And, now that the blog is private while we are here, I can officially announce that I am, in fact pregnant. Only eight weeks to go... (Thankfully (?!), I have gotten more wide than pokey than most pregnant women, so it was somewhat easier to board our flight and pass through immigration here in Tripoli without being questioned about my impending condition.)
I must say that Lance is not yet impressed with this country. Between the burned out buildings, the rubbish still collecting curbside, and the lack of any street signs, I can't imagine why...but I believe the warmth of the people here will soon having him singing the praises of at least the people.
We've had much to do already - getting through immigration without the required 100.50 LYD for our handwritten visas (our handler provided it, but he was not able to come up through security, so getting down to him and back up to the "border" was somewhat tricky), becoming acquainted with our British-Libyan driver/translator/fixer, learning not to drink the water, discovering that there is no way to iron your own clothes in this kind of a hotel, learning the ins and outs of whether I need to wear a headscarf (only if I'm alone outside the hotel, which won't be happening anyway), and accepting my first speaking invitation.
In the midst of all of this, our first meeting tonight was exceptionally promising. We hope to get SIM cards for our phones, find a more long-term (and cheaper) place to stay, and be plugged into Libyan civil society.