Israeli security...
Almost forgot another, even more out of my depth, travel story.

So, I'm about 17/18, on another family holiday, this time in Israel. Now I'm a Newcastle United fan and as it happens I knew another Newcastle fan, Motti, who lived in Israel via IRC (ah, the good old days before Messanger which scares and confuses me). What's more this holiday coincides with a vital Champions League game away to PSV Eindhoven. So I agree to go see the game with him.

Problem number 1: I'm on holiday in Eilat in the far south of the country and he lives in Haifa in the far north, about 200 miles away.
Problem number 2: the night before I'm due to leave they have more rain in one night than they usually have in a whole year. Result: the only road north is completely unusuable (and there's no railway). So I've got to fly.

Now anyone with any experience of Israeli airlines knows the security is a tad tighter than your usual airlines. This means that rather than just "window or aisle seat?" you get asked "what is your purpose in flying? Do you have a contact number? Do you have any connections with pro-Palestinian movements? Window or aisle seat?" For some reason the woman at the check-in at Eilat had difficulty understanding why I was flying 200 miles for a 2 day visit the main purpose of which was to watch a football match on television. It took 30 minutes to finally convince her I wasn't about to explode in mid-air.

So, I finally arrive in Haifa and meet Motti. We watch the game then next day play football with his friends (this would suffice as an out of my depth story in itself, imagine a slow, overweight, spasticated shortarse whose only aptitude for the game is in sliding in and hurting people playing on concrete against a group of Zidane-alikes) before heading to the airport. On the way I tell the story of how hard it was persuading the woman at check-in in Eilat.
"Oh, just tell her your my cousin, they'll understand that" says Motti.
Genuis plan, thinks I, save all that hassle.

And so the following scene unfolds at Haifa airport:
"Why did you fly up here?"
"To visit my cousin."
"What's his name?"
"Motti."
"And his surname?"
"..."
"I don't actually know."
30 seconds later I'm sitting in a cupboard with a guy with a sub-machinegun standing over me. Lesson: never, ever lie to Israeli security. Or if you do at least think about it beforehand.
(Captcheese, Fri 22 Oct 2004, 9:02, Reply)