1:19 A Bus-load Family Outing

Last thursday was my day off. I was feeling lousy from the ‘acute bronchitis’ my doctor labelled my heavy cough as and, therefore, was looking forward to a relaxing day, preferably in front of my television. Oh how things change.

Wednesday evening,
Effy: “What you up to tomorrow babes?”
Me: “It is my day off, not been feeling great so I wanna chill.”
Effy: “Oh hun, why don’t you come up north with my family? We will be leaving around 7.30 tomorrow morning but we will back by the afternoon. Come on, it will be nice.”
Me: “Oh, ok then, but as long as we are back by 3, latest four”.
Wednesday morning, I am woken by a heavy scream from Effy’s mum:
Effy’s mum: “Effeeeeeyy, yala! Anachnu sarichim lahiot sham be eser dacottttt! Yala!” (quick, we need to be there in 10 minutes) ….
Effy: “Besedehhh!” (ok).
As you will come to realize, screaming is the general tone used to communicate amongst the Tripoli tribe.

We eventually left home to make our way to his grandparents’ house, or should I say the mafia joint (see http://natalieshaer.blogspot.com/2006/02/western-girl-not-so-western-anymore.html ). We found ourselves stuck in solid traffic, and five minutes into the crawl on the motorway, Effy receives a call from someone who didn’t exactly sound like a happy chappy.
Me: “What’s up Effy?”
Effy: “My uncle is mad because there are fifty people sat on a bus waiting for us,”
Me: “What! Fifty people … Effeeeeyy! Since when were fifty people attending our cozy family outing!”
So, after a few grumbles, put lightly, we arrived to a bus parked on the dusty moshav entrance. I entered the bus to an audience of mysterious Israeli faces, all of whom were glaring in my direction with big brown eyes full of wonder. “Oh, so this must be the blue-eyed, freckle-faced Ashkenazi from the land of tea and royalty that Effy is going out with” they must have thought.

We eventually departed and made our way to the north of Israel, which I later found out was to be a four-hour journey, another tiny detail that seemed to have slipped Effy’s mind. Forty minutes into the drive, the flow of food began and continued for half-an-hour intervals throughout the rest of the day. Twenty minutes after the first delivery of biscuits and crisps, a bottle of sambuca and shot glasses were doing a round. It was nine-thirty in the morning and I was expected to get merry on sambuca … now this was a culture shock. Yes I am English, but come on, we aren’t that bad … well some of us anyway!

We travelled through the green fields of north Israel, winding round the narrow hills in the creaky old bus. The first stop was a sacred site of the great Rabbi Simeon bar Yohai’s grave (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simeon_bar_Yohai ). The energy was buzzing with Hassidic men running around with white Kippot and white shirts; young girls dressed in fashionable religious gear and chatting in circles; and then, the arrival of the Tripoli tribe. We descended on the site with plates of food to be blessed, bags of candles to be thrown on the grave, and shawls to wear for modesty.

We honoured the grave through prayer and then lit candles for each of our family members. We donated money to Rabbis in return for blessings, and then departed for the next stop-off, Tiberas.

Awaiting in Tiberas by the sea was a barbeque, or more precisely, a banquet. Tables and chairs were set out, as if we were celebrating some sort of occasion; but no, this was simply lunch for the family outing. We eat, swam, chatted and snoozed till the sun went down. By 3.30pm I was antsy to make a move and began calculating the time frame, "if we left latest by 4pm, it would mean I would be home around 8, which would mean I would have enough time to shower and change, so that I could be in Tel Aviv latest nine, so I could meet friends for a night out." Wishful thinking.

Four-thirty rolled around, and I was already pacing. The elderly members of the family were laying back in chairs, chewing on nuts and chatting. The little Tripolites were anxious, crying and running around, unsure what to do with themselves.
Me: “Effy … nu (so)? Why aren’t we going?”
Effy: “We will soon, don’t worry nat. They are all talking, I can’t tell them to stop because you want to go.”
Me: “What have they got to talk about? They have been sat in the same positions for the last four hours.”
The irritability of the children was obviously rubbing off onto me. I sat and huffed, my foot started tapping the ground in a fast motion, and I started to question why I bloody well agreed to come on this trip in the first place. I thought "I could be sat at home now, chilling, watching Opera, doing my nails ready for tonight … But no, I am sat in Tiberas, tired, achy and agitated by the lady with bad eyebrows, who sounds like a hyena every time she opens her mouth, which is often."

Six-thirty came and we finally departed. There was to be one more stop on the way home, but the moment my tuchus reached the seat on the bus, I was out like a light. The journey home was somewhat eventful. Aunties continued to deliver food; singing trumpeted at the back of the bus with the sounds of the uncles; and Effy’s grandpa danced up and down the bus, wearing a white fluffy kippa with a pompom, bought previously at a Hassid gift stand. The journey sucked every last drop of energy left in me, on top of which, the bad-eyebrow lady just wouldn’t shut up.

The bus crawled into the moshav entrance around ten. My evening hadn’t ended, it had just began, as Effy and I made a rush to Tel Aviv. The day was arduous, however, I am glad I participated in the Tripoli tribe outing.