...is what Jim and I say at the end of each vacation as we exit the plane on our last leg home. This trip to the Middle East was more than I hoped for. We were lucky to be mostly out of the tourist bubble. In Beirut, first my hotel "family" of new friends with whom I waited out the eerily quiet days of the election, and then the riveting and exciting, though exhausting, Beirut Exchange experiences with such an impressive and dynamic group of international students made that time so special. I'm talking about all of you, and still carrying on conversations with you in my head.
Then, Egypt, where my new and newer friends, AbdulMawgoud and his family, Mustafa and Ahmad Mustafa, Sondos, Ahmed, and Sondo's whole family just folded us into their lives with their warmth and joyful hospitality. I loved meeting my Soliya partner Somaia, and visiting the Soliya office in Cairo to meet those I knew online, in person.
I got tired of traveling, of living out of a suitcase, but I never once felt too "foreign", or without roots. In fact, I was so rooted to the enjoyment of the people, that there are many, many sights that we simply didn't visit in Cairo or Luxor. Two hours in Khan al Khalili is pathetic! But between the heat, and needing to get back to meet someone for something -- the sightseeing had to go. It was worth the tradeoff.
Thank you everyone, all of you who read this blog, and cheered us on. You were with us too. I can report to you that we are one with Middle Easterners. They aren't "them" to our "us". We are all one.
With peace and love,
Ginney
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Peace Bracelets and Grab Bags
Way back in Beirut, before the Beirut Exchange program started, Ute and I created the peace bracelet. She had been to the Saifi Street Fair the previous Saturday and bought some handcrafted jewelry of silver charms. Since Ute was leaving before the next fair, she invited the artist/vendor, Silva -- who, since sectarian identity is so significant in Lebanon, is Christian Armenian -- to the hotel. Ute was playing with the charms, arranging several on the table, and I joined her to create a peace bracelet. We found a crescent for Islam, a Christian cross, a 60's-era peace symbol, the Lebanese Cedar with a heart cutout (to remember the bracelet's genesis, and our meeting in Beirut), and a spiral-inscribed palm-up hand for Buddhism. I wasn't thinking when I asked loudly, do you have a Jewish star? Silva jolted to attention, and I quickly realized my faux pas, which in another location could have potentially endangered my life. One is barred from entering Lebanon if there is evidence in one's passport of having been to Israel next door. It would be impossible for Silva to have such an item in her inventory at a Lebanese street fair. I felt foolish and was grateful I was in a safe environment. We started to refer to my requested object as "nejmeh", the Arabic word for star, and carefully discussed what it should look like to compliment the other charms. Silva said she thought she could have it made and delivered to us with the completed bracelet. Ute and I ordered identical peace bracelets and loved the idea that we'd be wearing them in different parts of the (albeit Western) world.
About an hour later Ute received a call from Silva. Her craftsmen refused to make such a charm. We conferred and decided to take the incomplete bracelets anyway. We now had the challenge to complete them. We liked the idea that our peace bracelets had a "story", and that we had to collaborate to find new charms to keep them identical. We discussed the idea of seeking out multiple new charms that represented additional world religions and other images of peace.
The importance of culturally aware vigilance was heightened the next day when the Beirut Exchange started and we were given the safety briefing. Lebanon has nearly zero petty crime, but it is a zone of civil conflict and war. We were told that there is suspicion about the taking of photographs, and to always ask permission. There are a lot of military-type men on the streets. Those in green Army uniforms are respected and viewed as reliable by citizens, and better to approach than those in gray camouflage who are local cops or internal security. We were told that people would know who our group of 14 foreigners was, and to identify ourselves as students with BE if necessary.
Then we were told to pack a "grab bag". The first BE group a year earlier had come during a time of unrest, and they had to use it. It was to include our passports and other vital papers, a small bottle of water, a book (for reading at interminable checkpoint waits) a change of clothing, and an extra layer for warmth. My roommate Carolina and I did as instructed. About 12 days into the program, both of us were looking for clothing we couldn't understand how we had lost. We had forgotten about our grab bags -- and there were the missing things.
I loved Lebanon, and I was lucky that my time there was unmarked by civil unrest. It is a chaotic place in a chaotic region, and I would agree with the prevailing opinion I heard that future violence is inevitable, unfortunately. I want to return with Jim for a visit at Christmastime some year. Inshallah.
An article by Rob Nordland in today's New York Times, "Now It's a Census That Could Rip Iraq Apart" referred to the "Lebanese solution" of doing nothing in the face of severe sectarian factions vying for power in the northern Iraqi area of Kirkuk. I would love to see peace in the Middle East, but one huge obstacle to it is such strong sectarian and tribal identities willing to go to war for power.
About an hour later Ute received a call from Silva. Her craftsmen refused to make such a charm. We conferred and decided to take the incomplete bracelets anyway. We now had the challenge to complete them. We liked the idea that our peace bracelets had a "story", and that we had to collaborate to find new charms to keep them identical. We discussed the idea of seeking out multiple new charms that represented additional world religions and other images of peace.
The importance of culturally aware vigilance was heightened the next day when the Beirut Exchange started and we were given the safety briefing. Lebanon has nearly zero petty crime, but it is a zone of civil conflict and war. We were told that there is suspicion about the taking of photographs, and to always ask permission. There are a lot of military-type men on the streets. Those in green Army uniforms are respected and viewed as reliable by citizens, and better to approach than those in gray camouflage who are local cops or internal security. We were told that people would know who our group of 14 foreigners was, and to identify ourselves as students with BE if necessary.
Then we were told to pack a "grab bag". The first BE group a year earlier had come during a time of unrest, and they had to use it. It was to include our passports and other vital papers, a small bottle of water, a book (for reading at interminable checkpoint waits) a change of clothing, and an extra layer for warmth. My roommate Carolina and I did as instructed. About 12 days into the program, both of us were looking for clothing we couldn't understand how we had lost. We had forgotten about our grab bags -- and there were the missing things.
I loved Lebanon, and I was lucky that my time there was unmarked by civil unrest. It is a chaotic place in a chaotic region, and I would agree with the prevailing opinion I heard that future violence is inevitable, unfortunately. I want to return with Jim for a visit at Christmastime some year. Inshallah.
An article by Rob Nordland in today's New York Times, "Now It's a Census That Could Rip Iraq Apart" referred to the "Lebanese solution" of doing nothing in the face of severe sectarian factions vying for power in the northern Iraqi area of Kirkuk. I would love to see peace in the Middle East, but one huge obstacle to it is such strong sectarian and tribal identities willing to go to war for power.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Fast Friendships, Inshallah
We arrived back at Hotel Longchamps in Cairo around noon on Friday 3 July. Sondos sent a taxi to take us to her family home that night -- which is the Muslim equivalent of Saturday night. It is maybe 10 miles from Zamalek , but the traffic is so bad it took 45 minutes to get there. This suburb was built in the 60s and central Cairo has grown out to meet it. There are big wide boulevards with large median strips, and parallel access streets along side. Large facades of 8-10 story buildings line the frontage streets, and our driver pointed out the correct address. We walked in and the doorman accompanied us in the elevator to the floor he selected. All the lights were off in the hallway as we stepped out of the elevator. He fumbled around a bit and then knocked on a door. We were hoping we got the building right, and that Sondos' last name was the same as her family. It was the right door.
I mentioned the Middle Eastern formal interior design aesthetic among the upper middle class after visiting homes in Beirut. It is Louis IV inspired, and Sondos ' family home is decorated in the same vein, however, her mother has added a lot of wonderful twists of bright color and interesting pattern in her rugs and lamp shades. The typical layout is a great room with a dining section, two seating areas, and in this case a home office area as well.
Sondos had prevailed on her whole busy family, plus her fiance, to be present -- her younger brothers even managed to say hello to us and pose for pictures before they were off to their own events. Her lively maternal grandmother and I kidded non-verbally with each other, since we didn't speak a common tongue. She "dared" me to tackle the universal gym at one end of their large balcony, after which I defeated her at arm wrestling.
Sondo's parents are educated vibrant people. Her father is a book publisher, and her mother a college professor with a Ph.D in communications. Middle Eastern hospitality -- we've seen this with our own American friends from the Middle East too, is lavish. It is easy to fill up on all that is offered, long before sitting down to dinner, and if you have a sweet tooth you are sunk, between the juices, fruits, candy, and sweet honeyed pastries.
I was surprised at the revealing depth of our conversations with Egyptian friends because they are all new friendships -- mostly begun online. We quickly moved into meaningful discussions about politics, religion, and our cultural experiences. It was refreshing to be objects of interest. Jim and I have noticed over the years, that frequently we will meet new people who do not ask us a single question about ourselves. That can be true with family members too. Here, our Egyptian friends, Sondos, Mustafa and their families and friends were very interested in our views on American politics, their Muslim religion, our own faith lives and particularly the subject of democracy.
We were served another Egyptian favorite, fiteer. Starting with a wonderful lemon broth vegetable soup we then dug into plates with slices of both savory and sweet filled fiteer, which are layers of stuffed pastry. Apparently fiteer is challenging to make -- the dough gets shaped by being tossed into the air -- and challenging to the waistline as well. I loved it.
After dinner they threw open the double doors to their huge balcony facing the broad street below. It was cool and comfortable and we all went out and just visited and hung out. We felt so welcome. There was no music, no television, nothing more then their undivided attention and rich conversation as we shared our lives and tea and sweets.
Sondos, her sister and their mother all dress with a flair. Her mother, Manar, pulled out a new hijab -- my guess is she bought it for herself -- and they proceeded to teach me how to wrap it. I am always game to wear local dress -- last summer when Jim and I went to Bangladesh-in-the-Bronx, I wore the sari my friends dressed me in on the three-train subway ride back to Manhattan. So, I wore the beautiful mauve hijab Sondos and Marwa pinned on me. It worked well with the olive green I was wearing. They all agreed that I looked younger -- a refreshing description, since in student situations, I'm usually the oldest person in the room by a long shot. They probably had a point since the gray in my hair and my 57 year old neck were both covered. Their compliments, however, did not appeal to my vanity enough to get me to accessorize with a hijab. Walking around in 100+ degree heat for days, I had continually wondered if it wasn't stiflingly hot to dress so modestly, although I saw the wisdom of protecting one's skin from the sun. The women all agreed that they are used to their wardrobes in the heat. They will not have the sun damage I do from spending pre-sunscreen days as a teenager on Southern California beaches. As we left, Manar handed me another new brown scarf, shot through with silver -- exactly what I would have bought for myself. I have already worn it a bunch and love it, and the memory of that evening. She gave me two books she wrote on cognitive response to media. I plan to take Arabic lessons, and will use them for practice when I get proficient enough to read. It was easy to feel like we had known our Egyptian friends for a long time. I hope we can convince them to visit us in California at some point. Inshallah.
I mentioned the Middle Eastern formal interior design aesthetic among the upper middle class after visiting homes in Beirut. It is Louis IV inspired, and Sondos ' family home is decorated in the same vein, however, her mother has added a lot of wonderful twists of bright color and interesting pattern in her rugs and lamp shades. The typical layout is a great room with a dining section, two seating areas, and in this case a home office area as well.
Sondos had prevailed on her whole busy family, plus her fiance, to be present -- her younger brothers even managed to say hello to us and pose for pictures before they were off to their own events. Her lively maternal grandmother and I kidded non-verbally with each other, since we didn't speak a common tongue. She "dared" me to tackle the universal gym at one end of their large balcony, after which I defeated her at arm wrestling.
Sondo's parents are educated vibrant people. Her father is a book publisher, and her mother a college professor with a Ph.D in communications. Middle Eastern hospitality -- we've seen this with our own American friends from the Middle East too, is lavish. It is easy to fill up on all that is offered, long before sitting down to dinner, and if you have a sweet tooth you are sunk, between the juices, fruits, candy, and sweet honeyed pastries.
I was surprised at the revealing depth of our conversations with Egyptian friends because they are all new friendships -- mostly begun online. We quickly moved into meaningful discussions about politics, religion, and our cultural experiences. It was refreshing to be objects of interest. Jim and I have noticed over the years, that frequently we will meet new people who do not ask us a single question about ourselves. That can be true with family members too. Here, our Egyptian friends, Sondos, Mustafa and their families and friends were very interested in our views on American politics, their Muslim religion, our own faith lives and particularly the subject of democracy.
We were served another Egyptian favorite, fiteer. Starting with a wonderful lemon broth vegetable soup we then dug into plates with slices of both savory and sweet filled fiteer, which are layers of stuffed pastry. Apparently fiteer is challenging to make -- the dough gets shaped by being tossed into the air -- and challenging to the waistline as well. I loved it.
After dinner they threw open the double doors to their huge balcony facing the broad street below. It was cool and comfortable and we all went out and just visited and hung out. We felt so welcome. There was no music, no television, nothing more then their undivided attention and rich conversation as we shared our lives and tea and sweets.
Sondos, her sister and their mother all dress with a flair. Her mother, Manar, pulled out a new hijab -- my guess is she bought it for herself -- and they proceeded to teach me how to wrap it. I am always game to wear local dress -- last summer when Jim and I went to Bangladesh-in-the-Bronx, I wore the sari my friends dressed me in on the three-train subway ride back to Manhattan. So, I wore the beautiful mauve hijab Sondos and Marwa pinned on me. It worked well with the olive green I was wearing. They all agreed that I looked younger -- a refreshing description, since in student situations, I'm usually the oldest person in the room by a long shot. They probably had a point since the gray in my hair and my 57 year old neck were both covered. Their compliments, however, did not appeal to my vanity enough to get me to accessorize with a hijab. Walking around in 100+ degree heat for days, I had continually wondered if it wasn't stiflingly hot to dress so modestly, although I saw the wisdom of protecting one's skin from the sun. The women all agreed that they are used to their wardrobes in the heat. They will not have the sun damage I do from spending pre-sunscreen days as a teenager on Southern California beaches. As we left, Manar handed me another new brown scarf, shot through with silver -- exactly what I would have bought for myself. I have already worn it a bunch and love it, and the memory of that evening. She gave me two books she wrote on cognitive response to media. I plan to take Arabic lessons, and will use them for practice when I get proficient enough to read. It was easy to feel like we had known our Egyptian friends for a long time. I hope we can convince them to visit us in California at some point. Inshallah.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Tombs, Touts and Art School
There are a few more stories to tell from this trip. I've been back in the US for more than 2 weeks and have even taken another trip in between. All that travel finally overwhelmed my immune system and I'm battling a sinus infection and a cold. Here are a few more stories. Keep reading the blog. I'll let you know when the last "bag" appears on the conveyor belt.
On our last full day in Luxor, Thursday 2 July, Mamdouth arrived at 9 AM to take us to the Valley of the Kings. We knew we'd be out late with AbdulMawgoud the night before, so we didn't start at a more comfortably temperate 7 AM. The tout situation at the Valley of the Kings is as bad as at the pyramids, but it does not diminish the value of seeing the kings' tombs. The peddler problem, however, is tedious and we became progressively more critical of the government's allowing of it. We don't blame the vendors/beggars because it is their only way of surviving, so we play along with the best humor we can maintain.
AbdulMawgoud had relayed a recent statistic, that this summer's tourism on a scale of 1-10 is at minus 3. That means each tourist has to generate income normally generated by 3. The Egyptians really hustle, but they have a sense of pride and are aware of our wealth vs their vulnerability. Walking down to the public ferry after midnight for a 2 EP ride, a private motor boat driver appealed to us to take his boat for 5 EP (less than $1). It wasn't an unreasonable offer. The ferry is probably a government run enterprise, and the boatman needs to make a living too. As Jim said, however, getting into some one's boat after midnight to cross the Nile in the dark might cost a lot more than 5 EP -- remember the total cost of our carriage ride with "Jusef"! :-) More than once, when we have rejected their appeals with a slight edge of irritation, saying "laa, laa, laa (no, no, no)", they chide us..."one no is enough". We have carefully tried to respond to their plight with dignity. Imagine how we look walking around their town, blending with few other tourists , tall white people in clean, Western clothing, one carrying a huge orange purse they just know is full of money! We are well qualified prospects.
