Bomb # ?

Well, we thought it would be over once the Syrians would be out of the country, but either they are not out of the country yet, or they still have people inside working for them, or it is someone different alltogether. Whatever the story is, people are still getting blown up. This time it was a female journalist, May Chidiac, although I often see her read the news, so she's be more like a newsreader rather than a journalist. Anyway, she is still alive.
Tomorrow I'm out camping somewhere in the Beqaa Valley with my students. Last year we did the same, and half the teachers ended up in the emergency ward because of some ferocious mosquitos. This year we are bringing spray along. Pictures will follow.
Message for Ysbrand; I have downloaded Skype.

Oldest Dutch Woman Lives in Bunnik

Something I found on the web today. Comes from my hometown, Bunnik

Oldest man doesn't want attention
The oldest man in the Netherlands wants his identity to be kept a secret because he couldn't handle the media attention, Haarlem council has revealed. The city resident, 105, is the oldest man in the country since the death of Co de Lavoir, 107, on 15 August. The oldest woman in the Netherlands is Alexandrine van Donkelaar-Vink, 110, from Bunnik.
[Copyright Expatica News 2005]

Ponderings on a Friday Afternoon

Had this long discussion with some friends just now about the perks of living in this country. There is lots of stuff not right in this place, but as I sit here, after work on a Friday afternoon, on the sea side, soft breeze, glass of wine in hand while Hana floats in the pool and Adrian is jumping off the diving board with his friend Rand, nothing beats this place. We don't get hurricanes, have only minor earth quakes, are not pestered by droughts or flooding, and it seems we do not have to worry about tsunamis as the Mediterranean basin is too shallow (I have been told). Sure, we get some (minor) bombings now and then, but I guess we do not do any worse than a lot of places around the world.

Yet another bomb

What does it tell you about a town when I have to read on CNN.com that there was a powerful explosion last night in a neighborhood not that far from mine? I don’t know. Ashrafieh (a Christian neighborhood east of my neighborhood) is about a 5 minute drive from here. With heavy traffic it may take you 10 minutes. The bomb exploded in the Jeitawi region, but I am not familiar with that name. Anyway, I didn’t hear about it last night (it exploded around 10 P.M. local time), nor did anyone bother to tell me today while I was out in the town. I guess we take these things for granted now.
Reminds me of the time when I was sitting on my balcony, late summer, with a beer in hand, overlooking the Mediterranean Sea when the phone rang. It was my editor from Holland. “How are you guys? Are you guys alright, is everything okay? How’s the situation now?” she asked frantically. Huh? I’m sitting here on my balcony having a beer. Did anything happen? It turned out the Israelis had bombed either a (supposedly) Palestinian base 5 kilometers south of Beirut, or the power plant nearby. Whatever the case was, I hadn’t heard a thing nor noticed a thing. When I told my husband that night, his reply was “Oh, did they bomb something today?” It sure beats boredom.

Adrian the Diver

So engulfed in work, that I cheat by posting just pictures.

Adrian is diving with his dad these days.

First Day of School

First Day of School, one and a half hour into the day, when we get a call; six bombs had been planted inside the building. How do you get 1,000 kids outside a school before they explode? Fast. We spent the next two hours on the parking lot of a nearby housing complex while sniffer dogs swept the building. Sun almostkilled us , the bombs didn't. No bombs. Oh well, just another day in Beirut.

Well, what can I say. This is what I found in my grocery bag as I came back from the supermarket. Either the guy at the grocery counter is trying to send me a strong message, or these (Lebanese, I might add) potatoes have something on their mind. 

The plumber

God’s gift on Earth, it seems, as I have had to wait for two weeks before the guy deemed me important enough to show up. We’ve been hauling buckets of water from under the sink for the past week now, as both sinks no longer drain. So he shows up this morning, just as the buckets under the sink overflow. At nine, not at 8:30, as was promised, but hey, ‘kniesoor, die daar op let’, as we say in Dutch.
He looks at it. “Well, I’m kind of busy, I’ll come back in the afternoon as soon as I have finished my other work.” ‘Come back after you’ve finished your other work’? Not likely, it is a Saturday. I won’t see that guy until Monday. Maybe.
So I insist. Politely. You don’t want to piss the guy off. Okay, he’ll try. And I do not want those white plastic harmonica pipes, I add. I want the regular, hard plastic drain pipes for under the sink. The idiot that installed those must not have been thinking straight. How can you install harmonica pipes under the sink? All the dirt is just waiting to get caught behind all these little obstructions. He’s looking at me, slightly puzzled? Straight pipes? Hard plastic? Yes, the regular white plastic pipes, S-shaped, for under the sink. “Oh, you want the old model. No, they don’t sell that anymore, only the new model, like you have now.” They don’t sell that anymore? My ass, I was at the hardware store yesterday, and they were right there. The idiot doesn’t want to have to measure things, nothing is easier than harmonica piping, but I’ve had the last idiotic plumber fooling me, saying that the regular plastic pipes don’t fit on the ‘old’ model sink of mine. This house was built in the 60’s, can’t be that old. So I add, very carefully again, that I am quite sure that somewhere someone will still sell him the old model. He’ll see. He’s got to go to the store first. He’s left the house, with the promise that he will return. I won’t keep my fingers crossed. That’ll be another two weeks before we see him again.