The Trip Diaries: The Time We Did Beirut - On the Way Back

And just when you think you eluded one messed up driver, who incidentally sent D 2 text messages and called her to try and talk us into going back with him, you end up going back with someone worse: he gets all kinds of gifts, clothes, vegetable and fruit from Beirut and Syria, fills up the trunk with this stuff, makes a 100 stops an hour, and talks non-stop, the Arabic expression to this would be: بالع راديو.

As we headed out of Beirut, towards Dahr l Baydar, we needed to be pacified because we were in the middle of a snow storm; the streets were filled with dirty snow that goes up to half of your wheel, not to mention the persistent and not so-easy snowfall. It was dark that morning, and the driver reassured us that he took some precautionary measures that I'm not sure I understood, all the while we were listening to the radio and the piece about that Ethiopia-bound plane comes out, and suddenly grief took over me, simply because the depressive nature of hearing about disasters which human beings are part of but can do nothing about makes me feel helpless.

Now. Smoking. The nastiest thing of all, as the driver on the way to Beirut also did; smoking in a car that has no windows open. And of course there weren't any windows opened, only merely cracked, with the speed he was going at. Smoking in confined compartments is simply a retarded and ignorant thing to do; the wish of the smoker not to die alone, but to split his death, with others, half-half (while the Cuckoo Judge would laugh).

After we left the snow at both the Lebanese and Syrian borders, we encountered lots of sunshine throughout Syria, after which, we encountered lots of rain upon our arrival in Amman. I thought, "at least I got to see the snow this winter, I've seen it, smelt it, heard it, felt it and tasted it". Although some people find snow unpleasant, I find it very pleasant, but only the way it snows in Amman; it's like rain, but it's snow. It doesn't imprison people, doesn't stop us from going out and getting on with our daily routines and it still looks like little drops from heaven. But the way I encountered all kinds of weather, from scorching sun to frost-biting snow in less than 6 hours, is just not right. The Middle East needs this one thing to top all its troubles... Global warming, let's all die of weather.

I think these trips are a healthy way to maintain our sanity.

I've got nothing more to say about this trip, except that I can't wait to see where winds will take me next time.

The Trip Diaries: The Time We Did Beirut - In Beirut

This wasn't our first time in Beirut. Well, except for D.

The charm of this city never ceases to seep into my blood the moment I breathe its air each time I'm there; it's always new to me with a strange sense of familiarity, the magnificence of it overwhelms me. And while to many people Beirut may be just another city, to me it simply is not. When you have done a bit of traveling, just a bit, you develop a way to know when a city is "not just another city"; that is, inter alia, Beirut.

The trip revolved around a lot of music. After all, what is culture? According to one source it is the acquaintance with and taste in fine arts, humanities, and broad aspects of science. I really only care about the first part, "acquaintance with and taste in fine arts and humanities". My understanding of culture came to me on its own. Having done my share of "cultural exchanges" less than a decade ago I learned to understand that cultures aren't only about customs, religion, a set of values, conventions, or social practices associated with a particular people. While it may be that, it also has a lot to do with film, music, the fine arts, and things of the like. Unfortunately, we were only taught to talk about the boring aspects of our lives that were eventually going to change as we grew older, and we didn't focus on the more artistic aspect of each others' cultures that possibly would have made a deeper impact on the people we grew up to be. Also remember, respect is key.

You know the famous saying "you are what you eat"? Well, it is about to be permanently replaced in my mind with "you are what you listen to". Having had a talk with R, someone known to roam the streets of Beirut on certain days of the week, depending on the weather this time of the year, we came to the conclusion that we define people according to what they listen to. For example, fans of a certain musician/band , make that your favorite musician/band, are always on top of the rest of your acquaintances and friends. Any how, the more I discover and rediscover music in my life, the fewer people there are on top of my list. But I digress.

One night in Beirut, with really high heels on and having done a good deal of walking around, my feet were crying, they were tired with zero tolerance to any action that may force them to do their miserable job, as does every single pair of feet in this world; having people tread on them as they please.
Later, M asks if some water or tea would be of any assistance to my misery, to which I answered: "yes, darling, just water and we'll drift off", drift off into endless sleep followed by lots and lots of midday sunshine. Of course I needn't tell you about my temporary abode in Lebanon...
Well, perhaps I need to, just to get it out of my system. It is one of the most charming places that I have ever had the pleasure to live in. The perfect-looking garden; green, old, with a hint of nonchalance. The way it looks, smells, and feels in the summer is totally different than the way it does in the winter, although it's the same, the seasons are not. The cozy interior. The cats in the interior and the exterior. The fireplace. The balcony overlooking other mountains and small villages. You get the picture.

