Ten hours after leaving Portland I walked throughout Frankfurt to see the churches, architecture, bridges, pubs, and the German girls I read about. I stopped to enjoy some German music and a German sausage.

My body clock still wasn't adjusted; I slept only a few hours Saturday morning before my flight to Tel-Aviv. I rode the subway to the airport instead of riding with the German Cabbie who drove me in his Mercedes at 180-200 km/hr the day before.

Israelis are passionate people. Driving in Israel is more an artistic expression than it is standardized. Some enjoy driving within the lane. Some create their own lane. Some park their car halfway on the sidewalk and halfway on the street. Lots of friendly arm shaking, honking and yelling out the window. I assumed their enthusiasm was without anger since a 'look at me' or 'you are driving slower than I am' smile followed their expression.

Adam welcomed me to Israel by honking and at times waving his arms out the window as we drove.

After work Sunday evening, Adam and I left Haifa for the historic city of Akko. At one time this coastal city held off a siege by Napoleon. Akko came up so quickly we decided to continue driving as far as we could with the daylight that remained.

Adam mistook a Palestinian flea market for a gas station in Nahariyya, twenty miles from the Lebanese border where Israelis and Palestinians live together peacefully. He maneuvered our car out of the crowd with hubcaps in place.

Adam spoke Arabic with the locals sitting on a hill overlooking the Sea. The Palestinians loved Adam. When they recognized his Iraqi accent their eyes lighted up and they invited us to their home for dinner.

A Bedouin style restaurant with pillow lined outdoor seating caught our attention. Colorful sauces, meats, cucumbers, cabbage, dill and olives filled the long serving table. After a Carlsberg, humus plate, kabobs and soft music I was completely relaxed and sleepy.

Two members of my team arrived in Haifa to support the program schedule planning. I nicknamed them 'Doom' and 'Gloom' out of their less than enthusiastic response to our Lebanese excursion. We rented separate cars, as I didn't think they would be interested in bus riding adventures or lighting fireworks in the spirit of a belated forth of July celebration. Some people aren't as adventurous or patriotic as others.

First stop, Nazareth, to see the Church of the Annunciation and Mary's Well. A few miles southeast of Nazareth we approached Mt. Tabor, the site of the Transfiguration. Here a cloud hovered and Jesus glowed in the presence of his disciples as God declared Jesus to be his son.

The physical environment matched my mental picture of biblical times. The hillside surrounding the highway appeared timeless as if it hadn't changed in two thousand years.

The Church of the Annunciation is the largest church in the Middle East. It is built on the place where the angel Gabriel announced to Mary that she would be the mother of Jesus. The church entrance was closed but a ‘friend’ of Adam's let us in the courtyard for picture taking. Down the street from the church sits Mary's Well where Gabriel first appeared to Mary, apparently for introductions prior to the Annunciation.

The Sea of Galilee was the place I looked forward to most due to its historical and biblical significance. It is Israel's only freshwater lake and the location where Jesus healed a leper, stilled a storm, walked on water, and met his disciples after his resurrection. Very powerful to drive along the shore and think about those events. Adam pulled over to allow me to swim with the daylight that remained. "No swimming" signs decorated the shore so I waded in the water instead. The warm water made for a peaceful, calming stop.

Clothing and food stands were scattered along litter filled streets in downtown Tiberias, a resort town overlooking the Sea. I planned our evening meal at a place called Peter's Fish. However, I decided not to make Adam walk around searching for the name of a restaurant I made up. We stopped to eat Shawarna per a street vendor’s suggestion. It tasted like a Gyro with turkey and humus instead of lamb and tzatziki sauce.

After the meal, lack of sleep caught up with me. I slept most of the way on the return to Haifa.

Every morning we attempted to leave the hotel parking structure Boris, the Russian gatekeeper studied Adam's parking receipt, questioned us then phoned his manager as if he had never seen us before. None of Adam’s languages were Russian, so miscommunication continued. Wednesday morning I was a little nervous; added to their misunderstanding routine, they were shouting, smiling and throwing their arms up at each other. “Hey Adam, how about we don't piss off the parking attendant, I would like to get to work today.”

