Travel Crete to Jerusalem

“You are so lucky. You can go anywhere!!” I am surprised that the friendly Israelis around me are so jealous of my foreign passport. Another tells me about the hotel I have booked, “That is a nice hotel. You will meet Palestinians there!” Even the man in front of me who was born in a German refugee camp is delighted that I am joining them on their charter flight back to Tel Aviv. “You must come to Haifa. We are happy there!” But I am on my way to Jerusalem.

Two Israelis in Sfakia had told me about a direct charter flight from Heraklion to Tel Aviv. I tried all the usual sources I use for cheap flights then, remembering my experience with booking directly with Aegean, I tried El Al and there it was in a different colour; a flight on Sun D’Or which is the charter branch of El Al. I could not resist the amazingly low price in US dollars so I booked a ticket about a week before the flight.

The hotels were a bit difficult to choose until an amazing special came up on booking.com at the American Colony Hotel. I saw the number of available single rooms going 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 and I clicked to book the last room at that price before I had googled it. Not the best thing to do normally.

When I eventually did google the hotel, I saw that Tony Blair had been staying there and English newspapers were complaining that he had done nothing when he bothered to turn up. Maybe that was why they were having trouble filling the place? Another nice fact was that Peter O’Toole had stayed there and T E Lawrence used to play soccer in the garden!!! Well, I had booked it and it was too late to change my mind.

Manto’s Studio has been my home for the last two months except for one week on Gavdos and another week in Sfakia. It’s always difficult to uproot myself and move elsewhere but Jerusalem is an exciting destination. I had intended to get a “last minute” in Switzerland so my luggage I’m taking to Israel includes my mountaineering boots, cagoule, sleeping sac, micropore towel and all the stuff I need for mountain huts.

I catch the early Chania bus and I’m off. It’s only now that I realise that this road is one of the most spectacular in the world. Going up into the mountains is obviously beautiful but the view of the northern bays and the sea from the top is breathtaking. Although it is a long journey even with the new road, it is never boring!!

We soon reach the crazy bus station where our bus somehow squeezes in. There is a kiosk where a man tells us the number of the bus which will take us to Heraklion. In fact this appears to be his only job. You don’t look at the destination of a bus on Crete; you look at the small number written on the windscreen. So, as soon as the bus with ‘our number’ on it appears, we swarm on board. To our astonishment, the bus leaves ten minutes early!

The road to Heraklion is still pleasant but the number of new resorts has changed much of the route. However, there is still plenty of room for the odd camper or combi on deserted beaches. But the biggest change for me is the number of new hotels as we approach Heraklion. It is now a major holiday destination because of Knossos being one of those places you have to “do”. As I haven’t seen Knossos for many years, I will be “doing” it myself tomorrow.

I have booked a hotel between the bus station and the central square where the airport bus stop is located. After dumping my stuff, I walk up to the square and enjoy a souvlaki after walking around the back streets. The backstreet cafes and restaurants illustrate the fact that there is considerable prosperity in North Crete, now that it is becoming a major tourist destination.

The following day I rush down to the bus station to catch the first bus to Knossos. It turns out that the dispatcher had been having me on the previous evening by saying that there were early buses. He laughs when I tell him this saying, “Why do you want to get there before it opens?” I have no answer to this but arrive at Knossos a half hour after opening time.

I am amazed to find a large number of groups already circulating around the site. I am early enough to see most of the parts which interest me without having to stand in line but, as time goes on, crowds appear and choke all the gangways so much that I have great difficulty escaping from the site. It is a labyrinth of people and gangways.

The following day I catch the first bus from the square to the airport to find that there are three Sun d’Or flights to Tel Aviv and I have a seat on the third. Before the flight is actually announced to register luggage, a Israeli calls to me and says, “The flight will line up here. I’m first. You can be second” He is correct. He goes to register his luggage but I am conducted to one of several music stands in front of the desks where I am asked a succession of questions for almost an hour.

“Why are you going to Israel?” I answer with the normal answer, “Tourism” but this is not enough. “When did you decide to go to Israel?” I must admit my answer, “Last week” did not sound too convincing so I produce my eTicket with a date about nine days earlier on it.

“Why did you decide to come?” I give a variety of obvious reasons but also mention the two Israelis I had met in Sfakia. “How old were they?” “What did they look like?” “Are they on this flight?” …. and so on. I have been passed on to the head man who looks gorgeous and sleek with a magnificent pair of sunglasses. “I’m sorry to ask you all these questions but there are a lot more to come”, he says. “Have you met any terrorists recently?” is an obligatory question which seems even to amuse my interrogator. He seems a nice man and I have to admit that I will feel safer if he is using his skill to maximum affect.

The he goes to confer with his colleagues and they look at me from the other side of the enclosure. I cannot imagine what a terrorist would do in these circumstances but they seem like real professionals who have kept El Al as one of the safest airlines in the world. Then he returns and asks more questions and consults his colleagues again. I feel a sense of exhilaration when he allows me to register my luggage. This is examined in front of me and goes through the Xray machine a number times in various orientations until the operator is convinced that it is safe.

Too soon do I think that I am on my way to Tel Aviv. There is an enormous line which we join and gradually creep towards the passport control for two hours. Then a group of Russians barge into the front of the line and other join them so that we are actually forced backwards. It is terrible and, as the flight time approaches and passes, we become exasperated while the passport people stop checking passports and yell at us. It is the worst scene in an airport that I have ever witnessed or been part of. I will never fly from Heraklion again. It simply cannot handle so many flights with just two people checking passports.

Luckily, we have a charter so the plane waits a couple of hours for us all to fight through the throng. I ask the people around me how long the flight is and they say “One hour and twenty minutes and it has taken us over four hours to get in the plane!” I have never felt such a feeling of relief as the plane takes off and turns towards Tel Aviv. The flight is almost completely free of turbulence; a complete contrast to the previous four hours.

Tel Aviv Ben Gurion airport is large and efficient. The luggage comes through quickly and , unlike Heraklion, there are plenty of passport checkers even for those with foreign passports. Once through, I look for the shared taxis with a curious name like “sheroot”. There is a sign “Airport Shuttle” and, when I approach the dispatcher, he assures me that he assigns people to the shared taxis.

Shared taxis are great. It costs just ten euros to get from Tel Aviv airport to any address in Jerusalem. I seat myself at the front so I can see everything. The first surprise is the number of Arabic signs on the road. Then there are the checkpoints manned by soldiers with accurate assault weapons. Then come beautiful suburbs which any of us would be delighted to live in. After the suburbs, the driver tries to persuade me to choose another hotel. “You don’t want that hotel. I’ll take you somewhere much better” I explain that I have booked it already and cannot cancel. His response is a large shrug and disappointment. But he refuses to drive into the hotel, dropping me just outside. I pay him and he departs with a few head shakes.

The hotel is really just a large house. The lobby is tiny but leads into a rather nice garden which is equally small. As I enter, I am offered a welcome drink. “We have three welcome drinks – a Jewish drink, a Christian drink and a Moslem drink. We think the Moslem drink is the best”. I accept their judgement and have the Moslem drink which tastes out of this world. It turns out that, in this city of different religions, the receptionist is a Palestinian Christian. On the way to my room on the third floor, I am surprised to see a guard at the end of the corridor and a sign mentioning the “Quartet”.

There are many different types of rugs throughout the hotel and I feel very much at home with the small rug that is in my room. It sits on top of a floor consisting of tiles of many different sizes. The bathroom looks old fashioned but everything works!! I have excellent Wi-Fi and I am in Jerusalem!!! Thank you, Tony Blair!!!