Husband went to a conference this week, in Beirut. I want very much to visit Beirut but the scheduling didn’t work for all of us to go along, so he went solo. I take some small and perverse satisfaction in the fact that it’s rained steadily there since he arrived.
Today he went on a field trip, to the Hezbollah Museum.
I’ll let that sink in a bit. Hezbollah. Museum.
I’m thinking this museum will not be a big draw among the “ladies who lunch” set.
And while the ladies who lunch may not be flocking to the museum for the latest exhibits in heavy artillery, tanks, and guerilla bunkers, hundreds of thousands of other people have thronged the museum since it opened last May.
According to this article from Reuters, plans for the museum site include a five-star hotel, a swimming complex, and a cable car. I don’t know about you, but riding a cable car in what amounts to a war zone doesn’t sound like any ride I want to take unless it’s a re-enactment at Epcot.
What are the politics of visiting this museum, I wonder. Is paying the admission fee tantamount to supporting Hezbollah? Would it be wrong to buy a shwarma at the snack bar after you’ve made your way through the exhibits?
And what’s going to be sold in the inevitable gift shop? T-shirts that say “Daddy went to Hezbollah and all I got was this lousy t-shirt?” Or do you suppose someone will actually market what Liam asked for, on the morning Husband left for his trip: Can you bring me a terrorist bobble-head doll?