I was extremely tired and still sick. Israel is ten hours ahead of west coast time and five hours behind Southeast Asia. This makes for some interesting meeting times while calling from Haifa to coordinate product development teams (Oregon, San Diego) and volume factories (China, Malaysia). Some of the meeting times hit inside my limited 11PM - 3AM, 4:30AM - 7AM Israel sleep regimen.

We learned at work, the day belonged to us because it would take analysts until 5PM to prepare a schedule review. Daytime site seeing threw me for a loop since a night shift for me was normally preceded by a full day of work.

"Where are we going, when are we going?” Adam asked. We stayed and worked for a few hours. During that time I decided on two locations south of Haifa: Jacob's Well and the hill of Megiddo. Jesus revealed himself as the Messiah at Jacob’s Well. It was here that Jesus asked a woman for water then told her that those who believe in him would never thirst and have everlasting life. The hill of Megiddo is the site believed to be the final battle between Christ and Satan: Fight night and under card TBA.

All week Adam and I had been getting along famously, eating together, laughing together, making fun of the killjoy bothers, me as the travel planner and he as the native speaking driver. Yet a famous well and the end of the world weren’t good enough for Adam. “You want to go BACK to Nazareth? Nazareth? Too much to see to backtrack my friend, where is the story in that?”

We agreed to drive to Akko then the Sea of Galilee. A dip in the lake on such a humid day sounded magnificent! I decided not to be a hypocrite by spending travel time chasing a needed item. No swimsuit, no problem.

Akko is split into Jewish and Muslim sections. We stopped for Israeli pizza in the Jewish section and shopping in the Muslim area. Adam warned owners in souvenir stands where I bartered that I would leave if they did not give me a good deal.

We climbed steps to the top of a wall that revealed artillery cut outs and beneath, a stone fortress with bunkers and cannons overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. The top of the wall opened up to a panoramic view. I saw the surrounding sea, the city sprawl and caught a glimpse of a Mosque.

Hotel Dan's breakfast buffet greeted us each morning with breads, salads, fish, sauces, fresh vegetables, cold cucumber and hot cucumber dishes. The bread was most noteworthy: familiar brown, wheat, sourdough and raisin as well as vegetable bread, bread in loaves, bread in pudding, bread circles, bread rolls, and bread pastries. Two full-length tables dedicated to bread. I looked forward to the assortment of bread and like a good Swede ate fish for breakfast every morning.

We abandoned our plan of flying to Turkey for the weekend in favor of spending two extra days in Israel to visit Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Jericho, the West Bank, the River Jordan and the Dead Sea.

At work, discussions of stock price and quarterly report dominated conversation. “How can you sit around and talk stock price with all the history surrounding us to think about? Wait a second, how much did you say the stock price rose? I see, in that case I can eat my soup dinners with a silver spoon!” Still, I was short with my co-workers. Anything aligning outside of my plans set me off that morning so I followed the golden rule: if you don't have anything nice to say, go sit by yourself in a traveler's workstation. I left the conference room set aside for visiting employees and finished my day in a cubical.

We left Haifa that evening to drive by the hill of Megiddo en route to Jerusalem. On the ride down I began to map out the possibilities for the weekend. ”Adam, I know we talked about spending extra time in Israel, but Jordan and Syria aren't that far away.” He suggested we proceed east. He even mentioned the possibility of reaching Iraq to see siblings he hadn't seen in thirty years.

The farther away from the coast we drove the more lush and green the landscape. We drove through valleys of farmland along a highway that continued into a town called Tulkarm. Adam recognized the name Tulkarm from his study of the Middle East conflict he had been doing by watching CNN. We suspected a militarized zone neared as more and more soldier-operated vehicles shared the road. The highway slowed to lighted intersections where armed soldiers and Israeli police directed traffic. We continued through intersections until the highway ended in a barricade.

