Flying to Lebanon has always been an exciting experience, whether it is due to the people I meet along the way, or the feeling I get when I approach the beautiful landscape. However, this time, I had to be sure to remember what Lebanon I had left. To not get caught up in the romantic version that has become imprinted in my mind from my last two years. I had to approach it in a more realistic manner; it had just suffered from a horrific and destructive war.
To begin however, this time was nothing less than eventful, as I feel it was the most horrific time to fly in the US. As I was leaving, I was reading about aircrafts that were grounded because of threats, one that actually had a stick of dynamite onboard, and going through the toughest restrictions we have seen. The prohibiting of all liquids might even have helped soft drink companies as I was forced to buy more drinks than I ever have and throw them out because I had to board the next leg. JFK and I seem to have a relationship of tragedy, as I arrived to find out that the amount of carry-ons allowed was changed and I had over-packed. As a word of advice to anyone planning on traveling, check the latest rules and guidelines from the airlines because they don't have a shread of sympathy when you show up unprepared.
Moving on to the actual flight, I took Virgin Atlantic to London (another security chaos zone) to jump on a Middle East Airlines flight that was restricted from landing in its own country. (MEA is the national carrier of Lebanon). The flight was forced to land in Amman, Jordan as it is the only established route. This means every flight with Beirut as the destination, must land and refuel (while unknown individuals in Peugots drive up to the plane and conduct some sort of security procedure). Rumor has it that they acquire the roster of passengers and can pull anyone off of their choosing. I'm not one for rumors but I did land this bit of information from an inside source. After leaving Amman, we were forced to go around Lebanon, steering clear of the Israeli airspace (for the better!) by going over Syria and back North of Lebanon to approach the airport from the Mediterranean Sea. Going directly to Beirut from Amman would only take 20 minutes, however, our flight took 45 minutes. Sounds petty, but it's the principle.
After getting settled in, I found the city of Beirut exactly as I had left it, the areas of which I frequented often were intact and back to the normal feel (minus the enormous number of tourists seen during this part of the season). I have to keep reminding myself that there has been such horrible atrocities and that I must be aware of anyone who may want to show me what they think about America, afterall I am a walking advertisement. As much as I would like to believe I fit in, I feel that there are too many awkward mannerisms inscribed in me that makes this obvious. However, the only encounters I have had to this point have been extremely pleasant and positive. I was walking back to my apartment when I passed a man whom I greeted normally on my way to work every day for the past year. He stopped me with a shocking look on his face, and spoke in broken English asking me where I have been for the last month. He expressed that he was happy I had returned and that he was wondering where I had went. My neighborhood afterall has observed me for a long time. It is part of the culture, they are aware of who is around, who fits, who doesn't, so at some points they look at some of my friends who visit me, and may be thinking "who's that foreigner?" and not referring to me :)
Returning to work was almost like a class reunion, while many of my co-workers have not returned; the others who had, wanted to exchange stories of tragedy and their efforts to take in the refugees. One co-worker was extremely active as she spent most of her time in the South trying to find places for the fleeing families. I told her that I was proud of what she had did, and it was nice to know that such caring people do exist in this world. I tried on my own to be "the hero" as someone once put it, but failed miserably because of my skin and mannerism, no one wanted to be associated with an American, or at least not in the time of war. It is understandable, however, it does sting you when you have good intentions. Especially when you are trying to save lives and help people located shelters in such a time of chaos and destruction.
There are moments that I walk to my apartment and expect to hear loud blasts coming from the direction of Dahiya, but they never come.. It's a silence that I am thankful for, but it feels as if it is only temporary. I say this, not because I feel that future conflict is inevitable, rather it is the result of the eerie nature of war, and the effects it has on someone, traumatizing all of the people stuck within its wrath.
While there is much joy in my return, I face the sadness and the reality of which Lebanon has been left.
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