
The lobby of the Damascus hotel we're staying in is buzzing with activity 24 hours a day. Suitcases piled on top of each other, people falling from exhaustion in the seating area -- many of them evacuees who've driven the dangerous road from Lebanon to Syria, fleeing the bombings.
Phone lines are bad here and cell phone coverage is unreliable. Our main link with the CNN news desk is e-mail, so I visit the hotel's business center several times a day, e-mailing my producers and writing scripts. One man came in yesterday and ... breathlessly ... asked one of the hotel employees for a room for him and his five family members.
"All full," she answered.
"Not even one room?" he asked.
A lady walked over to him: "I'm checking out in two hours she told him. You can have my room."
"No, he can't," replied the hotel employee. There are dozens on the waiting list ahead of him.
This is what every hotel in Damascus looks like today. Lebanese, Saudis, Emiratis and others who had planned on spending a holiday or visiting family in Lebanon -- their summer plans drastically altered.
A Lebanese woman stopped me in the hallway. She and her two children made it out of Lebanon and were waiting for a flight to Dubai, where they live.
"You must tell the world we do not support Hezbollah. We do not support anyone. But my country is being destroyed by people using it as a battleground."
Her voice was trembling and her eyes teary.
And, relatively speaking, she is one of the lucky ones. The number of refugees without the money to buy basics, let alone pay for accomodation is swelling at the Syrian-Lebanese border. People are coping now, but for how long?