Other than that, the trip was really awesome, it's nice to have a place to which you feel you belong. And you do all sorts of normal stuff like meeting people who go by the name Cuckoo Judge and want to shoot people and things out of a canon with the assistance of others who are ridiculously tall and study aerospace engineering, to people who resemble English chefs in Hamra. Which also happens to be the perfect place for late night walks, chats, eating skittles, and bumping into people you know. Not to mention the very charming Gemmayze where you find all kinds of cozy and very Parisian coffee places and nice little bars, crocodiles trapped in inhumanely small containers, Boa Constrictors also, friends, their news, their shopping and umbrellas, flirty waitresses, and charming hostels with charming boys in beanies... Good trip, indeed.

PS. Too much light hurts the eye.

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.

The Trip Diaries: The Time We Did Beirut - On the Way, pt. 1

Dear reader, the trip diaries will come in parts so as you don't get bored reading one huge piece. For now, all you need to do is sit back, chew on something you like, and read.

You know how you always dislike the person who forgets things right before they travel? Passports, tickets, etc.? Yeah, I dislike them too. Dislike I tell you. But this is hilarious because 10 minutes before I was supposed to leave on a trip at 6:30 one morning I discover that "oh, S***, I forgot my passport". I laughed my head off, I couldn't be angry because hey... I wasn't even half awake when I drove back home to get that passport. The only way to deal with this was to laugh more, and laugh more I did.

Start the road trip, road is misty, head is fuzzy. Or head misty and road fuzzy. Actually, that's more like it, and we move ahead not seeing what awaits us within 3 meters at a time. Of course with all the fuzziness ahead you won't expect there would be sun, and there wasn't, hence sunglasses under such circumstances would seem a bit odd, unusual, and improbable, yet, sunglasses with no sun help you sleep better on the road with Fayrouz faintly chirping in the background; the perfect recipe for a trip undertaken, most productively, in the morning.

Fashion note to self: sunglasses in winter work for you.

We covered a decent amount of distance in a rather short period of time that was made excruciating when the driver started telling us tales of escapades that may or may not have taken place in this life. But, who are we to judge? And by we I mean the backseaters. D on the other hand we abandoned and had to sit in the front. After all, I think, it's their thing, among a million other things that are their thing. All this was tailed by awkward silences, regularly broken by non-stop smoking on the driver's part (more on smoking in confined compartments later) and lots of sleeping or pretending to be sleeping on the backseaters' part.

Person suffering most damage: D.

Another thing of D's things is sandwiches. Who knew that even when you're in a car, doing virtually nothing but sitting, sleeping or talking occasionally, you would get hungry? I'll tell you who: D, of course. But that's not the revelation I had, while D is a wonder standing on their own, it is no revelation that they would know such a thing, my revelation is far simpler and endearing. Sharing food on the road helps you experience something new; the taste of solidarity with cucumbers and mint leaves.

The trip goes on, as we witness the rough terrain of the desert, the harsh atmosphere of plains in the winter with a hint of communist feel prevailing at some point, and the way things stand, bleak and tired, like the back of a beached whale. These things we witnessed were made a bit friendlier when a little sunshine oozed from above, reminding us that there's still warmth left in Winterland.

Later, not far along into the trip, the driver takes a funny position in his seat in which he leans against his door as though leaning on a wall, head resting on window, and driving with one hand. Oh the safety we felt. And the road goes on, bleak as ever, unending, very much like Ted Danson's forehead. And the driver's tales continue with showing off an uncalled-for macho attitude while dealing with the soldier on the border, the border soldier then shows off the authority bestowed on him by the king himself, and we have to deal with the unnecessary and unspoken male rivalry. Passing the first soldier, onto the next, the rant is different, it's about an 8-JD tax exemption, with an endless queue on border to get passport stamped after 8-JD tax exemption was found out. As if it makes a difference to travel now with spending JD 8, or the equivalent thereof, less than you'd intended, yes, like that was going to break your budget. Not the gas money, not the food, shelter or shopping you intended to do, no, it's the JD 8 you pay on the border.

The good thing is, or was, that the cold didn't stop many people from traveling. This means that at least they're looking after their welfare; they keep the frowns for their country of origin and go smile in other people's countries. Like a smile would cost them a leg or an arm. But I digress.

And by the way, the European Union knows its stuff: I can now understand how easy it must be for European citizens to move around Europe without the hassle of visas, because the same thing happened to me. Traveling without needing to obtain a visa just makes everything easier, and helps you be a more spontaneous person. It was truly a blessing, the freedom and safety with which we moved.