I was counting on dosing myself up with Ativan so I could subdue my terror of flight but I couldn’t find the bottle before I left. I’m so phobic I have to take tranquilizers just to get to the airport. Such was my panic upon leaving the apartment that I began to worry about having a heart attack at 39,000 feet.
This is one of the reasons I don’t worry about the bombings in Beirut. By the time I’ve wondered about just how alcoholic the pilot is, how underpaid and demoralized the maintenance crew is, how freakish the air currents are going to be, and whether or not the control tower and the pilots can communicate, I have nothing left to give garden-variety fear.
I improvised and took two Advil PMs so at least I would be sleepy. I focused on Lufthansa having a good safety record. And, God is good – I had the two smoothest flights of my life. To boot, both flights were less than half full so I had no neighbors to induct into panic-mode had that been necessary.
Now a word about the Frankfurt airport: it’s so German. One exits the plane and is immediately facing a flight of stairs. I guess Lufthansa passengers run up and down the Alps in their spare time. There are no people movers in the terminal either but a great deal of distance to travel. Apparently the Germans don’t trust our security state — one has to go through security checks all over again to get to the connecting flight. The food in the terminal restaurants is of the beer and bratwurst variety. There are smoking rooms at regular intervals in the terminals – and people were in them, furiously puffing!
The flight landed in Beirut 15 minutes early (of course). The arrivals area was filled with women dressed in black comforting one of their own who was wailing and keening. I gleaned that their mother had died. It brought me to mind of meeting my sister Evelyn at the airport when our own mother had died – we were sobbing but oh, so quietly and pulled ourselves together quickly in true WASP fashion. This little black huddle of women with their wailing sister was eventually bundled into three vans, with great affection, by the men of the family and driven off.
My first day has been napping and errands. The weather is in the low 60’s – about ten degrees warmer than last year. The staff at the apartment building have been welcoming and asked after the family. The lady at the dry-cleaners recognized me and apologized for not remembering my name. The guard at the Near Eastern School of Theology waved at me as I passed by. It feels good to be here.
One curious thing: the produce at the food market and the produce shop wasn’t nearly as fresh and beautiful as it was last year. Maybe it’s new owners, maybe it’s the end of the week, but I do wonder if this is a sign of something more systemic like worn-out bills are a sign of inflation. There also seems to be much more garbage in the streets. Maybe the formation of a new government after 10 months limbo will help but I wouldn’t count on it.
Tomorrow the week starts with my day of two churches, mainline Protestant in the morning, Bible Baptist in the afternoon (it’s a long story). I will be communicating via blog once a week from now on so I can focus on my studies and not overstay my welcome in your inbox.
Do write if you have any questions. Part of the fun for me is asking people for answers and learning more about this wonderful place.
goingfortheguttural 