Taxi, Please?
I have to admit, it’s always cool to enter a presidential palace. Not that I’ve done it too many times to begin with, but I can’t imagine the feeling getting too old. Today I also created a lasting memory for a Beirut cab driver by asking him to take me to the presidential palace so I could interview the president’s political advisor. At first the driver thought I was asking him to take me to a hotel. It hadn’t even dawned on him that a sweaty, scruffy-looking American would hop in his cab in downtown Beirut and ask him to go to the Lebanese “White House.”
So, I understand that it took a minute or two for him to grasp what I was asking. He even admitted that after he finally understood where I was asking him to go that it was completely out of left field. Nonetheless, we drove on to the palace, cleared several checkpoints, and pulled up at the entrance to the complex. He asked if I wanted him to wait, but not knowing exactly how long I was going to be, and how much extra it would cost, I told him he should go. I knew at that moment, however, that I might face a challenge getting transportation to my next appointment since the road from the outer checkpoint to the palace seemed close to a mile, and there was no way they would wave in a random cab driver.
Anyhow, I proceeded inside and was escorted to the office of the political advisor for my interview. We had a pleasant conversation and after 45 minutes, he escorted me back to the door. On the way we passed the German Ambassador who was his next appointment. When we reached the exit, he asked where my driver was. I told him that he left, and I needed a taxi. He was a little taken aback, but I always like to be unconventional. After a brief conversation he said his driver would take me outside the compound where I could get a cab. I hopped into a black GMC SUV and we drove out to the main road outside the palace.
We did not immediately find a cab, and I was prepared to get out and wait, but he stopped, made a call or two, and then started driving back downtown. I didn’t raise any objection, and he ultimately drove me back to the hood where I am staying. It saved me $20, and I got to say that I schmoozed a ride from the political advisor’s driver. Later, after running around buying a cell-phone recharge card—cell rates are absolutely ridiculous here as just about everyone I have meet has complained—I hopped another taxi to go to my appointment at the US Embassy.
When the driver pulled over to pick me up, I said “American Embassy” and he said “Yes.” So, I got in thinking he was on board with the destination. He then proceeded to ask me where I wanted to go, and seemed to be wondering if I wanted to go to a restaurant. I kept repeating Embassy, and at one point said Safara, not being entirely sure that was the correct Arabic word. He didn’t seem to respond and again was asking me if I wanted to go somewhere to eat.
Finally, we had a breakthrough, and he said “Safara Ameriki?” I said “yes” and away we went. He only had to stop once along the way to ask for directions, but we arrived at the heavily-fortified compound in the hills with enough time for me to go through the two security checkpoints before being ushered into a little waiting area/holding pen. The area felt like something at the airport in Sudan, well, perhaps a little nicer, and it was a cold welcome to the American compound. Fortunately, the interview was not cold, and other than having to sit around for 30 minutes waiting for a cab to show up and take me back to Achrafieh, the visit to fortress America went well. I will say that it’s always a little disheartening to visit US Embassies and go through such rigorous security, basically because it means it’s necessary, and that’s unfortunate, but alas, a reality.
