Anti-Semitism

My newspaper asked me to do a story on anti-Semitism in Lebanon. And on how the terms anti-Jewish, anti-Zionistic and anti-Israeli are being used intermittently. I struggle a bit with the subject because I don’t think most Dutch have a clear idea as to how the Lebanese have suffered from Israeli actions over the past, what, say 40 years now? And I am not taking the Palestinian cause into consideration now, just the Lebanese. Let’s say that once the PLO came into existence and started fighting for their rights, and the Israelis retaliated, or responded, however you want to call it, things got a little rough over here. And this is phrasing it as neutrally as I can. Not putting the blame on either side as to who started it, the result was rather devastating for the Lebanese. To say that it was the cause of the civil war is taking it a bit too far, I think the balance of power had to be tipped sooner or later anyway, and I doubt this would have been done peacefully. So it was to be a bit sooner.

But this anti-Semitism issue is a bit of a painful subject here in Lebanon. In Holland, being anti-Israeli somehow implies that you’d have anti-Semitic tendencies as well. The line between the two is very vague and sensitive back home.

Over here there are very strong anti-Israeli sentiments, and understandably so. As there are so very few Jews (left) in Lebanon however, most people never really dealt with Jewish people.
In Europe it is quite the opposite. People have dealt with Jews, but not with Israelis.
I live in one of the most mixed neighborhoods in Beirut, and many people I have spoken with say that at one point in time they either had Jewish friends, or went to school with Jewish people. These have all left since the war. And they will tell you very clearly that they have no problems at all with Jews. It’s the Israelis that bug them.
When you go more down South, however, the distinction between an Israeli and a Jew slowly disappears. Maybe because the Jewish community was concentrated in Beirut only. Or maybe the education is not that great. You can blame the government for that.
I find my newspaper not to be overly pro-Israel, rather neutral as a matter of fact, because they have never taken anything out of my articles, even though I have never worn velvet gloves in my writings about Israeli feelings with Lebanon. But in a recent discussion with some Dutch, I heard a few of them stating otherwise. That may be from a Dutch point of view, but could also be from a Dutch point of view with an Arab insight. There is a difference.

So how do you write about it without implying blame, while at the same time make the Dutch understand that the Lebanese have reasons to be ant-Israeli? In 500 words, on top of that. I find it a difficult topic. Painful is the word.
Well, your thoughts on this would be appreciated.

The Finkelstein ladies for piano lessons

Talking about anti-Semitism; I saw this sign some time ago somewhere in Beirut. My first thoughts was "Hey, there are still some Jews left after all." The idea that you associate a name right away with a religion could be considered as anti-Semitic by some. And then it dawned on me we do this all the time in Lebanon. "Who are you going out with"? "Ahmed." "A Moslim?"

Or how about this conversation; A friend of mine reads through the list of the organizers of the art exhibition on the stairs of St. Nicolas in Gemayze. "What a fucking racists," he says, "Not one Moslim among them." "How'd you know," I ask? "Only Christian names, habibti, only Christian names."

18 Beggars

I counted them today. There were 18 beggars in all. (Sounds like the title of a Sting song) I do not often sit in the car for such extended periods of time in Beirut, so it was a bit of an eye opener. My work is around the corner, the supermarket is across the street and the beach is two blocks down the road. So obviously I do not spend a lot of time in my car. But I had business today in several parts of town, both East and West, and sat in traffic all day.

And there they were; 18 people begging for money. They walk by the cars while you are waiting for an intersection, a traffic light, a traffic cop or while just being stuck in a traffic jam. Wich was most part of the day. Some on crutches. One in a wheel chair. One on a type of home-made skateboard, he’s moving around on exhaust level, so this cannot be very helpful to his not-so-good-health-already. Several Bedouin children. A lady with a basket of chewing gum. 18 beggars in all!

The first one was an old man. A very old man. The thought that this is someone’s father did it for me. If it were my father standing there, I would want people to be considerate. So I gave him a 1,000. What’s a 1,000? You spend it without even thinking about it. The next two were very old ladies, thus the same thought came to my mind; what is she were your mother? How would you feel? Now I was down 3,000 (If you give the first a 1,000, you got to give the next one a 1,000). Then came the man in a wheel chair. I was not so happy anymore, and vexed enough to start counting them.
Some of them didn’t - and shouldn’t - get any money. I once got into a tremendous fight with a Bedouin boy , and his very sweet and loving face quickly switched into a very demeaning grin, so Bedouin boys, sorry, no cash for you. I won’t support this Bedouin economic system, and Bedouin girls and ladies are out of luck with me too. (Funny how you won’t see any Bedouin men beg for cash).
Others however wouldn’t be able to get a job even if they wanted to. Somebody has to support them, and the government doesn’t do a very good job at that. So I was handing cash left and right. Left, actually.

