it felt like home

Airplane landings in the middle east are among my pleasant memories from childhood. As far as my history is concerned, the pilot invariably lands the plane beautifully and, assuming there are predominantly natives (of whichever religion) onboard, the applause is unanimous (and would likely be a standing ovation were that a realistic option). It’s a beautiful way to celebrate flight, and life thereafter.

Deplaning is a different story entirely. Middle easterners (again, of any religion) are anything but polite. Courteous, perhaps, if dealing with immediate family. Politeness as a concept seems to be darwinistically chewed up and spat out as chain-smoking glass-eyed toughness. I am well-accustomed to the attitude, and adjust my own when in the region. So, when push came to shove, I was (and am) not in the least embarrassed about my behavior when retrieving the last of our bags from the overhead bins. It took a moment for the animal in me to awaken, but I shoved right back, not even feigning apology.

Happily, what I imagined (at length) to be a scrutinous entry process, replete with strip search and questions about my origins and business in this very non-Jewish country (there are said to be about 100 living in the country), was as simple as a squinty-eyed comparison of me to my passport photo and the international sound for “welcome to our country”: STAMP!

We had not believed the Lebanese baggage agent when he told us Smuggler would come down the baggage carousel along with the rest of the luggage.

Until we saw (and smelled!) his kennel come through the passage. I fumbled for a snapshot before helping EB remove the kennel. People around us

were in what must have been shock: nobody moved, and I again needed to use my superhero shoving skills.

As long as this post is, it was only about 3am at this point. It would prove to be one of the most unpleasantly long days in my recent memory.