WELCOME! Dinner at ‘Le Chef’

Exterior of Le Chef

So with Rue Gouraud in my mind, when Ozge invited me out to dinner tonight at the popular restaurant on Gouraud, ‘Le Chef,’ I couldn’t resist. Well, that and I heard that the food was fantastic and I am NEVER one to turn down good food.

Charles joined us and as we arrived outside the restaurant, I realized that I had actually passed this place many times, always wanting to go in, but for some reason or another never quite making it. So now was my chance!! As we walked into the always packed, but charmingly petit restaurant, a booming ‘Welcome!’ from the owner was our hearty greeting – and as we soon discovered, the greeting of every visitor coming or going.

As we squeezed our way through the tables, I took a peek and a whiff of the local specialties being served (apparently the menu changes daily – Brilliant!). My stomach started rumbling immediately as irresistible cravings for moujuddra (lentils, rice, grilled onions and delicious spices – usually served with yogurt), kousa (stuffed zuchinni), kibbeh (ground lamb or beef with bulgur wheat, pine nuts, and other savory ingredients) and moutabal (also known as baba ganoj – basically eggplant hummus) consumed my thoughts.  Our waiter tossed handwritten menus atop our paper table cloth and I grabbed mine greedily wanting to waste not a single second and….shit. The menu was written in Arabic.

Interior of 'Le Chef' - so wish I could post the delicious smells!

Okay, now after a month of Arabic classes, you’re probably thinking ‘Come on, Colette. What the heck? You should be able to read and write easily!’ But no. Alas and alack, I read like a 3-year-old and write like a 5-year-old – okay maybe a talented 6-year-old. But either way, you get the idea. Even after the 10 minutes it takes me to sound out a word, I hardly ever know what the word actually means. I’m useless. Luckily, they also have a menu written in French. Score! I thought I’d show off my mad French skills, but in the end I had such a hard time deciphering the scribbled French script that it might as well have been written in Arabic. Ah well – we glanced around at the food on other people’s tables and ended up ordering a mix of everything. YUM!

As we sipped our Almazas and waited for our food, I took a good look around Le Chef. The decorations inside are pretty sparse and the table settings simple, but if anything, it all just adds to the homey charm of the place.  We had a table to ourselves, but they often seat you alongside complete strangers who in true Lebanese hospitable style are more than happy to start up a conversation. It’s fantastic. Meeting new people, surrounded by fragrant and delicious Lebanese cuisine – which by the way, is reasonably cheap – who could ask for anything more?

Charles and I, after enjoying our delicious Lebanese mezze

We savored every bite of our meal and when we couldn’t eat anymore, we asked for the check and walked over to a large Moroccan market set up alongside the nearby Martyr Square.  We browsed the bags, shoes, furniture, scarves, fabrics, pillows and jewelry while listening to the evening call to prayer echoing from the Al-Amin Mosque, its blue dome visible over the tents of the market. A perfect evening in Beirut!

Moroccan Market in downtown Beirut

Gouraud: The Street and the General

If you tell a taxi to take you to the Beirut neighborhood of Gemmazeh, they’ll drop you at the start of the Rue Gouraud – the main bar, restaurant and club packed street running through this noisy neighborhood, which somehow manages to be grungy and upscale chic at the same time. I love it! You can spend entire nights hopping from cafe to bar, from bar to club, and never get bored or run out of new places to try.

General Gouraud

But anyway, I’ve been curious for awhile now about the street’s namesake ‘Gouraud.’ I wikipedia-ed that shit and here’s what I found: Henri Joseph Eugene Gouraud was born in France in 1867.  For one of the plethora of reasons that inspire young men to take up arms for their country, he joined the French army and began to bump his way up the ranks.  He actually lost his right arm while he was commanding French forces during the Battle of Gallipoli in 1915. Like Cervantes in the Battle of Le Panto! Although, that was his left arm. Ha! History NERD in the house.

You know the Battle of Gallipoli – World War I, fought on the Gallipoli peninsula in Turkey. British and French trying to capture Istanbul from the Ottomans and failing miserably. Tons of people died on both sides – honestly doesn’t sound like it was worth it. Oh,  and they made a movie about it in 1981 – which in today’s pop culture world is probably more well known than the battle itself. The film was directed by Peter Weir and stars a very young Mel Gibson and Mark Lee as two hopeful, promising young Australians who join ANZAC (The Australian and New Zealand Army Corps – a branch of the British Army during WWI) and then get butchered in Gallipoli. It’s a great film but obviously very depressing.

ANYWAY, I digress.  So the reason why they care about this General in Lebanon is that from 1919-1923 he was a commander of the French army of the Levant (Levant = the eastern Mediterranean countries in general – specifically, Lebanon, Palestine, Jordan, Syria, Israel and sometimes Iraq and Saudi Arabia) and played an important role in the creation of the French Mandates of Syria and Lebanon.  From what I’ve read, the locals in the region had mixed opinions of Gouraud and the French presence, but apparently he had enough of an impact to merit a street being named after him!

I actually found an article in the archives of the the NY Times, written in 1922, entitled ‘Gouraud Doubts Turks Want Syria: French Policy, the General Says, Is Merely to Carry Out Mandate Helpfully.’ I love the internet

Some background info: So in 1916, you get the Sykes-Picot Agreement (s0 called because it was negotiated by François Georges-Picot of France and Mark Sykes of Britain) between France and the UK that defined who would get control of the different territories in the Middle East after the Ottoman Empire fell.  But this agreement was secret and didn’t become official (although it was enforced all the while) until after the end of WWI, in the 1920s by the League of Nations. So in 1920, in the Treaty of Sevres (peace treaty between the Ottomans and the Allied forces), France was official granted control of Syria. The Syrians were pissed, understandably and actually from 1919 (French presence already in Syria but yet to be officially granted power by the League of Nations) until 1921 you get the Franco-Syrian War, with the Syrians trying to oust the French. The Syrians lost and the French remained in control. Quelle surprise.

So when this NY Times article was written in 1922, the French presence in Syria (Lebanon had yet to be created as it’s own country and was just a state in Syria – in fact the article is written from Beirut, Syria not Beirut, Lebanon) was established but Gouraud and his troops were still facing small attacks from different groups in Syria who hadn’t given up on their goal of evicting the French.  Syrian grievances against the French included French suppression of Syrian newspapers, political activity, and civil rights and the division of Greater Syria into six different states (Gouraud actually headed this division of Syria, one of the states being that of Greater Lebanon, which eventually became the country).

