Two classic days

A couple of typical days for us in Lebanon--

YESTERDAY another hike in a gorgeous gorge
TODAY a few minor tasks involve hours of complicated and mysterious maneuvering and numerous dead ends

YESTERDAY
Less than an hour from Beirut, off the Tripoli highway and down narrow, winding roads edging a drop into a precipice that cradles Nahr Ibrahim (Ibrahim River). Tree lined and shaded, a wonderful break from Beirut. The hike was quite steep, and the way unfortunately littered with trash—much more than other hikes we’ve taken. But the spot was lovely, and the best was yet to come: a swim in a cool, green lake (well, for Tom anyway—the water temp. plus the idea of diving off a high rock in full view of all our group dissuaded me) . There were people camping by the river—the first campers we’ve seen in Lebanon. And a sizable garbage dump full of plastic bags. Sigh.

TODAY
After returning from the States a month ago, I had been a good girl and sought out a doctor for a pap smear and mammogram—no doubt two of every woman’s most favorite activities ever. Then suddenly I was back working at UNRWA, and mammogram and bone density tests were put off until today.

The mammogram appointment was for 9:00. Proud of finding my way down the winding basement corridor of American University Hospital, with no signs for “Mammography”, I arrive at 9:01. To the cashier first, I was told. Another hall and around a corner. Cashier examines my referral paperwork and tell me it has expired and I must go back to the doctor’s office for new papers. “But my appointment is at 9:00!” I say. “Sorry”. I can’t remember exactly where the doctor’s office is. In the hospital there is a bank of 4 elevators. They are all on the 5th or 6th floor—with a dozen people waiting on 1. Do all four rush to wherever the next person pushes the button? Could be, its Lebanon. Later I notice some elevators have several chairs next to them; I understand why. I make my way to the building adjacent to the hospital. Here there are only two elevators for the busy seven floor building of clinics, and only one working. There is no directory of doctors and I can’t remember which floor. I try asking; no one knows. Half an hour, endless corridors, three elevator rides, and an accidental trip through ICU, I find the doctor’s office. The secretary says, “I just have to change the date”, she says. “You mean I could have changed the date myself?!” I bellow, Ugly American that I am. “I have to stamp it too.” OK—the stamp. Back to the hospital basement, fast when you know the way (or guess right, as I did). As I wait for the cashier, the person before me tries to pay for a 35,000 ($23) charge with a 50,000 ($33) note. The cashier has no change.

When it is my turn I have to wait for 10 minutes for them to verify my insurance. Then its back to the mammography office: its 10:45! But they take me right away. A scarved lady manhandles me and tells me afterward that all is well—no waiting days for radiology to make a pronouncement here!