It’s hard
to break a habit – I’m back in the Cedar Lounge at Beirut Airport saying
goodbye to Lebanon again. It was only about 8 hours before my flight out of
Vienna that I decided to come to Lebanon this time. A friend who had indulged
in a few too many drinks insisted that we should go to Beirut for the weekend.
I learned never to underestimate how alcohol impairs a person’s judgment, and
he learned that I don’t joke around when it comes to Lebanon. Less than 24
hours from our hasty decision in a Vienna bar, I was soaking up the sun in
Beirut.
Even with
the surprise visit, Lebanon welcomed me with open arms. I spent Saturday night
out with a friend in Jounieh, and the rest of the visit was spent catching up
with family and friends in Roumieh while eating too much… far too much. Riding
in the taxi from Beirut up to the village, the taxi driver and I chatted away
about Lebanon. The driver insisted that I should have a home in Lebanon and
live here. At the very least, he said, I should continue to visit at least once
a year. As I walked up the steps of my cousin’s house, the driver yelled out
the window, “I can see you are at home here!”
With the
exception of the seemingly never-ending conflict in Tripoli, things in Lebanon
have been relatively quiet recently considering the chaos just across the
border in Syria. Lebanon seems to be trying its best keep chugging along
despite everything being against it. The new masses of Syrian refugees escaping
the war have brought the total number of refugees in tiny Lebanon to well over
1 million (over 700,000 registered Syrian refugees, plus Palestinians and
Iraqis). This is an insurmountable pressure on a country of only about 4.5
million, but Lebanon never gives up. This country has seen too many millennia of
unrest, conflict, and disaster. It is this perpetual question of what comes
next that makes leaving Lebanon so hard. I never know what could happen between
now and my next visit, but I have to leave behind a beautiful country and many
people that I care about.
Going
through passport control at the airport tonight, the officer asked, “Do you
have a Lebanese ID? Your name is Lebanese.” I explained that my
great-grandfather was Lebanese, and he looked both shocked and pleased.
“Welcome, keep coming back,” he said. I don’t think he has to worry about
whether I will return.