In the article, the author interviewed Gouraud who was trying to set the record straight about the French influence in Syria, explaining that the French were trying to restore stability in the region, reduce their presence in Syria and were generally liked in the region despite the recent attacks – “He was sure the Syrian people were beginning to realize the generous motives behind the French mandate and the elevating influence of French efforts in Syria, and he was happy to be able to say that the French were now meeting with ready and cordial cooperation.”  He also explained that he felt the Ottoman’s would not try to retake Syria and insisted that the French were “…on excellent terms with the Turkish authorities.” So interesting. Wish I had a Syrian article written at the same time on their perspective, but given that the French were suppressing Syrian papers, that might be more difficult to come by.

Gouraud returned to Paris the year after this article was published, in 1923, where he worked as Military Governor until his retirement in 1937, and eventually died in 1946.

Well, anyway, there you go. A brief sum up of the man behind the street name in the party district of Beirut.

Beirut #1!!

First off, sorry for the break in posting – my laptop died!! So until a new one arrives, I’ll be spending long afternoons at internet cafes around Beirut adding old and new entries. I’m actually at a cafe right now, and my alotted time is about to expire, but quickly, before I go, just wanted to throw out this fantastic bit of news I just heard: In January of this year, the New York Times listed Beirut as the #1 place to go in 2009. Yeah Beirut!!!

Authors Seth Sherwood and Gisela Willams write:

“With a recent (though perhaps tenuous) detente keeping the violence in check, the capital of Lebanon is poised to reclaim its title as the Paris of the Middle East.  Two hotels scheduled to open later this year are raising the luzury quotient – the Four Seasons Hotel Beirut and Le Gray, the latter from the people behind One Aldwych in London – and a clutch of high-profile restaurants are transforming the city’s culinary scene.  Traditional Lebanese cooking finds its apotheosis at the cozy Al-Ajami restaurant, while the glitterati settles into Hussein Hadid’s Kitchen, run by a nephew of the architect, Zaha Hadid.  But nothing symbolizes the city’s gastro-political awakening like Souk el-Tayeb, Beirut’s first farmers’ market. The market, founded in 2004, reconciles Lebanon’s warring factions through thier common love of their country’s food.”

I love that the majority of the aritcle is about Lebanese food. Yessssss!

Check out the article here: http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2009/01/11/travel/20090111_DESTINATIONS.html

Sour (aka Tyre)

The alarm went off at 10:30am. Uuuuuuuuuuhhhhh. My eyes felt as though they were cemented shut, my entire body paralyzed. Somehow, I managed to animate my left hand and flopped it against the snooze button. What felt like a mili-second later that annoying MEEP! MEEP! MEEP! was going off in my ear again. That sound is like nails on a chalkboard. Although, I have discovered that any sound that habitually wakes you up in the morning – be it generic alarm beeping, a rooster crowing, or even music – begins to have that unfortunate effect.

Want to indulge a random tangent? When I was in high school, I had a year during which I was obsessed with a series of old musicals. Okay, it was longer than a year. Whatever. Anyway that same year, I discovered to my great delight that my CD player had a function that allows you to set your alarm to play the first track of any given CD. I popped in ‘My Fair Lady’ and for the rest of the school year woke up to the opening bars of the overture. In May, I discovered to my great annoyance, that just like Alex’s reaction to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony after undergoing the Ludovico Technique in ‘A Clockwork Orange,’ the opening bars of the overture of My Fair Lady had begun to invoke feelings of nausea and irritation. And they still do. So I’ve switched back to the grating ‘MEEP!’ alarm so as not to forever ruin all of my favorite songs. A sucky but necessary tradeoff.

Ozge and Charles

ANYWAY, finally out of bed, I quickly got dressed and rushed over to Hamra Street to meet Charles and Ozge, where we hitched a cab down to the Cola Transport Hub and tried to find a mini-bus to take us down to Sour (pronounced ‘Soor.’ In English it’s called Tyre – pronounced ‘Teer’), in the south of Lebanon. After some bartering in our combined broken Arabic, we figured out that while it was about $3 more per person, it would be significantly easier to just take a service (shared taxi), as opposed to a mini-bus down to Sour. So, we hopped in the first willing service and began the long drive down with our driver Ali and fellow passenger Abbas.

Abbas, new friend and our charming guide for the day!

Before too long, we all got to chatting. Well okay, chatting might be an over statement. Ali didn’t speak any English and Abbas knew only a few words. Our Arabic…well, it’s weak, but semi-functional. So Abbas gave us Arabic lessons, and there was lots of laughing at the inevitable misunderstandings. Two hours later, we arrived in Sour, a city which, unlike Beirut, doesn’t claim English as a lingua franca. Abbas had an afternoon to spare and offered to take us around the city and help us communicate when necessary. How insanely friendly is that?? I love the Lebanese!

Herodotus

Sour is a port city in the south of Lebanon that according to Herodotus was founded in the 3rd century BCE. You know Herodotus – that old, 5th century Greek historian, ‘the father of history,’ who’s word on a significant amount of history we just have to take as it is, because there isn’t much else to go on – isn’t it amazing the power held by major historians?? Particularly the ancient ones. Blows my mind.

The Harbor - First view of Sour

The first thing we saw when we arrived in Sour was the harbor, packed with small fishing boats. The city is known for its many ancient Roman and Byzantine ruins, so after a quick stop for some water, we set off in search of the al-Mina excavation site, where many of these ruins are located.  Down a dirt path and through a vine-covered entry way and all of a sudden, we were twisting our way around columns of an ancient palestra (basically a public gym – I wish my gym had massive marble columns! Well, I’d actually have to go to a gym first…but you get the idea – how amazing would that be??) the remains of a huge open-air theater, and Roman baths, all set against the stunning backdrop of the sparkling Mediterranean. Yeah, it was pretty fantastic.

