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.