Back to the Valley of the Kings. The desert valley is barren without a single stem of plant life in the ochre sand. It is orders of magnitude more desolately barren than the Sonoran Desert with its blooming cacti, in Arizona where my mother grew up. The Egyptian royal tombs are open on a rotating basis to preserve them from the sweat and breath of visitors. We entered four of them, numbered in order of their discovery: Rameses 14 - tomb 2, ThutmoseIII - tomb 34, Horemheb - tomb 57, and Tutankamun, tomb 62. They are breathtaking, well preserved, and richly and densely covered with illustrations of The Book of the Dead, and other texts, in situ right before our eyes! King Tut's bones, sans mummy swaddling, were on view in his tomb -- getting ready, we were told, to leave soon for a road show. One beauty of traveling off-season is the lack of crowds. Those tombs would be stiflingly claustrophobic if loaded with tourists. Instead, we had the hot dry heat. To get to Tuthmose III's tomb we had to climb stairs and walk down into the tomb, which was humid and hot. Emerging back up out of the tomb, glazed in sweat, we actually felt cool(er) in the 100-degree breeze.
Those four tombs, in that weather, sated our curiosity, although the valleys of the queens and workers are also supposed to be worth the trip. Mamdouth has a friend who works at the alabaster factories along the road to the antiquities. Playing the commission pyramid scheme game, we insisted we stop at the appropriate shop. After much haggling, we bought a large alabaster bowl that we hoped would fit in the overhead compartments of our multiple upcoming plane trips. After a perfect lunch of ripe tomatoes, cucumbers, Feta cheese and the other half of our watermelon at the hotel, we napped in the AC to ride the afternoon out.
That evening, AbdulMawgoud took us to visit the Luxor Fine Arts College. His daughter, Taqwa, was with us as translator, although most all young Egyptians I've encountered speak passable English, to my non-existent Arabic. The school felt like all art schools, although Cal OSHA (Occupational Safety Health Admin) would have shut the place down -- little ventilation, lots of solvent fumes. We arrived around 7:30 pm. It was still hot, and everyone was cramming to finish work for grading in 2 days. This was my only chance the entire trip to engage with artists, and I loved touring the school, especially when it was such a pulsing hive of activity. Their work was similar to undergrad work at SJSU, and their canteen had the same food -- soda and junk food.
We then went to dinner at an unfortunately turistic restaurant on the Nile with AbdulMawgoud and his daughters. It sounded like a good idea to sit outside, but it was hot and the idling floating hotel cruise ships tied on the quay spewed diesel fumes into the air. We paid US prices for mediocre food. But the company was perfect.
Abrar gave us a poignant account of her experience of September 11, 2001. She was a hijab-wearing (muhajaba) 8th grader who lost her sense of security along with the rest of the US. The entire experience in Pittsburgh terrified her -- because the plane that crashed in Shanksville, PA was quiet close, and for some time there was fear of another headed their way. In one definitive disaster, Abrar went from a happy-go-lucky native born normal American kid to an Arab-American, to whom people, including friends, were unfriendly and cruel, for reasons she didn't understand. Until that point, she had not seen herself as any different. After 9/11, she had to learn about her ancestral culture so that she could defend herself against some disgusting discrimination.
AbdulMawgoud and his family will be returning to Minnesota in August. The girls, Taqwa and Abrar, and Jim and I are lobbying for their whole family to take a road trip to California for Christmas. Insha'Allah.
On our last full day in Luxor, Thursday 2 July, Mamdouth arrived at 9 AM to take us to the Valley of the Kings. We knew we'd be out late with AbdulMawgoud the night before, so we didn't start at a more comfortably temperate 7 AM. The tout situation at the Valley of the Kings is as bad as at the pyramids, but it does not diminish the value of seeing the kings' tombs. The peddler problem, however, is tedious and we became progressively more critical of the government's allowing of it. We don't blame the vendors/beggars because it is their only way of surviving, so we play along with the best humor we can maintain.
AbdulMawgoud had relayed a recent statistic, that this summer's tourism on a scale of 1-10 is at minus 3. That means each tourist has to generate income normally generated by 3. The Egyptians really hustle, but they have a sense of pride and are aware of our wealth vs their vulnerability. Walking down to the public ferry after midnight for a 2 EP ride, a private motor boat driver appealed to us to take his boat for 5 EP (less than $1). It wasn't an unreasonable offer. The ferry is probably a government run enterprise, and the boatman needs to make a living too. As Jim said, however, getting into some one's boat after midnight to cross the Nile in the dark might cost a lot more than 5 EP -- remember the total cost of our carriage ride with "Jusef"! :-) More than once, when we have rejected their appeals with a slight edge of irritation, saying "laa, laa, laa (no, no, no)", they chide us..."one no is enough". We have carefully tried to respond to their plight with dignity. Imagine how we look walking around their town, blending with few other tourists , tall white people in clean, Western clothing, one carrying a huge orange purse they just know is full of money! We are well qualified prospects.
Back to the Valley of the Kings. The desert valley is barren without a single stem of plant life in the ochre sand. It is orders of magnitude more desolately barren than the Sonoran Desert with its blooming cacti, in Arizona where my mother grew up. The Egyptian royal tombs are open on a rotating basis to preserve them from the sweat and breath of visitors. We entered four of them, numbered in order of their discovery: Rameses 14 - tomb 2, ThutmoseIII - tomb 34, Horemheb - tomb 57, and Tutankamun, tomb 62. They are breathtaking, well preserved, and richly and densely covered with illustrations of The Book of the Dead, and other texts, in situ right before our eyes! King Tut's bones, sans mummy swaddling, were on view in his tomb -- getting ready, we were told, to leave soon for a road show. One beauty of traveling off-season is the lack of crowds. Those tombs would be stiflingly claustrophobic if loaded with tourists. Instead, we had the hot dry heat. To get to Tuthmose III's tomb we had to climb stairs and walk down into the tomb, which was humid and hot. Emerging back up out of the tomb, glazed in sweat, we actually felt cool(er) in the 100-degree breeze.
Those four tombs, in that weather, sated our curiosity, although the valleys of the queens and workers are also supposed to be worth the trip. Mamdouth has a friend who works at the alabaster factories along the road to the antiquities. Playing the commission pyramid scheme game, we insisted we stop at the appropriate shop. After much haggling, we bought a large alabaster bowl that we hoped would fit in the overhead compartments of our multiple upcoming plane trips. After a perfect lunch of ripe tomatoes, cucumbers, Feta cheese and the other half of our watermelon at the hotel, we napped in the AC to ride the afternoon out.
That evening, AbdulMawgoud took us to visit the Luxor Fine Arts College. His daughter, Taqwa, was with us as translator, although most all young Egyptians I've encountered speak passable English, to my non-existent Arabic. The school felt like all art schools, although Cal OSHA (Occupational Safety Health Admin) would have shut the place down -- little ventilation, lots of solvent fumes. We arrived around 7:30 pm. It was still hot, and everyone was cramming to finish work for grading in 2 days. This was my only chance the entire trip to engage with artists, and I loved touring the school, especially when it was such a pulsing hive of activity. Their work was similar to undergrad work at SJSU, and their canteen had the same food -- soda and junk food.
We then went to dinner at an unfortunately turistic restaurant on the Nile with AbdulMawgoud and his daughters. It sounded like a good idea to sit outside, but it was hot and the idling floating hotel cruise ships tied on the quay spewed diesel fumes into the air. We paid US prices for mediocre food. But the company was perfect.
Abrar gave us a poignant account of her experience of September 11, 2001. She was a hijab-wearing (muhajaba) 8th grader who lost her sense of security along with the rest of the US. The entire experience in Pittsburgh terrified her -- because the plane that crashed in Shanksville, PA was quiet close, and for some time there was fear of another headed their way. In one definitive disaster, Abrar went from a happy-go-lucky native born normal American kid to an Arab-American, to whom people, including friends, were unfriendly and cruel, for reasons she didn't understand. Until that point, she had not seen herself as any different. After 9/11, she had to learn about her ancestral culture so that she could defend herself against some disgusting discrimination.
AbdulMawgoud and his family will be returning to Minnesota in August. The girls, Taqwa and Abrar, and Jim and I are lobbying for their whole family to take a road trip to California for Christmas. Insha'Allah.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
AbdulMawgoud, Pied Piper
2 July.
There was a breeze on Wednesday night (1 July), and the felucca's sails caught enough wind to move upstream slightly faster than the current. AbdulMawgoud was like a snowball rolling down hill, his gathering of people growing every moment. This felucca ride included the young American Arabic students from the prior night, the Fulbrighters and four young teachers from a neighboring town whom they had met with that day, and us. We overflowed the boat, and the water authorities saw an opportunity for baksheesh, so came after us in a Zodiac. Our captain paid them off.
I've concluded that AbdulMawgoud arranged the felucca rides for two reasons. First, they are iconic and a good way to enjoy the Nile, but also because he likes to pray at sunset on the water. The felucca was run aground a small island at prayer time and a group got off and prayed.
Back at the dock, we piled off the felucca and walked as a group on the Corniche along the water. AbdulMawgoud said that the authorities might assume we were an unlawful assembly, which is another way the government controls the people. He told us to keep walking and he jumped into to his parked ochre colored, 1980s vintage Mercedes sedan, which Jacqueline (also known as Jacq-leen as they call her here, and my former professor who introduced me to AbdulMawgoud in the first place) named "the gift" (I'd love to tie it with a huge red bow -- the contrast with its paint color would be so wonderful!). Driving a few blocks, he commandeered a couple of public microbuses to drive us all to a party on his roof deck near the Karnak Temple.
There were his wife and daughters and her sisters who had been cooking all day, and even more family and guests. We had a Kocherie party -- the typical Egyptian pasta/rice dish we had shared with Sondos and Ahmed. AbdulMawgoud's Egyptian-American children are poised and lovely. His daughter Abrar spoke movingly about enjoying her second home in Egypt, and his young son led a song in English about the blessing of being Muslim. Other young female guests sang an Arabic pop song, helped along by AbdulMawgoud's brother. It was a warm intimate multigenerational family party, to which all of us American visitors were invited.
It was after midnight when we headed back to the ferry in a bus. Children were playing; families were sitting on the park grass as though it were noon on a Sunday. As we walked to the ferry landing, one beautiful young preteen girl was chasing a big yellow balloon that was bouncing along in the wind. We stopped it, and she looked at us and said "merci". The hot wind was welcome because it was cooling, but it carried a lot of pollution and desert dust and made my eyes burn.
There was a breeze on Wednesday night (1 July), and the felucca's sails caught enough wind to move upstream slightly faster than the current. AbdulMawgoud was like a snowball rolling down hill, his gathering of people growing every moment. This felucca ride included the young American Arabic students from the prior night, the Fulbrighters and four young teachers from a neighboring town whom they had met with that day, and us. We overflowed the boat, and the water authorities saw an opportunity for baksheesh, so came after us in a Zodiac. Our captain paid them off.
I've concluded that AbdulMawgoud arranged the felucca rides for two reasons. First, they are iconic and a good way to enjoy the Nile, but also because he likes to pray at sunset on the water. The felucca was run aground a small island at prayer time and a group got off and prayed.
Back at the dock, we piled off the felucca and walked as a group on the Corniche along the water. AbdulMawgoud said that the authorities might assume we were an unlawful assembly, which is another way the government controls the people. He told us to keep walking and he jumped into to his parked ochre colored, 1980s vintage Mercedes sedan, which Jacqueline (also known as Jacq-leen as they call her here, and my former professor who introduced me to AbdulMawgoud in the first place) named "the gift" (I'd love to tie it with a huge red bow -- the contrast with its paint color would be so wonderful!). Driving a few blocks, he commandeered a couple of public microbuses to drive us all to a party on his roof deck near the Karnak Temple.
There were his wife and daughters and her sisters who had been cooking all day, and even more family and guests. We had a Kocherie party -- the typical Egyptian pasta/rice dish we had shared with Sondos and Ahmed. AbdulMawgoud's Egyptian-American children are poised and lovely. His daughter Abrar spoke movingly about enjoying her second home in Egypt, and his young son led a song in English about the blessing of being Muslim. Other young female guests sang an Arabic pop song, helped along by AbdulMawgoud's brother. It was a warm intimate multigenerational family party, to which all of us American visitors were invited.
It was after midnight when we headed back to the ferry in a bus. Children were playing; families were sitting on the park grass as though it were noon on a Sunday. As we walked to the ferry landing, one beautiful young preteen girl was chasing a big yellow balloon that was bouncing along in the wind. We stopped it, and she looked at us and said "merci". The hot wind was welcome because it was cooling, but it carried a lot of pollution and desert dust and made my eyes burn.
TT Economics
2 July.
We are staying on the west bank of the Nile River, opposite the town of Luxor where the tourist infrastructure is. Jacqueline stayed here, in the Amon Hotel and recommended it to us. We like it, but it requires a willingness to walk through the somewhat rough village to get to the ferry across the river. The other option is to take a taxi, traveling about 15 minutes up river to cross a bridge then back down to reach Luxor. The ferry takes 10 minutes, but the total time is about the same by the time we walk to it, sit on it until it fills and then sails. Jim and I love ferries, and it is a pleasurable commute which we share with a cross section of locals. It costs 1 EP per person each way, about 18 cents. The hotel is quite new, comfortable and spacious, and quiet. We hear a braying mule, wild turkeys and birds. It is centered on a lovely garden, but in this 100-105 degree heat, we retreat to the AC. In season it would be nice, it has ceiling fans and window screens -- our normal preference for climate control. The outdoor dining room also has ceiling fans, which didn't prevent butter from liquifying in its container. No one is around this off season. The staff makes us food whenever we want it -- we didn't make it to breakfast today until 11:30.
It was our laziest day ever. We joke about typically being out by the "crack of noon", when we are on vacation. We crossed the river, arriving in Luxor at 3pm yesterday. We headed for the Luxor Museum, a 5 minute walk from the ferry stop.
All tourists are keen prospects for those making their living "serving" visitors, and they all congregate on the Corniche to greet folks stepping of the floating hotels that ply the Nile between Luxor and Aswan. There are felucca sails, horse-drawn carriage rides, drinks and tchotchkes -- with scads of vendors in every category. As we stepped off the ferry, "Jusef", his tourist name, offered us an hour long carriage ride for 5 Egyptian pounds, less than one dollar. The people are very poor, but not stupid nor without pride. A face-saving way of saying no is "maybe later". Asking us where we were headed, Jusef told us the museum was closed, a common ruse the world 'round to capture a tourist for one's own uses. We walked in the 105 degree heat to the museum, to find it closed between 3-5 as Jusef had said. He had followed us, with his one-eared horse Cinderella, so we climbed in. The carriage's bimini top allowed us to cover some territory in the shade, at least.
Most of the tourist vendors speak limited English they have learned from their charges. As we've seen in other places, once a driver has you in his vehicle, he'll eventually take you where you want to go, via the retail establishments that pay him a commission. Jusef was upfront about his, telling us where he would park Cinderella, how much he would earn from taking us to the "Government Store" that was -- lucky us -- only open on Wednesdays, and where all things were 1/2 price. Since we knew the game, and it was too hot to do anything else, and the store had AC, we played along. We have a drawer of little things we've bought in similar situations over the years -- in fact as we rode behind Jusef and Cinderella, knowing we were going to be adding to the stash, I had an idea to create big sculptural book entitled TT (for tourist trap) to store the pile in. Pat and Jerry have taught us on earlier trips that even TTs can yield treasures, so we are generally game.