Charles, Ozge and me at the entrance to al-Mina

View of the al-Mina excavation site - Theater in the foreground & columns of the Palaestra in the background

After about an hour in al-Mina, Charles, Ozge, Abbas and I walked alongside the beach until we found a small place to stop for some cheap food and Almazas.  Bellies full and thirst quenched, we began a long walk back down the beach to the old souk, located near the harbor where we’d first arrived. The beach was full of families laughing and playing in the water, and I noticed, that many of the Muslim women actually go in the water dressed in full clothing, head scarf and all. I honestly don’t know why I was surprised, it makes perfect sense, I guess I’d just never really thought about it.  As we turned away from the beach, I glanced back and saw a little girl, completely veiled, determinedly pushing her way against the current and out into the sea with two inner-tubes to keep her afloat. Made me smile

We continued walking and chatting with Abbas as we made our way through downtown Sour, and finally to the souk (market).  The souk was actually closing up for the night, but the smells of fish, fresh fruit, spices, shwarma, and pastries lingered as the store owners tucked away their displays and pulled down the aluminum coverings over their storefronts.

Downtown Sour

That seemed to be our cue to go, and as the sun began to set, Abbas put us on a bus backed to Beirut and waved goodbye. I was so tired from the sun, the few hours of sleep last night, and the long day of walking that I barely noticed the 10+ near collisions caused by  our maniacal driver on the way back to Beirut and just closed my eyes and let the hot wind knot my hair.

And now, I’m home again home again. It’s 9:30 pm and I’m going to try to squeeze in a quick shower before heading out to meet up with friends for Saturday night out in Beirut! Life’s too short to sleep .

And Friday I’m in love!

I’m in love with Beirut!! Today was such a fantastic day! Dude. I think Friday is my lucky day. No joke. I mean, in general, it’s a brilliant day. If you work or have class, all day you can’t help smiling because you know the freedom of the weekend awaits. If you’re Muslim, it’s the first day of the weekend, so that’s freaking fantastic. Really – there is nothing bad about Fridays. They’re just all-around wonderful! And here in Beirut, they’ve all been beyond amazing.

Manaeesh! Mmmm, boy!

Met Omar for coffee after class and we chatted till around 1pm, when Omar introduced me to my now beloved BarBar to grab a quick lunch. Okay, BarBar is brilliant. My love for it rivals my love for Fridays in Beirut. It’s basically a full block of different take-out places in the Hamra neighborhood, all run by the BarBar Trading Company. There’s a shwarma place, a falafel place, a manaeesh/fatayer place (manaeesh is basically thick round delicious bread, covered in zaatar & fatayer (aka – spinach pie) is bread, folded into a triangle, with spinach filling), a fresh fruit smoothie place, an ice cream place, a pizza place, a sandwich place – basically it’s heaven. And everything at BarBar is cheap – you’ll never pay more than $2 for any food item. Oh, and they deliver. On cute little motorbikes. I LOVE IT! How I did not discover this place sooner, I will never know.

Part of the BarBar strip, by night

After eating, we each went home to get bathing suits and met up about an hour later to head down to St. George’s – a beach club in Beirut, just off the Corniche (the boardwalk that runs along the sea), that’s been operating since the 1930s. There are two main pools at St. George’s, filled with chlorinated salt-water.  Omar and I swam, tanned, talked and people-watched until closing around 6:30pm. Ah! Such a great afternoon!!

One thing that’s impossible to miss if you’re anywhere near St. George, is the gigantic banner, covering the side of the large building bordering the pool, that reads “STOP SOLIDERE”.

I’ve been trying to figure out the story behind the sign, and so far, this is what I’ve found out: First of all, Solidere stands for ‘SOciété LIbanaise pour le Développement Et la REconstruction de Beyrouth’, which translates to ‘Lebanese Society for the Development and Reconstruction of Beirut.’ Basically, it’s a group that was created in 1994 by former Lebanese prime minister, Rafiq Hariri, to oversee all the planning and redevelopment of Beirut after Lebanon’s civil war (1975-1990).

Rafiq Hariri

So on the outside, it looked like they did a lot of good.  Actually, the first time I came to Lebanon in 2005, right after Hariri was assisnated, Mom bought a picture book publsihed by Solidere that showed photos of Beirut destroyed after the war, alongside photos  after Solidere’s reconstruction projects. We were impressed.

But, what, to me, as a passive tourist, looked pretty on the outside, actually had a kind of corrupt and messy process behind it.  According to a 2007 article in the Daily Star by Lysandra Ohrstrom, (Solidere: ‘Vigilantism under the color of law’), beginning in 1994, “…Solidere exchanged property rights from between 100,000 to 150,000 tenants and landowners in exchange for shares in Solidere itself. But after the completion of the rehabilitation the former occupants were guaranteed either the right to return to their property or the company’s profits were to be distributed as just compensation.” Problem is…most people still haven’t seen compensation, and going broke waiting, many have sold their property and are now basically fucked. Adding insult to injury, a lot of people were pissed that in it’s reconstructions, Solidere modernized the city, taking away from it’s historical and traditional character. They ”…demolished 85 percent of the city’s memory considering buildings to be too badly damaged to be worth preserving, and denied property owners and tenants their right to return to where they were operating from before.” Not cool Solidere, not cool.

As for St. George’s  – it’s this fantastic little beach club right by the water that was one of the first in Beirut, and it’s marina is iconic here. The building that the big sign is hanging on, is the old St. George’s hotel, which was destroyed during the civil war.  The beach club itself actually just reopened within the last year, as it was completely destroyed during the 2006 war with Israel. Problem is, Solidere has blocked the owners of St. George’s from reconstructing the hotel, taken away their rights to the marina and sometimes have even blocked people from entering the beach club – all part of efforts to put pressure on St. George’s to sell to Solidere. Boo hiss. So yeah, from what I’ve heard thus far, I’m with St. George’s. Stop Solidere!

Having fun getting ready to head out on Friday night

Anyway…after an amazing afternoon at the pool, Omar and I went our separate ways with plans to meet up later tonight.  A shower and a quick nap and before I knew it, it was 9:30pm. I got dressed for a night out while sipping on the red wine I bought at Chateau Ksara – yum! And at 10pm, I was off!!

Zeina and Salam

Met up with Ozge and Charles on Hamra and the three of us headed down to Gem for drinks and good conversation. After about an hour, we were joined by Jeff and a French girl he knows from work, who’s name I’ve completely forgotten. Another hour and Omar showed up with his friends Salam and Ziena. Lots of laughing and chatting and shots made with tabasco sauce, vodka, lemon juice and topped by olives followed.

