Vacation is always fun, especially if you take it with me. The truth, however, is that this time wasn’t exactly a vacation... I was in Argentina for New Year's Eve (oh, the horror!). If it weren’t for the company of my friends and the other attractions Buenos Aires had to offer, I might just have called it the worst New Year’s Eve of my life.
But let’s rewind to the first day in Buenos Aires, three days before the big celebration. My friends and I decided to take a stroll around the city. We were meandering through the picturesque streets when, out of nowhere, I spotted a building that looked different from the rest. Naturally, my curiosity kicked in. I approached a guard and asked, "What’s that building?"
"Embajada de Israel," he replied, sounding almost as bored as the rest of Buenos Aires felt in the heat.
At that moment, the curious tourist in me couldn’t resist. Without even thinking, I snapped a picture of the embassy. Big mistake.
Piiiii-iiiii-iiiiiiiii!
The loudest whistle I’ve ever heard pierced through the air. The traffic came to a screeching halt, my friends were swiftly isolated from me, and in what felt like a scene from a bad action movie, three security guards from the Israeli Embassy rushed towards me. They surrounded me, bombarding me with questions, demanding my passport. We began what could only be described as a rather intense interrogation, all because of a photo.
I thought, "Well, I’m in deep now." But, in a moment of sheer luck, I remembered that I do speak a little Hebrew. So, I took a deep breath and said, "I speak Hebrew."
That was my golden ticket.
Suddenly, they called in a staff member from the Embassy, and before I knew it, I was chatting in Hebrew with someone who seemed far more interested in getting to the bottom of this mysterious tourist who had dared photograph the sacred grounds of their embassy. The conversation went from awkward to bizarre as I tried to explain that I only took the photo because I admire Israel. It took about half an hour, but I managed to get my point across—and more importantly, avoid being thrown into some diplomatic black hole.
Thank the Lord (and my Hebrew teacher) for those seemingly random phrases I had learned in class. When one of the guards asked me a question about where I was from, I almost fell out of my chair when I realized it was the exact same question my teacher had asked in a test once. It was a small miracle.
After what felt like an eternity, the guard finally handed back my passport with a sheepish smile. "You can keep the photo," he said, "don’t worry, it’s just a standard procedure. Given the history of attacks in this city, especially concerning the Jewish community, we have to be extra careful."
And just like that, the ordeal was over.
Of course, I didn’t upload the photo I’d taken of the embassy to my blog. That would have stirred up more trouble than a diplomatic incident could handle. But, I did manage to capture another shot—this time, a bit more relaxed, almost a hundred kilometers away. My friend Fernando, who had been "safeguarding" my camera like it was a national secret, finally relented and handed it back to me. He’d been keeping a watchful eye on me ever since, making sure I wouldn’t get myself into any more trouble by snapping pictures of any other "curious" buildings.
Looking back, I suppose I should be grateful. Not only did I survive the photo debacle, but I also learned a valuable lesson: when in doubt, speak Hebrew... and maybe, just maybe, don’t take pictures of things you don’t understand. Or at least, don’t do it so close to an embassy.