So I arrived in Beirut about 1:30 am Sunday morning. And seeing that I wasn’t sure whether I could get into my new apartment or not, I was smart enough to book a hotel room. Very smart! Cause when I finally found my new “home” I realised one big difference between Danes and Lebanese – their idea of what a furnished apartment is!
A brief tour of the two rooms plus bathroom found that there were no pillows, cover, towels, utensils or even toiletpaper. So being the intelligent, mature and wordly person that I like to consider myself, I of course called my mum in tears telling her how awful the place was. Trying to look at the glass half full I later told myself that that was what any young Lebanese would do. And for a good reason it turned out.
On my first evening I was invited to a birthday party of someone I had never heard of being held at some friends of my parents (one the of guests had known former Egyptian president Gamal Abdel Nasser, but that’s a whole other story). And not being able to stand the thought of staying in the apartment for the next month I gladly accepted. I hadn’t been there for long when suddenly someone was yelling at me in Arabic, telling me to get over there at once. It turned out that the very charming lady screaming at me was a friend of my mums. And on the ride over there she had been talking about this email she had recieved from a friend in Denmark, whose daughter was in Beirut and desperate to find a place to live.
To make a long story short, I have now moved into a small studio apartment my mothers friend owns and can stay for the month while I look for something more permanent. So I guess calling your mother for help really is the way to go in this region. Even if she is several thousand kilometers away.