The Government Store was selling Egyptian images on "real" papyrus (as opposed to banana leaves). We saw a demonstration of how to make "real" papyrus, and I hung out in front of a cooling fan, and drank my "free" coke. We took our time to choose, settling on our Egyptian TT entry for 50 EP. These professionals are not to be underestimated. In their enthusiasm over our selection they steered us over to the "cartouche" section, where we chose another typical Egyptian illustration of goddess Isis (of magic) standing behind her man Osiris, god of the afterworld, which also included OUR VERY OWN names hand painted in Egyptian hieroglyphics for only 40 more EP -- which they conveniently converted for us as less than $8. Jim thought it was cool, so now our selections totaled 90 EP. You can see it coming...we were ripe for a nice little image for 10 EP more, from a selection they happened to have at the cash register. So, the TT gets 3 entries from this trip, plus the little scarab beads Jusef gave to us later. 100 EP is about $18, and Jusef earned 20 EP (less than $4, but 4x our price for the carriage ride.)
Jim and I wanted to see an old souk we'd read about in the guidebook -- it was a real market, not a TT. As we were at the whim of Jusef and Cinderella, we ended up at a souk alright, but one of his choosing. We took the opportunity to buy gifts and Jusef benefited, counseling us to also tip the assistant who wrapped our purchases. We directed Jusef to the Sheraton on the water -- Jacqueline had said to see the view of the Nile from there -- and we needed to eat something before our second sunset felucca ride with AbdulMawgoud. By now we were wise to the local schedule, and knew it would be 10pm before we ate dinner. The Sheraton was a long run for Cinderella, and Jusef was in a good mood, so had her galloping. It was 42 degrees centigrade, and I felt sorry for her, so we stopped at a closer spot, the Isis Hotel, where AbdulMawgoud was a receptionist during his undergrad days. We were the only people in the pizza restaurant at 6pm. Jusef took us back to the Corniche to meet the felucca and told us his real name, Ahmed. We gave him a $10 tip; he had a good day. So did we.
We are staying on the west bank of the Nile River, opposite the town of Luxor where the tourist infrastructure is. Jacqueline stayed here, in the Amon Hotel and recommended it to us. We like it, but it requires a willingness to walk through the somewhat rough village to get to the ferry across the river. The other option is to take a taxi, traveling about 15 minutes up river to cross a bridge then back down to reach Luxor. The ferry takes 10 minutes, but the total time is about the same by the time we walk to it, sit on it until it fills and then sails. Jim and I love ferries, and it is a pleasurable commute which we share with a cross section of locals. It costs 1 EP per person each way, about 18 cents. The hotel is quite new, comfortable and spacious, and quiet. We hear a braying mule, wild turkeys and birds. It is centered on a lovely garden, but in this 100-105 degree heat, we retreat to the AC. In season it would be nice, it has ceiling fans and window screens -- our normal preference for climate control. The outdoor dining room also has ceiling fans, which didn't prevent butter from liquifying in its container. No one is around this off season. The staff makes us food whenever we want it -- we didn't make it to breakfast today until 11:30.
It was our laziest day ever. We joke about typically being out by the "crack of noon", when we are on vacation. We crossed the river, arriving in Luxor at 3pm yesterday. We headed for the Luxor Museum, a 5 minute walk from the ferry stop.
All tourists are keen prospects for those making their living "serving" visitors, and they all congregate on the Corniche to greet folks stepping of the floating hotels that ply the Nile between Luxor and Aswan. There are felucca sails, horse-drawn carriage rides, drinks and tchotchkes -- with scads of vendors in every category. As we stepped off the ferry, "Jusef", his tourist name, offered us an hour long carriage ride for 5 Egyptian pounds, less than one dollar. The people are very poor, but not stupid nor without pride. A face-saving way of saying no is "maybe later". Asking us where we were headed, Jusef told us the museum was closed, a common ruse the world 'round to capture a tourist for one's own uses. We walked in the 105 degree heat to the museum, to find it closed between 3-5 as Jusef had said. He had followed us, with his one-eared horse Cinderella, so we climbed in. The carriage's bimini top allowed us to cover some territory in the shade, at least.
Most of the tourist vendors speak limited English they have learned from their charges. As we've seen in other places, once a driver has you in his vehicle, he'll eventually take you where you want to go, via the retail establishments that pay him a commission. Jusef was upfront about his, telling us where he would park Cinderella, how much he would earn from taking us to the "Government Store" that was -- lucky us -- only open on Wednesdays, and where all things were 1/2 price. Since we knew the game, and it was too hot to do anything else, and the store had AC, we played along. We have a drawer of little things we've bought in similar situations over the years -- in fact as we rode behind Jusef and Cinderella, knowing we were going to be adding to the stash, I had an idea to create big sculptural book entitled TT (for tourist trap) to store the pile in. Pat and Jerry have taught us on earlier trips that even TTs can yield treasures, so we are generally game.
The Government Store was selling Egyptian images on "real" papyrus (as opposed to banana leaves). We saw a demonstration of how to make "real" papyrus, and I hung out in front of a cooling fan, and drank my "free" coke. We took our time to choose, settling on our Egyptian TT entry for 50 EP. These professionals are not to be underestimated. In their enthusiasm over our selection they steered us over to the "cartouche" section, where we chose another typical Egyptian illustration of goddess Isis (of magic) standing behind her man Osiris, god of the afterworld, which also included OUR VERY OWN names hand painted in Egyptian hieroglyphics for only 40 more EP -- which they conveniently converted for us as less than $8. Jim thought it was cool, so now our selections totaled 90 EP. You can see it coming...we were ripe for a nice little image for 10 EP more, from a selection they happened to have at the cash register. So, the TT gets 3 entries from this trip, plus the little scarab beads Jusef gave to us later. 100 EP is about $18, and Jusef earned 20 EP (less than $4, but 4x our price for the carriage ride.)
Jim and I wanted to see an old souk we'd read about in the guidebook -- it was a real market, not a TT. As we were at the whim of Jusef and Cinderella, we ended up at a souk alright, but one of his choosing. We took the opportunity to buy gifts and Jusef benefited, counseling us to also tip the assistant who wrapped our purchases. We directed Jusef to the Sheraton on the water -- Jacqueline had said to see the view of the Nile from there -- and we needed to eat something before our second sunset felucca ride with AbdulMawgoud. By now we were wise to the local schedule, and knew it would be 10pm before we ate dinner. The Sheraton was a long run for Cinderella, and Jusef was in a good mood, so had her galloping. It was 42 degrees centigrade, and I felt sorry for her, so we stopped at a closer spot, the Isis Hotel, where AbdulMawgoud was a receptionist during his undergrad days. We were the only people in the pizza restaurant at 6pm. Jusef took us back to the Corniche to meet the felucca and told us his real name, Ahmed. We gave him a $10 tip; he had a good day. So did we.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Luxurious Luxor
I am now posting this from the US. It is very nice to be home, whatever that means. I want to catch up on this blog -- post those things I have stored in my computer and finish capturing my memories from the last days of the trip before they disappear. I was adding some Facebook friends addresses and Mustafa's friend Ahmad popped up for a chat. He was headed for his scuba diving lesson, and will scope out the great spots on the Red Sea for when we go there again. Jim is determined to dive on our next trip to Egypt.
PS. It is an urban myth that Napoleon shot off the Sphinx's nose.
30 June.
Sondos and Ahmed had joked that between my art history flash cards and our guidebooks we were the more capable guides. They saw things anew through our "strangers" eyes. We craned our necks at the cyclist balancing a 3 x 5 foot pallet of baked pita pillows (before they deflate into cello-bagged pancakes we find at Trader Joe's) as he pedaled along the traffic choked Sharia 26 July in Zamalek, and again at the entire family of four squished on a small motorbike in Luxor.
After rising in Cairo at 5am, we hid from the heat, slept and read our first afternoon in Luxor. At a still roasting 5:30 pm, we crossed the Nile to meet AbdulMawgoud, his wife Nadia, their daughter Abrar, and two of Nadia's sisters for a sunset felucca sail on the river. Google "felucca" for an image of the picturesque old style sailboat.
We had been waiting to meet AbdulMawgoud's family. We are fond of him, but had only seen him on his trips to the Bay Area. He played hard to get, making us travel all the way to Luxor to finally meet the rest of the family. He is a university professor in Egypt who lives between there and the US, where his wife and six children live and work. She and four of the kids are in Luxor for the summer. His daughter Taqwa, a junior in college, was walking in town and smiled at a bunch of tourists, mostly hijab wearing women. They were a diverse group of about six Americans, with ancestries from Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Vietnam -- and Colorado; all traveling prior to starting two months of Arabic classes in Cairo.
Working his mobile, Abdul Mawgoud found the kids on a nearby felucca. None of us were actually sailing on the becalmed river, we and another boat were being towed on a y-shaped line by a motor skiff, and AbdulMawgoud convinced the driver to detour and straddle alongside the students' felucca so they could clamber onto ours. The skiff dropped us at Banana Island in the center of the river, and AbdulMawgoud recruited a local 8 year old guide to lead us around the cultivated area of banana trees, a common herb, fig trees and growing corn. Then he showed off the captive crocodile whom he prodded with a stick and fed one kilo of fish a day. I was on the croc's side, and unsuccessfully lobbied for his release into the Nile. It was now sundown prayer time and all, except one of the young Americans, went into a field to pray. Watching from the boat, we could see them moving, standing kneeling and sitting. They had invited us to watch them up close, but it was too hot and buggy in that field. It was a magical adventure, assembled on the fly. With no breeze, the two young men "sailing" the felucca had to row back using long poles without blades -- just nailing a disc on the end of each of those poles would have made their job a lot easier. The kids and even Nadia's adult sister took turns oscillating the inefficient oars as we rode the current back to the dock. Afterward, walking along the Corniche, we ran into the fourteen American Fulbright scholars AbdulMawgoud has been hosting for the last two weeks. Jim and I had dinner alone with Nadia and AbdulMawgoud in a favorite restaurant of theirs, and then caught the ferry back to the west bank after midnight. We had only just met Nadia, but it felt like the four of us had been friends for a long time.
PS. It is an urban myth that Napoleon shot off the Sphinx's nose.
30 June.
Sondos and Ahmed had joked that between my art history flash cards and our guidebooks we were the more capable guides. They saw things anew through our "strangers" eyes. We craned our necks at the cyclist balancing a 3 x 5 foot pallet of baked pita pillows (before they deflate into cello-bagged pancakes we find at Trader Joe's) as he pedaled along the traffic choked Sharia 26 July in Zamalek, and again at the entire family of four squished on a small motorbike in Luxor.
After rising in Cairo at 5am, we hid from the heat, slept and read our first afternoon in Luxor. At a still roasting 5:30 pm, we crossed the Nile to meet AbdulMawgoud, his wife Nadia, their daughter Abrar, and two of Nadia's sisters for a sunset felucca sail on the river. Google "felucca" for an image of the picturesque old style sailboat.
We had been waiting to meet AbdulMawgoud's family. We are fond of him, but had only seen him on his trips to the Bay Area. He played hard to get, making us travel all the way to Luxor to finally meet the rest of the family. He is a university professor in Egypt who lives between there and the US, where his wife and six children live and work. She and four of the kids are in Luxor for the summer. His daughter Taqwa, a junior in college, was walking in town and smiled at a bunch of tourists, mostly hijab wearing women. They were a diverse group of about six Americans, with ancestries from Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Vietnam -- and Colorado; all traveling prior to starting two months of Arabic classes in Cairo.
Working his mobile, Abdul Mawgoud found the kids on a nearby felucca. None of us were actually sailing on the becalmed river, we and another boat were being towed on a y-shaped line by a motor skiff, and AbdulMawgoud convinced the driver to detour and straddle alongside the students' felucca so they could clamber onto ours. The skiff dropped us at Banana Island in the center of the river, and AbdulMawgoud recruited a local 8 year old guide to lead us around the cultivated area of banana trees, a common herb, fig trees and growing corn. Then he showed off the captive crocodile whom he prodded with a stick and fed one kilo of fish a day. I was on the croc's side, and unsuccessfully lobbied for his release into the Nile. It was now sundown prayer time and all, except one of the young Americans, went into a field to pray. Watching from the boat, we could see them moving, standing kneeling and sitting. They had invited us to watch them up close, but it was too hot and buggy in that field. It was a magical adventure, assembled on the fly. With no breeze, the two young men "sailing" the felucca had to row back using long poles without blades -- just nailing a disc on the end of each of those poles would have made their job a lot easier. The kids and even Nadia's adult sister took turns oscillating the inefficient oars as we rode the current back to the dock. Afterward, walking along the Corniche, we ran into the fourteen American Fulbright scholars AbdulMawgoud has been hosting for the last two weeks. Jim and I had dinner alone with Nadia and AbdulMawgoud in a favorite restaurant of theirs, and then caught the ferry back to the west bank after midnight. We had only just met Nadia, but it felt like the four of us had been friends for a long time.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Choosing People Over Places
I've gotten spoiled with free WiFi access, so in Luxor for the last 3 days, I was too lazy to go to an internet cafe. Now I have to catch up. I'll start with our time with Sondos and Ahmed the day before we left for Luxor.
Monday, 29 June:
In Spring 08 semester, Sondos and I were project partners in our online class with Soliya. She is newly engaged, and she and her fiance, Ahmed picked us up at the hotel this morning to go sightseeing. Our first stop was the Mosque of Ibn Talun. Neither Sondos nor Ahmed had ever been there -- just like I hadn't been to the Statue of Liberty until I had visitors to New York City. Two of the art history flash cards in my pile were of Ibn Talun. Ahmed worked some magic, maybe it was speaking Arabic, maybe his Egyptian Navy ID, or maybe some baksheesh, but the guard opened up the door to a minaret and Jim and I climbed all the way up, like the muezzin of old used to do. Ibn Talun was originally built in 879, with the intention of accommodating the entire army of Ahmad Ibn Talun for Friday prayers. An Abbasid, he brought the Samarran (near Baghdad, Iraq) design to the minaret, with spiraling stairs on the outside. This old minaret isn't the one we climbed. The hypostyle mosque's columns are really thick, and the design of the building never worked very well. We arrived at the mosque just before 1pm prayers, and as we were walking away, my video captured the muezzin calling the prayer into the microphone. Sondos and Ahmed both spent their prayer time in the mosque while Jim and I sat in the shade and waited. It was a lovely moment, and as I've said, I love the call to prayer -- which echoes all over the city.
Next we went to the Citadel, and the very Ottoman Mohammad Ali Mosque. The courtyard with its expansive city view resembled the Topkapi Palace in Istanbul. It was very hot, and Sondos and Ahmed sought out a restaurant to have Koshari, an Egyptian rice, pasta, and lentil staple. It is good, and I'll get her mother's recipe. It will be a good pasta course or vegetarian entree for future entertaining.
We talked about what was different between meeting in person vs. meeting online. Sondos thought I would be a bigger person, and I was surprised at her calm serenity because on both the phone and online she communicates more raw energy.
Jim and I had an ice cream cone for dinner and hung out at the hotel that evening -- the heat and traffic sent us diving for AC and torpidity.
Tuesday 30 June:
We flew early to Luxor and to be met by Jacq-leen's driver Mamdouth. We were seeking our name on a paper in Mamdouth's hand, and he wasn't there with the rest of the passenger-greeting drivers, so we walked outside thinking we had to get to the Amon Hotel on our own. There was AbdulMawgoud! He said he wanted us to see him first, upon our arrival in Luxor, so he had Mamdouth pick him up on the way to the airport. A wonderful moment!
