Not known at this address

So, three weeks are gone and there no postcards to show for them as I promised there would be in my previous post.

If I was in Lebanon I could  blame my broken promise on a number of things: the unreliable postal system (or unreliable internet connection to be more precise); the shortness of my daughter’s naps and therefore the shortage of time I have to write; or failing all else  I could blame it ‘on the Italians’!*

But I’m not in Lebanon. And that is the real problem. Spending three weeks in the UK, at the adress my parents have lived at for more than 40 years, makes Beirut feel far away and foreign- an unknow quantity. My life there feels almost  like a dream that I have just woken up from and can’t quite shake off but but can’t quite remember either.  And definitely can’t write about.

But tomorrow I will be plunged into it once again, arriving with the promise of sunrise. See you soon…

*’It’s the fault of the Italians’ is a common expression in Lebanon, and although there are several theories about its origin (from the world cup to  the world wars) the one thing everyone seems to agree on is its irony because in Lebanon everyone loves the Italians! To the point where I often pretend to be one.