Half of Jeff's head, Omar, me and Charles squashed in the cab, but still ridiculously happy!

At 3am, with a good buzz going, we said goodbye to Salam and Ziena, and the remaining 6 of us squashed ourselves into the back of a taxi in search of the perfect place to finish off the night. We ended up at this swank beach-side club called Island, that’s part of the Riviera Hotel. Jeff got us in for free so woot! happy day! Chilled with drinks at the bar next to the pool, danced and laughed until around 5:30 am.

And now it’s 6:30 and the happy buzz from tonight is just beginning to wear off and I’m feeling completely exhuasted.  The sun is rising outside my window, the temperature is rising and my beloved roof rooster is crowing his heart out. I think it’s time for bed.

Sunset Pigeons

The guy across the street from us – you know, the one with the rooster – also has pigeons. I don’t know if they’re pets, or if he eats them…But every evening, just as the sun is setting he lets them out and they circle the neighborhood. He makes this clicking noise after about 10 minutes or so and they all fly back down and into their pigeon coop. I don’t understand it, but I like it.

The view from our balcony - the little dots with wings are the pigeons

I’m melting!!

Looking like an idiot hand-fanning...doesn't actually work. In case you were wondering.

One Arabic phrase I will never forget is ‘kteer chaub’ – translation: it’s really fucking hot. It’s 3pm, 90 degrees Fahrenheit, 32 Celcius, humid as all hell and we have no air conditioning. 90 degrees doesn’t sound too bad, but the humidity makes it feel about 1000 x hotter, and sticker. I live in front of the fan. And if I walk around outside for more than 15 minutes (which I have to do regularly), I am completely soaked – we’re talking literally dripping, clothes a shade darker because they’re wet. In this respect, I’m not totally Lebanese. I’m not saying the Lebanese don’t sweat – they do. But they seem to do it with class. They get this nice glow or shine as opposed to me, who looks like I’ve just been dunked in a water tank. If people comment, I should just say that I’ve come from the pool. Oh, it’s that bad.

Omar!

On a happier note, I’m meeting my friend Omar (another classmate from ALPS) for drinks tonight at de Prague so that should be fun. De Prague at night is really cool too – it’s always packed, smoky, filled with candles, everyone sitting around drinking Almazas or wine, American music from the 80s and 90s blasting, and they give you cherries and apricots (mish-mish!) with your drinks. Nice!

Mezze and Wine in the Bekaa Valley

Lebanese Mini-Bus

This morning, my Turkish friend Ozge (she’s in my Arabic class at ALPS) and I decided to meet up for a quick coffee before hopping on a mini-bus to the town of Zahlé in the Bekaa Valley. Mini-buses aren’t actually buses, but rather, large, white mini-vans.  If you get on the bus at a transport hub, like we did, the driver will wait until the van is full before leaving – otherwise, you’ll make random stops along the way to pick up additional passengers. Once the bus is filled, there’s not really a set route per-say. Instead, there is generally defined final destination and as long as you want to go somewhere that’s more or less on the way to that final destination, the driver will drop you there. 

The drive up to Zahlé cost us 4000 Lira (about $2.50) each and took about an hour and a half. Driving rules and regulations don’t really seem to apply and the bus can get pretty cramped and sweaty, but luckily I got a seat near the window – yesss! Fresh air! Aside from the frequent swerves and break-slamming (I tried to take comfort in the fact that none of the other passengers seemed nervous), the ride up was really pleasant. The driver blasted Arabic music which set a fun mood as we drove up through the mountains and villages east of Beirut and into the Bekaa Valley.

View on the drive to the Bekaa Valley

The Bekaa Valley isn’t actually a valley, which is kind of weird. It’s actually a plateau between two mountain ranges in Lebanon. The plateau is this huge agricultural region here in Lebanon – it used to be one the ‘bread baskets’ of Rome.  Today it’s still one of Lebanon’s most important farming regions, and is famous for the delicious, locally produced wine.

There’s actually also a long history of cannabis production in Bekaa, and the sale of ‘Red Leb’ (nickname for the high quality pot produced there), has long provided a major source of income for producers living in the valley. The production is nowhere near as prolific as it once was, but nevertheless, the region has maintained its notorious reputation. Woot.

The bus dropped Ozge and I in the center of Zahlé around 1pm. Okay, not going to lie, it wasn’t exactly what we had expected. Lonely Planet writes:

“Known locally as Arousat al-Beqa’a (Bride of the Bekaa), [Zahlé] is set along the steep banks of the Birdawni River (locally known as ‘Bardouni’), which tumbles through a gorge, cutting a burbling channel through the centre of town.”

The Birdawni "river" of Zahlé

So, we get off the bus expecting to see this beautiful village with a huge river running through it’s center.  What we saw initially was more of a dusty intersection with no river in sight. Whatever, we’re up for anything, so we started  wandering down the main city road and off to our left we noticed this little babbling stream, about an inch, maybe an inch and half deep…the roaring Birdawni. Nice.

But, I have to say, Zahlé itself turned out to be a charming city after all, sprinkled with Ottoman era houses (that somehow survived the civil war – which destroyed most of the city), mixed in with more modern Lebanese architecture. It’s definitely not a must see on a tourist agenda, but apparently it acts more as a stop over town for visitors traveling through the Bekaa Valley or as a base for those who wish to spend a few days in the region, hopping back and forth from Zahlé, to nearby cities.

It’s a primarily Christian city, so most stuff was closed, given that it’s Sunday. But still, we had a really nice walk down the main street, Rue Brazil – named for the huge number of the town’s population that migrated to Brazil around the time of the 1860 massacre (communal fighting between Druze and Christians). The Zahlé Lebanese living in Brazil sent back money to their families still living in Lebanon and apparently that money really helped the town get back on its feet after the massacre – and so they named the main street after Brazil.

Random fact: Today, the greatest population of Lebanese outside of Lebanon is in Brazil. Who knew??? I want to go to Brazil!    

Downtown Zahlé

Hungry, we decided to break for lunch. Lonely Planet told us that the Zahlé is actually famous for its riverside, open-air cafés. Fantastic! Once our bellies started rumbling,  we stopped at the first place we saw, the Grand Hotel Kadri, where we enjoyed a delicious mezze, washed down with ice-cold Almazas. The hotel is beautiful, and actually served as an Ottoman hospital during World War I and was later home to the chief of the French Army during the French Mandate of Lebanon.

