This is the first trip outside the country of Lebanon and its non-united republics, and its unreconciled annexes, since for the first time in recorded history, the epidemic epidemic outweighed the political epidemic. One of the disadvantages of the habit is that it becomes obsolete on everything. And once again your genius noticed the genius of your language and the dullness of a country, whether the country was the Switzerland of the East or the Switzerland of the West. The difference between the two is that one of them is a country with banks, and the other is a bank in which bankrupt countries are officially called by the president of France: a mafia protected by a militia.
I will not prolong, because the issue is not the embargo in the country of epidemics, but rather the exit from it. And here I am, on the first morning outside Lebanon, I opened the door to my small balcony and a small bird jumped towards me in the colors and melodies of happiness. And under the balcony is a gardenia tree, its flowers are white like Sannine Mountain, and its leaves are green like the forests of Bali. In addition to the extending tree, its branches like the mango tree in Kenya, there are two palm trees. And alali. Oh Balahhm dates.
Did you know the place? Yes, of course, Dubai. But access was not easy. You might say, is it necessary for us to sabotage this wonderful scene accompanied by the sound of birds that want to enter your room, not afraid that you will kill them, or that the exchange campaigns “between the two palaces”, the republican and the besieged, are read to them?
Forgive us. Only out of the assigned details, and out of personal delight. Kindly share it with me. It was not easy, my lord, and the matter is not so simple. Do you know how many queues you pass or go through? How many misery will you see on the faces, and how many insults will reach you from your neighbor’s window? Finally, one thing unites the sect republics: the petrol queues.
The closer you get to the airport, the more détente begins The number of cars is decreasing. And when you reach the entrance, you see that a fierce battle has taken place between the porters, the object of which is your bag. Until yesterday, no member of the “blue force” (other than the international force) turned to you, no matter what you begged. This is Beirut and this is its “international airport”. Preference will be given to “Ghutra and Agal” passport holders. The Lebanese call them all “the sheikhs,” as he learned to use “my uncle” in the simplest case, and “my aunt” in all of them, a sign of politeness, preservation of assets and the fusion of civilizations.
But Beirut airport is now deserted. And “Middle East” planes bask in their cedars near the runways. And the porters, neither my sheikh nor my aunt, compete for the bags of their compatriots, or who among them was able to cross the republic of queues in order to reach the most painful scene.
Several members of the blue squad rushed in my direction. resigned to the reality of the situation. Instead of God blessing the poor with a “sheikh” he gave him a “professor.” He picked up the bag and asked me, in a kind of humiliation that is common these days: “What is a teacher’s journey?”
“Reader. Infuriatingly humble travel enthusiast. Extreme food scholar. Writer. Communicator.”