Adam pointed out the Berlin style wall Israel was building to separate the Palestinians. He was convinced that we would have been fine had we been allowed to proceed through Tulkarm; I was happy to have given entry into the West Bank a chance and happier to be heading back the way we came.

Two sticking points in the peace negotiations include Israeli expansion into the West Bank and releasing the 7,500 Palestinians sitting in Israeli prisons. We drove by some of the Israeli settlements in contention and several prisons on the way to Jerusalem.

The Jerusalem streets Adam chose to follow connected in a big circle; we drove in this circle for over an hour after backtracking from Tulkarm and the long drive from Haifa. By the time we found the old part of the city, “get me out of this car Adam!” I was tired, hungry and still blaming my coughing, aching, stuffy head condition on contagious Adam and his Asian tour.

Double parking, parking on grass and parking on sidewalks is common in Jerusalem. I was impressed with the resourcefulness the locals showed though their creative parking. Adam joined in the fun by displaying our car half on the sidewalk and half on the street.

An enchanting lighted area of shops and restaurants looked up to the walls of Old Jerusalem. I was ready for a break from Mediterranean cuisine so we decided on a restaurant that offered Italian food. Pasta and meatballs never tasted so good! After dinner we planned to call it a night and rest up for a full day inside the old city walls.

We planned to get an early start and meet for breakfast Friday Morning. I showed up eager to greet the breakfast buffet. With the exception of omelets and a squeeze your own juice bar, breakfast at the Crown Plaza was similar to that of the Dan Hotel. Dishes were intricately displayed; I wasn’t sure whether the array of food was more fitting on my plate or in a frame. I collected my favorite Israeli breakfast items then sat down to eat them.

Adam must not have shared my hunger or excitement to start his day; thirty minutes after I sat down for breakfast, I was still sitting by myself! Chatty Adam arrived and exchanged life stories with our server extending my already lengthy breakfast. I tired of skimming travel books as I waited. Walking past a collection of cucumber dishes, I made my way to the juice maker. Six oranges and four grapefruit later I had myself quite a mess and a foul tasting beverage. I drank it anyway washing down a second helping of fish.

We entered the Muslim quarter of Old Jerusalem that morning. Inside, food, clothing and souvenirs lined streets in the open-air market called the souq. Wandering the streets was a rewarding experience in itself. However, if we had been following a plan or directions beyond “let’s see what’s inside the walls” we would have been lost. “Hey Adam, I’ve seen enough watches, handbags, T-shirts, necklaces and raw meat hanging from souvenir stands. How about you fix us up with some Arabic directions to a holy place.” Adam stopped at one of the hundreds of adjoining ten feet by ten feet shops that made up the souq. Directions, free drinks and hugs later, we emerged from a shopkeepers stand on our way to the Al-Aqsa Mosque.

We left Al-Aqsa to see the Wailing Wall portion of the Temple Mount. The Temple Mount is regarded as the Biblical Mount Moriah where God asked Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac. It is also the place where King Solomon’s temple was built and later destroyed by Nebecanezar.

Jews returned from exile to build a second temple in this area of Jerusalem. Parts of the retaining walls Kind Herod built to reinforce that temple are accessible today, two thousand years later. The Western Wall or Wailing Wall is the largest retaining wall. Its name originated from Jewish worshipers who mourned the destruction of the second Temple by the Romans in 70 A.D.

Chairs beside the wall sheltered us from the sun that hot day. As we rested Adam told me that he wanted to take a pebble from the Wailing Wall. I was thinking how ridiculous and especially sacrileges it would be for him to take a piece of something so sacred to others when I spotted a rock. Adam tucked the rock in his pocket while others read aloud from scriptures in chairs and from behind pulpits. Next to us Hasidic Jews prayed passionately facing the wall. Their curly hair hung from dark hats beyond the point of sideburns on top of uniform white shirts and black suits.

