Yann Tiersen!

Bah! I love my job!! About three weeks ago, my boss called me to ask if I could conduct a phone interview in French. I said yes, to which she replied, “Wonderful! I just gave Yann Tiersen your cell phone number. He’ll be calling you at 7pm.”

Me – In my head: WHAT?!? Yann Tiersen?? The Yann Tiersen?? Who composed the music for Amelie and Goodbye Lenin?? The Yann Tiersen who’s music I used to listen to to keep my mood up when I was studying for exams in university? The Yann Tiersen who’s music I play whenever I move into a new apartment, because it fills up every corner with this warm, wonderful feeling?? The Yann Tiersen who I’m obviously sort of obsessed with???

Me – Out loud: Oh, wow! Great! I’ll write up some questions while I’m waiting for his call and email you a transcript of the interview tomorrow.

Me – In my head after hanging up the phone: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

I rushed home, typed up some interview questions and sat nervously on my bed (which doubles as my desk) waiting for the phone to ring. He called at 7:22pm and I swear, those were 22 of the longest minutes…

And then, my ringtone started to play, my stomach did a somersault and I started sweating profusely.

“Allo? C’est Yann Tiersen.”

And then I said something along the lines of “Gobbedly gobbeldy goo..” feigned a bad connection and somehow got my brain working again.

In the end, it turned out that Yann Tiersen is actually a really nice, down to earth guy, and the rest of the interview ended up going really well. He was patient with me, friendly and gave thorough answers to my questions. I felt like a real journalist for the first time – such a rush!! Success!!

So here you go! The un-cut version of my first feature article in Time Out Beirut!

YANN TIERSEN

“Music and life are the same…I’m always thinking about music.” Words spoken by a man who has clearly found his calling in life, French musician and composer, Yann Tiersen, who will be performing at the Forum de Beirut on November 12.  Tiersen was propelled into the international spotlight after the success of the film, Le Fabuleux Destin d’Amélie Poulain, for which he composed the award winning score. But as any devoted Tiersen fan will tell you, the 39-year old musician’s work extends long before and far beyond Amélie.

Born in the city of Brest and raised in the nearby city of Rennes in Brittany, France, Tiersen began to study piano and violin at the age of 12, discovering his passion for music early in life. During our interview he revealed, “I always knew I wanted to be a composer – since I was a young child. I love music!”  Tiersen would go on to receive formal music training, but a free spirit who could not be contained by the restrictions of classical protocol, he made the sharp turn from classic to rock.  Jamming with several different rock bands in the 1980s, he began to develop a style of music all his own.

In 1995, at the age of 25, he released his first album, La Valse de Monstres (The Monsters’ Waltz), a compilation of music he had composed for two French plays, Le Tambourin de Soie (The Silk Tambourine) and Freaks. The minimalist, instrumental music showcased influences of classical compositions, the old French crooners of the 1950s, and Tiersen’s beloved rock.

In addition, true to the composer’s now trademark style, the album featured the beautifully bizarre combination of such varied instruments as the violin, piano, accordion, toy piano, melodica, and xylophone.  Tiersen explains, “I really love working with sound…looking for things to use and instruments that aren’t really traditional.” Obviously not one to be limited by the conventional, the ever-curious Tiersen has continuously experimented with different melodic tools, utilizing the noises produced by things as abstract as typewriters and bicycle wheels in his compositions.

Domestic fame came in 1998, with the release of his third album, Le Phare, and then this eccentric, suddenly in-demand musician was graced with the international praise he had long deserved when his compositions for Amélie (2001) and the German film Goodbye Lenin! (2003) surprised and impressed the world.

Composing a score for a film tends to be different than composing for an album, but not for Tiersen. Whereas many composers take their inspirational cues from the visual rhythm of the film and the style of editing, or try to synchronize their music with actions and dialogue, Tiersen takes a different approach: “I don’t work with the images. I don’t look at them while I compose.” And while this may be an unconventional modus operandi, you can’t argue with success. He was given the French national film award, the César, in 2002 for Best Music Written for a Film, for his score in Amélie.

While he enjoys composing for films, and cannot deny the international success it has brought him, Tiersen prefers composing independently, professing, “There’s more freedom. When you’re working on the score for a film there are limitations and obligations.  You have to have a certain result by a certain time…it’s a bit stressful. I prefer to compose on my own time, when inspiration comes.”

When it comes to composing his music, to finding that inspiration, Tiersen likes to be alone – “I have a house on a small island west of Brittany and I have less pressure there. I can just work.” He adds laughing, “And if I don’t find any ideas there, I go into town to the bar for awhile.”  This gifted composer seems to live and breathe the music he writes, issuing the impassioned statement, “When you are a musician you can enjoy life and life can be material for your inspiration. I’m always thinking about music. It’s always with you.  When I compose, I think about life, and when I’m not working, I’m thinking about music.”

And now, Yann Tiersen will be gracing the stage in our beloved Beirut, performing songs from his yet to be released album, Dust Lane as well as compositions from his last studio album, Les Retrouvailles (2005). Dust Lane, an album that his fans are anticipating with baited breath, is the combined effort of French indie/pop-rock musician Syd Matters, British dark-folk artist Matt Elliott and Orka, a musical group hailing from the Faroe Islands. Tiersen is enjoying his current tour and is looking forward to his visit here, stating, “I’m happy to being going back to Beirut – it’s a beautiful city.” Well, Mr. Tiersen, we’re thrilled to have you!

Sing-a-longs & Traffic Reports

Normally when I take the bus to and from work every day, I bring along my iPod so I can listen to music or BBC Global News podcasts, to distract myself from the 1 hour+ journey. Or, if the mood strikes, I’ll listen to the bus radio, which normally blasts Arabic music the whole way up.

Fairuz

I had a driver the other day who was bouncing and dancing in his chair, singing along to Fairuz, an iconic Lebanese singer who had her hey-day in the 1960s & 1970s. I love it!  And better yet, yesterday, my driver was blasting a mix of NSync and Backstreet Boys – I felt like I was on a high school field trip – brilliant.

Today, alas and alack, I forgot my beloved iPod.  Ah well, I obviously get a kick out of Fairouz and NSync sing-a-longs, so I wasn’t too disappointed. When I switched buses in Dora, I was happy to hear that the radio was switched, at least briefly, to news and traffic updates – I was running a bit late and I wanted to know how bad the traffic was going to be – not like knowing would make me arrive any faster, but still. You know how it is. And so…

Announcer: And now, Layla with the traffic.