Ozge! Eating our mezze at the Grand Hotel Kadri

Lebanese Flag under the French Mandate

Quick history behind the French Mandate in Lebanon : So after World War I, in 1920, the Ottoman Empire is divvied up between the French and the British in the Treaty of Sèvres. The British get Palestine and Iraq (both of which they proceeded to seriously fuck over), and the French get Greater Syria which = modern day Syria + Lebanon. So that’s the beginning of the French Mandate. The French then separate Syria and Lebanon and Lebanon gets this funky new flag that’s a combo of the French and Lebanese flags. Anyway, I won’t go through the whole history of the French presence in Lebanon, but the country gets its independence in 1943 and the French finally leave in 1945. Oh yeah, you know you were dying to know all that info. 

So anyway, after lunch, we caught a ‘service’ (fixed price taxi) to the Château Ksara, the oldest winery in Lebanon. ‘Ksar’ means fortress in Arabic, and the current winery stands over the site of a medieval Roman fortress, and the caves where the wine is now made were once the cellars of that original Roman fortress.  So now, flash forward to the mid-1800s – the Roman fortress is long gone, but the caves are still there, unbeknownst to the locals living in the village. Jesuit priests build a monastery over the caves and one day, a priest, chasing a fox that was threatening his chickens, discovers the caves beneath the monastery. He tells his fellow Jesuit priest buddies and they think ‘Score! Perfect place to store some alcohol!’ And so the winery is born in 1857 CE. The soil and weather in Ksara was perfect for growing grapes – vines were grown along with aniseed (a flowering plant that tastes like black licorice), to make Arak, and business started to boom for the Jesuit priests of Ksara. In 1972, the priests sold the land to several Lebanese families who further expanded the business…and that catches us up to today!

Château Ksara

One thing about the Château Ksara that’s particularly fantastic is that you can take tours of the winery for FREE, complete with a complimentary wine tasting at the tour’s finish. YUM. Our guide took us through the chilly 2km of caves beneath the winery where the wine is stored in oak barrels and bottled wines are held until they’re ready to sell. The Arak is actually produced in a separate facility, above the caves, but the smell of the aniseed seeps down into the caves, mixing with the smell of oak and wine. Mmmm boy!

Inside the caves of Château Ksara

Arak produced in Château Ksara, called Ksarak

Okay, so in case you don’t know, Arak is clear, aniseed-flavored alcoholic drink that’s very popular here in Lebanon. It’s actually a brandy, made from grape leaves, the skins and seeds of red grapes, and aniseed for flavor. It’s exactly the same as Greek ouzo, Turkish raki and Italian sambuca – everyone claims it as their own. The Lebanese side of my family drinks Arak regularly and as a child I actually thought that all alcohol smelled like black licorice. Oh yeah. I was a bright kid.

According to Lonely Planet, “Experts say the best way to tell the difference [between good and bad arak], is by how you feel when you wake up the next morning: the better you feel, the better the arak the night before.” I love it! To drink it you usually add water or ice, which turns the drink to a milky white color. Personally, I’m not the biggest fan of the taste, but it’s served so often, I’ve learned to stomach it.

After our free tour, Ozge and I decided it was time to head back to Beirut and headed out to the main road in Ksara to hail a minibus. There are no bus stops. You just stand on the side of the road and passing taxis and minibuses honk as they approach you. If you proceed to wave at them, they’ll slow down. You tell them your final destination and if they happen to be headed there or at the very least in that general direction, they’ll barter a price with you and you hop in, sliding the door shut as the minibus speeds off.

Inside the mini-bus on the drive back to Beirut

Our drive back to Beirut was an adventure. Crammed in the back between your fellow sweaty passengers, you all share communal water bottles provided by the driver, which you drink the ‘Arab way’. Drinking the ‘Arab way’ means that you don’t let the bottle touch your mouth – you tilt your head back and pour water into your mouth. They’re all pro at this, so no one seems to miss or splash whereas I, the foreign idiot, usually end up splashing water all over my face and clothes, especially on a bumpy bus. Damn. Ah well.

Stops were made at wells to refill the water bottles, at one point the driver made an ice-cream stop, passengers share cigarettes and snacks – it’s a really welcoming atmosphere but totally confusing and hilarious for a first-timer like me. Our driver was especially reckless and more than once I found myself with my eyes squeezed shut and my hands tightly gripping the seat. He nearly hit every single person we stopped to pick up, and one man almost fell over as he jumped to avoid being pummeled by the oncoming van. And the driver would just laugh this maniacal laugh. He was insane. No really, I think he was.

Somehow, we made it back to Beirut alive around 6:30pm. We parted ways and I headed home for a home cooked dinner with Stephen and Shadee, before heading back out to meet Ozge at Café Younes, where we studied Arabic until 11pm. A full Lebanese day. Not bad, huh?

By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea

Okay so first of all, Friday night was fantastic! My friend Lara, a former AUB student, introduced me to some of her friends here in Beirut who invited me out for the night. The first text came in the late afternoon from Lara’s friend, Jana, informing me that we were all meeting up at 8:30 pm in Gemmayze. Around 8 pm, I texted back to find out where, to which the response was: “Sorry u can never set a time with Lebanese…meeting at 10:30pm at Gem.” I love it!! These are my people!!

Gemmayze is in the western part of Beirut and is known for its crazy nightlife. It’s a really beautiful part of the city as well – it wasn’t damaged as much as other parts of Beirut were during the civl war and as a result, the streets of Gemmayze are lined with these old, charming buildings with beautiful iron-wrought balconies and large, arched windows.

At 10pm I bartered my way through taxi drivers to find one who would take me down to Gemmayze for 5000 Lira (about $2.50). After 40 minutes of bumper to bumper traffic (a trip that normally takes about 10 minutes via taxi), I was dropped at the bottom of the St. Nicholas Stairway on the busy Rue Gouraud and rushed up the steps to Gem, to meet Jana and Taarik. The bar is actually built inside a renovated, old stone house and has a trendy indoor section and a spacious, outdoor section. A really relaxed, chill place to start the night.

