Chouf

On my way to Tyre,
from where King Hiram sent cedars to build King Solomon's temple.

(Look)

What strange times we are living in. 

Shai

Yours truly learning to dance the dabka.
(Of course, in a women only setting)

“You can drink a second cup or you can do a dance for us.” 
- a Syrian saying.

Drinking a cup of tea is an act of hospitality on the part of the hosts and an honor to consume on the part of the guests. It is boiled over a kerosene tank with loose leaves and plenty of sugar. In fact, the boiling allows for the tea to be super saturated with sugar. I recently found out the sugar to water ratio. It was difficult to swallow.

But they are so kind to offer it, so I am delighted to drink it. Besides, it is haram (forbidden) for me to dance in front of men anyway. 

Cedars

Lebanon still has cedar trees. And yes, they are fun to climb!

Kareem

This is Arabic coffee. It takes over 6 hours to make and is an especial honor to receive. When it is served, a bit is poured into a cup. You take it with your right hand, sip it, then hand it to the server, who then refills it and repeats for all present.

(Generous)

Arab hospitality is unsurpassed. No matter how much or how little people have, they prioritize hospitality. It is a cultural imperative and in most cases, Arabs derive great satisfaction in practicing this art.

In America, we like to talk about giving until it hurts. With Arabs, you'll never know if they have given until it hurts, because they are so generous and hospitable that they would never dream of indicating that they've passed that point. 

Shu iss meuk?

(What's your name?)

(May)

How strange it is to write a name for the first time. It's like trying it on for size. They're only letters, yet it feels so special.

She's brand new. She's never been called anything before. Those five simple letters are making introductions for her into this world. Welcome, sweet little niece. I can't wait to meet you. 

Backcountry Wisdom

I have seen many variations on the toilet and on kitchens,
but I must admit, this one had me... impressed by it's ingenuity.
This is not from my house. 

Things to keep in mind at my place:

Pack it in, pack it out.

If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down.

Always know where your Petzl is

Purel is worth more than gold

Dear Shower,

I wish we got to spend more time together. Is it bad that I don't remember when I last saw you? I appreciate you and wish you were more of a part of my life.

Ana Mish Fahmeh

 (I don't understand)

The other day a few of us went for a walk. It's spring and the sun's out, what better way to pass an afternoon?

About a 10 minute walk away from my place is a Hezbollah neighborhood. Many nations consider Hezbollah, The Party of God, to be a terrorist organization, whereas others just consider it a political party. I generally categorize suicide bombings, hijackings and other such activities in the “Terrorist” category, but let's not get caught up in details.

We'd been told the area is fine during the day. We walked towards the mosque, the minaret serving as an easy compass. I admit, I'm a sucker for Islamic architecture. It is so beautifully composed and intricately executed. The dome of the mosque glittered under the Levantine sun and banners of armed men in camouflage rippled from the eaves. Sometimes I am glad I don't understand Arabic.

The streets were quiet. We walked under a yellow flag with a green AK-something gun on it, the flag of Hezbollah. I looked to my left. A row of breads were stacked carefully behind a pane of dingy glass. A bakery.

A bakery! Islamic architecture, bakeries, and trying new things. I'm a sucker for them all. We hadn't had any personal contact with anyone in this neighborhood, so really, we had to enter this shop, right?

“Hey, you guys, let's stop in here.”

As we stepped inside the tiny shop, our eyes adjusted from the bright sun and settled upon two swarthy male patrons and an old baker behind the counter. There are strong rules governing male and female interactions in this culture but we felt secure, being modestly dressed, aware, and possessing just enough Arabic to greet the baker and get some bread. And besides, I saw a picture of the Madonna hanging on the wall.*

The baker took three of the aforementioned treats from the window and wrapped them up in a square of paper. I asked how much. He refused to let me pay and then proceeded to shove them in my general direction. Flattered, we politely insisted. He grumpily refused then shooed us away.

Maybe it's because I'm a foreigner. Maybe it's because he's worried for us in this neighborhood. Maybe it's because 3 little snacks aren't worth his time.

We'll never know.

But I'll tell you what, those little Hezbollah doughnuts were delicious. And eating them under the green and yellow flag hanging from a building riddled with bullet holes didn't make it taste any less good.

*It's different than you think. The Middle East is crowded. People of different faiths and traditions have to live in very close proximity.