Layla: There is too much traffic today. God help us and God bless you all.

Announcer: Thank-you Layla. And now for some Fairouz!

….

Shou??? What???

I actually started laughing out loud on the bus, which drew strange stares from my fellow passengers, who all seemed to find this report completely normal. That’s it?!? That’s the entire traffic report?? No mention of which highways have traffic or where it stops or starts, which direction the traffic is going in?? Nope.

I told a Lebanese friend about it later, expecting her to laugh at how ridiculous it was, and instead she just looked at me, completely straight faced and serious, and said, “Hiyati, it’s so true. There is too much traffic in Lebanon. God help us!”

I give in – who needs traffic reports anyway?

Channeling Chinatown

Okay, someone please explain this to me. Apparently, here in Beirut, nose jobs have become so popular that those who cannot afford them, or don’t even actually need them, can still opt to wear bandages across their nose…to fake a nose job. Yup. The newest trend to hit the Beirut fashion scene is the post-op nose bandage. Seriously, what the what??

Jack Nicholson in Chinatown. Ahead of his time. If only this movie had been made 35 years later and in Beirut...

Sorry, but how or why is this considered a chic look?? Okay yes, nose jobs are extremely commonplace in Lebanon – in a 1999 article in the Daily Star discussing the rising popularity of plastic surgery in Lebanon, journalist Anne Renahan wrote, “The Lebanese nose:  a facial feature that some people are starting to say is an endangered species on the verge of extinction.” And that was 10 years ago… Today plastic surgery is more popular than ever and the nose job is still leading the way as the most commonly elected procedure – but still, why wear the bandages if you don’t have to??

In that same article, Rehahan continued with several interviews with Lebanese plastic surgeons, including Dr. E.M., 65, a member of the Lebanese Society of Plastic, Reconstructive and  Aesthetic Surgery.  Apparently Dr. E.M. “…[didn't] think that the high number of nose jobs in Lebanon [was] a fashion trend. The low cost of operations means that it cannot be considered a status symbol because to a certain extent it is available to everyone. ‘The operation is easy to do and can be done in a day. And it’s also cheaper here than other countries  the average price of a nose job in the States may be up to $6,000. In Lebanon it can cost as little as $1,000,’ he says.”

Okay, first of all, I don’t know what world you live in, but in my world, $1,000 is still a fairly large chunk of change. But if, for argument’s sake, you say that $1,000 is affordable, meaning that nose jobs are not considered a status symbol, than why bother with the bandage trend at all?? What’s the point?

To me it reeks more of Halloween than high fashion, but hey, I’m no fashionista.

French Nails…Lebanese style

“My new social environment in Beirut demanded that I be more feminine-looking. It demanded that girls look like girls and boys like boys. It demanded that I style my hair weekly at the hairdresser. Adorn my fingernails with bright polish. Speak softly and giggle often. Wear clothes that hugged my body, to show off my childbearing hips. No one knew how to deal with my tomboyish personality. My aunt would sigh every time I walked in with dirty sandals. My grandmother would shrug her shoulders when she saw me in torn-up jeans. And my cousins believed I was a hopeless case and that no one would ever marry me. How could anyone marry someone who only wore white baggy T-shirts?” – Zeina el Khalil (Beirut, I Love You)

A few weeks ago, I read this paragraph in Beirut, I Love You, and started cracking up. I had to write it down. I could relate to every single word. And here I was thinking that I was the only one thrown by the stark contrast between the ultra feminine and ultra masculine looks women and men sport here in Beirut. How arrogant and naïve of me. A whole series of conversations with my ex-pat and Lebanese friends followed as we all bonded over our recognition of this cultural trend.

Take my Arabic teacher for example. Nadia would come to class every day with her hair perfectly crimped, curled or straightened, an adorable, color-coordinated outfit, matching heels (almost always adorned with sparkling jewels or sequins). Even her eye shadow and nail polish would be colored to match her blouse. It was amazing. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a teen magazine.

And then I would enter. Panting and sweaty, 20 minutes late. Wrinkled clothes that I had worn the day before. Tangled hair, sloppily pulled back into a twisted bun, with long, curly wisps sticking out from all sides of my head, making me look a bit insane. What little makeup I’d hurridly painted on, visibly melting off. Yeah guys, I’m a catch

Once, just as I was walking in the room at 9:20, Nadia, glancing at the clock on the wall, asked me playfully, “Colette, ayya seeya fiati leeom?” (Colette, what time did you wake up today?)

Me: Ummm…Seeya tmanee wah khumsah… (Ummm…9:05…)

Nadia: (looking completely perplexed) Shou??? (What???)

Me: (More assuredly) Seeya tmanee wah khumsah.

Nadia: (staring at me blankly) …

Me: (whispering to Omar, my friend and classmate) Wait, did I not say that correctly??

Omar: (also whispering) No, no. Your Arabic is fine. Colette, she doesn’t understand how a girl could get dressed and to class in only 15 minutes.

Me: Oh. Can’t she tell just by looking at me?

Omar: (Laughing) Habibti, I think she’s processing that now.

Lebanese pop star Elissa, on a normal day

So yeah, I don’t fit the stereotype of the typical Lebanese girl. In case I hadn’t already made that clear.

Me, all "dressed-up"

In my experience, at least in the States and even in Spain, little things like shoes that match your dress or newly manicured nails are things that girls notice, not guys. But here in Beirut, guys comment if you don’t have your hair done just so or your outfit perfectly accessorized. They’re not necessarily insulting about it, more often than not, they just want to know why. Why don’t you care about your hair? Why do you have dirt under your fingernails?? You should take better care of yourself!

And in an appearance obsessed, knife happy culture where nose jobs are the norm, I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised by the fact that letting a little thing like my hair or nails go untended, sparks curiosity. Okay okay, I’m exaggerating a bit – of course not everyone is so appearance obsessed, but there is a large trend towards this among women here. Enough so, that it’s made me a bit self-conscious to the point that I’ve become hyper-aware of other women’s style and my obvious lack of it.

So, today I decided to give in a bit and treat myself to a manicure and a pedicure. All of my friends here in Hamra frequent one particular beauty salon called Cherry. It’s right in front of the lower gate of Lebanese American University (LAU), near the intersection with Sadat Street, just in case you’re wondering.

