The Lull, part 25

Train travels and travails: I head down to a meeting in Tel Aviv yesterday, catching the 15:16 train from Akko. A huge piece of equipment is sitting on the far track, hunched over like some evil sci-fi instrument of doom. I look at it and raise an eyebrow at the guy standing next to me on the platform. “They’ll be working on the tracks again,” he grumbles. But the ride down goes by quickly as I am able to conduct a pre-meeting meeting with a colleague.

At the train station in Tel Aviv, we link up with another colleague and try to grab a taxi to our meeting site. There are several taxis lined up outside the station, so flagging one should be a simple procedure. But this is Israel, where taxi drivers fail to observe the same rules of logic or commerce (and sometimes physics). One driver calls to us. He already has a fare in the front seat, and is in the process of getting a ticket. But hey, he wants us to pile into the back seat, squashed like sardines, and then go along for an undetermined detour to drop off his first fare—and all this after waiting for the traffic cop to finish writing him a ticket. We decline his offer.

The next driver in line refuses to use the meter, and wants 25 shekels. It is illegal for taxi drivers to refuse a fare unless they fear for their safety; as three middle-aged, lumpy, briefcase-clutching nerds with English accents, we hardly fit the profile of potential terrorists. One of my colleagues marches up to a policeman who happens to be standing at an adjacent bus stop, and asks him to confirm that this is the law. The poor guy, probably on his way home after a long shift, clearly doesn't want to get involved. He shrugs. At this point, the three of us have our anti-friar genes kick in, and we decide to walk.

The concept of friar is an important element of Israeli culture. A friar is a sucker, a sap, a mark, a softie, a pushover. The effort of avoiding being a friar at any cost is the driving motivational force behind much of our behavior. It is such a dominent phenomenon that eminent psychologists and sociologists discuss it. I've even heard some scholars suggest that it is one of the explanations for our amazing survival as a people. All I can say is, last night it gets us to trudge to our meeting on foot.

After a productive meeting, it is time to head home. I dash off to catch the 20:13 train back north. One of my colleagues rides with me as far as south Haifa, so the journey goes by in a blur, as we get into a lively debate about professional certification. We get a few odd looks from our fellow travelers, but this can't dampen the pleasure of a good debate with an intellectual peer. The only downside is the temperature, as Israel Railways insists on using the meat-locker setting for the AC. Despite my jacket, I feel my blood start to crystalize in my veins. Luckily, a few zoftig Russians squeeze in next to me, and their collective radiant heat is enough to keep me from slipping into hypothermia. Large and lumpish, they sit stoically through the ride, clutching their vast shopping bags to their even vaster bosoms. Clearly, I would not have survived in Siberia.

It is almost 22:30 when I get home. Another long day...