What's The Arabic For 'Demoralisation'?
Cynicism is the order of the day.
I've been working fairly steadily since I got up this morning and have achieved a decent amount (though still with a considerable amount left to do) so I'm treating myself to more than ten or fifteen minutes on the computer this time, which means I have time to do more than check my e-mails...
Anyway, looking at the dates, it seems to have been almost two weeks since I updated last. Last weekend I went to Beirut with Trish, another Durham-ite who got here recently (and who isn't going to the university but to the French Institute), entirely because I wanted to, but also partly because my visa was going to expire unless I either obtained an iqaama (magically, within the next few days, without yet having applied for it at all) or left the country. In the face of this Lebanon took on a very inviting air. Expediency is the mother of something-or-other. Impulsive decisions, possibly. So we hopped across to Beirut, as you do - jumped in a taxi of a connection of the family Trish lives with on Friday morning, got invited for coffee and asked slightly awkward questions by the guards at the Lebanese border, met a very kind something-or-other strategist in downtown Beirut who showed us the way to a camera shop and told us how to get to the Pigeon Rocks, watched the sun set from the seafront by the (apparently famous, though I'd never heard of them before I read about them in my trusty guidebook) Pigeon Rocks, had dinner in one of the wide cafe-lined European-style boulevards near the Place d'Etoile surrounded by lots and lots of well-dressed Lebanese, returned to our hotel only to have to deal with the efforts of the sole two members of staff on duty, male and obviously extremely bored and deprived, to chat us up (one of those stories that's amusing in retrospect), then the following morning visited the site of some ancient-to-present-day inscriptions left by conquering armies on the side of the mouth of a historically tough-to-cross gorge, and then the awe-inspiring caverns of Jeita Grotto, and then took the ten-minute trip by cable car (the Teleferique, which according to the guidebook is also known as the Terrorifique, which I would say is not entirely without reason) to the top of a nearby mountain to see the gigantic statue of the Virgin Mary there and some phenomenal views of the coast. Then we had lunch, said goodbye to the Australian whom we'd met at the gorge, and caught the service back to the hotel (at which point we had to walk for half-an-hour to find a place to cross what was effectively a coastal highway despite being built up on both sides) where we waited for our taxi driver to come and pick us up.
It was a great trip, and it was wonderful to get into a different sort of countryside. The contrast between the landscape of Lebanon and that of Syria (at least in the vicinity of Damascus) couldn't be greater. The latter is arid, bare, pale and dusty; the former is lush. As soon as you cross into it, the mountains suddenly 'get' forests. Like they'd forgotten how to have them and all of a sudden they remembered. All the green can make you feel a bit drunk, as if you'd been parched from the lack of it. And there's a whole drama of contrasts going on within Lebanon as well. You really have to see it, though. There's something incredibly breath-taking about mountains side by side with the sea. Forgive me for sounding like a guidebook. Perhaps sometimes there's a reason why it's hard to express something originally!
As for the timing of the visit, we didn't go to the south, so there was little physical evidence of the war in any of the places we visited. Only a great big hole in a bridge on the way into Beirut (we had to take the old road instead) and the surprise of many of the people we talked to at our visiting. The general attitude seemed to be, 'What are you doing here? You're tourists? Really? Hooray!'
And Lebanon itself, culturally, is such a contrast from Syria. That too was like a breath of familiar yet somehow more pungent air, after a month in Syria. It was like - goodbye Syria, hello Lebanon - McDonalds - Pizza Hut - a tidal wave of Western influences. We hardly saw any women wearing the hijab; in Beirut we saw them walking around dressed as daringly as at home (I make no judgments about style, as I have no fashion sense); we walked through streets of which if you hadn't known yourself to be in Beirut, you might have thought yourself in Paris; and we heard French and English spoken everywhere far more than Arabic, almost to the exclusion of it.