Saab

(Hard)

Syria, I weep for you. O people of such rich history and heritage, to have been reduced to such a thing as this. 

Tie-yub

(Delicious)

They say Lebanon and Syria have fantastic food. I might consider arguing, but my mother taught me to not talk with my mouth full. 

Love Hurts

The kids have literally drawn my blood in their clamoring for love. 

They are ever so welcome to it. 

Tent Poetry

The tents are made from large swaths of treated canvas, originally used for billboard advertisements. The designs and writing on them are in stark contrast to their surroundings and times. It's irony as an art; a social commentary.

Burger King Logo: 
Oh, globalization.

Camouflage patterns: 
Their very homes are clothed in a symbol of war.

“30 years financing” for an apartment or “Palace Beirut”

Pictures of liberal women: 
Heads uncovered, arms revealed, legs showing.

Bottles of liquor: 
Poorly painted over with black paint because it is forbidden in Islam

Ads for luxury housing, watches, and perfume: 
How about running water? That would be nice.

“Fairy Tale Cakes: 'Once Upon a Cake'”: 
This is no fairy tale.

Photograph of a young woman in a mortarboard, ready to receive her diploma: The girls are marriageable at 14. There is no opportunity for such dreams.

Evening Walk

Sweet cherries on the tree

make me think of home.

كتاب ألف ليلة وليلة

In the Arabian Nights, Scheherazade kept the king captivated by her stories for 1,001 nights, thereby preserving her life. Scheherazade, I am afraid I am not as clever as you. We both seek life, but I am far more clumsy. I hope plain words and encouragement can count as a good story.   

The Brothers Bloom, or advice from one of my favorite movies

Zombies emerging from ancient sarcophagi at Baalbek!

(May)

Bloom: “This isn't an adventure story.”

Penelope: “What are you talking about? It totally is!”

Sometimes things feel heavy and I need to remind myself that life is meant to be savored and at times, laughed at. 

So, like Penelope, “I'm pretending to be a smuggler, right? But what you don't know is, I am a full-on smuggler. 'Cause I tell it like I own it. You know what your problem is? You just got to stop thinking so much. I mean, just enjoy the ride, man.”

On that note, maybe I'll smuggle those sarcophagi outta Baalbek.

Baalbek. Current city and ancient Roman ruins. Oh, my heart!

Il-ee-yum

(Today)
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. 

Thanks, Fyodor

(May 2014)

In retrospect, it may not have been a good idea to have brought “The Brothers Karamazov” along for light reading. However, it has been somewhat of a respite and I've gobbled down the whole book like a hungry Dmitry. I guess wandering around the Russian psyche can be an escape.

Je Kif

(A French expression that comes from Arabic that means "I like".)

This is Lebanon. Arabic + French + that Phoenecian je ne sais quoi.
My language is becoming an awkward mix of English, French, and Arabic. Not that I'm complaining!

Local News

Suicidebomb kills three in Lebanon's Bekaa Valley

Two rockets from Syria hit Bekaa Valley town

In pictures: War artist George Butler with Syrian refugees

 

Baladna

This is where I start my day, facing Syria.

(My Country)

(May)

There is something about this place that reminds me so much of where I come from. It is a mid-sized town nestled in an agriculturally focused valley.

I can't help but superimpose what I see here over the Flathead Valley. As we drive from our apartment down into town, it is like coming down from Lone Pine. We pass through town from west to east, then drive alongside fields of wheat, arriving at our destination within 15 minutes in what would be the area around Old Steel Bridge Road.

Let's pretend Zahlé is Kalispell. To drive a bit past Marion to the west would be to go to Beirut. By driving to Columbia Falls or the Echo Lake Cafe you would enter into Syria; the mountain range on the east side of the Valley would be over the border. Swan Lake would represent Damascus, the capital of Syria. Ronan would be at the border with the country south of here.

Farmers have leased out their fields for the refugees to have their camps. I guess it is more reliable and less work than a crop would be. You can always count on more refugees. Every few kilometers there is another camp with rows and rows of tightly packed tents. Kids scamper between the tents and plumes of smoke from cooking fires lilt away in the breeze.

Evening in the Bekaa Valley.

This part is for my family: It would be like seeing a refugee camp out on a few acres at Walsten's Doors, Fairmont Egan, Magnussons', and Sauberts'. They dot the landscape.