We sat peacefully in the shade absorbing the atmosphere as those around us worshiped. Before we left, we reflected on the surroundings, touched the wall and felt its energy.

We noticed men disappear in a synagogue attached to the Wailing Wall. We investigated the entrance where we were welcomed inside and encouraged to be blessed by the Rabbi. The Rabbi visited with us for a few moments, decided on our blessings and sent us on our way. Adam was blessed for good business and I was blessed for a wife.

We thanked the Rabbi, tipped him then explored the rest of the synagogue. Tapestries hung in front of the exposed Wailing Wall. The synagogue resembled the peaceful scene outside where people read scriptures and prayed aloud while others rested in chairs facing the Wailing Wall.

Our tour guide offered to take us out of the hot sun for some cool drinks in his family’s air-conditioned store, Fountain Bazaar Dajani: Fine Exclusive Jewelry. I examined the woodcarvings, ceramics and clothing. Workmanship, quality and premium pricing differentiated this spacious store from the stands we visited in the crowded souq. Adam discussed politics and the interwoven network of the jewelry store with the owner near glass display cases. I shopped. They served coffee, tea and closed the store periodically for private viewings each time Ali returned with a group of tourists. I shopped more.

The more time we spent in the store the more intrigued I became with the gold and silver jewelry displays. I learned what I purchased earlier was not Roman glass but common beads. Roman glass from the time of the crusaders was available in Israel but not at the prices I paid. I found out the condition of my souvenirs was a result of aged inventory not ‘holy dust’ as I was told.

I negotiated pricing for the items that appealed to me. $$$$ later, I walked away with enough jewelry to open my own store. Damn Rich for telling me about Roman Glass. By the time I settled the exorbitant bill it was again time for Adam’s feeding.

The storeowner instructed a cook to take care of us in the shade outside the jewelry store. Children rode their bicycles in the open courtyard while others played backgammon. Ali stopped by our table after steering another group of tourists to his uncle’s store. He told us that the word on the street is that Adam runs with a shrewd negotiator. His uncle told him that I should take part in negotiating the peace process. This compliment wasn’t going to refill my bank account and appeared be a negotiation tactic since it came with an invite to return the next day.

A necklace salesman named Jawad approached our table. He told us his name in Arabic means 'good horse.' I found this to be comical since Adam’s last name is Jawad and he appointed himself driver for our Israeli tour.

The cook took extra care to calculate our bill. We paid for our overpriced meal and determined a break from the walls of the old city was in order. Beyond the Sea of Galilee, the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem was the main draw for me in Israel. Next stop Bethlehem and with it testing our luck in the West Bank.

I was skeptical of our ability to enter Bethlehem since it was inside the West Bank. The cautious warnings shared with us throughout the day made me question if I wanted to be allowed to enter. The scene outside Bethlehem resembled our failed border-crossing attempt the previous day; soldiers and military vehicles surrounded a barricaded West Bank entrance. Unlike the day before, it appeared that cars like ours with yellow Israeli license plates were allowed entry as well as the Palestinian cars with white and green plates.

An Israeli soldier stopped us, asked passport questions, warned us repeatedly to be careful then allowed us to cross the line into Palestine! Once inside, I feared that we really had crossed the line. Upon entering the West Bank and seeing what we had been warned against, I sided with Nick's description for me and my traveling partner: dumb and dumber.

We squeezed past cement barriers along unpaved roads in a residential neighborhood. Burnt cars and piles of blown up concrete from bombed homes lined the streets. Residents walked along dirt roads. In the distance we caught a glimpse of a boy herding sheep.

Honking in Palestine supplanted the Israeli driving custom of arm waving. We followed the sound of honking cars to a paved road outside of the residential area. Adam spotted a Palestinian officer nearing a police station. Soon after Adam stopped for directions, he returned to the car saying, "They are going to take us." Before I asked what he meant, sirens blared and lights flashed; one minute lost in a war zone and the next, the featured car in a two-car police parade! I felt like sticking my torso out the window waving elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist.

