all: four Hasidic Jews properly dressed sat cross-legged smoking nonchalantly. Above them was a bold, red sign that read Défense de fumer. Jamie gestured to it and asked one of the men, "It's okay to smoke here?"
One answered with a half-interested shrug, "No, but they give us no choice?" It was as if rules, were they not agreed upon, did not apply. And since they were given no alternative, these men were forced to create it. Jamie smiled.
"Can I borrow your lighter?" He asked politely.
And so he spend his last hours in Paris sandwiched between black-clad Jews in a dark corner of an airport. They talked to him in English, told him places to visit, but were generally silent. They smoked for close to an hour beneath the "no smoking" sign serenely defiant.
The time it takes that which is foreign to overwhelm you is time you spend enduring. You will be heartbroken and lonely. You will be broke. You will spend your last dollar on a ticket you've already purchased. You will be rejected. You will be scrutinised. But if you can find common ground with someone during any of this--even if it is just for the length of a cigarette--the perspective will keep you company.
In Tel Aviv John and Sara waited. Jamie's flight arrived at 5:00am. and when he arrived, they sped to Jerusalem. To Jamie, jostling in the back seat of a speeding Fiat, it felt like his getaway car.
They ended up on Sara's rooftop watching the sunrise and drinking cup after cup of thick, black coffee.
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