How I Spent My Summer Vacation:
Smack Dab In the Middle of a War
by Adib Mansour

And they call this a vacation: We arrived in Beirut July 8. We didn’t know it at the time, but war was about to break out just three days later, and we were in the middle of it. Eleven days later, we were back on Roosevelt Island, grateful for our friends here.

Everybody knows me as the guy with the blue beard. Kristen and I have been on Roosevelt Island for over 17 years and have long considered it our home. She runs a successful educational consultation and coaching company. I have created a successful design and marketing agency called, not at all coincidentally, BlueBeardCreative.com.

My mother had sold her mountain villa to buy airline tickets for this vacation. We were in a relatively safe part of Beirut, but the bombings were close – as far as Astoria is from Roosevelt Island.

Initially, we tried to shelter the kids, seven-year-old Luca and 11-year-old Chloe (who just turned 12), from the sounds of war. We kept them in the bedroom, with the air-conditioner running and the TV as loud as possible.

But two days later, things were deteriorating rapidly. The bombardments were getting closer as the Israeli warplanes and sea barges were hitting the Lebanese infrastructure (bridges, highways, radio and television stations). The children were very scared as the bombing grew nearer and the sounds were not possible to conceal. We had to reveal the truth: we were in a war!

I decided to take our family north of Beirut where I thought it would be safer. We managed to escape the bombed bridges and main highways, but a trip that would usually take 20 minutes took an hour. The destination, a five-star resort, immediately produced a sense of relief. Kristen hooked up the laptop and registered us with the American embassy, then contacted our family and friends and asked their help in contacting the authorities to secure our safe return. Thank goodness for Blackberries!

That evening I went swimming with Luca, our seven-year old. Life seemed eerily normal. But just 20 minutes later two Apache helicopters were suddenly hovering directly over us. I took Luca out of the pool and walked away. Then the helicopters fired three missiles just a couple of hundred feet away from Luca. He became frightened and froze. What really scared him the most was the wailing and screaming of people running for their lives... falling and stampeding around him. The expression on his face that afternoon will bring tears to my eyes for the rest of my life. It was an expression I hope he will never have again.

We stayed the night in our "fancy" suite watching the news as scenes of utter destruction were broadcast, and images of dead bodies played over and over on all the channels. Next day, I called all of the hotels and resorts in the mountains in an attempt to escape to a safer location. They were all booked, as nearly a million people were forced to evacuate Lebanon’s southern region. After I explained our situation to the manager of the Printania Hotel, he offered us his room – a gesture we will never forget. For three days, we frantically worked our Blackberry and cell phone with our family and friends in the United States to secure an escape route, as the war was ravaging every part of Lebanon. The children never had more than a couple of hours of sleep; they were too nervous to leave the hotel room. They ate just enough to keep them going – they couldn’t eat full meals.

Through the help of families and friends, we finally managed to escape via the American Embassy’s fourth and final helicopter flight out of Beirut. We were among the first group of Americans to return to the States. The rescue operation took us from Beirut to Larnaca, Cyprus, an hour-long flight, during which the helicopters refueled – not fun unless you like mega-turbulence with the door wide open in the back. A routine gun check produced explosively loud sound inside the helicopter. From Larnaca, a chartered flight took us to Manchester, England, for a three-hour layover, then we took another plane to Baltimore-Washington Airport, where the Governor of Maryland welcomed us back home. He warned us of the media circus in the airport. The Red Cross offered food, drinks, and psychological advice.

Upon our arrival home, we were greeted by our friends. Neighbors prepared dinner for us; several posted cards at our door. Many only knew of our ordeal after recognizing my unmistakable blue beard on CNN and Fox News.

It is good to be part of such a loving community. Our friends on Roosevelt Island are the best kind you could have! We owe them all our gratitude and peace of mind. We thank you all for your love, friendship, and continuous generosity.

And we thank family members for comforting text messages, perseverance, and for the nights they went without sleep thinking about our situation.