Monday, 29 June:
In Spring 08 semester, Sondos and I were project partners in our online class with Soliya. She is newly engaged, and she and her fiance, Ahmed picked us up at the hotel this morning to go sightseeing. Our first stop was the Mosque of Ibn Talun. Neither Sondos nor Ahmed had ever been there -- just like I hadn't been to the Statue of Liberty until I had visitors to New York City. Two of the art history flash cards in my pile were of Ibn Talun. Ahmed worked some magic, maybe it was speaking Arabic, maybe his Egyptian Navy ID, or maybe some baksheesh, but the guard opened up the door to a minaret and Jim and I climbed all the way up, like the muezzin of old used to do. Ibn Talun was originally built in 879, with the intention of accommodating the entire army of Ahmad Ibn Talun for Friday prayers. An Abbasid, he brought the Samarran (near Baghdad, Iraq) design to the minaret, with spiraling stairs on the outside. This old minaret isn't the one we climbed. The hypostyle mosque's columns are really thick, and the design of the building never worked very well. We arrived at the mosque just before 1pm prayers, and as we were walking away, my video captured the muezzin calling the prayer into the microphone. Sondos and Ahmed both spent their prayer time in the mosque while Jim and I sat in the shade and waited. It was a lovely moment, and as I've said, I love the call to prayer -- which echoes all over the city.
Next we went to the Citadel, and the very Ottoman Mohammad Ali Mosque. The courtyard with its expansive city view resembled the Topkapi Palace in Istanbul. It was very hot, and Sondos and Ahmed sought out a restaurant to have Koshari, an Egyptian rice, pasta, and lentil staple. It is good, and I'll get her mother's recipe. It will be a good pasta course or vegetarian entree for future entertaining.
We talked about what was different between meeting in person vs. meeting online. Sondos thought I would be a bigger person, and I was surprised at her calm serenity because on both the phone and online she communicates more raw energy.
Jim and I had an ice cream cone for dinner and hung out at the hotel that evening -- the heat and traffic sent us diving for AC and torpidity.
Tuesday 30 June:
We flew early to Luxor and to be met by Jacq-leen's driver Mamdouth. We were seeking our name on a paper in Mamdouth's hand, and he wasn't there with the rest of the passenger-greeting drivers, so we walked outside thinking we had to get to the Amon Hotel on our own. There was AbdulMawgoud! He said he wanted us to see him first, upon our arrival in Luxor, so he had Mamdouth pick him up on the way to the airport. A wonderful moment!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
A Pharoah's Eternity
Standing on the desert sand in front of the Egyptian pyramids was a rush. They are magnificent in their decay, and in their prime they were covered with polished granite (we think our guide said). If that is the case, wow! Jim's favorite was the Sphinx, a regal sentinel in front of the huge monuments. Apparently, Napoleon Bonaparte shot the nose and beard off. It would have been nice if he'd had enough class to leave the art alone!
The structures completely overwhelm the crass commercialism on the ground. Our driver/guide Hanafy warned us to not engage with any of the vendors we saw. He said they were very bad, very sneaky and very stupid people. We can testify they are good at what they do, though. We were trying to follow Hanafy's advice, by saying "laa" (no) and walking on. They would come at us, outstretch their hand and say welcome. What were we going to do? Ignore them? But, if you even pause, they've got you. When they learned we are Americans -- see already, hooks into us ...they complimented the USA soccer team's amazing streak, and Jim discussed soccer with them, or they praised Obama. Since we are SO happy and relieved that Obama is president, we responded. A vendor put packets in each of our hands, we protested, he said it was free, souvenirs for Obama. Then he ripped the package open and put a handkerchief and woven cord around Jim's head and posed with him for a picture, and since he looked ridiculous, I obliged. Then he wanted money. OK, we thought, we'll comply...Jim pulled out a bunch of bills he wanted to get rid of, the guy (who said his name was Mustafa) sneered at the amount --asking "do you know how much that is in American money?" (He knew we knew it was about 50 cents). So, he shook us down for about 20 Egyptian Pounds, which is $3.56. Before that, we'd been taken and didn't even realize it -- a uniformed guard stepped on the security rope (meant to keep tourists OFF the ruins) in front of the pyramid and told us we climb on the rock and have a picture -- he snapped one of us together. Jim gave him a couple of bucks, about 11 Egyptian Pounds. We agreed we wouldn't tell Hanafy about these transgressions, but we weren't willing to shake anymore hands, or trade soccer/Obama high-fives. Hanafy told us of another of his American customers who took a very long time to return to the car at the nine pyramid panorama photo spot. When he finally returned, he wanted to leave the area and not see anything more, and wouldn't say why. An hour later, Hanafy got the story out of him, how a guy approached him to show him some relics he had uncovered in a nearby tomb, swore him to secrecy and fleeced him for $100 with the highly effective combination of pleading poverty and ridiculing him for being rich. Hanafy was dismayed his customer hadn't told him right away, because he could have retrieved the money and reported the scammer to the police. In our case, it was an opportunity to enumerate other vacation scams in rank order -- the first being Jim's loss of his Rolex watch to the guy who jumped him in Buenos Aires -- that was actually violent crime, then my $250 pair of $12 sandals in Sevilla when the gypsies lifted my wallet out of my open bag while I was in the swoon of trying on a treasure trove of shoes, then the $100 lunch on Madison Avenue in NY one summer, in one of those restaurants that has no prices on the menu -- but how expensive could a plate of pasta with tomatoes, basil and mozzarella and an ice tea each be? You got it. So, for 30 EP, we got a trip down the memory lanes of previous trips, in the shadow of the pyramids of Giza. And I have a photo I can blackmail Jim with! And, Hanafy still doesn't know. All of that human conniving still doesn't mar the majesty of the pharaoh's egomaniacal edifices.
Later we went to visit the Cairo offices of Soliya. It was fun to meet folks I knew from online. A frequent subject is about stereotypes on both sides of the US-West/Muslim Middle East divide. They asked me what I would tell those at home was my most shattered stereotype, what was I most surprised about? Since I have had no time for reflection since I began traveling, I may be able to answer the question later, but actually, I've been surprised that it feels so normal here. Cairo is utterly exotic -- teeming with layers of past and present, east and west, rich and poor, urban and rural all in the same block. But it all coexists, and it seems most things fly. Since my thesis paintings were about conflating time and culture -- any snapshot of Cairo would fit that conceptual constraint. It could be a challenging city to live in because it is so chaotic and huge. The Middle East is Oriental, but not unfamiliar to me in the way other parts of Asia are. Their food ingredients are Mediterranean, our cultures share the same roots. We are them, they are us.
By the way, Hanafy's advice to us regarding of the shopkeepers at Khan al Khalili was to be sure to negotiate. They are not bad people, just clever at business, he said.
Jim and I are staying in tonight, we need to veg.
The structures completely overwhelm the crass commercialism on the ground. Our driver/guide Hanafy warned us to not engage with any of the vendors we saw. He said they were very bad, very sneaky and very stupid people. We can testify they are good at what they do, though. We were trying to follow Hanafy's advice, by saying "laa" (no) and walking on. They would come at us, outstretch their hand and say welcome. What were we going to do? Ignore them? But, if you even pause, they've got you. When they learned we are Americans -- see already, hooks into us ...they complimented the USA soccer team's amazing streak, and Jim discussed soccer with them, or they praised Obama. Since we are SO happy and relieved that Obama is president, we responded. A vendor put packets in each of our hands, we protested, he said it was free, souvenirs for Obama. Then he ripped the package open and put a handkerchief and woven cord around Jim's head and posed with him for a picture, and since he looked ridiculous, I obliged. Then he wanted money. OK, we thought, we'll comply...Jim pulled out a bunch of bills he wanted to get rid of, the guy (who said his name was Mustafa) sneered at the amount --asking "do you know how much that is in American money?" (He knew we knew it was about 50 cents). So, he shook us down for about 20 Egyptian Pounds, which is $3.56. Before that, we'd been taken and didn't even realize it -- a uniformed guard stepped on the security rope (meant to keep tourists OFF the ruins) in front of the pyramid and told us we climb on the rock and have a picture -- he snapped one of us together. Jim gave him a couple of bucks, about 11 Egyptian Pounds. We agreed we wouldn't tell Hanafy about these transgressions, but we weren't willing to shake anymore hands, or trade soccer/Obama high-fives. Hanafy told us of another of his American customers who took a very long time to return to the car at the nine pyramid panorama photo spot. When he finally returned, he wanted to leave the area and not see anything more, and wouldn't say why. An hour later, Hanafy got the story out of him, how a guy approached him to show him some relics he had uncovered in a nearby tomb, swore him to secrecy and fleeced him for $100 with the highly effective combination of pleading poverty and ridiculing him for being rich. Hanafy was dismayed his customer hadn't told him right away, because he could have retrieved the money and reported the scammer to the police. In our case, it was an opportunity to enumerate other vacation scams in rank order -- the first being Jim's loss of his Rolex watch to the guy who jumped him in Buenos Aires -- that was actually violent crime, then my $250 pair of $12 sandals in Sevilla when the gypsies lifted my wallet out of my open bag while I was in the swoon of trying on a treasure trove of shoes, then the $100 lunch on Madison Avenue in NY one summer, in one of those restaurants that has no prices on the menu -- but how expensive could a plate of pasta with tomatoes, basil and mozzarella and an ice tea each be? You got it. So, for 30 EP, we got a trip down the memory lanes of previous trips, in the shadow of the pyramids of Giza. And I have a photo I can blackmail Jim with! And, Hanafy still doesn't know. All of that human conniving still doesn't mar the majesty of the pharaoh's egomaniacal edifices.
Later we went to visit the Cairo offices of Soliya. It was fun to meet folks I knew from online. A frequent subject is about stereotypes on both sides of the US-West/Muslim Middle East divide. They asked me what I would tell those at home was my most shattered stereotype, what was I most surprised about? Since I have had no time for reflection since I began traveling, I may be able to answer the question later, but actually, I've been surprised that it feels so normal here. Cairo is utterly exotic -- teeming with layers of past and present, east and west, rich and poor, urban and rural all in the same block. But it all coexists, and it seems most things fly. Since my thesis paintings were about conflating time and culture -- any snapshot of Cairo would fit that conceptual constraint. It could be a challenging city to live in because it is so chaotic and huge. The Middle East is Oriental, but not unfamiliar to me in the way other parts of Asia are. Their food ingredients are Mediterranean, our cultures share the same roots. We are them, they are us.
By the way, Hanafy's advice to us regarding of the shopkeepers at Khan al Khalili was to be sure to negotiate. They are not bad people, just clever at business, he said.
Jim and I are staying in tonight, we need to veg.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Khan al Khalili
There was a stiff breeze today which made the heat much more bearable, but stirred up our allergies. Jim got an itching attack, and for less than $2 bought a steroidal cream, which would have required a prescription at home, to address it. My eyes were burning and nose running.
When we landed in Egypt, they scanned us with a thermometer to check our temperature, screening for swine flu. I haven't seen any news, and am wondering if it's still an issue. It is here, at the Paris airport and in Lebanon - with signs all around directing one to a doctor if within 7 days they get sick.
We took a taxi to Bab al Nasr -- an old gate entering the city from about 1000 BCE. I have my flash cards from Islamic art history classes, and the gate and some of the old mosques are in my pile. It is easy to travel by taxi here, and cheap. We get directions written in Arabic from the hotel desk, and ask how much we should pay, then negotiate with the driver before we get in the cab. We walked through the big gate, with unbelievable hammered metal doors -- impressive in their relief, then through Islamic Cairo to Khan al Khalili, a huge old multi-storied labyrinth of a bazaar. Navigating it was like playing the kids' game Chutes and Ladders. We were more impressed with this market than the one in Istanbul, which is itself spectacular. We were in search of an old restaurant El Fishawy, which everyone knew how to direct us to, but we meandered so extensively, we would have never been able to retrace our steps. There are touts for each store, but they are good-natured and not as intrusive as the ones in Istanbul. We had to go down a steep flight of stone steps, with the last step being very narrow. At the bottom was an open shop, one step to the right. If you missed that last steep step, you'd end up sprawled in the middle of the shop. Cairenes are jovial and fun to play with. I told the shopkeeper at the base of the stairs that he made the step narrow on purpose to snare customers into his store. It took him a moment to get what I was saying, but he loved it. They are always teasing us.
Mustafa has included his friends in our meetings. Tonight we met his friend Moatiz (not sure of spelling) at a Syrian restaurant for dinner. Tomorrow we go to Giza to the pyramids, and later I hope to go to the Soliya office and meet more of the people I know. Maybe we can fit in the Egyptian Museum too. These 5 days are going by too fast, we leave for Luxor on 30 June.
We were explaining how Americans drive to Mustafa and Moatiz - in straight lines following laws. Cairo traffic is an order of magnitude more chaotic than Beirut's. Throw pedestrians in there, choosing to walk whenever they want, across masses of traffic in no lanes. It is a free-for-all, including wrong way drivers sometimes working their way upstream as well. Here the horn honking is much more strident -- they mean business, not like the friendly warnings of the Beirutis.
Jim and I stopped at the Cairo Marriott, we had heard they had an oasis of a garden. We walked into the huge lobby, trying to figure out how to work our way out to the garden in the interior of the complex. We gave up quickly, turned off by the sterile mass produced "luxury" hotel environment. There's something about the canned, frigid, perfumed air that makes me want to escape. We decided we'd rather sit on the shady planted terrace of our hotel, chatting with the other residents. Tomorrow to the pyramids, inshallah.
When we landed in Egypt, they scanned us with a thermometer to check our temperature, screening for swine flu. I haven't seen any news, and am wondering if it's still an issue. It is here, at the Paris airport and in Lebanon - with signs all around directing one to a doctor if within 7 days they get sick.
We took a taxi to Bab al Nasr -- an old gate entering the city from about 1000 BCE. I have my flash cards from Islamic art history classes, and the gate and some of the old mosques are in my pile. It is easy to travel by taxi here, and cheap. We get directions written in Arabic from the hotel desk, and ask how much we should pay, then negotiate with the driver before we get in the cab. We walked through the big gate, with unbelievable hammered metal doors -- impressive in their relief, then through Islamic Cairo to Khan al Khalili, a huge old multi-storied labyrinth of a bazaar. Navigating it was like playing the kids' game Chutes and Ladders. We were more impressed with this market than the one in Istanbul, which is itself spectacular. We were in search of an old restaurant El Fishawy, which everyone knew how to direct us to, but we meandered so extensively, we would have never been able to retrace our steps. There are touts for each store, but they are good-natured and not as intrusive as the ones in Istanbul. We had to go down a steep flight of stone steps, with the last step being very narrow. At the bottom was an open shop, one step to the right. If you missed that last steep step, you'd end up sprawled in the middle of the shop. Cairenes are jovial and fun to play with. I told the shopkeeper at the base of the stairs that he made the step narrow on purpose to snare customers into his store. It took him a moment to get what I was saying, but he loved it. They are always teasing us.
Mustafa has included his friends in our meetings. Tonight we met his friend Moatiz (not sure of spelling) at a Syrian restaurant for dinner. Tomorrow we go to Giza to the pyramids, and later I hope to go to the Soliya office and meet more of the people I know. Maybe we can fit in the Egyptian Museum too. These 5 days are going by too fast, we leave for Luxor on 30 June.
We were explaining how Americans drive to Mustafa and Moatiz - in straight lines following laws. Cairo traffic is an order of magnitude more chaotic than Beirut's. Throw pedestrians in there, choosing to walk whenever they want, across masses of traffic in no lanes. It is a free-for-all, including wrong way drivers sometimes working their way upstream as well. Here the horn honking is much more strident -- they mean business, not like the friendly warnings of the Beirutis.
Jim and I stopped at the Cairo Marriott, we had heard they had an oasis of a garden. We walked into the huge lobby, trying to figure out how to work our way out to the garden in the interior of the complex. We gave up quickly, turned off by the sterile mass produced "luxury" hotel environment. There's something about the canned, frigid, perfumed air that makes me want to escape. We decided we'd rather sit on the shady planted terrace of our hotel, chatting with the other residents. Tomorrow to the pyramids, inshallah.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Meeting Mustafa
It was wonderful to finally meet Mustafa. He and I co-facilitated our Soliya group last semester and had many long chats. He had arranged for us to join this walking tour, led by an Egyptian tourist agency that creates weekend adventures for Cairenes. They call themselves Holiday Tours, and next weekend they are hiking Mt. Catherine, Egypt's highest peak, to get in shape for a multi-national trip to Mt. Kilimanjaro in the fall. We were the only foreigners on this walking tour, and everyone was under 30. It was so fun. They were all so friendly, and one woman said she was impressed that we Americans joined the tour with Egyptians, rather than being in a tourist bubble. Well, that is exactly why we came to Cairo at this time. I have my friendships with young Cairenes from Soliya, and I wanted to come see them and experience their city their way.
