FAMILY BRAVES UNKNOWN TO ESCAPE LEBANON.

Byline: LISA VAN PROYEN Special to the Daily News

I've traveled to various countries in the Middle East -- this time being my fifth trip to Lebanon to visit in-laws. All trips were calm until now. We had been here three weeks and were scheduled to leave July 20, when war broke out.

From 15 miles east of Beirut in Bhamdoun, we waited seven days for the American government to give us any concrete word about evacuation plans -- to no avail. Finding Internet access was difficult enough, but it was even more discouraging to discover each day that there was no response from the U.S. Embassy.

We were repeatedly e-mailed, ``The Embassy is monitoring the situation in Lebanon closely and is reviewing all options in assisting Americans who wish to depart Lebanon.''

The Embassy also informed us that we must pay to be rescued. But we were never told how much -- just that promissory notes could be signed.

Meanwhile, we read and heard about the quick rescue responses from the Italian and French governments.

On Tuesday, the seventh day, we went in person to the U.S. Embassy, where I spoke with an American official about possible plans and if those with children and who are pregnant have priority. (I am 7 1/2 months pregnant with our third child; my son, Zakaria, is 5 and my daughter, Hana, is 3.)

``The question is, can you handle a helicopter ride?'' I was asked. I told him, ``Most definitely,'' and gave him numerous cell phone numbers so he could reach us.

After not hearing from him by Wednesday, we opted for our more treacherous backup plan: the road to Syria through the Lebanese towns of Tarcheech, Zahle and Anjar.

Although my family and I had been staying in a relatively safe area, we could hear all too clearly the harrowing sounds of Israeli planes relentlessly flying above us all hours of the night, seemingly intensifying about 3 a.m. As I awoke, horrified about where the next bomb would land, my husband, Dani, who's lived through many long years of war here, would distinguish a remote-control surveillance plane from the real thing.

Within a minute or two, we'd hear the thunderous explosion.

Sometimes my husband assured me, ``That's just an echo from the mountain, it's far.'' Other times he had to say, ``That's close by.''

The bombs struck as close as within two miles of us at a military base, and a bridge we'd crossed the day before. Our choice of roads to take to Syria dwindled day by day, so when we finally left Wednesday, the journey that usually takes one hour dragged on for five.

The initial plan was to take two cars and to divide up the family in case one of us got bombed. Then my in-laws got the idea of going to the local Kuwaiti-owned hotel and pleading to board a ``Pullman'' bus that had been ferrying passengers to Syria since the second day of the bombardment.

We waited six hours at the hotel, and I personally spoke with the Kuwaiti ambassador to Lebanon: ``Good morning. I'm an American with two children. Are we able to board one of your buses today?''

To my amazement, he responded, ``Of course, Kuwaiti citizens are a priority. But we are always willing to help our friends. I will get you on the second bus.'' I offered to pay, but he insisted, ``No, we will take you for free to the airport.''

They provided us tea and other refreshments in a comfortable hotel until we boarded at 1:20 p.m. Wednesday. All 50 of us were given strict instructions: No telling the driver to speed up or slow down. Keep the drapes on the bus open at all times so as to show the Israelis that we are civilians and not military.

We were off. A woman next to me graciously handed me two peaches and a refreshing drink. I'm reminded of the hospitality of the Arab people.

Yet, I had mixed emotions: Relief that we were on our way to safety, but scared and questioning if I had made the right decision.

The driver immediately tuned in the Arabic radio station, which blared updates. About 15 minutes into our route, we heard that Hezbollah hit a military base in Israel. I wondered how many military bases we'd pass and stared skyward throughout the five-hour trek.

Dani pointed out numerous towns hit by the warfare, including Baalbek, 20 minutes away from us. Next, we passed a military base that had been hit the day before. Soldiers still stood in front of the base.

Minutes later, we passed four charred trucks -- targeted the day before to discourage people from leaving Lebanon. About 10 minutes later, we took a turn and the driver pointed behind us -- about 100 feet away, a large section of road was left in ruins from bomb activity 24 hours ago to deter travel here.

I faced the reality that we may not make it through the trip. We saw many residents stare at the bus as we drove slowly by towns. I wondered how many of them would weather this war, especially the innocent children.

At last, the Lebanese border appeared in front of us. We waited about an hour to process our passports. Then we encountered the Syrian border with no visas for my children and myself. No problem for my husband, who has dual citizenship in Lebanon and America. I worried how the government would perceive us.

But all was well and we crossed into Syria -- at last on safe land. I was further greeted with Arab hospitality with the consel of Kuwait, Ghaziu Al-Fadhli, calling ahead to one of the best-rated hotels in Syria to assure a room for us. It was confirmed, even though they were booked to capacity. We were given refreshments by the Red Crescent, the Arab equivalent of Red Cross.

I was told by the consel that fewer than 1,000 Americans boarded the Kuwaiti buses. We were relieved, yet distraught over the loss of people and children, and continued to worry about my in-laws left behind.

And I don't think the sound of a plane overhead will ever sound the same to me again.

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Photo:

(color) When the U.S. government failed to help Lisa Van Proyen and her family -- son Zakaria, 5, left, husband Dani and daughter Hana, 3 -- leave Lebanon, they chose a more risky route.