The Trip Diaries: The Time We Did Beirut - On the Way, pt. 2

Still on our way to Beirut.

As we reached the Jordanian - Syrian border, we went to the duty free shop.

We are living a lie in the city, man.

The items we bought at the duty free cost at least double their price in the city. We are ripped off each and every day of our lives. It might actually be better for people to go to the border to shop for gifts, perfumes, cigarettes, and booze and back to the city than buy the same items at a mall, including gas expenses. I assume you'd eventually be paying the same amount of money to do that, and would probably get more stuff out of the duty free shop. Yes, life seemed much brighter on the Syrian side. But then the driver was in the car, and we'd left him for a considerable amount of time, so we decided to get a move on and finish up faster; the faster we finished up, the faster we got rid of the driver and his ridiculous self, and the faster we reached our long-awaited destination.

For some reason, once we crossed the Syrian border it was as though a time machine took us back to the 80's in a communist country. The drab buildings, the badly-dressed border people and everyone around, the miserable old trucks that omit a scary amount of fatal, black smoke, the badly placed barriers with equally bad wiring (in the case it operates electrically), and everything around us had a communist feel through and through.

Driver's machismo carries on with a vengeance; this time he puts both his hands behind his head while doing KM 110/hour and giving D a look from the corner of his eye: ARMS NOT ON STEERING WHEEL, EYES NOT ON ROAD FOR ABOUT 40 SECONDS, I mean this could only happen to us! And D was frightened, the driver goes and says, highly amused: "are you scared? Do you drive? Because you can only be scared if you drive". And that echoed in my head "you can only be scared if you drive" several times... An ignorant of the roads, driving, and all traffic rules that were ever known to man would not only be frightened, they would probably be crying because they have seen their life flash in front of their eyes. "Are you scared?"; not cool, man.

We made it to the land of Lebanon in one piece, stopping at a town very famous for its dairy... Chtoura. And boy do the cows of Chtoura have talent; major talent. Pair that talent with a nice cup of tea and... Well, you'll be having just about the most satisfying breakfast you have ever had. As we carried on what remained of the trip, up on a certain mountain before reaching Beirut, the driver pulled over on his own, suggesting that we all get out of the car while he snaps pictures of us with the stunning view in the background. I was about to criticize the way he forced this upon us, but the view was too nice to be missed. While he took a picture of our group, he also took the liberty to snap a picture of D standing alone, back to camera, in an attempt to compose something; a great photograph, or a beautiful moment caught still in a frame never to be forgotten perhaps, a memento of a trip that lasted a ridiculous few hours, I don't know...

The question remains: why D?

As we approached our destination within Beirut, the driver takes a wrong turn, claiming that he knows where exactly the place is. And wrong he was. So we asked around, got the directions, and we see this homeless guy who goes by the name Zico dance around in torn suit pants made into shorts, an obsolete blazer, a miserable beanie, and a face trodden upon by all-things horrible in life. He dances, drunken, and sings, high on the attention he was receiving. Then from his smile emerges a line of things I'd assumed where teeth at some point, and all I could think of was "what could have messed him up so?" and the driver, as though hearing my thoughts, starts telling us how this came to be... Apparently a woman much prettier than Haifa Wehbeh was behind what became of him.

I'm not sure I believe him.

PS. Hani Shaker must die.