When I sat down with my manicurist, before I’d even spoken a single word, she glanced at my hands and looked up at me and said, “Habibti, you’re not Lebanese. Where are you from?”

Me: I’m from California. But, my Mom’s Lebanese! I just moved here.

Manicurist: Ha! I knew it! You look Lebanese, but you don’t have Lebanese nails.

Wait. What? Lebanese nails?

And it continued.

Manicurist: (as she was cutting my cuticles and doing all that stuff that manicurists do) Yeeeee! Hiyati! Do you see this?? (Holding up a napkin holding all the crud she’d cut off and dug out from underneath my fingernails) When was the last time you did your nails?? And they’re kteer short! So short! Do you bite them?? Ya haram. Hiyati you shouldn’t do that!

Me: (Mixture of laughter at the absurdity of the conversation and blushing from embarrassment) I’m sorry! I don’t take care of them like I should, thank you for helping me.

Oh, and then we moved onto my feet. I had a French manicure on my fingers and I asked if she could paint my toes red.

Manicurist: (clicking her tongue on the top of her mouth and raising her chin slightly – a gesture that means ‘No’) La! Habibti, I can’t! Your nails have to match.

Me: (smiling) Oh, that’s okay, I don’t care if they match. I think red would be fun!

Manicurist: Habibti you have to care! You’re in Lebanon! I can’t paint them different colors! I can’t.

Me: Um…okay. French toes it is then!

Manicurist: Yeeeeeeeee! Look at your feet! They’re worse than your hands! So dirty! And your nails! Yeeee! Hiyati, promise me you’ll come back soon?

Oh brother….

Woman sitting next to me: Habibti, you look Lebanese. I thought you were Lebanese…but you don’t speak Arabic and you don’t have Lebanese nails…

Manicurist: (to the woman, as she (the manicurist) spent 10 minutes PER TOE, scrubbing, clipping, painting and perfecting) La (no), she’s American, but her mother is Lebanese. (Winking at me) we’ll fix the nails and she’ll learn Arabic.

Woman: Yes! You have to learn, an-  yeeee! Look at your feet! So dirty!

My beautifully manicured nails

I have to admit though, that my nails do look beautiful and very clean. And for only $15, it’s not a bad deal. So maybe I’ll embrace my inner Lebanese beauty queen and get my nails done every so often. Cause come on, if I don’t speak Arabic and have Lebanese nails, no one will believe that I’m really Lebanese .

Beirut, how I love thee. Let me count the ways…

Cagil!

About a week ago, my flatmate Cagil (pronounced ‘Chill’) and I were sitting out on her balcony, drinking wine, smoking cigarettes and listening to Fairuz belt out ‘Le Beirut.’ Complete bliss. As we sat there in our white plastic chairs, our feet propped up on the rusty steel railing, red wine dribbling down our chins (well, my chin – Cagil doesn’t have the same problems I do with spills and messes) we tried to figure out what it is that makes this disorganized city, so full of contradictions, so special – why do we love it so much? And although we couldn’t quite pinpoint one specific thing, we did manage to cover a whole spew of things that are uniquely and wonderfully ‘Beirut.’

• Constant power outages that leave you peeing in the dark, locked in café with electric doors, sweltering without air conditioning, and cursing your dead computer battery
• Completely veiled women with bright purple platform heels peeking out beneath their burquas.
• Cold (aka luke warm) showers on a sticky summer afternoon
• Grilled ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches from Dany’s
• Meeting at least one new person every day
• Joking about my former unibrow and mustache with people who can honestly relate (we Lebanese are a rather hairy people)
  

  My natural eyebrows

• Amazing people from all over Lebanon and the world who are willing to open up completely; who become your best friend, your soul mate in only a few days time
• Stores that appear and disappear in a month’s time
  

  M'juddera

• Popping olives like candy while we dance around the kitchen, Louis Armstrong playing from my laptop, cooking m’juddera (lentils and rice – by the way – LOVE that its called mmmmm judera cause it really is muah-ha mmmmm boy delicious) with friends
• The world’s S   L   O   W   E   S   T and most expensive internet connection
• Walking south, while taxis driving north honk at you and offer you a ride
• Six people jammed in the back of a Service (shared taxi)
• Eating three meals a day at BarBar
• The hilarious but inevitable realization that after eating three meals a day at BarBar, even your sweat has begun to smell like garlic
• Seemingly sweat-free Lebanese women with perfect nails, hair, skin and clothes, strutting down Hamra
• Spending long afternoons at Ants, browsing jewelry and dresses or just chilling and drinking tea with Fahan, Sebouh, Karen, Raghda and Noor
• Countless marriage proposals from taxi drivers
• Iced coffee at Café Younes with a constantly growing group of friends
• Singing along while friends play guitar and drink cocktails on your roof
  

  May and Leila enjoying fruit cocktails for breakfast

• Fruit cocktails (an assortment of sliced fresh fruit topped with a sugary syrup, sweet white cheese, pistachio nuts, almonds and a slice of avocado – AH! Too good!)
• Friday night concerts by ‘Chahadine Ya Baladna’ at Walimat
• Techno dance parties in the back of taxi cabs…complete with flashing lights…at 3pm
• Silent old movies screened with subtitles on the walls of De Prague
• An unhealthy obsession with Knafe
  

  Knafe!!

• Old men, sitting outside cafes in white plastic chairs playing backgammon or smoking
• Communal water bottles on mini buses
• Sitting on my orange sheets with friends in my room, drinking wine, eating chocolate, talking and cracking each other up until the wee hours of the morning
  

  Me, wrapped in my orange sheets, and so happy!

