I arrived in Beirut a firm believer in airport lounges. The stopover was in Istanbul’s small, over-crowded second airport. the lounge was also small and overcrowded, but I found myself a table (though an Arab family tried at one point to take it over and I had storm back in a range and put back my belongings which they had removed. But there was food (mediocre but edible), windows with natural sunlight, comfortable seating, and a regularly cleaned bathroom that didn’t have stalls.
On the flight over I sat in a row with a Syrian dentist working in Germany and an Albanian settled in Canada but working in Dubai. I merely listened in on their conversation, but was amused at their gentle sniping at each other. The Albanian told a story of how she had known a Syrian, the most beautiful man she had ever see, who had asked her to marry him but would require her to cover herself. The Syrian, who wore hijab, asked a few moments later what the Albanian did and one learning she was a a nurse practitioner, expresssed gentle surprise having (she said) sasumed she was a beautician. A reasonable error to make as the Albanian had the air of a senior staffer at a beauty salon, with gold streaked hair, extravagantly curled lashes and a palpable layer of foundation over botoxed skin.
I have flown through the Middle East many times before, but this time I really noticed how different the responses, behaviours, references of people are in every region. I noticed the difference arriving in South East Asia, and by the end, noticed how comfortable I felt in that environment, because I knew it, knew the motions. And this time, as I passed through Turkey over the Bosphorus I knew that I would swim through that environment more easily as time passed. (For one, not to smile casually; look receptive, but not grin like a fool).
It was all very straightforward once I arrived, though I had been a bit nervous about the late night. My flight landed around 11.30 at night, there were no queues for immigration. Unlike the GF, I was not quizzed repeatedly about whether I had been to Israel; my skin colour and Muslim name probably made it evident I hadn’t. Unfortuantely, unlike the GF I was only given a 1 month visa on arrival, perhaps for the same reasons. So I will have to renew.
Getting an Uber turned out to be straightforward, and by 1230 or so I was at our flat. The area we are staying in, on the border between Mar Mikhael and Genmayze, was buzzing and the mixture of packed restaurants and lowering stone facades was very exciting indeed. Outside the flat, which is upstairs from a sandwich shop, a very scantily dressed prostitute accosted the taxi driver. I wanted to greet her as a new neighbour, but between the language barrier and diffidence, I didn’t.
Upstairs to the flat which is in a building from, I think, the 1930s, so cool and solidly constructed, with antique lifts and wrought iron doors. It took some time to rouse the GF who had arrived some hours earlier, but eventually he did, opened the door and served me some itch, an Armenian bulghur salad which was delicious, along with the mightiest olives I have ever had. Very promising indeed.
Then, at last, to bed after what felt like a very long journey indeed.