Busy with the elections again. Don’t think I’ve ever occupied myself with any election as much as this one. It has created some very unlikely political bedpartners. Former arch enemies have become best buddies, showing that you may sleep with the devil if it gets you what you want. A little disturbing, but this is what politics is all about. It does make any further unity and progress very unlikely in the near future. The Syrians have been thrown out, but before they were gone, the men in power had basically already cut up the pie they (the Syrians) were going to be leaving behind.
Many people are very disillusioned with this, and have chosen not to elect, because they feel it does not make much difference anyway. This coming Sunday it’s the turn of Tripoli, a place which is traditional and conservative to say the least. People in Tripoli, or in the North for that matter, do not like things from outside, and look upon any change with deep suspicion. They’ve had much closer ties with the Syrians than Beirut, because geographically they are much closer to them.
Tripoli has a wonderful (semi-) crusader castle, a fantastic ‘souq’ (traditional Arabian market, like a covered network of tiny alleys, Kashbahs style) excellent sweets and men with beards. The Tripolitans (Tripolits? Tripolitanoes?) are– if I compare it with Holland, the Groningers versus the Limburgers. Different people. Walid once suggested we should live there because life is so cheap, and there is much more space. I was able to get that out of his head. Bad idea.
Anyway, I’m going in tomorrow, always get lost in that town because of it’s intricate roundabout system just as you get into town from the highway. I know that highway well.
Once I had to get papers ready for Adrian, and we were registered there (Walid is originally from Tripoli), so I had to drive up and down that road like 3 times a week for 7 weeks, and it’s a 77 km stretch from Beirut to Tripoli. This was in 1996 or 7. I had my car engine refurbished, so I had to do a ‘rodage’ as they call it here, using the French word. Don’t know what you call it in English or Dutch. And the ‘rodage’ required that I drive at a constant speed of 55 kilometers. So there I went, up and down to Tripoli, 55 k/ph on the highway. The military checkpoints, and there still were at least 5 at that time, were tricky, because you had to slow down or even stop, which would mess up your newly rebuild engine. So I would take the right side of the checkpoints, which was fine with the Lebanese army ones, because these guys couldn’t care less. The Syrian ones were dangerous; these guys had life ammo and would use it. And the one of the Mougabarat (the Syrian secret police), with its plains cloth people was extremely difficult, because they would not allow me using the right side.
We eventually transferred our registration to Ras Beirut, which is right here at the tip, you can’t get more central than that.
Many people are very disillusioned with this, and have chosen not to elect, because they feel it does not make much difference anyway. This coming Sunday it’s the turn of Tripoli, a place which is traditional and conservative to say the least. People in Tripoli, or in the North for that matter, do not like things from outside, and look upon any change with deep suspicion. They’ve had much closer ties with the Syrians than Beirut, because geographically they are much closer to them.
Tripoli has a wonderful (semi-) crusader castle, a fantastic ‘souq’ (traditional Arabian market, like a covered network of tiny alleys, Kashbahs style) excellent sweets and men with beards. The Tripolitans (Tripolits? Tripolitanoes?) are– if I compare it with Holland, the Groningers versus the Limburgers. Different people. Walid once suggested we should live there because life is so cheap, and there is much more space. I was able to get that out of his head. Bad idea.
Anyway, I’m going in tomorrow, always get lost in that town because of it’s intricate roundabout system just as you get into town from the highway. I know that highway well.
Once I had to get papers ready for Adrian, and we were registered there (Walid is originally from Tripoli), so I had to drive up and down that road like 3 times a week for 7 weeks, and it’s a 77 km stretch from Beirut to Tripoli. This was in 1996 or 7. I had my car engine refurbished, so I had to do a ‘rodage’ as they call it here, using the French word. Don’t know what you call it in English or Dutch. And the ‘rodage’ required that I drive at a constant speed of 55 kilometers. So there I went, up and down to Tripoli, 55 k/ph on the highway. The military checkpoints, and there still were at least 5 at that time, were tricky, because you had to slow down or even stop, which would mess up your newly rebuild engine. So I would take the right side of the checkpoints, which was fine with the Lebanese army ones, because these guys couldn’t care less. The Syrian ones were dangerous; these guys had life ammo and would use it. And the one of the Mougabarat (the Syrian secret police), with its plains cloth people was extremely difficult, because they would not allow me using the right side.
We eventually transferred our registration to Ras Beirut, which is right here at the tip, you can’t get more central than that.
So on the road again tomorrow.
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