Nervous Nelly goes to Libya

It seems that Jess in HD is going to be a travel blog and although I did not blog from New Mexico or Cape May, I'm getting back on the board this week from Tripoli, Libya.

My first impressions begin in Frankfurt. With the exception of one very German looking guy munching casually on a sandwich while browsing the newspaper, everyone looks a bit skiddish. I was expecting to be awkwardly juxtaposed with a bunch of bad ass security dudes, but unless they are all Libyan families, I don't see anyone remotely resembling Russell Crowe. The women I see are completely covered. Shit. I gaze sheepishly down at my sloppy jeans and neon green sneakers and wonder how I can still find myself in such an amateurish predicament.

My mind is preoccupied by the following:
- I hate flying
- Especially to Libya
- I hate new routines (IAD-FRA-TRI)
- The Nats lost :( but at least the Yankees clinched
- really, Libya?
- And finally, wow, I really blew it on the dress code.

It turns out I probably should have been a little more focused on my visa situation. I did not get a visa before I left and all I possessed was a letter written in Arabic alledgedly saying that I could pick one up at the airport upon arrival. I went up to the NON-NATIONALS sign and found a mean looking young agent smoking a cigarette (everyone was smoking and working - so weird.)

He gruffly gestered that I needed to go over to a counter to my right, with big windows and small awkward openings to shout into (in English, useless). About 8 Libyan men are behing the screen. One of them grabs my passport and the letter and says "Take Seat Take Seat." I look left then right. No seats. He insists so I leave my passport and walk about 15 feet away to a bench.

I had been prepared for this, sort of. After about 15 minutes he came back with a receipt and told me to go get some Libyan dinar. To do this, I had to walk down a long hall way, down 2 flights of stairs, past baggage claim (hoping my bags were there), through exit security (what's up with exit security??) Just when I realized I would have to exit the airport without my passport and luggage I heard my name. Liz, my colleague who I had already met, was there with money. I embraced her, grabbed the cash, wound my way back through to my friend at immigration (no one stopped me) and got my passport and luggage.

The ride in was interesting. As one always does, I tried to callibrate what city Tripoli was most like. I was surprised that is was much more like a developing country than I was expecting. I'm going with somewhere in between Khartoum and Cairo.  There is evidence of war as we got closer to the small downtown. I saw a huge demolished compound and exclaimed "Wow, what was that?" "That," Liz said, "was Qaddafi's compound." "THE compound?!" "Yep!" Apparently you can now take tours of it...let's see if we can work that in.

A few other noticable damaged buildings. Some great murals (I took a couple of pictures, but haven't figured out how to transfer them to the computer yet.) We pulled up to the super swanky Raddison Hotel. I sipped my crushed Kiwi juice while waiting for my key. Gym, spa, etc etc. My room actually looks out onto the Meditterrean Sea.

I had suspected this wouldn't be a South Sudan style trip. This much is true. What's next? Not sure.

Oh, one more note before I pass out. I do not feel afraid here. There doesn't seem to be tension in the air. It seems like a normal hustling bustling city. That anxiety, at least, is put aside for now.