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!
Monday, June 22, 2009
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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