So, yes. That was Lebanon, and I have a couple of lovely satisfyingly tangible border stamps in my passport confirming my visit. We got back on Saturday evening and the next day I visited one of the convents at Sednaya (the other one proved to be closed when we tried to go there) with Firas and Nikki and a friend of Firas', which was a fun way to spend the day. It was a holiday and everyone in Sednaya had apparently gone to Damascus because of the holiday and the town was very quiet and there wasn't much else to do there, and we ended up sitting on the roof of the convent drinking soda and joking around. At the beginning Firas and his friend were peremptorily press-ganged into helping move boxes of fruit by a nun standing near the entrance of the convent, as we were climbing the steps. I tried to get a picture of them carrying apples but wasn't quick enough, as they promptly absconded. On the steps we were also privileged to see the miracle of the Virgin Mary that had been created by a spillage of oil (not often you hear that and 'miracle' in the same sentence) I don't know when. It was surrounded by a little grating of bars to which had been tied a considerable number of white pieces of cloth. It was intriguing. Firas thought us cynical because we weren't suitably awed (smiled) when we were shown it, but that was because we couldn't see it. It is a very small Virgin Mary.
In the evening, after the Kuwaiti gang returned from their trip with smiles and lots of shopping bags, we had a hafla at the apartment of American Jess, which involved alcohol and singing loudly well into the night to the accompaniment of Charlie's guitar. The power cut out and we went on singing, which may give you some idea. It was a lot of fun, though. We got out all the old classics. The neighbours apparently complained the day after, however...oops. Though this was a bit strange as people don't seem to go to bed here until one or two anyway.
***
OK, it's Sunday now, so I'm going to post this and tell you about the rest of the week later, because some entertaining things happened. Actually, on the other hand, it was exhausting and latterly, frustrating and demoralising, so maybe I won't get into it too much, otherwise it will turn into a rant/self-pity session, which I know Mum will have no patience with and isn't the point of the blog, anyway. Things'll be okay. Love to you all!
P.S. Happy Birthday, Mum!!! (belatedly)
I've been working fairly steadily since I got up this morning and have achieved a decent amount (though still with a considerable amount left to do) so I'm treating myself to more than ten or fifteen minutes on the computer this time, which means I have time to do more than check my e-mails...
Anyway, looking at the dates, it seems to have been almost two weeks since I updated last. Last weekend I went to Beirut with Trish, another Durham-ite who got here recently (and who isn't going to the university but to the French Institute), entirely because I wanted to, but also partly because my visa was going to expire unless I either obtained an iqaama (magically, within the next few days, without yet having applied for it at all) or left the country. In the face of this Lebanon took on a very inviting air. Expediency is the mother of something-or-other. Impulsive decisions, possibly. So we hopped across to Beirut, as you do - jumped in a taxi of a connection of the family Trish lives with on Friday morning, got invited for coffee and asked slightly awkward questions by the guards at the Lebanese border, met a very kind something-or-other strategist in downtown Beirut who showed us the way to a camera shop and told us how to get to the Pigeon Rocks, watched the sun set from the seafront by the (apparently famous, though I'd never heard of them before I read about them in my trusty guidebook) Pigeon Rocks, had dinner in one of the wide cafe-lined European-style boulevards near the Place d'Etoile surrounded by lots and lots of well-dressed Lebanese, returned to our hotel only to have to deal with the efforts of the sole two members of staff on duty, male and obviously extremely bored and deprived, to chat us up (one of those stories that's amusing in retrospect), then the following morning visited the site of some ancient-to-present-day inscriptions left by conquering armies on the side of the mouth of a historically tough-to-cross gorge, and then the awe-inspiring caverns of Jeita Grotto, and then took the ten-minute trip by cable car (the Teleferique, which according to the guidebook is also known as the Terrorifique, which I would say is not entirely without reason) to the top of a nearby mountain to see the gigantic statue of the Virgin Mary there and some phenomenal views of the coast. Then we had lunch, said goodbye to the Australian whom we'd met at the gorge, and caught the service back to the hotel (at which point we had to walk for half-an-hour to find a place to cross what was effectively a coastal highway despite being built up on both sides) where we waited for our taxi driver to come and pick us up.