• That newfound, deep and unconditional love we have all developed for air conditioners
• That renewed, deep and unconditional hatred we have all developed for mosquitoes
• The first fresh figs at the end of August


My infamous fig binges have earned me the nickname 'Teeny,' which in Arabic means 'My fig'

• Eating figs until your stomach starts to gurgle and you come to the terrifying realization that you can fart on cue
• Long, intimate evenings with Señor Hamam (Hamam = Toilet in Arabic) after binging on figs
• Realizing that you’ve never before talked about your bowel movements on such a regular basis


Dancing with Omar at Oceana

• Sipping an ice-cold Almaza with friends at Barometre and snacking on an assortment of Lebanese dishes (mezze)
• Dancing all day in the pool at one of Beirut’s beach clubs
• Being offered tissues by random strangers, blown away by how completely drenched in sweat you’ve allowed yourself to become
• Ordering an obscene amount of food from Kabab-ji…and devouring every last bite
• Lazy days in the pool with friends that you’ve known for a few days, but feel like you’ve known for years
  

  Farah, Rianne, me and Leila floating in the pool at Sporting

• Sitting on the balcony with Cagil, drinking wine, discussing what makes us happy in Beirut

The Son of a Duck is a Floater…and other Arab proverbs

Today was Omar’s last day in Arabic class. Ya haram! Quelle domage! Yet like me, he has fallen hopelessly in love with Beirut and is planning to come back in a month’s time. But also like me, he’s a free spirit whose plans change on a daily basis. So I’m crossing my fingers that he finds his way back our beloved Beirut so I can enjoy his company a little longer. To commemorate his final class, and my final class with Nadia – Jamila and I are switching teachers next week – we took a photo of our group.

Me, Omar, Nadia (our wonderful teacher), and Jamila

We posed with our favorite Arabic book “The Son of a Duck is a Floater.” Cracks me up! It’s an illustrated book of Arab proverbs translated literally and figuratively into English. ‘The son of a duck is floater,’ as you probably guessed, is the direct translation of an old proverb that’s literal meaning most closely translates to the English proverb “Like father, like son.” For those of you who have English as a second language, you might miss why we love the title of this book so dearly – a ‘floater’ in English, or at least American English, is a slang term for a dump in the toilet that floats. I’m sorry, I couldn’t really think of a nicer way of putting that. A hilarious and I’m sure unintentional use of words on the part of the authors. And yes, I do have the sense of humor of a 6-year-old. But you know you love it too

Other proverbs in the book include “From a lack of horses they saddle dogs,” which the book explains as, “There was nothing suitable, and they came up with a completely useless alternative.” Another is “He made a dome from a seed,” which is the same as the English proverb, “To make a mountain out of a molehill.” And one of my favorites, “Spilling coffee is a good omen,” meaning, “Bad luck often brings good luck in its wake.” Having spilled a fair amount of coffee on my computer, my sheets, myself and others, I love the idea that this somehow entitles me to bundles of good luck. And as I gaze down at my coffee stained shirt I think, ‘watch out world, good things are coming my way!’

I love books like this!  I find that whenever I go to a new country, one of the best ways to learn more about the local culture is to read their proverbs, fairy tales and other children’s stories – the literature and sayings that people grew up with, that influenced some of their values, ideals and morals. It’s informative, and almost always hilarious. The perfect way to spend any lazy afternoon!

Burqini Fever!

In my post on Sour, I included a photo of a young Muslim girl going swimming, covered and veiled – a concept completely foreign and interesting to me.  And you know how sometimes when you learn something new, it somehow seems to pop up everywhere??? So here’s what I’ve found out about Muslim swimwear, which now seems to pop up everywhere:

At the beach in Sour, as far as I could tell, these women and children were going swimming in their clothing – a naïve but understandable assumption. But, as it turns out, there’s actually a relatively large market for full-body swimsuits for Muslim women that allow them to swim without exposing themselves. And better yet, they call the swimsuits ‘burqinis.’ (burq – from ‘burqa,’ the Arabic word meaning the full Muslim veil, and ‘-ini’ is taken from ‘bikini’) I love it!

One of Ahiida's designer burqinis weighing in at a whopping 160 Australian dollars = abt. 135 American dollars, 95 Euros, or 203,000 Lebanese Lira

If you google ‘burqini,’ one of the first sights to pop up is Ahiida Burqini Swimwear, a company founded in 2004 and based in Australia that specializes in “dynamic swimwear and sportswear for today’s Muslim female.”  The company was actually started by a Lebanese woman named Aheda Zanetti, who moved to Australia as a child, and frustrated by her inability to participate in prevalent Australian water sports, decided to design a swimsuit specifically tailored to the modern Muslim woman.  The resultant burqini allows Muslim women to easily and flexibly swim and compete in water sports, while still remaining completely covered. Clever, huh?

While this trendy Muslim swimsuit is all the rage in Lebanon and Australia, the burqini and the Muslim burqa in general have, unfortunately, been topics of controversy in France for a few years now. Why France? They have the largest Muslim minority population in the EU, and there are those that believe that discrimination against Muslims will decrease if they become less visibly Muslim and more visibly French. Plus, there are entire lobbies of French women (well, and men for that matter) who see the veil as an infringement upon women’s rights. I’ve summed it up in an insanely brief way, but needless to say, it’s a sticky situation.

Anyway, the reason I bring all this up, is that there was actually an article today (see – burqinis everywhere!) in the Daily Star - ‘Paris Pool Bans Woman in Burqini Swimsuit’- discussing the controversy that has arisen over the use of the burqini in France:

“A Paris swimming pool has refused entry to a young Muslim woman wearing a ‘burqini,’ a swimsuit that covers most of the body, officials said Wednesday.  The pool ban came as French lawmakers conduct hearings on whether to ban the burqa after President Nicolas Sarkozy said the head-to-toe veil was ‘not welcome’ in secular France.   Officials in the Paris suburb of Emerainville said they let the woman swim in the pool in July wearing the burqini, designed for Muslim women who want to swim without revealing their bodies.  But when she returned in August they decided to apply hygiene rules and told her she could not swim if she insisted on wearing the garment, which resembles a wetsuit with a built-in hood.  France, home to Europe’s biggest Muslim minority, has set up a special panel of 32 lawmakers to consider whether a law should be enacted to bar Muslim women from wearing the full veil, known as a burqa or niqab.” – AFP

Amazing that a glorified wetsuit could stir up so much controversy. I for one have always been a proponent of the belief that respect for differences rather than forced assimilation is a better way to create a peaceful society, but I can respect that this is a complicated issue.

Arabic Lessons & Taxi Rides

This morning I woke up at 9am. Shit. Late for class. Did the sniff test to see which of my clothes emitted the least detectable odor. Settled on jeans and a rumpled pink shirt. I need to do laundry…

Decided to be an extra five minutes late and stopped at my favorite roadside stand for a manaeesh zaatar wah khudra (hot bread sprinkled with zaatar and filled with fresh khudra – vegetables (tomato, cucumber, radish, pickles, fresh mint, olives, etc)) – basically an Arabic breakfast burrito. YUM. And don’t judge me on the extra five minutes – I don’t function well without breakfast and it’s only 750 Lebanese Lira – a whopping 50 cents. HEAVEN!

