Nimrod heaves the entire suitcase up into his arms. "Your group is at the bittan on the other side of the hill. I'll help you."
"Thanks," I say, noting that my hot pink suitcase looks very out of place in Nimrod's arms and I still have no clue what a bittan is. I roll my smaller suitcase behind him. As we pass other soldiers, they make comments in Hebrew to Nimrod, who laughs and shrugs as he leads us up the hill.
The guy isn't breaking a sweat in this heat, which is not normal. Looking around, I notice that none of the Israeli soldiers milling around are sweating. It makes me wonder if Israelis are born without sweat glands.
"Where are you girls from?" Nimrod asks.
"Chicago," I say.
"I've never been there, but there's a guy in my unit whose girlfriend lives there."
Could Nimrod know Avi? That would be so cool and easy if the first guy I meet on the base knows where Avi is. "Is his name Avi Gefen? Because I know he's stationed on this base for a few weeks this summer--"
Nimrod stops and his eyes bug out. "You're Gefen's girlfriend?"
I smile wide. I can't help it. "Yep."
I think I notice the corners of his mouth twitch, but I'm not sure. "Does Gefen know you're here?"
"No," I say sheepishly. "It's kind of a surprise."
"Oh, he will definitely be surprised." We all follow Nimrod to what I assume is the barracks (aka bittern). I spot them now. The barracks are off-white cement buildings (similar to every building on base), but they're one story and have only two small windows on each side.
"Amy! Jessica! Miranda!"
I wince at the sound of Ronit's voice. The four of us reach our very annoyed leader. She's standing next to a guy who resembles a Russian boxer I once saw in an old Rocky movie... or a WWE wrestler. He's over six feet tall with blond hair and blue eyes. And his arms are crossed on his chest, making his huge muscles bunch up. Avis muscles are huge, but this guy must weightlifter small cars to get his arms that bulky.
I point to the luggage in Nimrod's hand. "Sorry we lagged behind. One of my suitcases broke."
Nimrod sets my luggage down and salutes to the big, blond wrestler.
"Girls, this is Sergeant Ben-Shimon," Ronit says, introducing us to the big dude. "He'll be your unit commander."
"Oh, cool," I say. "Can we just call you Sergeant Ben?"
"No," he says in a stern voice. "The rest of your unit is already having lunch."
Great, they all left without us. "Well, I guess if you point us in the direction of the mess hall or whatever you call the place where we eat, that'll be great."
Ronit points to the open doorway. "Put your suitcases in the bittan, then follow me to the cheder ochel, where soldiers eat. There isn't much time left before your next activity."
The inside of the place we'll be sleeping for the next three weeks isn't pretty. Bunk beds are lined up in neat rows (just in case you were wondering, the bunks are made out of metal, not wood) and the mattresses don't resemble anything like featherbeds. The place is not air conditioned, and the windows are open. Unfortunately, the door to the room is open to the outside, too, so a few bees are flying around.
Do the Sababa tour people know that sleeping with bees is so not sababa?
Jessica and I eye each other. We don't even have to talk, because we've been best friends long enough to know what the other is thinking.
Miranda says, "This isn't so bad."
Jessica and I don't answer.
We all set our suitcases inside the barracks, then follow Ronit.
"Where are the bathrooms?" I ask. "I had an entire Diet Coke on the bus and I've got to pee."
"Me, too," Jessica says.
Miranda admits she's been holding it for the past two hours, so Ronit leads us to a small structure. It's bigger than a port-a-potty but smaller than the girls' bathroom at Chicago Academy, where I go to school.
"Here. But you better hurry, girls."
We file inside the bathroom. The stench of pee/poo/ bacterial disinfectant creeps up my nostrils immediately.
Jess takes her designer sunglasses off her nose slowly. "This place stinks so bad my eyes are starting to water."
I plug my nose. "Seriously, Mutt's farts aren't this bad." (Mutt is my crazy dog, and yes, he is a mutt.)
I hurry to pull back a curtain, which I assume is the equivalent to a bathroom stall back home. When I peek at what's behind the curtain, I can't believe my eyes.
It's a hole. In the ground.
Okay, so that's not entirely the right way to describe it.
It's a hole in the ground with two rubber non-skid mats in the shape of feet on either side of it... I guess for dumb people who have no clue where to place their feet.
"I can't pee in that," I say, but saying the word 'pee' makes my urge to do it that much stronger.
Jess whines. "Do you think I can hold it in for two weeks?"
I look back at Ronit. "Do you have any bathrooms with toilets?"
"This is a bathroom. And that's a toilet."
"No, that's a hole."
Ronit was previously cheery, but I think we've cracked her and now she's bordering on annoyed. She steps forward. "This isn't a hotel or spa, ladies. It's the IDF. Now either pee or not, I don't care. But you have three minutes to do your business and head to the cheder ochel to eat, or you'll be finding yourselves assigned to bathroom cleaning duties."