It was a great trip, and it was wonderful to get into a different sort of countryside. The contrast between the landscape of Lebanon and that of Syria (at least in the vicinity of Damascus) couldn't be greater. The latter is arid, bare, pale and dusty; the former is lush. As soon as you cross into it, the mountains suddenly 'get' forests. Like they'd forgotten how to have them and all of a sudden they remembered. All the green can make you feel a bit drunk, as if you'd been parched from the lack of it. And there's a whole drama of contrasts going on within Lebanon as well. You really have to see it, though. There's something incredibly breath-taking about mountains side by side with the sea. Forgive me for sounding like a guidebook. Perhaps sometimes there's a reason why it's hard to express something originally!
As for the timing of the visit, we didn't go to the south, so there was little physical evidence of the war in any of the places we visited. Only a great big hole in a bridge on the way into Beirut (we had to take the old road instead) and the surprise of many of the people we talked to at our visiting. The general attitude seemed to be, 'What are you doing here? You're tourists? Really? Hooray!'
And Lebanon itself, culturally, is such a contrast from Syria. That too was like a breath of familiar yet somehow more pungent air, after a month in Syria. It was like - goodbye Syria, hello Lebanon - McDonalds - Pizza Hut - a tidal wave of Western influences. We hardly saw any women wearing the hijab; in Beirut we saw them walking around dressed as daringly as at home (I make no judgments about style, as I have no fashion sense); we walked through streets of which if you hadn't known yourself to be in Beirut, you might have thought yourself in Paris; and we heard French and English spoken everywhere far more than Arabic, almost to the exclusion of it.
So, yes. That was Lebanon, and I have a couple of lovely satisfyingly tangible border stamps in my passport confirming my visit. We got back on Saturday evening and the next day I visited one of the convents at Sednaya (the other one proved to be closed when we tried to go there) with Firas and Nikki and a friend of Firas', which was a fun way to spend the day. It was a holiday and everyone in Sednaya had apparently gone to Damascus because of the holiday and the town was very quiet and there wasn't much else to do there, and we ended up sitting on the roof of the convent drinking soda and joking around. At the beginning Firas and his friend were peremptorily press-ganged into helping move boxes of fruit by a nun standing near the entrance of the convent, as we were climbing the steps. I tried to get a picture of them carrying apples but wasn't quick enough, as they promptly absconded. On the steps we were also privileged to see the miracle of the Virgin Mary that had been created by a spillage of oil (not often you hear that and 'miracle' in the same sentence) I don't know when. It was surrounded by a little grating of bars to which had been tied a considerable number of white pieces of cloth. It was intriguing. Firas thought us cynical because we weren't suitably awed (smiled) when we were shown it, but that was because we couldn't see it. It is a very small Virgin Mary.
In the evening, after the Kuwaiti gang returned from their trip with smiles and lots of shopping bags, we had a hafla at the apartment of American Jess, which involved alcohol and singing loudly well into the night to the accompaniment of Charlie's guitar. The power cut out and we went on singing, which may give you some idea. It was a lot of fun, though. We got out all the old classics. The neighbours apparently complained the day after, however...oops. Though this was a bit strange as people don't seem to go to bed here until one or two anyway.
***
OK, it's Sunday now, so I'm going to post this and tell you about the rest of the week later, because some entertaining things happened. Actually, on the other hand, it was exhausting and latterly, frustrating and demoralising, so maybe I won't get into it too much, otherwise it will turn into a rant/self-pity session, which I know Mum will have no patience with and isn't the point of the blog, anyway. Things'll be okay. Love to you all!
P.S. Happy Birthday, Mum!!! (belatedly)
posted by imeander at 6:35 AM
1 Comments:
I object to the implication that boys would have to be bored and deprived to try and chat you up.
I loved listening to your descriptions of the land. For some reason the image of a girl with brown hair and a red sweater, staring at cattle through a wooden fence popped into my mind when you started talking about the mountains remembering to have forests.
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