Lebanon > First impressions of Beirut

With a feeling of “here I am again,” I step off the train at Schiphol Airport at eleven in the morning. This is already the third time this year that I’m departing from here. Today, I’m traveling to Beirut, the capital of Lebanon. I have already checked in at home but still need to pick up my boarding pass at the Transavia counter. Patiently, I join the queue of waiting people. I’m well on time. The past few days have been tense, wondering if my flight would actually go ahead. Transavia is struggling with a shortage of airplanes. Maintenance takes longer, and new aircraft are delivered later. Because of this, the airline had to cancel several dozen flights. Luckily, my flight is going as planned. I receive my boarding pass and head to baggage control. I have to search carefully to find the right entrance. There’s no gate number on my boarding pass. An airport employee points out that I shouldn’t go to the European entrance but a bit further along to the international one. It’s quiet here. Only a few people are ahead of me at the carry-on luggage check. At customs, it’s a bit busier, but I don’t have to wait more than about ten minutes. It’s not yet noon when I’ve completed all the airport procedures. My flight is only at 2:15 PM. I find a bench and start writing my travel report. I still have time to buy a sandwich and coffee. No meal is served on board. Around half past one, I walk to the gate. Curious, I look around to see if I recognize any fellow travelers. I don’t see anyone. But I strike up a conversation with a Lebanese man. He lives in the United States, and his children live in the Netherlands. He says Lebanon is a beautiful country. He is proud and grateful that I’m visiting his country. It’s time to board. I’m seated in the third row between an older Lebanese man and a Syrian woman. I talk with her about Damascus. She lives in the Netherlands with her family. Around half past seven, which is about an hour later in Lebanon, we begin our landing. The advantage of sitting near the front of the plane is that I’m quickly off. I walk through the arrivals hall toward customs. There’s still a queue from earlier flights. I join the line. The queue quickly grows behind me. The customs officers don’t seem to mind. They process person by person agonizingly slowly. When it’s my turn, the officer asks “hotel?” I show him my reservation at the Golden Tulip Serenade in Beirut. He’s fine with it and stamps my passport. Outside the arrivals hall, I meet Rami. He is the local guide who will accompany the trip this week. I’m the first from the group. Gradually, the other travelers trickle in. Everyone introduces themselves. I do my best to remember the names. I have plenty of time because it takes a long time before the last participants arrive. Once the group is complete, Rami leads us to the bus.

Lebanon - The beautiful reception hall of the Golden Tulip Serenada Hotel in Beirut

It’s already past ten in the evening. On the way, we stop to exchange money. Rami has arranged a meeting with someone from a currency exchange office. He arrives on his scooter and gets on the bus. The official exchange rate for the Lebanese Pound is 15,000 pounds for one euro. The street exchange rate is six times higher. I exchange one hundred euros. A little later, I’m holding nine million Lebanese Pounds. I’m a millionaire for the next few days. The hotel is located in the Hamra district in the center of Beirut. The hotel and especially the lobby look beautiful. Although I booked a shared room, I get a private hotel room. I get the impression this is the case for everyone. I just don’t know how many people booked a room alone and how many booked shared. The spacious room is on the third floor. Even though it’s late, I go out with a small group to get something to eat. At a café, football is on multiple screens. The UEFA Champions League semifinal. Extra tables are quickly placed for us. I’m not in the mood for a big meal. Together we order mezze, a collection of small dishes. Along with a beer, a perfect choice. At quarter to one, I go to bed.