If you are more than two decades old, you will recall a different world of security at airports and when crossing borders between countries. A world with no 3-1-1 rule (1 quart-sized bag of liquids, aerosols, gels, creams and pastes in your carry-on bag and that are 3.4 ounces (100 milliliters) or less in size). A world where you could keep on your shoes and keep your pocket knife in your pocket at airports. When driving across the border into Canada or Mexico you showed your passports and maybe popped open the car trunk. After 911 the world view in the US changed. Other countries were more used to living with the uncertainty of terrorist acts.

When I volunteered with Doctors Without Borders in Ingushetia and Chechnya in 2000, most locals had personal experience of being hassled or terrorized by the Russian military who managed their security. If no personal experience, they knew of a relative, especially young men between the ages of twenty and forty. I realize as a white, middle class American, I had lived with different rules.  If my race, ethnicity, gender, or socio-economic status were different, I might have had a different experience.

Reed and I carried all these awarenesses when we arrived at the bridge that crosses the Jordan River into Palestine. Our meetings in Jordan were complete, now it was time to work alongside my physician colleagues at the university on the West Bank. We could have flown from Amman and to Tel Aviv and entered through Ben Gurion International airport border control. But it was cheaper and we wanted to cross the bridges alongside our colleagues. [Note: Palestinians cannot fly in or out of Tel Aviv, they need to us Amman, Jordan, or another Arab country.]

There are three bridges we could cross into the West Bank. It was recommended that we accompany a colleague who was headed to Nazareth, Israel, on a northern crossing, assured that this was a less busy and there should be less hassle. Neither Reed nor I were prepared for the experience. Our taxi driver negotiated a series of closed roads and detours through a hilly agricultural area, where he continually stopped to check with locals about directions. As we approached the buildings at the border, Jordanian officials informed us that the taxi we were in could not carry us to the border. We had no choice but to load our bags into a special taxi to ride less than one mile. The new driver’s humor and friendliness, despite his lack of English, made the inconvenience more palatable.

Once inside Jordanian border control, we were happy for the companionship of our colleague because signage was confusing and only a few people spoke a little English. We lifted our bags onto the scanner and passed through a metal detector, no need to pullout computers or remove shoes or show liquids, and no further inspection of our bags this time. We paid our 10 JD (Jordanian dinars), about $15 US each, and got an exit stamp in our passports, then bought tickets to ride a bus across the Jordan River, about $5 US each. Walking is not permitted although the trip is about a mile. The river was gray and brown, reflecting the sky, and about forty yards wide, but much thinner than in days past thanks to damming to reroute water to Israeli cities and settlements and the burgeoning city of Amman. When we recognized black capped night herons, about two dozen roosting in trees along the river’s green edges, we smiled and thought of our Texas birding friends, Michael and Phyliss.

The Israeli building was noticeably cleaner, better lit and maintained than the one in Jordan. After unloading our luggage from the bus, we lifted it onto a scanner (bag check #2) and walked through metal detectors again without problems. Again we were grateful for our colleague to help us negotiate the confusing process.First each of us handed over our passports and talked individually with the Israeli border police. Although Reed and I were traveling together, we were separated. Our colleagues had prepared us for this with the advice to be honest, answer the question, but don’t give any more information than necessary, and avoid political statements. Individual questioning was an opportunity to compare our answers which were typed into a computer. Questions asked in English related to our occupations, what we were doing, where we were going, if we were married, etc. When we mentioned that our destination was the West Bank, we were sent off to wait.

Bathrooms and internet were available, but there were no food or drink machines. Internet was available, and I signed on to give our other colleagues a status update. The internet was unsecured and I worried about what other information might we lifted from my phone, so I sent messages via WhatsApp and signed off. An hour later we were called up to the window and informed that we were not allowed to cross here. My heart felt like lead, but I managed a straight face. Since we were headed to the West Bank, entry into Israel needed to be granted by the Israeli Defense Force (IDF) at the Palestinian bridge, an hour south where our other colleagues were crossing. We were dejected at being refused entry, having been assured that this bridge would be easier. The colleague who had accompanied us, had waited with us. He headed on and wished us a safe crossing at the next bridge, inshallah, god willing. We gathered our luggage to head back to Jordan, commiserating if we could manage another crossing tonight, or if we should go back to the hotel and regroup. While we waited for the bus back to Jordan, I frantically tried to inform our Palestinian colleagues that we were turned back, again using the available internet to make calls and send message through WhatsApp. We did not have international access on our phones and once we left the Israeli building, and boarded the bus we were incommunicado.

When Jordanian officials asked us why we were back, we didn’t really know what to say. Nevertheless, after some waiting while they found an English speaker, they cancelled the exit stamps on our passports, but did not refund the money. Reed hurried to the cash exchange to get Jordanian money to pay the taxi. This time the bag scanners were more rigorous, making us open three of our five bags and backpacks. They were curious about my water wand, an ultraviolet water purifier from REI that I’ve had for over 20 years, and inspected all Reed’s camera lenses, nearly dropping a telephoto lens. We prickled at the invasive check, but dared not complain and repacked our bags, then hailed a taxi back to Amman.

At that point, with darkness falling, with frazzled nerves and no lunch except a granola bar, we were not prepared to tackle another bridge that night. When our driver couldn’t call our Palestinian colleagues, we had him call one of our Jordanian drivers, to ask her to let them know that we going back to the hotel and would face bridge #2 the next day.We salved our disappointed and affronted selves with a bottle of wine from the Christian liquor store (our vice—see: Do you have to have a vice) and followed the owner’s restaurant recommendation. We ate the best flat bread of the trip and a delicious babaganoush. Reed’s a babaganoush covert now!!

NEXT: Bridge crossing #2