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, June 29, 2009
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
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