Room with a View

The Mayflower Hotel in Beirut has started putting us in the small rooms in the old part of the building… no desks, and a bathtub not much bigger than a kitchen sink. However I don't mind any of that because it's already so much better than most of the places I stay, far better than the facilities many refugees have, and I had a double aspect overlooking the bustling streets of Hamra. I also had a balcony overlooking the Napoleon Hotel.

I left early for a meeting with our wonderful Syrian community facilitators on the outskirts of Beirut. They'd travelled from Triploi in the north and the Bekaa Valley which runs along the Syrian border - both tense and sensitive areas where many thousands of Syrian refugees have sought shelter. Areas subject to unrest, bombings , checkpoints, and considerable hostility between different factions. They were all happy to finally arrive and we had a great session. Many refugees don't understand the complex procedures around registration and visas, who can help them and how, and what facilities such as clinics, they are allowed to go to, and what treatments are covered (or not as in the case of some chronic conditions). Our facilitators act as information points and make referrals to specialist agencies. They are an amazing bunch of professionals - back in Syria they were nurses, doctor, lawyers and psychologists. In Lebanon they are determined to do something to help their fellow Syrians. I was struck by their good humour, professionalism and commitment. At lunch the women explained that their husbands were either dead, back in Syria, or working abroad in Dubai or elsewhere. That gave them a kind of freedom they hadn't always had before. Our only man, Hassan, told us his wife doesn't like him talking to other women. We burst out laughing - he'll never be able to speak to anyone then! They told me about their homes in Homs, Damascus, Aleppo, and how much they miss them and worry about the future. We looked at photos of our families, and compared notes on bringing up teenage boys, although for anyone in a war zone, being a mother of teenage boys is a scary prospect.

As we left news came in that there had been a security raid on the hotel next to mine, the one I overlook from my balcony. Hundreds of police, dogs and snipers had surrounded the area. Thirty suspected terrorists and bomb-making equipment had been found. The area was in shutdown, although many of Hamra's residents sat in the street cafes drinking coffee watching the drama unfold. When I finally got back to my hotel the uniforms had gone but on every street corner a man in black was murmuring into a headset. Tense times indeed for this beautiful city which has already seen its fair share of conflict.