The weather heralds a new storm. -17 Degrees at night and the temperature could rise to -6 on the day. Joy.
My friends rush to shop, buy a gift last Christmas to forget, put away their suitcases, finishing their last meeting and head to Heathrow and then to Istanbul, Athens, Beirut NYC or spend Christmas with their families.
Saturday, my friends miss their flight. But they insist. Spend the night at the airport. To attempt a second chance Sunday. The scenario repeats itself. And Monday is also unlucky.
Tuesday, three days after the biggest storm, I tell myself I should go. An additional flight, I said it does, should do the trick.
On the ground, families sleep in socks, covered with aluminum paper.
Children screaming mouth open.
A woman tries to calm her child who is struggling in his arms.
From old exhausted. A claustrophobic. A man in crutches in the crowd.
And in one corner, a group of young Lebanese pathetic complain and make different shots son ax and ay that would be creative and piston aircraft. Yes
a group of Lebanese youth, naive, stupid, gates, drama that restless, complaining and crying and begging the idea of being unable to return to Beirut in time for the birthday of a friend or Christmas (which is in 4 days!).
A group of Lebanese who made a scene about everything and nothing and already considers the possibility to go via Paris or Frankfurt sil as it were "a war.
My gaze passes from the woman elegant, serene, peaceful Nourishing a child crying tears of his body and shivering in Lebanese group that makes me ashamed.
Shame on me.
Then I turn around, I wear my 4 suitcases and a half and I go home. It emergencies are more urgent than me.
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