Roughing it in Ramla

It's a fact of travel writing (let alone posting on the internet) that things may get exaggerated. Then again, you really couldn't make this up...

So, a little word of warning to you: don't plan on staying the night in Ramla should you ever fancy a saunter on over. In any case, a born-for-the-road traveler such as yours truly would never deign to check Google before he lands himself in an obscure Arab town. The last Let's Go guy mentioned there was nowhere in the area, but hey, this guy's out to outdo that schlemiel, right? Instead, he asks around on the ground, only to hear from a local that there is indeed nowhere to go. He asks around some more. No dice.

No issues. This traveler also happens to be an intrepid researcher (or enough of a cocky american to ignore local advice). He sets out on a two-hour jaunt only to discover that, indeed, there is not a bed in town.

No issues. This guy's just going to head back to Tel Aviv for the night. He gets back to the bus station to find out that all buses back to the city have left for the night. Oh. That could be an issue. Better yet, oh shit.

Ramla's the kind of place where you're going to stick out like a sore thumb. Israel's largest Arab town outside of the Palestinian territories, the place is also a hub for Israel's minorities, especially Ethiopian Jews, African Christians, and the odd Druze. A sweaty guy lugging a massive backpack around in Onitsukas and a plaid shirt is going to stick out like a sore thumb at midnight.

Okay, your traveler here can be resourceful too. He won't sleep until he's figured out a problem... and, for once, he doesn't have a choice anyway.

Plan one. Ingratiate a local. Great--go find a bar, butter up a fellow patron, and casually mention you're without a bed for the night to see if he takes the bait. It takes another hour to find out there's no bar in town. Awkwardly starting conversations at falafel stands is even beyond the pretty far-gone awkward limits of this guy. So...

Time for plan two: gatecrash a party. Easy. Given 10 minutes, this guy has found and infiltrated a random private event. It seems pretty good in fact. The booze is flowing, the crowd is dancing and... it seems like someone's getting carried round on a chair. Yup, I've just crashed a Jewish wedding reception. No joke. Not speaking a word of Hebrew and kind of uncomfortably fidgeting in the corner, it doesn't take long for someone to start asking me (probably) what the gehanna I'm doing there. In any case, he doesn't sound happy and people are starting to look. Tail between legs, I schlep out.

It's two o'clock and this guy's still on the streets. He happens to the see the police station. Is he going to fall to these depths? Sorry mum and dad, I think he's going to.

"So, um, do you have a free cell right now for the night?"

"What?"

It takes about three repetitions for the sheer evident stupidity of this American to sink in to the officer.

"Well, we have a cell right now."

Great. Great. Dignity trampled, but odyssey over, amiright? No, turns out not. He takes me back to the cell in question to show me he didn't quite understand the 'free' part of it: a group of about five guys looking even--would you believe it--sloppier than me stare wide-eyed at this once-intrepid-traveller-now-turned-fresh-piece-o'-meat.

This clearly isn't going to work.

It's about 3am when I finally sneak into a closed shopping mall via the carpark. Yup. For real. Taking up residence behind the kids' puppet show, I finally get some shuteye to dulcet muzak tones that someone had neglected to shut off.

Man, you should have seen the look on the puppeteer's face when he discovered a mangy dirt-encrusted ruffian in his booth come morning.