The officer honked as he drove through a labyrinth of streets. Our destination appeared without windows or doors across the street from a vacant Manger Square. We walked through an empty courtyard at dusk to the weathered Basilica of the Nativity Church. It was fitting that we must kneel to enter the small entryway to this most sacred attraction.

Stairs lead to the Grotto of the Nativity, a cave below the church believed to be Jesus birth site. A fourteen pointed Silver Star marks the birthplace. Adel explained that the fourteen points represent the fourteen stations of the Via Dolorosa as well as the fourteen generations from Abraham to David. Hic De Virgine Maria Juses Christus Natus Est (Here of the Virgin Mary Jesus Christ was born) is inscribed on the star. The manger area sits nearby. Adam and Adel visited as I soaked up this experience. Every year millions of people celebrate Christ's birth and I was standing where it all took place.

Adel offered to drive us to other attractions in Bethlehem. Adam tossed over the keys and away we went. We stopped at the Milk grotto and then the Shepard’s field. The Milk Grotto is a church built above the cave where the Holy Family hid before fleeing to Egypt to avoid Herod’s decree. A drop of milk that fell while Mary was nursing Jesus is said to have colored rocks in this area giving chalk from the rocks fertility powers.

The adjoining town of Beit Sahour is the setting for the biblical book of Ruth and where an angel announced the birth of Christ to sheppard’s who watched their flock by night.

Adel asked that we visit his cousin’s shop. I was apprehensive of a stop in the West Bank after sunset but we went with it. Unlike Coos Bay, Oregon where everyone is actually related, this cousin was not a relative but a close friend.

The storeowner, Adnan, showed us a picture of what looked like him standing in the street above a metal slate. He smiled and laughed as he took us outside to show us where this picture of his car was taken a few months before. I wondered if I could handle a tank crushing my car with such a carefree attitude. “What are you going to do,” I asked.

With a genuine smile he responded, "what can I do, I am alive" and then we drank. Adnan served Adam Arabic Coffee. He recommended something special for me: wine, priests reserve for Christmas Eve.

Adnan fascinated me with insightful political views he expressed through personal experiences. He explained that he does not hate Israel or Israelis by telling the story of an Israeli man. The man snuck Adnan’s young son into Israel to receive medical attention for a severe burn. He said that should tourism return once the occupation ends he would reestablish business ties with this man and his other Israeli contacts. I asked Adnan’s opinion on the political hot buttons of the Israeli occupation and expansion into Palestinian territory. He said, “when I die I can't take the land with me, land isn't going to feed my children. Take the land, just let us live and give us a break.”

Adnan told stories of soldiers without warning or cause searching his home. I tried to imagine soldiers forcing their way into my home, shuffling through my belongings and leaving it in shambles. Adnan explained that his youngest of five children was a product of curfews. He joked that if Israel really wanted to rid the West Bank of Palestinians they should remove tanks from the streets and eliminate curfews that keep couples inside with nothing to do.

Adel and Adnan were articulate, courteous and well dressed in colored shirts and slacks. When tourism was booming Adnan and his brothers sunk most of their savings to open this store. I wondered what would happen to Adnan and others like him when times became more desperate, when their savings were gone.

Adnan said, “I would like to offer you another drink and then see if there would be something you might like to take with you.” Before we left the shop another bag full of souvenirs found its way to the trunk of our car.

Adel steered us through town honking as he drove to what looked like a run down diner. Inside the one room building Palestinians enjoyed cake and conversation. Conversation slowed once we entered. Adam blended in but my presence was carefully tracked. I followed Adel to the counter where I made my dessert selection then sat down to face the suspicious stares. The stares continued until Adnan arrived, sat down next to me and we started talking.

