Public Service Announcement

The road to Palestine is rife with checkpoints.

Checkpoint number one: I spent a few hours in a European city, had my favorite beer in it's home country, and made it back to the airport to check in for my flight to Tel Aviv with plenty of time. I got on line, made small talk with a UFC hopeful -gotta love MMA, and then realized the line was moving slow because everyone was being interviewed. Butterflies set in since I thought I had a whole flight to rehearse my tourism story, so I threw on my iPod and listened to Jay-Z, Le Album Noire.

I got a hustler spirit, nigga period
Check out my hat yo, peep the way I wear it
Check out my swag' yo, I walk like a ballplayer
No matter where you go, you are what you are player
And you can try to change but that's just the top layer
Man, you was who you was 'fore you got here
Only God can judge me, so I'm gone
Either love me, or leave me alone
- J'hova

I pulled out my Let's Go Israel tour book and dog-eared a few pages with sights in Tel Aviv, Haifa, and Jerusalem. Although a bit jittery inside, I manage to charm the inspector with my beach bum tourist tale and even got her to show me other Israeli hotspots -Eilat seems to be the place to party. I was also warned not to venture into the West Bank, Gaza, or Jordan -you wouldn't want to go there. While I gummed it up with the lady, some surly suit came over and grilled me like a fresh salmon and looked through my passport, then tossed it down, but I aced the interview; the investigator seemed pleased with my cara de yo no fui. Thank you very much, Jay-Z.

Checkpoint number two: I arrived refreshed and full of energy in Tel Aviv, thanks to Fela Kuti, Bob Marley, and Cultura Profetica -Hacen Falta Ideas Nuevas... Passport Control moved slowly as well. I was asked various questions about where I was staying and what I was doing and why did I choose Israel for my vacation. The fact that I have no friends or family in the country makes me suspicious, the fact that I am staying for around five weeks with no employment or academic purposes is almost criminal. Again, part-charm and part-cara de pendejo unlocked the gate, with a smile on my face, I proceeded with a three month tourist visa.

Checkpoint number three: I didn't walk 20 feet and a young man and lady asked to see my passport and visa. The dude was young, and obviously a herb with too much authority; he took me aside and proceeded to ask me questions while holding my passport. Is this really you? What is your date of birth? Where do you live? What do you do? When did you travel last? When? Why? Why are you here? Do you have any family here? Are you sure you don't, anywhere within Israel? As I told this story to Mohamed, a new friend in East Jerusalem, he mentioned I might as well been asked if I were Palestinian. Show me your book, the interogation continued, and the dog-eared pages helped again, Tel Aviv, Haifa, and now Eilat are my itinerary, of course. Finally, after asking the same questions in a dizzying whirl and responding to my every reply in a zombie's, yes, yes, I understand, the herb let's me go. I am in.

After a day in Tel Aviv, a place that reminds me of El Condado in Puerto Rico, or what I imagine Miami Beach to be like, I headed to Jerusalem, a city that reminds me of El Viejo San Juan and D.F. Mexico City all rolled into one. West Bank-bound. One more checkpoint to go, let's see how it goes.