Jim and I love the Hotel Longchamps in Zamalek. It has joined the list of our favorites. The rooms are spacious and peacefully contemporary. The bathroom is very nice. It is on several floors of a non-descript building, beginning at the 5th floor. The elevator is creaky, and the lobby of the building on the street isn't too promising. But, arriving in the vestibule of the 5th floor, there are spacious public rooms, a very attractive dining room and two big terraces on both sides of the building. It is quiet and comfortable, and intimate. The director of the hotel is a German Egyptian woman, and this place is run with German fastidiousness. A lovely breakfast is part of the deal. The young adults on the walking tour were also impressed that we were staying here rather than at the Marriott or some other big chain -- which would feel to us like we were on a business trip.
We met Mustafa at the oldest mosque in Africa, Mosque of Amr ibn al-Aas. It has been reconstructed, but remains grandly simple. A huge hypostyle space is hung with modest blown glass lamps (as opposed to huge chandeliers that are often found in mosques). I was suitably color coordinated with my headscarf. When we went back in later with the group, the non-covered women (including me) had to wear big green "monk's" robes with hoods. There was a funeral ceremony in one part of the mosque, with a coffin on display. Mustafa's friend Ahmed told me that the body goes directly into the ground without the coffin, the idea being similar to returning dust to dust. Our Egyptologist guide, Katherine, is Coptic Christian. A good number of the young women, but not all, were covered, wearing the hijab. To wear the hijab is a personal choice,and it seems that all are relaxed about one's choice. At 1pm many, but not all, of the Muslim members of the group walked back to the mosque to Friday services. We ate lunch and they rejoined us an hour later. In this small area of Old Cairo, there are several Christian churches of note, a synagogue and the mosque. It is lovely to see it all together. The Greek church of St. George has an intriguing cemetery. Jim and Ahmed had to come retrieve me, my camera and I were roaming deep into the streets of mausolea, some of which I am sure will show up in paintings -- maybe juxtaposed with those from La Recoleta in Buenos Aires.
As Matthew Broderick said in Biloxi Blues, it is "hot, Africa hot" here, mid 90s, going to 100 in the next few days. On 30 June we leave for Luxor, which is supposed to be about 110 degrees when we are there. I'm just ignoring how hot I am, and trying to stay in the shadows, as they refer to shade.
It was a perfect first day, but isn't over yet. They consider 5pm just half day. Mustafa and Ahmed are meeting us again at about 9:30 tonight. I should probably grab a nap. The pace of today is as brutal as my schedule in Beirut. I need to go on vacation, and slow down!
Jim and I love the Hotel Longchamps in Zamalek. It has joined the list of our favorites. The rooms are spacious and peacefully contemporary. The bathroom is very nice. It is on several floors of a non-descript building, beginning at the 5th floor. The elevator is creaky, and the lobby of the building on the street isn't too promising. But, arriving in the vestibule of the 5th floor, there are spacious public rooms, a very attractive dining room and two big terraces on both sides of the building. It is quiet and comfortable, and intimate. The director of the hotel is a German Egyptian woman, and this place is run with German fastidiousness. A lovely breakfast is part of the deal. The young adults on the walking tour were also impressed that we were staying here rather than at the Marriott or some other big chain -- which would feel to us like we were on a business trip.
We met Mustafa at the oldest mosque in Africa, Mosque of Amr ibn al-Aas. It has been reconstructed, but remains grandly simple. A huge hypostyle space is hung with modest blown glass lamps (as opposed to huge chandeliers that are often found in mosques). I was suitably color coordinated with my headscarf. When we went back in later with the group, the non-covered women (including me) had to wear big green "monk's" robes with hoods. There was a funeral ceremony in one part of the mosque, with a coffin on display. Mustafa's friend Ahmed told me that the body goes directly into the ground without the coffin, the idea being similar to returning dust to dust. Our Egyptologist guide, Katherine, is Coptic Christian. A good number of the young women, but not all, were covered, wearing the hijab. To wear the hijab is a personal choice,and it seems that all are relaxed about one's choice. At 1pm many, but not all, of the Muslim members of the group walked back to the mosque to Friday services. We ate lunch and they rejoined us an hour later. In this small area of Old Cairo, there are several Christian churches of note, a synagogue and the mosque. It is lovely to see it all together. The Greek church of St. George has an intriguing cemetery. Jim and Ahmed had to come retrieve me, my camera and I were roaming deep into the streets of mausolea, some of which I am sure will show up in paintings -- maybe juxtaposed with those from La Recoleta in Buenos Aires.
As Matthew Broderick said in Biloxi Blues, it is "hot, Africa hot" here, mid 90s, going to 100 in the next few days. On 30 June we leave for Luxor, which is supposed to be about 110 degrees when we are there. I'm just ignoring how hot I am, and trying to stay in the shadows, as they refer to shade.
It was a perfect first day, but isn't over yet. They consider 5pm just half day. Mustafa and Ahmed are meeting us again at about 9:30 tonight. I should probably grab a nap. The pace of today is as brutal as my schedule in Beirut. I need to go on vacation, and slow down!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
In the Middle of the Nile
Time telescopes in such a strange way. I am now in Cairo. We had our BE'er goodbye dinner last night at the Gemmayze Cafe, an old Parisien 1930's style place in Beirut -- it reminded me of a Buenos Aires tango hall. It was bitter sweet to say goodbye to the group -- we all got so close with our shared adventure. One member's job is to organize a Beirut Exchange online group. My job is to organize our reunion in 2-5 years, insha'Allah. Our last day of conference meetings was full, as usual. We met with a member of a party/group that the our government shuns -- the one that controls the Gaza Strip. Again, I have to say, the meetings with the higher ups of these popular organizations have been open exchanges. The people are reasonable, intelligent, and their positions are coherent. I don't know how much is lip service, but Obama's rapprochement to the Arab world seems to have made a big difference - at least in willingness to engage. Many of the people we talk to are hopeful, but not certain, of how much change he can make. Bush Senior was respected in this part of the world, not so his son.
We also went to see a Shi'a religious leader, whose name is on our government's same list. Apparently our translator missed a lot, but our host sounded way too authoritarian to me. I wouldn't want to be told to live under the rules he might enforce. Nicholas wasn't expecting that sort of posture from him, and wondered whether his ideology was veering right. This particular revered figure is a keen entrepreneur. He has a chain of theme hotels and restaurants that replicate old Arab villages, in London, Beirut, Doha and somewhere in Saudi Arabia. They are attractive, but the one in Beirut isn't located very conveniently for tourists. They video taped our meeting. The waiter at dinner recognized Safiyya, saying he had seen her on TV. The security at the ayatolla's compound was tight. Also, we had to don abayas, we each had our own head scarves, but our robes were black and fully covering. The women entered one side of a small gate house, the men the other. There was a pass through window between. A woman searched each of us, in a manner that Martha called a grope. Since, I've never actually been searched before, I didn't realize it was unacceptably invasive. We decided our screener probably wasn't trained in the TSA art of patting people down. Safiyya who wears the hijab was the only one dressed suitably to attend the meeting. She's beautiful, so I'm not surprised the camera followed her. During our group picture, I was behind someone, which is OK with me, since there is no percentage in being seen in a photo that might land me on the no fly list.
Middle Eastern hospitality is renowned. Every meeting we attended on someone's turf (rather than in our meeting room) we were given various things to drink and eat -- usually served by domestics. I don't know which suitcase my notes are in, so I can't tell you who we met, he was a scholar of Islamic jurisprudence. We sat in his salon -- a long room with 3 chandeliers and a dining table at one end. The apartments we've visited are people my age or older, and their decor is very formal, lots of velvet covered French chairs and love seats. Like in Miami, the floors in upscale apartments are usually polished marble, generally strewn with beautiful rugs. I think this apartment occupied the entire floor of the building. They served us juices and fresh dates, cherries and mulberries that they had just brought back from the country. There are wonderful varieties of baklava in Liban -- which are often proffered, as well as cookies and chocolate. I usually chose to walk the stairs in Lebanon, both because I wanted the exercise, and because the power goes out a lot. We all had to walk down from this luxe apartment, because the power was out and there was no elevator for the moment.
I really do like the Arabs. If you look them in the eye, smile and try to speak their language, they are so warm. It is interesting to watch other tourists. At the last hotel, a horrible English couple came down to the lobby just at 10am when breakfast ends. I was replenishing my coffee, and the staff had just carried the food off the buffet table into the kitchen. The guests were unpleasant, loudly complaining that it was 2 minutes to 10, and why was the breakfast gone? I was standing next to Tania (the proprietress) who was sort of shocked, and I said to her it was just about 10. I walked away and the couple said to me, "thanks for the help". I told them they could have asked nicely for breakfast. Tania asked me what I thought she should do. I suggested she just give them breakfast, which she did. Some of our group arrived for breakfast 10 or 15 minutes late some mornings -- they were out clubbing and had a tough time getting out of bed. They were apologetic and sweet and Tania gave them breakfast with a smile. Another morning the horrible couple asked to borrow my guide book, I walked to my room and got it for them. They were pleasant enough to me, but when they checked out, Tania said they were arguing over the 500 LL she didn't have in coins to give them. That is 33 cents. Tania took it out of the tip jar to give to them. Nasty.
I was chatting with the desk clerk who was teaching me Arabic this evening in the hotel in Cairo. A guest from Jacksonville, Fla. was talking to the desk clerk like he was a half-wit, although he obviously spoke good English in his conversation with me. Oh well, at least that American has and uses a passport! These little hotels are so rich with personalities. Tomorrow will be our first breakfast in this new place -- we'll see who we meet.
Tomorrow morning are going on a walking tour of old Cairo that my friend Mustafa reserved for us. I look forward to meeting him in person. He is 26 and was my co-facilitator on our Soliya sessions. We had many a fun chat on Skype and I am fond of him. I will also go to the Soliya offices here in Cairo next week. Friday and Saturday are the weekend days.
I'm waiting for Jim to arrive from the airport. I got up early this morning to fly to Cairo, checked into my hotel and slept all afternoon! We are staying in Zamalek, which is an island in the middle of the Nile. It reminds me of Park Slope, Brooklyn, but not as charming, nor clean. Way more exotic though.
We also went to see a Shi'a religious leader, whose name is on our government's same list. Apparently our translator missed a lot, but our host sounded way too authoritarian to me. I wouldn't want to be told to live under the rules he might enforce. Nicholas wasn't expecting that sort of posture from him, and wondered whether his ideology was veering right. This particular revered figure is a keen entrepreneur. He has a chain of theme hotels and restaurants that replicate old Arab villages, in London, Beirut, Doha and somewhere in Saudi Arabia. They are attractive, but the one in Beirut isn't located very conveniently for tourists. They video taped our meeting. The waiter at dinner recognized Safiyya, saying he had seen her on TV. The security at the ayatolla's compound was tight. Also, we had to don abayas, we each had our own head scarves, but our robes were black and fully covering. The women entered one side of a small gate house, the men the other. There was a pass through window between. A woman searched each of us, in a manner that Martha called a grope. Since, I've never actually been searched before, I didn't realize it was unacceptably invasive. We decided our screener probably wasn't trained in the TSA art of patting people down. Safiyya who wears the hijab was the only one dressed suitably to attend the meeting. She's beautiful, so I'm not surprised the camera followed her. During our group picture, I was behind someone, which is OK with me, since there is no percentage in being seen in a photo that might land me on the no fly list.
Middle Eastern hospitality is renowned. Every meeting we attended on someone's turf (rather than in our meeting room) we were given various things to drink and eat -- usually served by domestics. I don't know which suitcase my notes are in, so I can't tell you who we met, he was a scholar of Islamic jurisprudence. We sat in his salon -- a long room with 3 chandeliers and a dining table at one end. The apartments we've visited are people my age or older, and their decor is very formal, lots of velvet covered French chairs and love seats. Like in Miami, the floors in upscale apartments are usually polished marble, generally strewn with beautiful rugs. I think this apartment occupied the entire floor of the building. They served us juices and fresh dates, cherries and mulberries that they had just brought back from the country. There are wonderful varieties of baklava in Liban -- which are often proffered, as well as cookies and chocolate. I usually chose to walk the stairs in Lebanon, both because I wanted the exercise, and because the power goes out a lot. We all had to walk down from this luxe apartment, because the power was out and there was no elevator for the moment.
I really do like the Arabs. If you look them in the eye, smile and try to speak their language, they are so warm. It is interesting to watch other tourists. At the last hotel, a horrible English couple came down to the lobby just at 10am when breakfast ends. I was replenishing my coffee, and the staff had just carried the food off the buffet table into the kitchen. The guests were unpleasant, loudly complaining that it was 2 minutes to 10, and why was the breakfast gone? I was standing next to Tania (the proprietress) who was sort of shocked, and I said to her it was just about 10. I walked away and the couple said to me, "thanks for the help". I told them they could have asked nicely for breakfast. Tania asked me what I thought she should do. I suggested she just give them breakfast, which she did. Some of our group arrived for breakfast 10 or 15 minutes late some mornings -- they were out clubbing and had a tough time getting out of bed. They were apologetic and sweet and Tania gave them breakfast with a smile. Another morning the horrible couple asked to borrow my guide book, I walked to my room and got it for them. They were pleasant enough to me, but when they checked out, Tania said they were arguing over the 500 LL she didn't have in coins to give them. That is 33 cents. Tania took it out of the tip jar to give to them. Nasty.
I was chatting with the desk clerk who was teaching me Arabic this evening in the hotel in Cairo. A guest from Jacksonville, Fla. was talking to the desk clerk like he was a half-wit, although he obviously spoke good English in his conversation with me. Oh well, at least that American has and uses a passport! These little hotels are so rich with personalities. Tomorrow will be our first breakfast in this new place -- we'll see who we meet.
Tomorrow morning are going on a walking tour of old Cairo that my friend Mustafa reserved for us. I look forward to meeting him in person. He is 26 and was my co-facilitator on our Soliya sessions. We had many a fun chat on Skype and I am fond of him. I will also go to the Soliya offices here in Cairo next week. Friday and Saturday are the weekend days.
I'm waiting for Jim to arrive from the airport. I got up early this morning to fly to Cairo, checked into my hotel and slept all afternoon! We are staying in Zamalek, which is an island in the middle of the Nile. It reminds me of Park Slope, Brooklyn, but not as charming, nor clean. Way more exotic though.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Party Lines
A postscript on our trip to the Crusader's castle in Tripoli. I forgot to include this impression. As we walked into the ruins of the castle we were surrounded by dueling calls to prayer (adhan) from the many mosques surrounding us. I love the sound, which we also heard in Turkey, of the muezzin's reverberating lyrical song echoing off the hillsides, several of them at once, not exactly in sync. I was amused at the irony of the live calls wafting through the Crusader's ruins.
All of us BE'rs are getting tired. We have had two to three meetings with religious, political, media or academic figures each day. Some of them involve climbing on and off buses, and frequently grabbing food on the fly. I can tell you -- Lebanese "fast food", sandwiches and the like tastes great! Take the shawarma for example. The cook takes big soft pita-type bread, adds fresh lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and french fries, tops it with hot grilled chicken and a liberal squirt of aioli, rolls it up and wraps it in paper. As he hands it to me he collects 4,000 LL, or $2.66, and I have a fabulous lunch. Day after day of this, however, no matter how interesting the meetings are, is becoming wearing. Martha had a private beginning Arabic lesson this morning. Tomorrow is our last day, and we'll be going strong until the end. Nicholas has created an incredible forum for us to experience a broad cross-section of the Lebanese, and by extension, Middle Eastern political and religious landscape. I'm ready, however, to stop filling my brain with all of this information and chew on it for awhile. I am left with more questions than answers, partly because I don't have background to put all I've heard in accurate context, and also because there are not answers for a lot of my questions.