Crumbs decorating my already questionably clean shirt I rushed into class after making a mandatory stop in the bathroom to mop the sweat off my face. Walking into class, as you can imagine, I looked…lovely. Ear to ear grin, I gave a warm ‘sabah-hall khair!’ (good morning!) to my teacher, Nadia, who gave me that knowing grin that all my teachers throughout the history of my adult life have given me when I inevitably clumsily stumble into class, late as usual.

Two hours later, proud of the progress I’d made in class, I met Omar for a coffee at Costa where we he taught me how to text in Arabic. Despite the fact that all phones here have Arabic letters written alongside the English letters, everyone seems to text in the English, Latin-based alphabet, instead of using the Arabic alphabet – Arabic words written out phonetically with numbers substituting the sounds that don’t translate. For example, the ‘H’-ish sound in the word ‘rooH’ (to go), is texted as a ‘7’ – roo7. The guttural ‘aiyn’ sound, is texted as a ‘3,’ etc. It’s weird and complicated, but an essential thing to know in a world where texting is the standard way of communicating.

I left Omar around noon, and caught a taxi over to Dowra (area on the outskirts of Beirut)  to check on my beloved ‘kom-pew-tair’ as they call it over here in Libnan. My cab driver quickly picked up that I was foreign and proceeded to give me Arabic lessons all the way to Dowra.

Him: ‘Where are we now?’
Me: ‘In Lebanon.’
Him: ‘La! (No!) Be Libnan.’
Me: (Laughing) ‘Okay, be Libnan’
Him: ‘Maabrook habibti! Btheki Arabe!’ (Congratulations darling! You speak Arabic!)
Me: (Still laughing) ‘Shukrun!’ (Thanks!)
Him: ‘Inti Libnanieh?’ (Are you Lebanese?)
Me: ‘Eh, immi libnanieh.’ (Yeah, my Mom’s Lebanese)
Him: (switching over to French) Et t’a un fiancé? (And you have a fiancé?)

Oh brother….

I have discovered that inquiring minds in Lebanon always want to know if you’re engaged. In fact, the masculine and feminine forms of the word ‘engaged’ were two of the first I learned when I arrived in Beirut. He proceeded to tell me that he had a lovely Muslim son in his late 20s who loves girls who laugh. I declined, as politely as I could, the following generous offer of a blind date with said son just as we arrived in Dowra.  I claimed to be a devout Christian but if his son was willing to convert….The only proven way I have yet discovered to end such conversations. An, ‘aw, tant pis!’ ended that conversation dead in its tracks. Phew! Narrow escape. And I climbed out of the cab and hurried over to the computer shop where my computer has been living this past week.

Ah, good news! My computer is up and running again! So happy!! I’m well aware that it’s no exceptional breakthrough, but I hadn’t realized how completely dependent I am upon this stupid rectangular machine. A new hard-drive + $100 + 6 interesting taxi rides back and forth to Dowra proved to be the answer to all my problems and now I’m up and running again without a care in the world! Inshallah!  Now, time for a shower, and maybe I’ll do some of that laundry…

Fashion Statements and Neon Polish

I’m not what you would call a style-savy person. Part of me has always wanted to be one of those chill girls with a bright colored scarf wrapped around my head, baggy cargo pants, patchwork bag slung over my shoulder.   Part of me wants to be the chic girl – like Julie Delpy in Before Sunset with the million dollar jeans, delicate flats, and a silk black tank top. Part of me wants to dye my hair jet black, wear all bright colors and wear enormous hoop earrings, bangle bracelets and lots of rings. Ooh! Or knee high boots and cool, cropped leather jackets.

Well anyway, for now, with ‘champagne tastes on a diet coke budget’, I’m forced to settle for 5 dollar t-shirts and scruffy jeans, and admire from afar those with the means and fashion sense I lack.  But one fashion statement I can afford is nail polish. And here in Beirut the latest craze is pink nails. Neon pink. What the what?? We’re talking, the ’80s are back’, ‘going to a rave under black lights’ neon NEON. Bizarre and gaudy at first glance, I’ll admit – but, with time, the look grows on you, I can’t lie.  So today, I decided to give in and I bought a bottle. Gave myself a pedicure and now every time I look at my toes I smile. A cheap splash of a ridiculous trend has brightened my day. Nothing wrong with that!

Jbeil (aka Byblos)

Yesterday, I was sick in bed all day with the flu. I guess that’s what I get for going on and on about how Friday is my lucky day. I jinxed myself. Damn. Knew it was too good to be true…But, don’t fret! I was feeling a bit more energized today and when Ozge and Charles pitched the idea of heading to the beach, I couldn’t resist. Besides, if I’m going to be sick, I’d much rather be sick at the beach – you gotta’ admit, lying in the sun is much more entertaining than lying in bed at home.

So, we headed north to Jbeil (pronounced Je-bale, and also known by the Greek name, Byblos), to the beautiful beach club, Eddé Sands.  Charles had been there before and knew how to sneak us in so we didn’t have to pay the ridiculously expensive entrance fee. Score! Once inside, we all slipped into our bathing suits and oooched! and ouched! our way over to empty beach chairs, burning the soles of our feet on the scorching sand. No sooner had we stretched out on our chairs, than Omar called to say he was also the beach – ah! Too good to be true! And just like that, our fabulous foursome was all together sipping beers and relaxing seaside.

Ozge, Omar and Charles, chilling at the beach

Eddé Sands is pretty ridiculous. The place is massive – there are 6 pools alongside the beach, restaurants, fish ponds, bars, music, amazing landscaping, a view of the ruins of Jbeil. They host concerts and all-night parties. They were actually setting up for a wedding while we were there – laying down the dance floor, setting up lights and carrying in massive crates of flowers. Looked like it was going to be one extravagant bash!

Eddé Sands (Beautiful photo by Ozge)

Ah! Okay, side note – weddings in Lebanon. Oh my crap. What an ordeal. At a friend’s party the other night, I met a wedding planner.  As she regaled me with tales of the MILLION DOLLAR weddings she organizes (no joke, many spend even more), I felt like a little kid enraptured at story time.  It was unreal. It baffles me that people are willing to spend SO much on one day.

