I arrive

Surprising myself with my flexibility and roll-with-it-ness. When my reservation didn’t show up in the Air France computers, I smiled and told the lady with the pixie haircut to fix it. When my driver didn’t show at the airport (claims he did), I borrowed from my Cairo tool kit, ignoring the touts and picking a rumpled driver at random. Spent nearly an hour and a half in the immigration line at Rafic Hariri Airport, worrying about my precious baggage cycling endlessly on the carousel. Adding to the tension, a hundred army troops were mustered there, heading off to god knows where. So were a handful of African U.N. military police. Wanted to take a picture; dared not.

A lovely first night over G&Ts at Wunderbar in Gemmayze with Twitter pal Angela, former communications director for the British Embassy, and her friend Suzanne, here to learn Arabic and reinforce her French. This part of town seems safe and cozy, a mix of car-repair guys and neck-bearded hipsters. Hell, I don’t know anything. Just got here. The sparkling lights of Mount Lebanon seem real enough. Been awake well over 50 hours. Time to shut 'er down.