One Final Night in Beirut, Take 3

This post was written in the early hours of 22 July; just before the 4am rendezvous for evacuation...

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I am exhausted. I am three hours away from the rendezvous time and I must not sleep. I do not trust myself to wake up. At the same time, I can taste the bitterness of adrenaline in my mouth. I am getting anxious. The moment is at hand. I want to come home. I want to see my wife. We have a date planned for 25 April. I will keep it.

My exhaustion is partly self-inflicted. I went to Torino last night for yet again “one final night in Beirut”. The place was overflowing with people. There must have been two-dozen people in the street. Demand was so high that two bars on opposite sides of Torino opened for business. What was unusual was the predominance of Westerners, primarily recently arrived journalists.

Hani had picked me and a colleague up at AUB’s Main Gate and we skirted across downtown, slipped through the underground tunnel that links Ras Beirut with Ashrafieh, turned left onto the Red Line (Damascus Road) that surrounds Martyr’s Square. We made the right hand turn at Gouraoud Street, passed the Franciscan Monastery and then avoided the muchedumbre in the street. The roads were dead and the trip took less than ten minutes.

Mike the Bartender was in good form and his outstanding margaritas were the elixir that I needed to soothe my angst, fatigue, and uncertainty – just some of the emotions that I was experiencing. I probably drank two too many margaritas and the shot with Hani didn’t help much either. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

In any event, Andreas (the owner) passed by and cleaned off our table. I leaned toward him and thanked him for continuing his hours of operation. I said to him that I had announced to my friends about the importance of this place as a local institution. Andreas was adamant in that this publicity he was receiving was causing him more harm than good. He pointed to the street and pleaded, “I do not need this. I am getting criticized for running a business when people are dying. Every journalist in here wants to do a piece on the bar and how I remain open. I do not like this, but I will remain open.”

Properly humbled, I tried to reassure Andreas that I had only told my friends outside Lebanon about his hours of operation and whatnot. This apparently allayed his concerns and he went on his way. Sure, I forgot to explain to him that by “telling my friends” I meant that I posted in on a blog and thus had little control of who got hold of the information. Must have slipped my mind…

As we chatted, I saw the UN officer that I met the previous night. He looked tired and distant. He was not drinking adult beverage and seemed out of place in the middle of the music and the loud banter of the patrons. I moved his way to say hey, give him good cheer and encourage him to keep up the effort. I declared that Kofi Annan had been strong earlier in the day condemning Hezbollah and Israel and demanding an immediate ceasefire. He smiled and acknowledged that it had been a good day – tough, but good. He admitted as well that the Annan’s text largely came from the UN team in Beirut. He was pleased.

He then introduced me to his colleague. This Lebanese guy looked young, early 30s, and had more energy than the UN guy. The Lebanese kid was introduced as the former head guy at Lebanon’s UN mission in New York; obviously not the ambassador but high-ranking nonetheless. In Beirut, he served as the Lebanese Foreign Minister’s main man. He confessed that it was a frustrating job because FM Salloukh (I think that is his name) really had not stepped up in this crisis.

They departed shortly thereafter and I went back to kick it with Hani. (He is at work at the moment and I just do not have the energy to go back to Torino. I hope he forgives me.) Hani was in good form, although he again expressed his fear of an escalation of bombings on Beirut proper after the exodus of expatriates. It seems to be a general fear, although by no means uniform.

I woke up this morning at 6:45am tender and light sensitive. Ranin was waytoo active for anyone’s good. He had gotten up at 5am to send emails, buy food for the boat trip and whatnot. In a series of painful and uncoordinated moves, I readied my bag, washed my face, and lavishly spread sunblock on my arms and face – somehow I missed the back of my neck. We then met Dave – a colleague of Ranin’s at Yale who is a MD/MPH student – at the Bliss Gate just outside our dormitory.

We hiked down to the lower campus area. We looked the sad lot – the fatigued, the wretched, and in my case, the hung-over. As we arrived the rendezvous point, my wife called from Mexico. Caroline Chalouhi arrived during our conversation and articulated an announcement. Since I’m deaf in one ear, I was trying to half-listen to Chiro and half-listen to Caroline. In effect, I heard neither the announcement nor the line of discussion that Chiro was in the middle of. And my head hurt…

I hung up with my wife and asked Ranin what had happened. He said that we were being postponed until tomorrow at the directive of the US Embassy. I could not believe it…

Anyhoo, and much more important was this young undergraduate student. My height with a sturdy build and a T-shirt that clung to his torso, this kid had three massive and very fresh hickeys on his neck. I mean they were BIG!!

I could not stop staring. I thought of the “mole” scene from Austin Powers. I simply could not let it go. I called out, “Say bro, did you cut yourself shaving?”

Initially confused, he began to say no and then realized I was messing with him. He smiled and shook his head.

We made it back to the dormitory and I lay down for a brief respite.

At some point in the late morning, two Yale students (of the four remaining including Ranin) mutinied. There were tired of sitting around and not being able to leave. In the early days of the bombings, an insurance companied hired by Yale had a local security team take the Yalies to an undisclosed location – it turned out to be a 5-star hotel where the room was $1300 per night. No lie… $20 for a coffee and two éclairs… I saw the receipt…

The Yalies had returned two days ago when the first of the postponed evacuations was still considered a ‘go’. After today’s delay, the Yalies contacted the security company and the representative said that he guaranteed that the boys would set sail tonight – for Turkey as it turned out.

Ranin seemed to struggle with what to do. He met with Caroline Chalouhi and she said that they were free to do what they want. Uncertain uncertain uncertain.

They finally left and I received a call around 8pm from Ranin saying that they were indeed quitting Beirut and heading to Turkey.

Before I went to dinner I ran into an American journalist working for ABC radio and Global (a Canadian company). He asked me where I was from: Texas. He asked me for my story and I told him that I had been scheduled to leave town on Monday. He solicited me to repeat some of it for him. I will relay the highlights. I am sure that it will not be aired, save on Jon Stewart.

Q: You were scheduled to fly out on Monday, what happened?

A: [Hesitation…] Umm, the Israelis bombed the airport and all flights were cancelled.

When I answered the question, the journalist cracked a smile and realized just how silly that question had been.

Q: What have you been doing (or something like that)?

A: Well, I had the opportunity to go by land to Damascus. I chose not to because the roads were not safe. I thought that this conflict would be similar to previous ones and end fairly soon. They [the Lebanese] would then throw some concrete on the airport and all would be good. Obviously, that assumption was poor.