My brother and I on our way to the moon in 1992

But then again, I’ve always had simpler tastes – after all, I’m the kid who would put aside her toys to play for hours with her brother, transforming a cardboard box into a spaceship and taking trips to the moon. To each their own, right? Some people take out loans to pay for their studies or to buy a house, in Lebanon they take out loans to look like Barbies and throw weddings on the scale of the Oscars.

Walking around Beirut, every now and then you’ll see a wedding procession driving by – the bride’s car smothered with bows, ribbons, flowers and fluff, all the other cars honking as they go by. And when I say honking, I mean hands slammed against the horn, never letting up. Actually gives me a headache, but here it means party party! Women in the cars and even passer-bys will cup their hands over their mouths and let out what a friend of mine fondly refers to as the high-pitched Lebanese yodel, a celebratory cry, which in Arabic is actually called ‘zalghouta.’

Check out this video of my friend Jad crying out a zalghouta:

Lebanese makeup at it's finest

Oh, and the outfits! It’s like an 80’s prom gone wrong – everyone dressed in the poofiest, most glitter-drenched dresses the world has ever known. Hairstyles that rival Amy Winehouse’s famous beehive for height and volume, with vibrant streaks of blond added in especially for the occasion.  Sequined covered shoes that can be seen sparkling from miles away. The bling bling these girls decorate their fingers, necks, wrists, ears and hair with would do Elizabeth Taylor proud.  And the whole ensemble is complimented by makeup that would do drag queens proud.

Everything in excess.

A Lebanese Bride

My friend Rianne actually went to a Lebanese wedding during her first week here in Lebanon.  Later she told me stories of the ceremony, held at a massive mansion in the hills overlooking Beirut.  There were rotating video cameras on cranes, candles everywhere, chefs ready and waiting to cook you whatever your heart desired.  There was a massive dance floor surrounded by hundreds of tables, flowers popping out of every surface imaginable. And as a grand finale – fireworks!

Fireworks in general seem to be big in the Middle East. In Amman, Ramallah and Beirut, I regularly heard the popping of fireworks or firecrackers, most relatively small, going off at night, or even mid-day.  But whenever we see a massive fireworks show going off in the skies over Beirut, my Lebanese friends joke that with each explosion the only sound the groom hears is that of the money draining from his bank account. I think I’m going to have to try to go to one of these Lebanese weddings before I leave. I have to see all this for myself…

But anyway, back to the beach.

Omar, me and Charles modeling our beautiful beach-wear at Edde Sands (Photo by Ozge)

The four of us had an amazing time – lounging, soaking up the sun, taking the occasional dip in the Mediterranean, or one of the pools. When hunger struck, we made our way over to one of the little restaurants where we ordered the cheapest thing on the menu – big salads (trust me, I’m not one of those freaky skinny girls who only eats rabbit food, but on a hot day this was just what the doctor ordered. Plus, there was chicken in it and the thing was massive. I’m just saying). Waiting for our food we sipped on jallab, chatted and laughed.

Ozge enjoying her delicious glass of Jallab

Omar enjoying his delicious glass of Jallab

Ah! Jallab! This stuff is amazing! The perfect antidote to a sticky, hot summer day. Jallab is an mmmmm boy delicious juice drink that I would love to claim as Lebanese, but it’s popular throughout the Arab world, so really, I have no idea where it first appeared. It’s made with a syrup made from date juice, molasses and rose water.  You mix the syrup with water and ice, top it off with pine nuts, fresh almonds and golden raisins, and switch between straw and spoon until the glass is empty. And Louis Armstrong croons, ‘Heaven! I’m in heaven! And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak, and I seem to find the happiness I seek…’ *Sigh*

Around 8pm, as the sun began to set, the four of us packed up our bags, said goodbye to Eddé Sands, and walked (about 20 min.) into Jbeil to explore the city and get some dinner. Jbeil was founded around 5000 BCE. Okay, coming from the States where no building is over 300 years old and especially coming from California, which didn’t even become a state until 1850, I LOVE being constantly surrounded by so much history! I mean, Jbeil is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities IN THE WORLD. What the what?! Doesn’t that blow your mind???

It’s an old Phoenician city and it’s insanely beautiful. I mean, I love Beirut, but this place just has so much character and charm oozing out of every street corner.

Charles, me and Omar walking around downtown Jbeil. (Photo by Ozge)

Just to clarify, Phonecia was this fantastic ancient civilization that was composed of a massive chunk of modern-day Lebanon + bits of Palestine, Israel and Syria. It lasted from the 1500s BCE until the 300s BCE and for a large part of that time, Jbeil was actually their capital city. Woot.

Map of Phoenicia

The Phoenicians were also the ones who created the alphabet that is widely believed to be the ancestor of almost all modern alphabets. So how ‘bout them apples? Yeah, these guys were awesome.  All of their big cities were located along the coast because they were all about maritime trade.  Actually the Greek name for Jbeil – Byblos – came from the Greek word for papyrus – ‘bublos’ – which was the main import the Greeks received from the Phoenicians in Jbail. Ah sooooo!

Our amazing wristbands! Here's to tacky souvenirs!

We walked past the 12^th century crusader castle and through the old souk where we browsed clothes, jewelry, nargiles, postcards, handcrafts, etc. and each dropped about 50 cents on cheesy Lebanon wristbands. We popped into the famous shop – Mémoire du Temps – where you can browse and buy old fossils. The shop is nuts. It’s relatively small and every available bit of wall and shelf space is covered with ancient fish fossils – including one of a 4 meter long shark.  Apparently it was opened by the paleontologist Pierre Abi-Saad, a native of Jbeil.  Abi-Saad’s family has owned a quarry in the city for generations, in which they discovered thousands of perfectly preserved fossils of fish, most species of which are now extinct. Apparently, in the fall and spring, you can actually go on fossil digs with this guy for FREE. I’m going to have to get in on that!

The old souk in Jbeil (Another beautiful photo by Ozge)

By 9:30pm, the souk was beginning to close up and the cafes and bars to open up. Within a few minutes, the streets went from housing baubles and bangles to housing tons of folding tables and chairs that quickly filled with hungry locals and visitors alike. Hungry ourselves, we headed down to the harbor – the former hub of all Phoenician trade. At night the harbor is so beautiful – all the fishing boats docked for the night, the medieval walls and old Mamluk towers wrapped around its sides, and little lights from restaurants reflecting in the water. Very cute.