We visited for quite some time. What struck me most was the value of that time. Palestinians in Bethlehem were not in a hurry. No one gulped down their dessert or took their order to go. Conversation and dessert was Palestinian entertainment and what they had to offer to their guests; they shared lots of both with us.

Adel drove us to the edge of town where he stopped the car to explain that he could go no further without risking a run in with Israeli soldiers. Adel told us to go ahead without him to the West Bank entrance. He assured us a friend would be coming soon to drive him back to his car. We thanked Adel and paid him generously for his time.

It made sense to me why Adam gravitated towards Palestinians. Until our visit to Bethlehem, my knowledge of Palestinian culture consisted of fifteen-second media broadcasts. These video clips portray Palestinians as tyrants whose only cause is to bully peaceful Israelis. I expected to confirm this bias in Bethlehem, instead I found truly peaceful people. Throughout my trip I asked the Palestinians I encountered about their peaceful nature. Responses were consistent with Adnan’s answer to that question, “We don’t keep so positive, we are furious but we purge that anger five times a day during prayer.”

We left Bethlehem that night to return to our hotel. Less than a ten-minute drive but a world away, in Jerusalem Israelis celebrated a film festival, dined in elegance and drove away in luxury cars, interacting as if there wasn't a care in the world. What an interesting place.

Adam nudged me as I climbed the steps; as forcefully as he could while speaking discretely under his breath he made it clear that my name was NILE. Adam hadn’t been site seeing. He had negotiated my entrance by escalating the non-Arabic speaking Muslim-American story through three levels of management. When Adam was about to concede, the Director of Muslim Security asked Adam one more time, “his name is Nil?”

Instead of correcting the director as he had corrected Arabic speakers throughout our trip that the correct pronunciation of my name was “NelZ,” Adam responded, “Yes, Nil, like the river.” The security guards, their manager, their manager’s manager and the Director who assembled to question the Iraqi at the top of the steps looked at each other and agreed, Nil is a Muslim name. They told Adam that his friend was welcome inside Al-Aqsa.

The Director took us throughout Al-Aqsa. We walked past the places where Muslim prayer is broadcast. One broadcast location sits above the Wailing Wall.

Our guide pointed out bullet marks inside and outside the Dome. He showed us a display case of gas canisters collected inside worship areas. These were the products of times when Israeli and Muslim tensions overflowed.

Adam was desperate for food. At that point only his disgust with peddlers and frustration with being lost in the souq exceeded his need to eat.

We were on our way to visit the world’s oldest city and lowest elevation. However, we had to locate our car. Walking in circles inside the souq gave Adam an idea. He would locate the city wall and walk around the outside of the wall to where we parked.

The time and exercise it took to reach our car only made Adam hungrier. I was hungry too but what worried me was that I had never seen Adam go this long without a meal. I was afraid that he was going to eat me.

Adam’s poor sense of direction inside a car rivaled mine. We circled the city as a result of each other’s directions without noticing a restaurant. Driving anywhere sounded more appealing than another aimless loop around the city. We decided to follow a sign directing us to Jericho and stop along the way to eat.

Adam stopped at the first sign of food near the Mount of Temptation. Here, Jesus fasted for forty days and forty nights while being tempted.

The restaurant Adam chose didn’t have a name but if I were to name it, “Choose Your Own Chicken” would have been fitting. Chickens rotated in an open-air roaster while other chickens walked outside the restaurant. We sat down to plates of peppercinis, onions, olives, humus, pita bread and sauces. The owner/cook/server poured water out of a 1.5-liter recycled cola bottle he used as a carafe. Adam mixed falafel with the fixings while I enjoyed my chicken. What appealed to me most was the taste of the food. In Israel everything tasted like cucumber. Here, chicken tasted like chicken.

A barricade blocked the road to the river where John the Baptist baptized Jesus. I approached the officer who guarded the barricade to insist that we pass. He yelled at me in Arabic and then said in English, “Gate is closed. Find different way to the river.” I decided not to question the armed Palestinian from behind the gate. We returned to town to find an alternate.

