The busy skyline of Beirut, the beach, the buildings packed one next to each other showed up as we descended.
Beirut looks different every time I visit. Sometimes it’s colorful and stunning. Sometimes, there’s a cloud of pollution that gives everything a gray hue and the buildings look all the same blocks of squares in a beige color with no order or organization.
As I am writing this, I realize no one clapped upon landing the way the Lebanese used to do on MEA in the past. Guess most of the passengers are veteran travelers jaded by now by their landing experiences.
I dragged my feet, in no rush, wondering if I should wait in the airport for the following plane from Paris that hopefully would have my luggage. After passing customs, I approached the lost baggage desk. The clerk was surprised that I knew my baggage was not there, but didn’t find any info in her computer. She instructed me to wait at the belt and come back afterwards if they didn’t turn up. I waited till the last luggage was rotating on the belt, then headed back to what became a line of angry passengers with missing luggage. The wait allowed me to emotionally calm my nerve and breath in the culture shock of arriving… to my country’s renovated airport.
I was given a form and phone number to call the following day when supposedly the luggage would arrive.
I walked out and joined my family who had been waiting for more than an hour.
We drove to the center of Beirut passing elections billboards for the various political parties.
Welcome to Beirut!