The view of the harbor from the restaurant Chez Pepe (Photo by Ozge)

Omar, me and Charles out for dinner at Pepe

For dinner, we decided to go to Chez Pepe: Byblos Fishing Club.  The restaurant is right on the harbor and is famous all over Jbeil for its fresh fish. YES! The restaurant was founded by this guy named Pepe Abed – a Lebanese man born and raised in Mexico. He moved back to Lebanon in the 1960s and opened his now famous restaurant in 1963. Apparently Pepe really knew how to throw a good party and his restaurant attracted the glitterati of Lebanon and the world – politicians like Czech President Václav Havel, film stars like Marlon Brando and Bridget Bardot, etc. Pepe’s was the IT restaurant in Lebanon.

An old photo of Pepe Abed, showing off his photo wall of fame

Then boom. Civil war. During the war, Chez Pepe closed its doors and Pepe flew back to Mexico where he worked saving money to reopen his restaurant when things cooled down in Lebanon. It didn’t have the same ‘star’ power it once boasted but if you go now, there are still tons of photos on the walls of Pepe and his famous guests.  Sadly, Pepe died at the ripe old age of 95, in the winter of 2006. Sounds like the guy had quite a life! His son runs the business now, and it really is a blast of a place – it’s so nice sitting outside and feasting on lip-smacking good Lebanese cuisine. You actually get to pick the fish you want from a large ice filled case. It’s fantastic! It’s served with tahini (sesame paste), lemon and pita. And that’s not including the wide selection of mezze dishes – hummos, moutabal, tabouleh, etc. Good food gives me such a happy rush and when we finally finished our meal, we were are bursting with joy…and out of our pants – luckily I was sporting baggy shorts. Oh yeah.

Dancing in the streets of Byblos (photo by Ozge)

Pole dancing in the streets of Jbail

Happy and full, we walked back into the city center where all of the outdoor bars were now overflowing with people, drinking and dancing in the streets. We took a seat at an outdoor bar called Iguana and tried their signature drink – an icy cocktail, blended like a frozen margarita, made with fresh kiwis and vodka. So good!  We sipped our alcoholic kiwi slushies and danced in our chairs to the music playing from a nearby live band, singing songs in Arabic, English, Spanish, Italian and French. A little after midnight, we were all feeling wiped out and I was becoming more aware of the fact that I have the flu. So we danced our way through the crowds and hailed a cab back to Beirut.  You know, yani, just a typical Saturday in Lebanon…haha! What the what?! How is this my life??

Charles, Ozge, me and Omar at Iguana

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

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

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?

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 .

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…

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.

al-Quds

I just spent the day in al-Quds (aka Jerusalem)! You know, the holy city for Muslims, Christians and Jews, one of the oldest cities in the world (dates from 4th century BCE), the city where Jesus was crucified, the city the Crusades were fought over…no big deal.

No, in all seriousness – what the what?!? Too good to be true!

George, Mariam, Stephen and I woke up early this morning, had eggs with zaatar, pita bread and olives for breakfast and then piled into the car. The drive to Jerusalem took us somewhere between 30-45 minutes + a passport check at the Jerusalem checkpoint and we were in! As we drove into the city, George was pointing out the distinctions between East Jerusalem, which is Palestinian and West Jerusalem, which is Israeli – it’s bizarre to see the similarities and contrasts of these peoples living side by side. Our first stop, was at the top of the Mount of Olives for an insane view over all of the city.

Me on the Mount of Olives, overlooking al-Quds

Suleman the Magnificent and his sweet hat

Hadrian

After our scenic detour we made our way down to the Damascus Gate, one of the main entrances into the old city. A gate has stood at that spot since at least the 2nd century A.D., constructed by the Romans, under the rule of Hadrian. However, the gate that stands there today, was built in the mid-1500s by the Ottomans, under the rule of Suleman the Magnificent. Sweet!

Uncle George and I in front of the Suleman the Magnificent's Damascus Gate

When you enter through the gate, you’re right in the middle of the souk (market) that runs through the center of the old city. All of a sudden, you’re bombarded with thousands of different colors and smells, fabrics and foods, jewelry and carvings – it’s amazing!! I can’t do it justice with descriptions so I’ll just post some photos

Inside the souk in the old city

Zaatar Mountain! Spices for sale in the souk

Nuts and candies for sale in the souk

In the end, we couldn’t resist the allure of the intoxicating smells wafting from the sweet shops, and made a stop in the souk for some hot knafe, which is probably my all time favorite Lebanese pastry. Oh and get this, apparently, a couple days ago, a Palestinian guy set the Guinness Record for making the world’s largest knafe. This man is my HERO.

Church of the Holy Sepulchre

Bellies stuffed and huge smiles plastered on our faces we wound our way out of the souk and over to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. So, if you didn’t know, a sepulchre is “a small room or monument, cut in rock or built of stone, in which a dead person is laid or buried.” So the Church took its name from Jesus’ sepulchre, which lies inside the church. Yup. That’s right. This is where Jesus was buried. Insanity.

The church was built in the early-300s CE, under the rule of the Roman emperor Constantine I – you know – the first Christian Roman Emperor, the guy who changed Byzantium to Constantinople. Constantine’s mom, Helena, was one of those people who always needed a project – kind of like my Mom. So, Constantine gave her the task of going through the Holy Land (which was then all part of his empire), digging up all the Christian relics, and building churches on the sites of her finds to promote them.

Now, before the Church of the Holy Sepulchre was constructed, there was a temple to Venus standing on the site. Helena was not a fan of Greco-Roman paganism, so she had Venus’s Jerusalem temple demolished. I’m not saying that Venus cursed her for it, but Helena did get divorced and was never remarried so…who knows? Maybe it’s just me, but I’d say, when in doubt, don’t do anything to piss off the goddess of love.

Anyway, after Helena had it demolished, she decided to excavate under the ruins of the former temple. According to legend, during these excavations three crosses were uncovered. Helena thought that one of the crosses might be the ‘True Cross’ that Christ was crucified on, so to test her theory she supposedly let a sick woman touch all three crosses. After touching the third cross the woman was healed, Helena decided that meant the cross was the ‘True Cross’ (meaning that this must have been the site of Jesus’ crucifixion) and she ordered the construction of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre on the spot. The church also contains the ‘Angel’s Stone’, a piece of the stone that sealed Jesus’ tomb, and his sepulchre itself which was discovered during the construction of the Church.