This morning we met with the Phalange party, affiliated with 14 March Alliance. The key sects in Lebanon are Christians, Sunni, Shi'a (Hezbollah), and Druze. The Phalange party is pro-Western Christian. We met with Sami Gemayel, a newly elected member of Parliament (MP), and one of the long time political families. He is very well spoken, reasonable and clear in his positions. Last night we traveled up the mountain overlooking Beirut to the fortress compound of another Christian (14 Mar) political clan, the Geageas. We met with Sethrida Geagea, a 42 year old "fashion model" of an MP of the Lebanese Forces Party. She has legitimate political chops, but also had a phalanx of young female hangers on -- members of the Lebanese Forces Student Association, all wearing her uniform of revealing clothes and extremely high heels. When her husband was in jail for 12 years, she held the party together. You can Google her and see what I mean. We were subject to tight security -- needing to take our belts off to get through the security screen. Frequently we must leave our cameras and cell phones on the bus, but here we couldn't even take in pens to write with.
The mountaintop probably was 2000+ feet above the bay. It was much cooler up there and the view was breathtaking. About two thirds of the way up we passed Harissa-Our Lady of Lebanon, a huge statue of the Virgin and a big church. It overlooks the bay of Jounieh. On our way down, at 10pm at night, we toured the statue which is open until midnight. A funicular goes from the sea up to the shrine during the daylight hours. One could walk the circular ramp all the way to the statue which was probably two stories tall. It provided a 360 degree view of the area. It wasn't as kitschy as many of these tourist spots are, but it had a huge and blindingly bright flat screen digital billboard. I felt really sorry for the neighbors up on the mountain, with a gorgeous view of city lights down on the sea, whose interior walls flashed with the promotional messages of the tourist site. It doesn't seem that Beirut has a lot of zoning laws.
The issues here in Lebanon and the Middle East are very challenging. With the exception of the fat fanatic in Tripoli, however, everyone from all sides has been reasonable, forthcoming, educated and earnest. It has been easy to see why the various parties believe what they do, and how difficult it is to resolve the issues.
All of us BE'rs are getting tired. We have had two to three meetings with religious, political, media or academic figures each day. Some of them involve climbing on and off buses, and frequently grabbing food on the fly. I can tell you -- Lebanese "fast food", sandwiches and the like tastes great! Take the shawarma for example. The cook takes big soft pita-type bread, adds fresh lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and french fries, tops it with hot grilled chicken and a liberal squirt of aioli, rolls it up and wraps it in paper. As he hands it to me he collects 4,000 LL, or $2.66, and I have a fabulous lunch. Day after day of this, however, no matter how interesting the meetings are, is becoming wearing. Martha had a private beginning Arabic lesson this morning. Tomorrow is our last day, and we'll be going strong until the end. Nicholas has created an incredible forum for us to experience a broad cross-section of the Lebanese, and by extension, Middle Eastern political and religious landscape. I'm ready, however, to stop filling my brain with all of this information and chew on it for awhile. I am left with more questions than answers, partly because I don't have background to put all I've heard in accurate context, and also because there are not answers for a lot of my questions.
This morning we met with the Phalange party, affiliated with 14 March Alliance. The key sects in Lebanon are Christians, Sunni, Shi'a (Hezbollah), and Druze. The Phalange party is pro-Western Christian. We met with Sami Gemayel, a newly elected member of Parliament (MP), and one of the long time political families. He is very well spoken, reasonable and clear in his positions. Last night we traveled up the mountain overlooking Beirut to the fortress compound of another Christian (14 Mar) political clan, the Geageas. We met with Sethrida Geagea, a 42 year old "fashion model" of an MP of the Lebanese Forces Party. She has legitimate political chops, but also had a phalanx of young female hangers on -- members of the Lebanese Forces Student Association, all wearing her uniform of revealing clothes and extremely high heels. When her husband was in jail for 12 years, she held the party together. You can Google her and see what I mean. We were subject to tight security -- needing to take our belts off to get through the security screen. Frequently we must leave our cameras and cell phones on the bus, but here we couldn't even take in pens to write with.
The mountaintop probably was 2000+ feet above the bay. It was much cooler up there and the view was breathtaking. About two thirds of the way up we passed Harissa-Our Lady of Lebanon, a huge statue of the Virgin and a big church. It overlooks the bay of Jounieh. On our way down, at 10pm at night, we toured the statue which is open until midnight. A funicular goes from the sea up to the shrine during the daylight hours. One could walk the circular ramp all the way to the statue which was probably two stories tall. It provided a 360 degree view of the area. It wasn't as kitschy as many of these tourist spots are, but it had a huge and blindingly bright flat screen digital billboard. I felt really sorry for the neighbors up on the mountain, with a gorgeous view of city lights down on the sea, whose interior walls flashed with the promotional messages of the tourist site. It doesn't seem that Beirut has a lot of zoning laws.
The issues here in Lebanon and the Middle East are very challenging. With the exception of the fat fanatic in Tripoli, however, everyone from all sides has been reasonable, forthcoming, educated and earnest. It has been easy to see why the various parties believe what they do, and how difficult it is to resolve the issues.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Robert Fisk on Iran
The chronology of this blog is mixed up. With only snatches of time to write, and sporadic internet availability, my notes are folding back on each other. So, please forgive any repeats -- or worse, unexplained gaps.
On Friday last, (already a digression...I find that when I'm around a lot of non-native English speakers I start constructing my sentences like them -- it's not an affectation, but if it sneaks out, I may not catch it)...we had lunch with Robert Fisk, a British writer and journalist who has long lived in Beirut. Here are thoughts of his I found interesting, since he said ALL of his comments were on the record. He had just returned from Iran and the million strong demonstration in favor of Mousavi. His analysis is that Ahmadinejad's personality is the problem of the moment. Iranians are proud people who call Ahmadinejad "the child". Fisk feels they are repulsed by the words of a lunatic and crackpot who makes them look stupid, backward and uneducated. (sound familiar?). Ahmadinejad does have a PhD -- in traffic management, and apparently the choked traffic of Tehran could be an example his intellectual knowledge and prowess.
Fisk's calls the New York Times Middle Eastern coverage incomprehensible. He particularly criticized Thomas Friedman, but I wouldn't rule out professional jealousy there. He said that the problem with US media is that they try to cover an issue 50/50 and write in cliches and from fear, when in Fisk's opinion, media should be biased/neutral on the side of those who suffer.
One of the subversive tactics the demonstrators are using is to write "where is my vote?" on Iranian currency . During the 1979 revolution against the Shah they burned the Shah's face off the bills.
Fisk also said that Hezbollah is not on the streets in the Tehran demonstrations -- rather, that idea is just a good story which is all over the US press. Hezbollah is a very disciplined military outfit that is trained in Tehran, but not part of the internal Iranian issues. I am reading my autographed copy of Pity the Nation by Robert Fisk about Lebanon's experience. Lebanon is a flash point and somewhat of a microcosm of the Middle Eastern cauldron.
That's all for now. If you are interested in what is going on in the Middle East, we have been recommended to check Al Jazeera English http://english.aljazeera.net/ You might also want to look at The Independent in the UK, for whom Robert Fisk writes.
Off to the races again -- I didn't make it to art places today -- the time flies so fast. I applied for a job online -- it will likely go nowhere, but was an exercise, and wrote this blog and now my free time is gone. The beginning Arabic class has dropped from an enrollment of 8 to 3.
Beirut, she beckons!
On Friday last, (already a digression...I find that when I'm around a lot of non-native English speakers I start constructing my sentences like them -- it's not an affectation, but if it sneaks out, I may not catch it)...we had lunch with Robert Fisk, a British writer and journalist who has long lived in Beirut. Here are thoughts of his I found interesting, since he said ALL of his comments were on the record. He had just returned from Iran and the million strong demonstration in favor of Mousavi. His analysis is that Ahmadinejad's personality is the problem of the moment. Iranians are proud people who call Ahmadinejad "the child". Fisk feels they are repulsed by the words of a lunatic and crackpot who makes them look stupid, backward and uneducated. (sound familiar?). Ahmadinejad does have a PhD -- in traffic management, and apparently the choked traffic of Tehran could be an example his intellectual knowledge and prowess.
Fisk's calls the New York Times Middle Eastern coverage incomprehensible. He particularly criticized Thomas Friedman, but I wouldn't rule out professional jealousy there. He said that the problem with US media is that they try to cover an issue 50/50 and write in cliches and from fear, when in Fisk's opinion, media should be biased/neutral on the side of those who suffer.
One of the subversive tactics the demonstrators are using is to write "where is my vote?" on Iranian currency . During the 1979 revolution against the Shah they burned the Shah's face off the bills.
Fisk also said that Hezbollah is not on the streets in the Tehran demonstrations -- rather, that idea is just a good story which is all over the US press. Hezbollah is a very disciplined military outfit that is trained in Tehran, but not part of the internal Iranian issues. I am reading my autographed copy of Pity the Nation by Robert Fisk about Lebanon's experience. Lebanon is a flash point and somewhat of a microcosm of the Middle Eastern cauldron.
That's all for now. If you are interested in what is going on in the Middle East, we have been recommended to check Al Jazeera English http://english.aljazeera.net/ You might also want to look at The Independent in the UK, for whom Robert Fisk writes.
Off to the races again -- I didn't make it to art places today -- the time flies so fast. I applied for a job online -- it will likely go nowhere, but was an exercise, and wrote this blog and now my free time is gone. The beginning Arabic class has dropped from an enrollment of 8 to 3.
Beirut, she beckons!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Extreme Sunday
What a bizarre day. I'm going to tell the story without names. Maybe Lebanon is making me paranoid, but I don't want my name linked with the characters we saw today. I'll give you the names in person if you are interested.
First we traveled north from Beirut and had lunch in the old port of Byblos, a gorgeous Phoenician city, possibly the longest continually inhabited city in the world. It reminded me a lot of Antalya on the Turkish Mediterranean. Lebanon is geographically gorgeous, the people are so gracious and hospitable, and I can't get over the freedom from lack of crime. Last night Olivia (a BE'er) set her purse down in a corner of a restaurant, and it was there with no problem a hour later. I left my camera at one of our meetings, they called us and dropped it by the hotel 1/2 later.
After Byblos, we traveled to Tripoli, situated in a breathtaking setting of steep hills rising from the sea. Our host has been condemned by EU and US governments. He was a big fat religious figure who harangued us in broken English for 2 hours -- twice. He is a leader of an
extremist sect of the religion that worries the Western world. One of our group, Safiyya from South Africa, is an adorable young follower of a denomination of said religion, who by choice covers herself. She couldn't be more gentle, modern, well educated and peaceful. She was as offended as the Westerners at the scary ideology we heard today. She said for the first time she really understood how, when exposed to such rubbish, we could associate her faith with the t-word. We suffered with our speaker and his sycophant students for 2 hours and were relieved to be out of there. He then led us on a walking tour through an exotic old souk and into a castle from the Crusades. Somehow, though, we ended up again in his offices sitting around a conference table, where we suffered for 2 more hours. He is an international figure, who has lived in and been expelled from the UK. Nicholas said it was all part of the comprehensive view we are getting of the region and its issues. Granted, but Nick nearly had a mutiny on his hands in the 2nd session. I was seriously thinking of feigning a fainting spell in that fetid room, to break the guy from his ranting monologue.
We got back to Beirut at 8pm, and the five of us women walked downtown for dinner. The oldest of the group, after me, is 26. What an unbelievable city. The Fete de la Musique, more than 40 music acts celebrating the solstice at outdoor venues, has everyone out on foot and in their cars. Downtown, which is a large pedestrian mall closed to cars has outdoor cafes on both sides. Many of them had flat panel TVs showing the Confederations Cup soccer games. Beirutis were out in force with their families, eating and smoking the narguile (hubble bubble) while cheering on the games. The cafe we chose unfortunately was showing the Egypt/USA match, so every time Carolina (my roommate from Brazil) heard cheering from the cafe next door, she had to jump up and go see her team advance against Italy.
Downtown tonight, probably about 10% of the women were wearing the hijab. Beirut is a crazy quilt of cultural juxtapositions, and they all mix amiably, except when they don't. The other 90% were dressed like they would be in Rome -- la bella figura -- as tight and skimpy as possible. Settling a restaurant tab is another mosaic. Beirut has two simultaneous currencies, the Lebanese Lira, also called Lebanese Pound, and the US Dollar. ATM machines dispense the currency of one's choice. There are 1,500 LL to $1. All receipts show both amounts and one can pay in any combination of the two.
Now, about the ice cream cone I had yesterday. I was walking in the Hamra district, near the American University of Beirut and passed a sidewalk gelateria. I bought a scoop of pistachio and one of mango ice cream -- imagine the colors -- and then they spooned pistachio nuts over the whole thing. I paid $2500 LL, which is $1.67. Heaven. I do hope I make it back to Lebanon one day. Insha Allah.
I dropped out of Arabic class a few days ago. The BE program allowed me no time to study and I was falling further and further behind. Also, I was unable to see any art. Some of the other BErs are also making the same decision. We are usually in seminars and presentations at least 8 hours per day. Tomorrow I'm on a quest to find more art, before we meet at 3pm and go until 10.
Ta ta.
First we traveled north from Beirut and had lunch in the old port of Byblos, a gorgeous Phoenician city, possibly the longest continually inhabited city in the world. It reminded me a lot of Antalya on the Turkish Mediterranean. Lebanon is geographically gorgeous, the people are so gracious and hospitable, and I can't get over the freedom from lack of crime. Last night Olivia (a BE'er) set her purse down in a corner of a restaurant, and it was there with no problem a hour later. I left my camera at one of our meetings, they called us and dropped it by the hotel 1/2 later.
After Byblos, we traveled to Tripoli, situated in a breathtaking setting of steep hills rising from the sea. Our host has been condemned by EU and US governments. He was a big fat religious figure who harangued us in broken English for 2 hours -- twice. He is a leader of an
extremist sect of the religion that worries the Western world. One of our group, Safiyya from South Africa, is an adorable young follower of a denomination of said religion, who by choice covers herself. She couldn't be more gentle, modern, well educated and peaceful. She was as offended as the Westerners at the scary ideology we heard today. She said for the first time she really understood how, when exposed to such rubbish, we could associate her faith with the t-word. We suffered with our speaker and his sycophant students for 2 hours and were relieved to be out of there. He then led us on a walking tour through an exotic old souk and into a castle from the Crusades. Somehow, though, we ended up again in his offices sitting around a conference table, where we suffered for 2 more hours. He is an international figure, who has lived in and been expelled from the UK. Nicholas said it was all part of the comprehensive view we are getting of the region and its issues. Granted, but Nick nearly had a mutiny on his hands in the 2nd session. I was seriously thinking of feigning a fainting spell in that fetid room, to break the guy from his ranting monologue.
We got back to Beirut at 8pm, and the five of us women walked downtown for dinner. The oldest of the group, after me, is 26. What an unbelievable city. The Fete de la Musique, more than 40 music acts celebrating the solstice at outdoor venues, has everyone out on foot and in their cars. Downtown, which is a large pedestrian mall closed to cars has outdoor cafes on both sides. Many of them had flat panel TVs showing the Confederations Cup soccer games. Beirutis were out in force with their families, eating and smoking the narguile (hubble bubble) while cheering on the games. The cafe we chose unfortunately was showing the Egypt/USA match, so every time Carolina (my roommate from Brazil) heard cheering from the cafe next door, she had to jump up and go see her team advance against Italy.
