Travels in America – Part 3 – Flying to San Francisco

Several months prior to our date of departure, I had already booked our flights, placed an order with a car rental company and made hotel reservations for our first month of the trip. By the time we had only one month left, pretty much everything, except for the bags themselves, was ready. We had my wonderfully dedicated in-laws, with whom we share the same backyard, assigned with the task of house sitting, and more importantly, cat sitting. Long briefings, oral and written, were provided, repeatedly, I might add, regarding care of our two cats. Our kids’ school was notified and the teachers gave their travel blessings. A constant stream of friends and family members was flowing through our household for those last goodbyes.

In a daily family ritual, we counted the days and crossed them out off a makeshift calendar we stuck on the fridge. We were excited, anxious, scared and thrilled, all at the same time. In short, we were ready for our big adventure.

The week prior to our flight was dedicated to packing. I had to constantly remind myself that “they have that in America too”, trying not to freak out over possibly forgetting band aids or some similar item. I had lists, carefully constructed based on items suggested by fellow travelers. They included things like food items (“you can’t get proper coffee anywhere in the States”), some local medications (“take whatever your used to”), clothes for every kind of weather (“we couldn’t find clothes for our kids anywhere in the US”). I think you’re getting the picture by now.

In retrospect, you can find everything in the US and can get away with packing nothing but your passport, drivers license and a credit card. Oh, and good coffee.

And finally, the day arrived. It was hard to believe, but we were actually and truly walking out the door with a couple of suitcases and two kids. Our adventure began.

Our flight destination in the US was San Francisco. With no direct flights between Israel and San Francisco, we had a quick stop over at Amsterdam. Sightseeing was limited to a fleeting glimpse of Schiphol airport, while literally running to catch our next flight. Both flights were mercifully uneventful. Our boys have a wonderful quality of calming down when on the move. They can be as playfully coltish as any boy, but once on the move, either walking, in a car, or on a plane, they miraculously settle down into a tranquil amenable mood. Had it been any other way, I’m not sure we would have survived the trip with our sanity intact. None of us managed to get any sleep on either one of the flights, despite having left home at the ungodly hour of Two AM.

Almost twenty hours after leaving, jet lagged and extremely tired, we finally departed our plane in San Francisco Airport. With two very sleepy kids, literally dragging on the floor behind us, we joined the long line in front of the immigration desk. It was a long wait, not made easier by having to haul the kids like a couple of potato sacks, shuffling forward a couple of feet at a time. Finally, we reached the immigration officer. She was a nice enough lady, who seemed to sympathize, but nonetheless solemnly informed us that we have to stick around for further questioning.

To their credit, the immigration officers we met at the San Francisco airport were polite and even cordial. They apologized for the delay and ran our names through their computers, while asking us a few questions about our trip. These were questions we had already heard back home, and would keep hearing throughout the trip: How can you leave your day job for so long? How can you take the kids out of school for so long? and of course, how can you afford to take such a long vacation? I guess we gave them the right answers, because within fifteen minutes or so, we were declared fit to stay in the United States of America for six months.

We picked up our luggage, placed the bags on a couple of trolleys, and crowned it all with our two sleeping boys. Us parents were all set and alert – nothing quite like being questioned by immigration officers for giving you a nice jolt of adrenaline. Eventually we found our way to the airport trains going to the car rental center, where the lines were blissfully short. It didn’t take long for us to gain possession of our car keys. Walking down the aisle looking for the car registration plate that matches the keys, we stopped in our tracks when we finally saw it. A brand new silver-colored Town and Country minivan. We had booked a minivan, but nothing prepared me for this gigantic beast.

Allow me to pause for a moment here and give you some background about our cars here in Israel. Motor vehicles in Israel are very expensive. We buy cars from importers, each essentially monopolizing a brand, making money off the vehicle itself as well as from exclusive access to parts. We also pay 115% of a vehicle’s value in taxes. That’s five times more than average taxes on vehicles in most European countries. The Israeli government makes a lot of money off taxing vehicles.

The bottom line is, cars are three times more expensive here, compared to prices in the USA, while average income is lower by one third. Combine that with gas costing twice as much as it does in America, and you can see why Israelis choose, or rather have no choice but, to get small economical cars. At home, we drive a small Chevrolet Aveo and a Hyundai Accent (fondly referred to as “the big car”, being the larger of the two). Minivans here are reserved for those who actually have four or five children, and their choice is rarely a Town & Country, but rather a much cheaper compact model such as the Mazda 5. Looking at it from the outside, you wouldn’t guess it was a minivan.

Which is something I couldn’t say about the huge vehicle waiting for us in the Rental Center aisle. Compact it was not. Having spent nearly six months driving America’s highways, I know now that its dimensions were entirely benign. Yet to us it seemed monstrously big. Having been the one who insisted on renting a minivan and not a Chevy Impala, I was embarrassed to admit that this colossus was more than I had bargained for. Literally.

“Honey, I don’t think I can drive this thing,” I mumbled as we pulled the trolleys closer.
“You’ve driven tanks before, right? I think you will have to be our designated driver,” I added, disappointed, because I had promised to do most of the driving myself.

Like children in a candy store, we began exploring the car. The three DVD screen flaps made the kids jump with joy, but alas they had no screens in them. However, we did have a shiny control panel, fully digital, with a cool touch screen, and arrays of buttons and levers, not limited to the front seat passengers. We decided to re-name the vehicle. No longer “the tank”, from now on it was known as “the spaceship”.

Getting our luggage and kids into the car was easy. They seemed so small in the huge seats, but they were happy. Once we figured out how to drive our pet monster, we were soon out of the garage and on the road. Alas, with IsraeliDad driving, I was in charge of navigation. Even with a GPS in hand, I managed to get us off at the wrong exit in the very first interchange… To his credit, he was fairly patient as he took matters, and the GPS, into his own hands, and tackled both navigating and driving a new car in a foreign city.

I can’t say I remember much of the views, or even of my own feelings and thoughts during that drive. We were all jet-jagged, culture-shocked and sleep-deprived. We reached our motel on Lombard Street sometime in the afternoon. The kids were asleep by the time we arrived, ending our plans to walk outside for a bit, to fight the effects of the jet lag. We had a long and peaceful afternoon, surfing the web, updating our blog in Hebrew (our real time travel journal), watching American TV, just to make sure we really were in the right country, and basically trying to keep from falling asleep too soon. Outside was San Francisco, California, the United States, and we were there, eager to devour it all during the following one hundred and sixty days.

I hope you’re enjoying the tale – I’ve only just started and you can expect future posts to have lots of nice pictures too!

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