I’ve never been a particularly religious person, by I do have to say that it’s incredibly moving to see people from all over the world coming to this church. They believe so completely in the power of the church and the relics inside – everyone’s crying, lighting candles, kissing the stone that Jesus was laid upon after he was taken off the cross. And they’ve been doing this for centuries now! Big example – Crusaders used to visit this church and they would carve small crosses into one of the church walls – sort of a ‘I was here’ mark. The wall is covered with hundreds of crosses now. It’s amazing!

Touching the stone that Helena claimed Jesus was laid upon after being crucified

One kind of funny tidbit about the church – sometime in the early-mid 1800s, someone was washing the church windows or repairing part of the exterior, and placed a wooden ladder on the facade of the church. The guy forgot his ladder, years passed and no one ever moved it. And now the ladder, which is still there, has come to be called ‘The immovable ladder.’ Tourists take photos of it. And just like that this guy’s forgotten ladder has become a part of this church. Can’t help but smile at that

The Immovable Ladder

After visiting the church, we were walking around the city when we bumped into an old friend of George’s, Albert. When George was around my age, he was working as a photojournalist in Palestine, met Albert and ended up renting a room from him during his stay. The two have been friends ever since. When we ran into Albert, he was sitting outside with some of his friends, smoking their narghiles and drinking tea. We sat down and joined them.

Tea and argyles with Albert and his buds in al-Quds

Albert’s stories were all in Arabic, but I hear he’s a crack up. And honestly, this dude talks more than I do. It was impressive.

Burning Garbage…

One smell that was new to me when I arrived in Palestine, was the smell of burning garbage. Coming home in the afternoon from a café, there is almost always a cloud of black smoke or small flames flickering somewhere in view. With waste collection unavailable in almost all of the Palestinian territories, the people have to do something with their waste. Sanitary landfills cost money and require space, both of which aren’t readily available. So they burn. I looked it up and discovered that it’s actually a pretty common practice in small towns and even rural areas all over the world, utilized by those who want to avoid waste collection costs.

Problem is, when you burn your waste, a lot of pollutants that are damaging to the environment, particularly the ozone layer, are released. Additionally, burning garbage can create and release toxic pollutants that cause eye and lung infections, and in some cases, cancer.

Good thing is, the Palestinians are aware of the problem.   And despite the fact that they have other, more pressing, priorities, slow but steady steps are being taken within the Palestinian territories to correct the situation.

According to an article published last February in the publication ‘This Week In Palestine,’ some Palestinian municipalities are working together to create regional systems of waste management; systems that include organized collection of waste and the creation of sanitary landfills. Cool beans. Go Palestine!

Ramallah

First full day in Ramallah! Okay, so for those of you who don’t know, Ramallah (which basically translates to ‘mountain of God’) is a city in the West Bank, populated by around 27,000 people.

Today, we all had to work. George and Mariam were editing at the studio, Stephen was writing in the apartment, and I headed into the city to do my work. I love working at cafes and in other public spaces – makes the whole experience so much more pleasant, and when you do need a break, there’s quality people watching at your fingertips.

Today, I spent most of the afternoon at a cafe called Pronto. Right now I’m editing a grant proposal for UNESCO. The document is 90 pages long, and it’s taking a loooong time to edit BUT the project proposal is fascinating. It’s all about promoting tourism in Palestine by creating paths that trail through the country, stopping at all the important religious, cultural and historical sites. An added bonus for me – the proposal includes details on each of the sites that the proposed routes will connect, meaning I’m learning a ton about Palestine in the process.

Downtown Ramallah

Fresh squeezed lemonade and manaaish (bread with zaatar), a comfortable chair, interesting work, great people watching, and a sunny afternoon in Ramallah. Who could ask for anything more??

Mahmoud Darwish

I came back to the apartment around 5pm and we all went out for a walk around the neighborhood that took us over to the grave of Mahmoud Darwish. Darwish is one of, if not the most famous Palestinian poet of the modern age, playing a critical role in the development of ‘poetry of resistance.’ I didn’t know who he was and when I asked, the reaction was exactly the same as when I asked my friends in Spain who Raul (the famous footballer for Real Madrid) was. This guy is a BIG deal. Ooops. Played the ignorant American card and promised to look for an English translation of his poetry – another on a long list of books I’ve promised to read while I’m here.

There were two guards on duty by his tomb, just sitting on the ground having tea. They recited some of Darweesh’s poetry for us, but it was in Arabic so I didn’t understand. Ah! Can’t wait to go to Beirut next month and start taking classes!! Stephen translated bits of the conversation for me.

Cousin Stephen in front of Mahmoud Darwish's grave

Okay, side-note. It’s hilarious when my family translates Arabic for me. I don’t understand anything that’s being said to me, but they seem to assume that I’m understanding everything except for a few very specific details, so they’ll just translate a word or two, or tell me who a person is that was mentioned in the conversation. It’s hilarious. Basically, I hear: alkdsjflkasjdflkjaslkdfjaksj asjdlkfjaslkfjklasjdf and eventually someone turns to me and whispers, “That means ‘green.’ Oh, and Lena is Mariam’s cousin.” So the only thing I take away from the 30 minute conversation is that at some point in the middle of all the aksfjklasjdflajsfkldjalskjfdakl, something that may or may not be significant is or was green, and Mariam has a cousin named Lena. I have found it’s better to just smile and nod along with the conversation, pretending I understand and hoping against hope that no one asks me any questions.

After a lot of curious questioning later, I did find out that the guards speaking to us were both refugees from a village that’s now part of Israel.  One had been in jail from the age of 15-20 for trying to cross the border to visit his family, who he hadn’t and still hasn’t seen in years. Here, people’s stories are so intense – I can’t imagine living out your whole life through war and under occupation. It’s horrible. I don’t know how they don’t walk around fuming mad all the time, but everyone I’ve met so far has been so wonderful – nice, happy, open. It’s remarkable. They always want to share their stories and it can be a bit overwhelming. I’ve discovered that I’m more emotional than Uncle George – he takes in the stories calmly, asking intelligent questions while I find myself crying, enraged, and/or frustrated.

After that, we just walked around a bit before heading home for some fresh cherries (my stomach has finally adjusted to the local fruit. So relieved!) and chatting.

*Random fact about Ramallah – the Mayor since 2005 is Janet Michael, the first woman to hold that position. Maabruk (Congratulations) Janet!

Mayor of Ramallah - Janet Michael