Downtown tonight, probably about 10% of the women were wearing the hijab. Beirut is a crazy quilt of cultural juxtapositions, and they all mix amiably, except when they don't. The other 90% were dressed like they would be in Rome -- la bella figura -- as tight and skimpy as possible. Settling a restaurant tab is another mosaic. Beirut has two simultaneous currencies, the Lebanese Lira, also called Lebanese Pound, and the US Dollar. ATM machines dispense the currency of one's choice. There are 1,500 LL to $1. All receipts show both amounts and one can pay in any combination of the two.
Now, about the ice cream cone I had yesterday. I was walking in the Hamra district, near the American University of Beirut and passed a sidewalk gelateria. I bought a scoop of pistachio and one of mango ice cream -- imagine the colors -- and then they spooned pistachio nuts over the whole thing. I paid $2500 LL, which is $1.67. Heaven. I do hope I make it back to Lebanon one day. Insha Allah.
I dropped out of Arabic class a few days ago. The BE program allowed me no time to study and I was falling further and further behind. Also, I was unable to see any art. Some of the other BErs are also making the same decision. We are usually in seminars and presentations at least 8 hours per day. Tomorrow I'm on a quest to find more art, before we meet at 3pm and go until 10.
Ta ta.
Friday, June 19, 2009
The Orange and Blue (and green and yellow)
I know that to maintain my audience, you need new posts regularly. I'm trying! I have been keeping notes, which get more cryptic as time passes) but don't have time to write everyday. Last Saturday night (this was written Wednesday, but I'm only posting it now, Friday -- maybe) we Beirut Exchangers (BErs) attended a reception in our honor. Guests included the US Ambassador Michele Sison, a career foreign service officer who has had many posts in the Middle East. The story here is that last Fourth of July (while Bush was still in office) she invited the diplomatic community and Lebanese officials to a party at the Embassy, which was catered by McDonalds. She wore a ten-gallon hat and chaps. When we Googled her background we decided she must have been tweaking the Lebanese, because she HAD to understand how her choices of food and attire would be received. Ambassador Sison is a vivacious woman with sleek straight dark hair who wore a bright orange print dress and orange shoes to our party. Prior to the election, wearing that color would have branded her a supporter of 8 March Alliance. Since the US Government backed 14 March Alliance, maybe she was just stirring the pot. During the election days, I was genially harassed for wearing orange. Unfortunately, it is a favorite color of mine -- often paired with its complement, blue -- which was the color of 14 March. Obviously, I'm limited to the contents of my suitcase, and my big purse, which is always with me is orange. Lebanese political parties all have colors and flags fly from many balconies and car antennae. The two main rivals, Saad Hariri (14 March), the son of assassinated former prime minister Rafiq Hariri, and General Michel Aoun (8 March, allied with Hezbollah) dueled with their huge multi-story banners sporting slogans and pictures of the candidates and hung from the roofs of buildings all over the city. One slogan would go up, and quickly the opposite party would parry with a clever response, playing on puns and popular culture. I don't know which side I would have voted for. Wikipedia characterizes one side as anti-Syrian (14 March), and the other as pro-Syrian. Based on things I've heard in this program, I don't think it is that simple at all.
I've written more, but must retype it -- cut and paste isn't working. I've gotta go now, so I'll post the rest later.
Love to all,
Ginney
I've written more, but must retype it -- cut and paste isn't working. I've gotta go now, so I'll post the rest later.
Love to all,
Ginney
Saturday, June 13, 2009
AM Cacophony
Lying in bed in the morning, I listen to the sounds of the city, buzzing and humming. The contrast from the quiet weekend is stunning. When I return to Beirut -- insha Allah, I will remember those three days of total quiet, which were like an early Sunday morning on Sixth Avenue in Manhattan. Beiruti's have a reputation as chaotic drivers. There are no rules and everyone taps their horn to alert the next guy that they are 1/2 inch away. Usually it is a short beep or two. Behind the closed curtains on the fourth floor I hear their individual "voices"...a wide register of tones, from deep to chirpy to choral to authoritative, bark out. The vehicles range from zipping mosquito scooters to growling trucks. It is easy to anthropomorphize this city.
Beirut's streets are clean but after years of war and non-stop reconstruction, it has dusty broken sidewalks, which remind me of Mitte in Berlin, where the deep ravages of war show in each section that hasn't yet been renewed.
The downtown has been reconstructed faithfully to its pre-war plan, with exceptional design and materials. The goal, this time around, was to make it better than before. The attractive result is Disneyesque, but it will probably grow into itself and look great in twenty years, if war can be avoided that long.
My Brazilian roommate, Carolina, says Beirut feels like Sao Paolo. It doesn't remind me of the Latin or Asian cities I've seen. It feels Middle Eastern, but with more verve and attitude than, say, Istanbul. It has an Arab and European vibe. I've heard that it is actually hard to learn Arabic here because everyone speaks back in French or English.
Beiruti's demonstrate a joie de vivre that contrasts with tanks in the street and lends its citizens a poignant gravitas. They are hardy and not easily intimidated. Rockets from unfriendly neighbors, even when the neighbors are fellow Lebanese, are not going to stop them -- hence the constant and rapid reconstruction.
I am doing my best to keep up with this blog. Until I reach Cairo, however, my posts may be brief. The Beirut Exchange program is richly dense and intense. We begin each day at 9am with Arabic classes. HARD! I'm struggling with basics, like figuring out how to organize my notes, because I have to write them left to right, while writing Arabic right to left. We have a lunch break and then seminar/lectures each afternoon and evening. Nicholas Noe, the organizer has incredible access to political, religious, educational and media figures in Lebanon. He keeps trying to find minutes that don't exist to add in additional voices. I am unlikely to learn much about the Beirut art scene -- those three dead days of the election would have been my chance.
The remarkable group of participants are highly informed on the region's issues. Ron, a fifty year old African American who owns and runs a business in South Africa and I are the old ones. There are two other Americans, one other South African, two young Brits, an Italian, a Canadian, two Germans, a Slovakian, a Norwegian, and a Brazilian. Ron and I both feel privileged to be around these young people who range in age from early 20s to mid 30s. Kai, the Norwegian is an Arabic teaching academic, and probably in his 40s. When I was in college as an young undergrad, my worries were about my boyfriends and my grades. While I'm sure those two things preoccupy these kids too, they know and want to be part of the conflicted world beyond the borders where they were born.
Last night we were at a reception and I met the U.S. Ambassador (Ambassadress, actually). Today, Sunday, we had a field trip to the Roman temple ruins at Baalback in the Beqaa Valley. More next time. I now have to sign off and go do my Arabic homework, with what remains of my energy.
Beirut's streets are clean but after years of war and non-stop reconstruction, it has dusty broken sidewalks, which remind me of Mitte in Berlin, where the deep ravages of war show in each section that hasn't yet been renewed.
The downtown has been reconstructed faithfully to its pre-war plan, with exceptional design and materials. The goal, this time around, was to make it better than before. The attractive result is Disneyesque, but it will probably grow into itself and look great in twenty years, if war can be avoided that long.
My Brazilian roommate, Carolina, says Beirut feels like Sao Paolo. It doesn't remind me of the Latin or Asian cities I've seen. It feels Middle Eastern, but with more verve and attitude than, say, Istanbul. It has an Arab and European vibe. I've heard that it is actually hard to learn Arabic here because everyone speaks back in French or English.
Beiruti's demonstrate a joie de vivre that contrasts with tanks in the street and lends its citizens a poignant gravitas. They are hardy and not easily intimidated. Rockets from unfriendly neighbors, even when the neighbors are fellow Lebanese, are not going to stop them -- hence the constant and rapid reconstruction.
I am doing my best to keep up with this blog. Until I reach Cairo, however, my posts may be brief. The Beirut Exchange program is richly dense and intense. We begin each day at 9am with Arabic classes. HARD! I'm struggling with basics, like figuring out how to organize my notes, because I have to write them left to right, while writing Arabic right to left. We have a lunch break and then seminar/lectures each afternoon and evening. Nicholas Noe, the organizer has incredible access to political, religious, educational and media figures in Lebanon. He keeps trying to find minutes that don't exist to add in additional voices. I am unlikely to learn much about the Beirut art scene -- those three dead days of the election would have been my chance.
The remarkable group of participants are highly informed on the region's issues. Ron, a fifty year old African American who owns and runs a business in South Africa and I are the old ones. There are two other Americans, one other South African, two young Brits, an Italian, a Canadian, two Germans, a Slovakian, a Norwegian, and a Brazilian. Ron and I both feel privileged to be around these young people who range in age from early 20s to mid 30s. Kai, the Norwegian is an Arabic teaching academic, and probably in his 40s. When I was in college as an young undergrad, my worries were about my boyfriends and my grades. While I'm sure those two things preoccupy these kids too, they know and want to be part of the conflicted world beyond the borders where they were born.
Last night we were at a reception and I met the U.S. Ambassador (Ambassadress, actually). Today, Sunday, we had a field trip to the Roman temple ruins at Baalback in the Beqaa Valley. More next time. I now have to sign off and go do my Arabic homework, with what remains of my energy.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
brb and Traveling Mercies
08 Jun
Emile and I walked to dinner on Monday night. Finally, the restaurants were open and the streets were teeming with traffic of all sorts. It was as lively as Campo dei Fiore in Rome on a summer night. Beirut is back!
Walking down the Rue Gouraud, the Mohammed al-Amin Mosque was lit up in front of us. The muezzin called the prayer. It was breathtaking, and my cropped view of the dramatically lit columnar minarets visually reminded me of the turrets of a Bavarian castle. I was thrilled to hear the call to prayer. A drawback of our hotel location deep in the Christian side of Beirut is that mosques are too far away. When I mention this to fellow non-Muslim travelers, many agree that they find prayer call poignantly compelling and deeply resonating.
Beirut is a web of connections and contradictions -- frequently strained, and shred with great frequency. Still, many of its layers of coexistence are as visible as the skeletal structures of old buildings that stand performing their functions despite the loss of their skins to fifteen years of civil war. Emile and I, who met 3 days ago in the freeze-frame of a shared hotel in a paused city, discovered an uncanny connection. This past Memorial Day weekend, my church hosted J. Phillip Newell, who is a scholar on Celtic spirituality. My absorption of his serene insights on the importance of being present to the moment calmed my pre-trip apprehensions. While I jumped at the opportunity to attend the Beirut Exchange, I still had to manage my anxiety at traveling to a chaotic locale. That morning, Newell's words released my worries. Should a calamity occur, I would strive to be present to it -- rather than succumb to fear and panic. It was comforting to have a plan of behavior. Emile asked me to repeat Philip Newell's name, and then told me he had met him on a plane from London to New York recently. We realized that we each had an autographed copy of Newell's new book called Christ of the Celts: The Healing of Creation. Small world.
Emile and I walked to dinner on Monday night. Finally, the restaurants were open and the streets were teeming with traffic of all sorts. It was as lively as Campo dei Fiore in Rome on a summer night. Beirut is back!
Walking down the Rue Gouraud, the Mohammed al-Amin Mosque was lit up in front of us. The muezzin called the prayer. It was breathtaking, and my cropped view of the dramatically lit columnar minarets visually reminded me of the turrets of a Bavarian castle. I was thrilled to hear the call to prayer. A drawback of our hotel location deep in the Christian side of Beirut is that mosques are too far away. When I mention this to fellow non-Muslim travelers, many agree that they find prayer call poignantly compelling and deeply resonating.
Beirut is a web of connections and contradictions -- frequently strained, and shred with great frequency. Still, many of its layers of coexistence are as visible as the skeletal structures of old buildings that stand performing their functions despite the loss of their skins to fifteen years of civil war. Emile and I, who met 3 days ago in the freeze-frame of a shared hotel in a paused city, discovered an uncanny connection. This past Memorial Day weekend, my church hosted J. Phillip Newell, who is a scholar on Celtic spirituality. My absorption of his serene insights on the importance of being present to the moment calmed my pre-trip apprehensions. While I jumped at the opportunity to attend the Beirut Exchange, I still had to manage my anxiety at traveling to a chaotic locale. That morning, Newell's words released my worries. Should a calamity occur, I would strive to be present to it -- rather than succumb to fear and panic. It was comforting to have a plan of behavior. Emile asked me to repeat Philip Newell's name, and then told me he had met him on a plane from London to New York recently. We realized that we each had an autographed copy of Newell's new book called Christ of the Celts: The Healing of Creation. Small world.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Waiting to Exhale
7-8 June 2009
They tell me it is a strange moment in Lebanon. Usually the streets are packed with cars and people. Yesterday, 7 June, election day, people were going about voting, but the streets were deserted, with the exception of extensive security, including armored tanks. All shops and most restaurants were closed. It was hard to know what to do. Walking around was safe, but I couldn’t even window shop, as roll-down corrugated metal doors negated the shop windows. At our little lobby “salon” during breakfast, we lingered and gossiped. Similar to what happens on flights, there is a unique, usually fleeting intimacy that arises between travelers sharing the same spaces. Having mused about what we talked about at our earlier meetings, we have the chance to ask deeper questions and learn more about each other. Technology allows us to carry albums worth of photos on flash drives, so we show each other our lives on the laptop at the breakfast table.
Ute, Emile and I enjoy verbal fencing. Emile loves to stir the pot, Ute is his straightwoman and I pick up the pieces. There is a kinship among repeat travelers to Lebanon. Commonly, most of the people they know can’t understand why they would desire to come here. One woman told her mother she was going to Brussels her first three-week trip to Beirut a year ago. She has returned twice since.
It took Smaranda, Lina, Ute and I two hours to walk a twenty-minute distance yesterday because we all had our cameras going—mostly shooting war-torn buildings because no one was around. We finally arrived at and entered the Mohammed al-Amin Mosque, a $40 million splendor erected by the former Prime Minister Rafiq Hariri. He was buried there after he was murdered in 2005. In front of the mosque is the Martyrs' Square, which has been divided into segments to prevent future large demonstrations. Ute and I then ate at one of the few places open, in the garden of Paul, a French café. We had exquisite slushy lemonade with fresh peppermint. I’ll be seeking out many more of those on this trip.
Today is still part of the strange moment. People are edgy waiting for the results of the election. The rumor at breakfast was that the March 14 party won. The concern is that skirmishes will break out between youth of competing sides. Ute said it is like soccer matches in Europe – the flag flying, horn honking and fistfights after a game. Shops are still closed, although this morning Emile, Ute and I went to the Armenian section, Bourdj-Hammoud. There were more people on the street there, and some shops were rolling up their shutters. My first shopping of the trip occurred -- some wonderful sandals made by the shopkeeper and a beaded bag. I’m going to take 2 weeks of Arabic lessons, but don’t speak any yet. Emile does, calling out to everyone “Habibi” (which means “dear or darling”, but can also be casual, like “hey guy”). He bargained for my purchases much more strenuously than I would have. We found a Juice Café and had a fruit cocktail. The shopkeeper made them with great attentiveness and artistry. We so thoroughly enjoyed his creation that he gave them to us free. Then came an interesting multicultural moment; Ute carries around lovely little heart-shaped glass pieces. She gave Emile and I each one this morning. They are little tokens of friendship, and I love the idea. In return for the fruits (which included yogurt and almonds) she handed the shopkeeper one of the tokens, with a little namasté bow. A male friend of his arrived and asked Ute what was the purpose of that gift? After all, his friend was a married man! Ute explained that it was friendship only, a token of appreciation and thanks. Emile wasn’t surprised at the confusion the gesture caused. Ute felt that the fact that they asked for clarification was a cross-cultural learning moment.
All I have to write about so far are my adventures with my hotel family, because the entire three days of my stay, Beirut has been in suspended animation. Emile, Lina and Smaranda check out tomorrow. I am aware of goodbyes coming up; I hope we will say au revoir. Inshallah. My Beirut Exchange roommate from Brazil arrives today sometime. There are additional towels now in the bathroom.