Jana and Taarik

Soon after I got there we were joined by more friends of Jana and Taarik – Sulaiman, Saher, Abdoun, and about 4 or 5 other people who’s names I’m embarrassed to admit, I’ve completely forgotten. Almazas, tequila and lots of talking. Most people in Beirut speak English and Arabic or French and Arabic, or all three, and all the languages are mixed in conversation. For example, Hal has a shirt that says ‘Lebanese greeting’, above which is written ‘Hi, Kifak?, Ca va’ (Hi in English, ‘How are you?’ in Arabic and ‘I’m fine’ in French). Taarik is a Lebanese Brit, and like me, doesn’t speak Arabic fluently, so for our benefit, most of the conversation was in English with the occasional Arabic word or phrase thrown in. So fun! And such fantastic people!!

Around 1am, we all split up and Jana, Taarik and I headed off to a club called Basement where we danced till 5am. $1 hot dogs at a stand outside the club at 5:15am and then home again home again where I covered my head with my sheets to try to block out the rising sunlight and muffle the sound of the neighbors rooster and the call to prayer echoing from the nearby mosque.

At 10am, I rolled out of bed, not particularly well-rested, but happy and awake nevertheless. I slipped on my bathing suit under my clothes, grabbed an apple for breakfast and ran out the door to meet Lara, Taarik, Suleman, Abdoun and Yasmine (Taarik’s cousin) to drive to the beach.

One of the pools in 'Oceana'

The beaches here in Lebanon are almost all private, and if they’re not, truth be told, they’re pretty nasty. That means that unlike in San Diego, where anyone can go to the beach for free, there are a series of, for lack of better words, beach clubs which require an entrance fee and provide access to the beach, but are also equipped with multiple pools, bars, DJs restaurants and insanely beautiful people. Unfortunately, the sea is actually pretty polluted, so most people stay in the beach clubs, swimming in the pools and sipping cocktails. It’s a little excessive, but not a bad way to spend a sweltering summer afternoon.

The boardwalk in Oceana leading to the other pools and restaurants

At Oceana, the beach club we went to (about 20 minutes outside of Beirut located in the middle of a seaside banana orchard) there were three swimming pools – one that was relatively small, and surrounded by lounge chairs, each with their own nargileh (shisha, hookah, water pipe – whatever you want to call it); a second pool that was primarily for children; and a third pool for those 18 and older. Lara, Saher, and a couple others met us there where we all spent the afternoon sunbathing, snacking, talking, napping and swimming. Around 6:30pm, we all headed home, sunkissed and smiling. I love summer!

But, Friday never hesitate!

Up at 8:45am, wolfed down a bowl of cornflakes and threw some clothes on before sprinting out the door, late for class as usual. Luckily, my class is about a 5-minute, fast-paced walk from the apartment (I’m not good at the whole running thing), so I was only about 10 minutes late…still, oops.

Map to my Arabic class - Right now, Cousin Stephen and I are living just off Jeanne D'Arc Street

Arabic class until 11am, chicken schwarma from a street vendor for lunch – cheap and oh-so-delicious – and then a stop by Librairie Antoine, the local English/French/Arabic language bookstore in Hamra. History nerd that I am, and knowing embarrassingly little about Lebanon (especially given that I’m half Lebanese and staying here for 2 months…oops again), I bought ‘A History of Modern Lebanon’ by Fawwaz Traboulsi, and the Lonely Planet Guide to Lebanon and Syria. Then I spent the rest of the afternoon in De Prague, a cafe in Hamra, reading. So happy

De Prague is an amazing cafe. Now tied with Cafe Younes as my favorite in Beirut. Because it’s near the American University of Beirut (AUB) campus, it’s always packed with students.  The food is delicious, they put rose-water in their lemonade, there’s good music, free wifi, comfortable couches and good company – what more do you need?? 

Inside Cafe de Prague

After a chill afternoon with my delicious new books, I headed home for a quick siesta and made plans with new friends to meet up tonight. And now, it’s 9:30 pm, and I have to get ready to go out in Gemmazye – it’s Friday night in Beirut!! I’ll let you know how it goes! Happy weekend!!

Lebanese Vacation Barbie

Haifa Wehbe

One thing you can’t help but notice in Beirut, is the number of women who have had plastic surgery. Walking down the corniche (the boardwalk that runs alongside the Mediterranean), you see women with tightly pulled faces, power-walking while sporting skin tight jogging outfits, with matching shoes, manicured nails, full makeup, perfectly coiffed hair, and their heads held high.  Haifa Wehbe, the popular Lebanese singer and model, has had A LOT of work done and is often spoken of as the ideal Lebanese beauty. Whereas in the States, women go to their plastic surgeons asking to look more like Angelina Jolie, here, they want to look more like Haifa.

And now, in Lebanon, where the plastic surgeons are known for their talent and low prices, plastic surgery is being promoted as a draw for tourists. In fact, according to an article published today by the Agence France-Presse (AFP), Image Concept (a private company based in Dubai), has launched a cosmetic surgery tourism initiative in Lebanon that “…includes post-operation rest and recuperation in stellar resorts and even summer camps for patients’ children.” Resorts?? Summer camps for your kids??? Apparently, they take their plastic surgeries very seriously here.

Banks in Lebanon even have special low-interest loans that they offer to those interested in getting plastic surgery. Men go for plastic surgery as well, and if I had a nickel for every person I’ve seen walking around Hamra with their noses bandaged and bruised, fresh from a doctor’s visit…well honestly I’d have 25 cents, but I’ve only been here 2 weeks, and I’d say that’s a lot for 2 weeks.

“According to plastic surgeon Elias Shammas, who heads the Hazmieh centre and is affiliated with Image Concept, ‘It is a national duty for women to look the best they can.’”

So come to Lebanon for your next vacation, and you too can look more like a Lebanese Barbie!

Oh, and speaking of Lebanese Barbies, I was walking by this toy store the other day and in the window I saw….Muslim Barbie. She’s amazing!!

Fulla, sporting her different outfits

She’s actually not Barbie, but ‘Fulla’ (which is the Arabic name for a type of Jasmine flower and my great-grandmother’s nickname ) – a Barbie-like doll, created by toy companies in Syria and the UAE for Muslim children as an alternative to Barbie. Fulla comes with two outfits – a more conservative outift, covering her hair and body to wear outdoors, and a slightly more revealing, more form fitting outfit to wear when she’s at home.  Her daily activities include cooking, talking to her friends, going to work, going shopping, reading magazines and praying.