Adam continued to drive even though he was nervous once the pavement ended; I assured him the river could not be much further. We drove for miles on a dirt road with the desert surrounding us when I saw the water. Turned out it wasn't water; it was a settlement of around ten tents with metal roofs. Real life Gypsies! This time it was my turn to fret. Here we were miles from town in the middle of the desert with no water or clue where we were. What spooked me most was that we were trespassing on Gypsy land. “Adam, maybe you were right we should go back.”

Near Jericho, I noticed vegetation that I couldn't explain. It appeared to be a cross between a palm tree and a banana tree. This area looked much different than the desert and the other cities in the occupied territories. I figured that the ability to irrigate areas around Jericho might explain why for so many centuries civilizations called this area home. Adam pulled over to the side of the road and said, “I have to stop because I can’t do this every day.” I waited as Adam harvested a Date tree.

I walked along the rocky beach to the water. The sulfuric tasting water felt like the consistency of oil on my hands and like a burn on an exposed cut. My legs floated above the water. It was very relaxing to float in the lake and take in the surroundings that evening.

At sunset, a beach attendant called to me to get out of the water. He encouraged me to enjoy the mud from the bottom of the sea before I left the shore. I spread mud on my face and all over my body before I was reprimanded for stepping in the plastic bucket of mud.

I showered, toweled off and approached the counter at the outdoor bar where Adam complained about his five-dollar bottle of water. “This is the desert,” he was told. A local walked up to the bar and purchased a similar bottle of water for three shekels or less than one dollar. We visited with the locals while we drank our expensive water. The sunset was our cue to return to our car and drive through the desert to our hotel in Jerusalem.

A security attendant looked at Adam’s US citizen born in Iraq passport and pulled us out of line. The attendant questioned us together and then questioned us separately. Luckily we went with the truth that I was in town to pick up Adam, my indentured servant. Actually, we told them that we had never seen each other, just happened to be the only Americans on the Israel to Cairo flight and by coincidence work for the same company and have matching hotel receipts. Either of those stories may have expedited the search process. They found out from Adam that yes, it is possible that America declared war on Iraq twice in the last twelve years yet allow U.S. citizens born in Iraq to remain U.S. citizens.

The questions I was asked were easy to answer. “Yes, we work together, No, I don’t know anyone in Israel beyond my co-workers. No, I didn’t go into the West Bank and I’m offended that you insult my intelligence and question my sanity by asking me such a question!”

Adam’s interrogation lasted another fifteen minutes. I let the whirlwind of the past week set in and began reading about Egypt until it was time to check our bags.

After the third time through the x-ray machine, my bags were emptied for two levels of security officers to inspect. Tourists and their belongings endured this process along with me. Security even dug a piece of lint out of my computer case, placed it under the metal detector wand then though a machine that checks for explosives. I cringed as they unpacked breakable souvenirs protected strategically between books and clothes Telling made up stories to the security girls passed the time while each of my belongings was removed from my bag. When I ran out of stories I began to ask them personal questions as I thought it only proper to get to know these girls handling my underwear.

The inspection continued. Ten minutes after Adam left for the gate, a Sinai Air employee who announced she would not be checking any more bags to Cairo. Our flight time approached.

One member of the souvenir search squad helped me pack up my belongings. She rushed me to another part of the airport where we deposited my luggage with oversized baggage for my flight. She led me through the airport to my gate. I was dumbfounded to see that if I had not been escorted I would have been subjected to another round of screening.

I joined Adam at the gate with plenty of time to board. It was a bus and not a plane that we boarded. The bus took us to the runway to reclaim our luggage. As a security precaution we would have to identify our belongings in order for them to be placed on the plane.

Beyond the sphinx, pyramids, tombs, and the Tutankhamun exhibit at the Egyptian Museum I was looking forward to relaxation. After Israel I was all travel planned out. Sitting outside rotating between the hotel pool and naps beside it would be my plan for the remainder of the trip.