Heart of Hezbollah, Airwaves of Norway

It sounds like the start of a parlor room joke: “An Englishman, a Norwegian, and an American pull up to a gas station in Southern Lebanon asking for directions to Hezbollah...” But there was no farce involved in this stunt. The rental car idled quietly as the attendant patiently explained our next move. Fifty miles to the southeast, high up in mountains still cratered from the impact of deadly explosions, our destination awaited: the multimillion dollar centerpiece of a radical Islamic movement.

An Alien in Arab Lands

My heart was pounding as I stepped out of the punishing heat and walked into the Syrian border control office. Before this moment, I had never been nervous when crossing into a new country. But Syria was different. I knew practically nothing about this place. In fact, I could not recall ever meeting a Syrian in my entire life. From the media, I only knew that the words "Syria" and "rogue state" had been tossed around in the same sentence, and that the U.S. considered the Syrian government a supporter of terrorism. The positive assurances I had received from other travelers had done little to assuage my fears. As an American would I be viewed suspiciously? Would I be ushered into a windowless office and interrogated? Or would I simply be turned away and told to return to Turkey?