Check out one of the Fulla TV commercials – fun and a little bizarre:

Barbie face or Barbie doll…I don’t know about you, but when it comes to Lebanese souvenirs, I’ll pass on the plastic surgery, but I’d love a Fulla doll .

New Plan

I have a plan for the next 2 months! Can you believe it?? Me! who never has a plan for more than a couple weeks in advance! I’m still recovering from the shock…

So I found out about a week ago that George is staying in the States until the end of August. And I’m LOVING Beirut, my Arabic classes are going well and I’m making friends. So…I’ve decided to stay here for 2 months instead of the originally scheduled one. Huzzah!

Only hiccup being that Stephen is leaving at the end of the month, also to go back to the states. So there goes my free lodging…And so, I began looking for an apartment.

Apartment hunting in Beirut in the summer is…interesting. There are a couple of websites I found that have apartment listings, but most are looking for long-term tenants, not summer vacationers. And there are almost no hostels. The one that I did find, in Gemmaze (neighborhood near Martyr Square), was pretty run down.

A map of Beirut with the different neighborhoods and the beaches labeled - Gemmaze is just off the map to the right. There are better maps I'm sure, but this is one of the only ones I could find online just now with the areas clearly labeled.

So…I kept looking. Turns out there’s a Craig’s List Beirut – who knew?? Well, not many people, because there’s almost nothing posted, but I did manage to turn up one post for an apartment in Hamra, near AUB (the American University of Beirut), which is actually close to where I’m living now. A few phone calls later, and I set up an appointment to visit the place.

It’s fantastic – a kind of Auberge Libanese. There are 5 people living there now, and with me, it’ll be 6. They’re all students and they rent out 2 of the rooms in the summer to travelers. Some Lebanese American guys, a Turkish girl and I think the other girl is Lebanese. Anyway, it seems perfect so I rented the room! Yay! No more hunting!! A huge relief, because walking from neighborhood to neighborhood in hot, humid Beirut, is a great way to get to know the city, yes, but it’s exhausting and I melt in the heat. At 3pm, the city feels empty – turns out that’s because I’m the only one stupid enough to walk around at 3pm in full sun…oops. My bad.

Anyway, I’m psyched about the apartment!! I move in on July 27th and I’ll stay until August 24th. Then it’s back to Amman or Ramallah, or wherever this new job takes me!

Coffee Coffee Coffee

When I’m not in class or at the apartment, I’m usually at cafés here in Beirut, studying and working. Cousin Stephen introduced me to this great place, right around the corner from the apartment called Café Younes, and it’s quickly becoming my regular spot.

The coffee is delicious and an iced latte or a frozen lemonade with mint on a hot summer day is all I need to keep me happy! The café was started in 1935 by a man named Amin Younes, who had been living in abroad in Brazil, working on coffee plantations. When Younes came back to Beirut, he opened the café and hired the now legendary, then 16-year old, Abou Anwar, to roast the coffee beans. Apparently Younes and Anwar’s coffee roaster was the first in downtown Beirut. Awesome. Plus, they mixed beans imported from Brazil, Yemen and Ethiopia to create a unique blend, which they then used to make traditional Arabic coffee.

Outside seating at Cafe Younes

The original café was destroyed in 1975, during the Lebanese Civil War. But Younes rebuilt. And now, the café has expanded to four locations around Beirut, with a whole variety of custom coffee blends, Abou Anwar is still in charge of roasting, and Amin Younes, the grandson of the founder, Amin Younes, now runs the business. There’s free wireless and a huge mix of people – the place is only open until 11pm, but it’s packed until then. I love it!!

Coffee culture here in Lebanon, and throughout the Arab world for that matter, is huge. Apparently, it’s even said that a Lebanese who doesn’t love coffee, isn’t really Lebanese. So I guess that means that, at least in this respect, I’m definitely Lebanese!

An Arabic Coffee Pot

To make traditional Arabic coffee, you take finely ground coffee beans and boil them for a while in special coffeepots – either a dallah or an ibrik. It’s then served in small, espresso-sized cups. Mmmm boy! Very strong, very thick, very good. When you’ve finished your coffee there are always coffee grounds left sitting on the bottom of your cup. Growing up, some of my aunts used to read my fortune, by examining the patterns made by the remaining coffee grounds – “…hmmm…i see you, thin, not like you are now…and with a husband. So, habibti, lose weight and you’ll get married!” oh, the memories…

Reunion!

Jeff, me, Charles and Danny out at Captain's Cabin

And here I was thinking I knew no one in Beirut, save for my family. 

Four years ago, I spent a summer at a symposium on ‘Conflict Resolution and Negotiation in the Middle East’ that was held in Nicosia, Cyprus, by a group called IIMCR (International Institute for Mediation and Conflict Resolution). It was a blast of a summer and the other program participants were amazing people. We all became good friends over the course of the summer, but when the program finished, we all went our separate ways and I probably would have lost touch with almost all of them if it wasn’t for facebook. 

Our IIMCR group in Cyprus, 2005

Yesterday though, I got a message from one of my IIMCR classmates, Danny. I actually saw him the last time I was in Beirut, but had forgotten that he was still living here. Apparently, there are actually 5 IIMCR grads (Danny, Charles, Jeff, Sarine and I) here in Beirut right now, and Danny was organizing a mini reunion.  So happy!

Captain's Cabin

So around 9pm, Danny, Charles, Jeff and I (Sarine couldn’t make it), met up at ‘Captain’s Cabin’ a bar in Hamra (a quarter of Beirut). Captain’s is apparently one of the oldest bar’s in Hamra – it was this cozy little place with nautical themed decorations and filled with a fun mix of young Lebanese and foreigners. We chatted, laughed and got caught up, sipping Almaza’s (Lebanese Beer) and munching on almonds. We called it an early night around 11:30pm with plans to meet up again soon. I have friends in Beirut! woot.

Roosters on the Roof…

It’s 5 am. Our neighbours in Beirut have a chicken coop on their roof. You know, easy access to eggs and the occasional chicken dinner. And there is a rooster. You know, to help make more chickens. And it’s 5am. And the sun is up. And he won’t shut up. I’ve never lived near a rooster before. Apparently it’s not that rare here. Later today, I’m buying earplugs.