Tomorrow, I’m finally off to discover the art scene of Beirut, when the city gets back to business.
Update: I asked a Beiruti friend of Ute’s if the city is still holding its breath, since the opposition has not yet conceded. She said, no, they are breathing now. They never know what will happen in Beirut, but they are used to it. I said it reminded me of when New Yorkers, who, upon learning that I was from California, ALWAYS asked if I was afraid of earthquakes. I truthfully told them I was more afraid of being killed by a flowerpot falling off someone’s fifth story window ledge than I was of seismic events.
PS. I'll load pics when there is more bandwidth. It is prime time for Skype calls, 3 of us vying for available Mbps.
They tell me it is a strange moment in Lebanon. Usually the streets are packed with cars and people. Yesterday, 7 June, election day, people were going about voting, but the streets were deserted, with the exception of extensive security, including armored tanks. All shops and most restaurants were closed. It was hard to know what to do. Walking around was safe, but I couldn’t even window shop, as roll-down corrugated metal doors negated the shop windows. At our little lobby “salon” during breakfast, we lingered and gossiped. Similar to what happens on flights, there is a unique, usually fleeting intimacy that arises between travelers sharing the same spaces. Having mused about what we talked about at our earlier meetings, we have the chance to ask deeper questions and learn more about each other. Technology allows us to carry albums worth of photos on flash drives, so we show each other our lives on the laptop at the breakfast table.
Ute, Emile and I enjoy verbal fencing. Emile loves to stir the pot, Ute is his straightwoman and I pick up the pieces. There is a kinship among repeat travelers to Lebanon. Commonly, most of the people they know can’t understand why they would desire to come here. One woman told her mother she was going to Brussels her first three-week trip to Beirut a year ago. She has returned twice since.
It took Smaranda, Lina, Ute and I two hours to walk a twenty-minute distance yesterday because we all had our cameras going—mostly shooting war-torn buildings because no one was around. We finally arrived at and entered the Mohammed al-Amin Mosque, a $40 million splendor erected by the former Prime Minister Rafiq Hariri. He was buried there after he was murdered in 2005. In front of the mosque is the Martyrs' Square, which has been divided into segments to prevent future large demonstrations. Ute and I then ate at one of the few places open, in the garden of Paul, a French café. We had exquisite slushy lemonade with fresh peppermint. I’ll be seeking out many more of those on this trip.
Today is still part of the strange moment. People are edgy waiting for the results of the election. The rumor at breakfast was that the March 14 party won. The concern is that skirmishes will break out between youth of competing sides. Ute said it is like soccer matches in Europe – the flag flying, horn honking and fistfights after a game. Shops are still closed, although this morning Emile, Ute and I went to the Armenian section, Bourdj-Hammoud. There were more people on the street there, and some shops were rolling up their shutters. My first shopping of the trip occurred -- some wonderful sandals made by the shopkeeper and a beaded bag. I’m going to take 2 weeks of Arabic lessons, but don’t speak any yet. Emile does, calling out to everyone “Habibi” (which means “dear or darling”, but can also be casual, like “hey guy”). He bargained for my purchases much more strenuously than I would have. We found a Juice Café and had a fruit cocktail. The shopkeeper made them with great attentiveness and artistry. We so thoroughly enjoyed his creation that he gave them to us free. Then came an interesting multicultural moment; Ute carries around lovely little heart-shaped glass pieces. She gave Emile and I each one this morning. They are little tokens of friendship, and I love the idea. In return for the fruits (which included yogurt and almonds) she handed the shopkeeper one of the tokens, with a little namasté bow. A male friend of his arrived and asked Ute what was the purpose of that gift? After all, his friend was a married man! Ute explained that it was friendship only, a token of appreciation and thanks. Emile wasn’t surprised at the confusion the gesture caused. Ute felt that the fact that they asked for clarification was a cross-cultural learning moment.
All I have to write about so far are my adventures with my hotel family, because the entire three days of my stay, Beirut has been in suspended animation. Emile, Lina and Smaranda check out tomorrow. I am aware of goodbyes coming up; I hope we will say au revoir. Inshallah. My Beirut Exchange roommate from Brazil arrives today sometime. There are additional towels now in the bathroom.
Tomorrow, I’m finally off to discover the art scene of Beirut, when the city gets back to business.
Update: I asked a Beiruti friend of Ute’s if the city is still holding its breath, since the opposition has not yet conceded. She said, no, they are breathing now. They never know what will happen in Beirut, but they are used to it. I said it reminded me of when New Yorkers, who, upon learning that I was from California, ALWAYS asked if I was afraid of earthquakes. I truthfully told them I was more afraid of being killed by a flowerpot falling off someone’s fifth story window ledge than I was of seismic events.
PS. I'll load pics when there is more bandwidth. It is prime time for Skype calls, 3 of us vying for available Mbps.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Traveling Companions and Shrine Hunts
It is a long way to Lebanon. I had almost the best luck possible on my flights, however. Just one stop from SF, with a transfer in Paris. No one was in the middle seat on the 10-hour flight to Paris. The only demerit was the young girl behind me, who was a wiggle worm all night – at least she didn’t shriek.
In the Paris airport there were two young Muslim women, wearing the hijab (head scarf), but they were more flashy then I’ve ever seen. In Istanbul it wasn’t unusual to see “covered” young women wearing very fitted, coordinated clothes, with colorful high heels and fancy handbags. Their hijabs were like fashion accessories, capping off their outfits. Photos I’ve seen of covered women in Cairo look to be equally fashion forward. But, these two travelers were orders of magnitude more flamboyant. Tight jeans, hip length spangled tunics, lots of makeup, open sandals and painted toenails, and their hijabs were full-fledged headdresses. With silk flowers and glitter attached. I was standing next to them as we boarded the flight to Beirut and heard them speaking American English. They were from Detroit, American-born, going to visit family in Beirut. The more glitzy and outgoing of the two said that they get a lot of dirty looks. I told her maybe it was because she was pushing the idea of what a hijab could be – she agreed. Her make-up, perfume and polish belied the hair salon she said she works in. They were seated right in front of me on the flight, and a 38 year old Lebanese Canadian sat next to me. He remarked that he was very attracted to their garb – the women stopped talking to us after that. I would’ve thought attracting attention was the point!?
The Detroit girls and my seatmate all had very big blue eyes. I learned it came from the Phoenicians mixing with the Caucasus, particularly Armenia. My seatmate whose name is Charbal, was my first encounter with the Lebanon Diaspora – a circumstance that is inescapable – it heartbreakingly touches the lives of nearly every Lebanese family. He has renewed his Lebanese passport for the last time and was traveling home for a visit and to vote in tomorrow’s election. We talked politics on the plane – Lebanese are passionate about their politics, and as divided as we are in the US. I have a limited awareness of the issues, but enough to remember what he said and who he plans to vote for, so that as I learn about it all in the Beirut Exchange, it will make sense.
Elections interrupt daily life as usual here. Each Lebanese needs to go to their home village (which can include individual sections of the city Beirut) to vote, rather than voting at the location of their residence. Tonight, most of the city is shut down – few restaurants open. There is a massive armed presence everywhere. I have been told by the sponsor of the Beirut Exchange to stay in tonight – so I will. Otherwise, women can walk on the street alone at night with less worry than I would at home. Tomorrow will be a lay-low day too. Outside tonight, cars are driving, flying flags of their candidates and horn honking – as they do for the World Cup. The noise and activity is escalating. Last night there was very little street traffic. Tonight it sounds like a freeway.
I am at a small hotel in the Gemmayze section of Beirut. It is in the Christian part of the city and upscale. Lots of restaurants, boutiques, and as seen from my hotel room, attractive apartments. This small hotel has a wonderful cast of characters as guests. We flow into the lobby/dining room for breakfast and enjoy each other. The proprietress, Tanya, joins us at our table.
There is 78 year old Emil from London-- A charming, erudite man who made a living as a publicist in Hollywood. He looks and acts 65. Ute, mid 30’s and cute, is from Germany (hmm, gotta find out where in Germany tomorrow). Smaranda and Lina, are from Romania and Bulgaria respectively. They are mid 20’s graduate students and attendees of last year’s inaugural Beirut Exchange. I have already begun the recruitment process to turn them into facilitators for Soliya Connect. Talking to them about their enthusiasm for this part of the world taps into my own. Our words were falling over themselves as we shared our stories. They have visited Beirut twice since their Exchange program a year ago. Of course it is a short flight from Europe…but they love it here.
Tanya is my new best friend. When I asked her where I could get some good fresh Lebanese food, she invited me to join her, and she took me to a very fancy mall. They have wonderful restaurants on the roof. Today the weather was gorgeous, in the 80s and breezy. My allergies have disappeared. From her, too, I understood the pain of the Diaspora. The guidebooks call it a brain drain, but it is much more. It tears limbs off the bodies of families. Many of the young men left during the civil war of 1975-90, and their lives are now overseas. Though they long for their home, there is not much for them here, and their lives are too involved with their adopted lands. Tanya was a flight attendant for Mid East Airlines for many years and has traveled widely. Running a hotel is a good job for her, it puts her in contact with foreigners. It is harder, however, than flying, because a nasty customer leaves the plane after 10 hours at the most. Bad guests can stick around for a long time.
Today, I gleefully saw that I can shrine hunt in Beirut. There are street altars all over the Christian section. I have been photographing those wherever I find them all over the Catholic world -- Mexico, Spain, Italy… I test Jim’s patience when I engage in a shrine hunt, because my constant stopping and shooting is like walking with a male dog – who has to pause to lift a leg every few paces. I will photo to my heart’s content tomorrow. I have long loved these shrines because they are such a humble connection between spirit and the street.
Moving forward to Day 2 in Beirut. I’ll post pics tomorrow. Please weigh in with your thoughts!
Love,
Ginney
In the Paris airport there were two young Muslim women, wearing the hijab (head scarf), but they were more flashy then I’ve ever seen. In Istanbul it wasn’t unusual to see “covered” young women wearing very fitted, coordinated clothes, with colorful high heels and fancy handbags. Their hijabs were like fashion accessories, capping off their outfits. Photos I’ve seen of covered women in Cairo look to be equally fashion forward. But, these two travelers were orders of magnitude more flamboyant. Tight jeans, hip length spangled tunics, lots of makeup, open sandals and painted toenails, and their hijabs were full-fledged headdresses. With silk flowers and glitter attached. I was standing next to them as we boarded the flight to Beirut and heard them speaking American English. They were from Detroit, American-born, going to visit family in Beirut. The more glitzy and outgoing of the two said that they get a lot of dirty looks. I told her maybe it was because she was pushing the idea of what a hijab could be – she agreed. Her make-up, perfume and polish belied the hair salon she said she works in. They were seated right in front of me on the flight, and a 38 year old Lebanese Canadian sat next to me. He remarked that he was very attracted to their garb – the women stopped talking to us after that. I would’ve thought attracting attention was the point!?
The Detroit girls and my seatmate all had very big blue eyes. I learned it came from the Phoenicians mixing with the Caucasus, particularly Armenia. My seatmate whose name is Charbal, was my first encounter with the Lebanon Diaspora – a circumstance that is inescapable – it heartbreakingly touches the lives of nearly every Lebanese family. He has renewed his Lebanese passport for the last time and was traveling home for a visit and to vote in tomorrow’s election. We talked politics on the plane – Lebanese are passionate about their politics, and as divided as we are in the US. I have a limited awareness of the issues, but enough to remember what he said and who he plans to vote for, so that as I learn about it all in the Beirut Exchange, it will make sense.
Elections interrupt daily life as usual here. Each Lebanese needs to go to their home village (which can include individual sections of the city Beirut) to vote, rather than voting at the location of their residence. Tonight, most of the city is shut down – few restaurants open. There is a massive armed presence everywhere. I have been told by the sponsor of the Beirut Exchange to stay in tonight – so I will. Otherwise, women can walk on the street alone at night with less worry than I would at home. Tomorrow will be a lay-low day too. Outside tonight, cars are driving, flying flags of their candidates and horn honking – as they do for the World Cup. The noise and activity is escalating. Last night there was very little street traffic. Tonight it sounds like a freeway.
I am at a small hotel in the Gemmayze section of Beirut. It is in the Christian part of the city and upscale. Lots of restaurants, boutiques, and as seen from my hotel room, attractive apartments. This small hotel has a wonderful cast of characters as guests. We flow into the lobby/dining room for breakfast and enjoy each other. The proprietress, Tanya, joins us at our table.
There is 78 year old Emil from London-- A charming, erudite man who made a living as a publicist in Hollywood. He looks and acts 65. Ute, mid 30’s and cute, is from Germany (hmm, gotta find out where in Germany tomorrow). Smaranda and Lina, are from Romania and Bulgaria respectively. They are mid 20’s graduate students and attendees of last year’s inaugural Beirut Exchange. I have already begun the recruitment process to turn them into facilitators for Soliya Connect. Talking to them about their enthusiasm for this part of the world taps into my own. Our words were falling over themselves as we shared our stories. They have visited Beirut twice since their Exchange program a year ago. Of course it is a short flight from Europe…but they love it here.
Tanya is my new best friend. When I asked her where I could get some good fresh Lebanese food, she invited me to join her, and she took me to a very fancy mall. They have wonderful restaurants on the roof. Today the weather was gorgeous, in the 80s and breezy. My allergies have disappeared. From her, too, I understood the pain of the Diaspora. The guidebooks call it a brain drain, but it is much more. It tears limbs off the bodies of families. Many of the young men left during the civil war of 1975-90, and their lives are now overseas. Though they long for their home, there is not much for them here, and their lives are too involved with their adopted lands. Tanya was a flight attendant for Mid East Airlines for many years and has traveled widely. Running a hotel is a good job for her, it puts her in contact with foreigners. It is harder, however, than flying, because a nasty customer leaves the plane after 10 hours at the most. Bad guests can stick around for a long time.
Today, I gleefully saw that I can shrine hunt in Beirut. There are street altars all over the Christian section. I have been photographing those wherever I find them all over the Catholic world -- Mexico, Spain, Italy… I test Jim’s patience when I engage in a shrine hunt, because my constant stopping and shooting is like walking with a male dog – who has to pause to lift a leg every few paces. I will photo to my heart’s content tomorrow. I have long loved these shrines because they are such a humble connection between spirit and the street.
Moving forward to Day 2 in Beirut. I’ll post pics tomorrow. Please weigh in with your thoughts!
Love,
Ginney
Friday, May 29, 2009
Beirut2Cairo, Why?
When I was fresh out of college, the first time (BA Social Sciences, UCSB 1973) , I went to work for NBC television in beautiful downtown Burbank (Cultural reference: the location of the studios in which 1968, Rowen and Martin’s Laugh-In show was taped)
I loved working in TV, and New York was the heart of the industry, so I loved all things New York. So much so, in hindsight, I married my first husband to move there.
Now, as another new graduate (SJSU MFA 2009) and a facilitator for Soliya Connect (www.soliya.net) I love many things Middle Eastern, so when the opportunity to participate in the Beirut Exchange came my way, I jumped at it. Traveling all that way, I couldn’t miss visiting my friends in Egypt, so I convinced Jim to join me in Cairo, and an adventure was born.
I will use this blog as a discipline to chronicle the journey to Beirut, Cairo and Luxor this spring/summer. Stay tuned…
I loved working in TV, and New York was the heart of the industry, so I loved all things New York. So much so, in hindsight, I married my first husband to move there.
Now, as another new graduate (SJSU MFA 2009) and a facilitator for Soliya Connect (www.soliya.net) I love many things Middle Eastern, so when the opportunity to participate in the Beirut Exchange came my way, I jumped at it. Traveling all that way, I couldn’t miss visiting my friends in Egypt, so I convinced Jim to join me in Cairo, and an adventure was born.
I will use this blog as a discipline to chronicle the journey to Beirut, Cairo and Luxor this spring/summer. Stay tuned…
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