Arrival

Well, after a pleasant air journey (not too much turbulence, thankfully), I’ve finally wound up in Beirut. Yet I very nearly did not get out of Heathrow, after briefly losing my passport. When I was on the phone to my friend Katie, I must have dropped it. Luckily, the eagle-eyed staff at the American Express foreign exchange shop spotted it on the floor, and waved it at me when I retraced my steps.
Following an hour or so at Amman (not the most comfortable airport), my second plane hit the runway at Beirut at 8am. An interminably long wait at the visa desk followed before I met Salam, brother of my dissertation tutor, Zahera. He hailed a rickety brown Mercedes with a window sticker featuring the Ayatollah Khomeini, and we took off for the hotel.

The first thing that hit me about Beirut was the heat. Damn, it’s hot. You know when you get in a black car with leather seats on the hottest day of the year? It was like that, but even more intense and humid. And at this point it was only 8.30am. The second immediate observation was the Lebanese way of driving – it’s terrifying. The taxi ride was like being trapped in a demolition derby, albeit one you pay to experience.

Back to the Hotel Napoli then, where I was escorted to a room on the sixth floor. My first impression was to take a bottle of bleach to the bathroom. In fact, that’s my mission so far – clean the shower before I use it. So I’m typing this in a coffee shop on Hamra Main Street, before I look in earnest for Lebanon’s answer to Cilit Bang. I must stand out a mile – three people have asked where I’m from, and they nod sagely when I say Wales. They’re thinking “He can’t take the heat. He’s an amateur. Wait until it hits 3 o’clock this afternoon… he’ll catch the next plane home.”

After the bathroom mission, I’ll get a few hours sleep. I’m meeting Salam at six, so after a snooze I’ll start ringing my interview contacts to hammer out dates and times. Hopefully, everyone will remember who I am…