Ma Barif…(I Don’t Know…)

Two of the first words I learned in Arabic were ‘ma’ and ‘barif’, which, when said together mean I don’t understand, no capito, no entiendo, je ne comprends pas!  I took my first Arabic class today. Shit. The students in my class have already taken about 2 months+ of Arabic lessons whereas I’m starting from square 1.   Luckily, They spent about 1 month learning to read and write so they’re not too far along grammar wise. And I’ve been practicing my alphabet with Stephen so even though I read like a  3-year old – Ha…..Bi….Bi…ha..bi..bi…….HABIBI! – I’m not completely lost.

Arabic is not going to be easy. Aside from the writing, there is a strong difference between long and short vowel sounds. So words that sound exactly the same to my untrained ear actually mean completely different things. It’s like ‘pene’ and ‘penne’ in Italian – the first means penis and the second, a type of pasta. And my favorite pasta dish is penne al’arabiatta – spicy pasta. I ordered a lot of spicy penis in Italy. Have a feeling I’ll be making similar cock-ups (No pun intended. Actually, that’s kind of funny – I take it back. Pun intended) here in Jordan.

Not to mention all the new noises. I can pronounce each sound individually…well, sort of…but string them all together and,…well, and nothing. I can’t do that yet.  And the teacher keeps asking me questions and I feel like a fool.

I love that I’m describing all this like it’s something new or unexpected. It’s so much fun though. I don’t know why I’m such a nerd for languages – maybe it’s because I love to talk…

Oh, get this – the word for sunset is related to the word for west. West is ghrarib and Sunset is maghrib (my phonetic spelling sucks – I’d write the words in Arabic but what’s the point if you can’t read it?). So now I’ll never forget that the sun sets in the west! Not that I would anyway, having grown up watching the sun set over the pacific, but still – I love that! See, NERD.

Now time to plaster the apartment with post-it notes. I love that game. I could probably single-handedly keep the Post-It Company in business. Oh yeah, I am that awesome.

Fershayit Snan - Toothbrush

Belated Birthday Breakfast in Beirut!

So first of all, I’m in Beirut! George is taking a month off to visit family back in San Diego, so I’ve come up to Beirut for the next 2 months to visit Stephen and study Arabic. We arrived on July 2nd and wah! I love this city!! I’ve been here before, but only for a week each time, so I’m excited to have a chance to stay a little bit longer. Arabic classes start on Monday -wish me luck!!!

As for the birthday breakfast – it’s a tradition in my family that every year on your birthday, Dad makes you a pancake in the shape of your age. Last year, I made pancakes in Madrid with my friends Dom and Sebastian, but this year, I was in Ramallah and didn’t get a chance to make my traditional birthday pancake. But, Jad and Shadee – my awesome cousins!! – found out about all this and surprised me this morning with a belated birthday breakfast!

My cousins and accomplished makers of pancakes, Jad and Shadee

It was so sweet of them!! Not to mention a delicious breakfast! Stephen even helped them make a homemade fruit syrup with apricots (called mish-mish in Arabic – I love that!!) and cherries. Sooo good! I love my family!!

Now that I've eaten the pancake, I'm officially 24! Huzzah!

Oh little town of Bethlehem…

Today was our last day in Palestine (tear!). But a very good last day, so no worries. This morning we all drove up to Bethlehem together – me, Stephen, Jad, Shadee, George and Mariam. Transport to and from Bethlehem is pretty restricted given that the wall is built around the city’s northern edge and cuts through some of the neighborhoods. So, surprise surprise, another checkpoint to enter in, and then finally, we were in the little town of Bethlehem! Mariam had some work to do, so the rest of us set off exploring the city.

Downtown Bethlehem

Old Gate: Qoos Az-Zarara

It’s a beautiful place – cobblestone streets, busy markets, and SO much history. With all the turquoise and light blue painted doors, it reminded me a bit of Greece. Our first visit was to the Church of the Nativity, built over the spot where, according to Christian tradition, Jesus was born. On our way there, we walked under an arch, labeled the ‘Old Gate: Qoos Az-Zarara,’ which is apparently the Qoos (arch) through which Mary and Joseph entered Bethlehem, before Mary gave birth to Jesus.

Stephen, George, Shadee, and Jad in front of the Church of the Nativity

Helena!

Just like the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, the Church of the Nativity was built in the early 300s CE, under orders from Helena, Emperor Constantine’s mom, when she discovered that Jesus had been born on the site. This original church burned, and the modern church dates from the mid-500s CE, when it was rebuilt by Emperor Justinian I. Don’t you love my nerdy history lessons?? Indulge me, pretend you do.

Interior of the Church of the Nativity

Inside the church, and down a flight of stairs, is the Grotto of the Nativity, a cave beneath the church and over the site where Jesus was born. Near the altar that mark’s Jesus’ birth spot is another altar which apparently marks the spot where Mary lay Jesus in the manger. Cool beans.

Cousins! in Bethlehem

After visiting the church, we walked around Bethlehem some more with a stop for souvenirs and some ice cold water. Okay, random tangent – a lot of the signs here in Palestine, and also in Jordan for that matter, are written in Arabic and also in English. The thing is Arabic is written phonetically – you write words exactly as they sound – unlike English. So, translations are sometimes full of cute mistakes…

Who 'da Ho, dug? You 'da Ho, dug.

Around 3pm, it was time to go so we said goodbye to George and Mariam, and Stephen, Jad, Shadee and I took a cab from Bethlehem to the Israeli border with Jordan. It was 115 degrees Fahrenheit/46 degrees Celsius!!!!! I felt like an egg sizzling in a pan. It was insane. Waiting waiting waiting, the car was searched, questions were asked, visas were bought, more questions were asked, more waiting and finally we were through. Significantly easier getting out of Israel than into Israel.

Goats and Donkey crossing on our cab ride through Jordan

From the final checkpoint, we took a bus to the Jordanian checkpoint, and from there we took a cab back to George and Mariam’s house in Subehi where we showered off a days worth of sweat and dirt, had dinner with Mariam’s mother and then packed for our trip to Beirut tomorrow, before passing out in our beds.

View from the cab, driving through Jordan