I learned a few techniques from observing other cars. Some try to hold back a little, to make sure there is enough space to speed by him/her far enough to make it complicated for them to walk back, so they skip your car. Others changed lanes (beggars often take the left lane).The people with AC very conveniently kept their windows closed. They looked the other way and ignored the tapping on the window. My AC is broken, so I have to have my windows open. It’s embarrassing to ignore.

Friends of mine say you shouldn’t pay at all, because the extensive family lives from the work of one beggar. “Let their relatives them take care of ,” is the argument. I’ve tried to do the calculations. Let’s say you can find 5 people in an hour to pay you a 1,000. That is not inconceivable, I often see people dish out a 1,000. That’s 5,000 an hour. Let’s say that traffic is heavy enough four hours a day to come to a complete halt (that’s the only time you can ask for money), so that’s 20,000 a day. That’s 100,000 a week. Shitty working conditions. I don’t see how you can feed a family on a 100,000 ($66) a week. So I pay.
But I am glad I don’t have to spend that much time in traffic. I’d be bankrupt in no time.

Hana entertained me with her singing while in the car.

Desu

Let’s not discuss the soccer match. We were rather ‘desu’, as we say in Beirut. Although we put up a pretty good fight, it was not in the stars. Theo did ask for some mind melding, a type of ‘happy clap’ to jinx the Portuguese, but to no avail. Allison was glad she had taken her valium pills before the match, Anne needs therapy to get over this one, and someone else, I forgot whom, was going to pass by the pharmacy to pick up some Prozac. The commentator did mention that some sideline members of the Portuguese team were nearing cardiac arrest toward the end of the game. However, that did not materialize. So ‘desu’ is the word.
I guess nothing else remains then but to lie on the beach and wallow in our misery. It was just getting fun, these soccer matches at the Riviera.
I had adapted to the general atmosphere in society, and hung a gigantic flag of Holland over my balcony. This was done only to compensate for my son’s Brazilian flag. I guess I will have to remove my flag now that we have become obsolete.

There is a ‘veritable’ war of flags going on in town. On just about every street corner, and in between as well, there are shops that sell the flags of the world cup participants. Brazil seems to be the overall favorite. You’ll see cars with flags (and not just a few, but a lot), flags from balconies, flags stuck on the back of little scooters, flags in shop windows and above cafes, restaurants and bars, flags just about anywhere. Every time one of the favorite teams (Italy, Germany, England, Argentina and Brazil) win a game, people seem to be getting in their car, hang a few participants out of the windows with flags, and tour, while honking loudly and constantly, for hours and hours through town. (This can be quite annoying. Read this post http://jamalghosn.blogspot.com/2006/06/tale-of-two-cities.html)

You don’t really have to watch the games anymore; the score will announce itself through loud noise. All you need is to look down from your balcony, and check the flags to see who has won. The only thing missing is the score, but who cares?

Doubtful

There this night club in my neighborhood. It’s called Gold Rush. I always thought it was no longer operating, but this poster on the door suggests the scene is alive and kicking in this ‘Super Night CluP” called ‘Goold Rushe’.
They should fire his publicity guy. Maybe he IS the publicity guy (as well as being the singer, the hair dude, etc), because that little finger placed strategically under his chin suggest thinking. Or maybe just any brain activity.

It is a pose that is very popular with the girls in this town when they are being photographed for celebrity magazines. I have never seen anything like this in Holland, but if you are organizing a party, and you are a ‘somebody’, or a ‘wanna-be somebody’, or you think you are a ‘somebody’ (but your friends haven’t told you yet you aren’t), you call the celeb. Mags. who will send a photographer, who will picture all the pretty girls, and that sells quite well on a weekly or monthly basis. Pictures of couples, and girls, and friends, and families, and cousins and I don’t know what else on the pages of magazines. All with the right arm elegantly bend at the wrist, index finger stretched and glued to the chin, pinkie pointing a little up, and the other fingers a little down.

Street Names

Lebanon has a very intricate street labeling system. It is a bilingual duo system (French and Arabic) where streets and neighborhoods have both names and numbers. So you could live on 342, Ibrahim Street in Gemayze, for instance. Or, if you want it in numbers; 342, 95, 29.

You’d think with a system like that, it would be very easy to find someone’s address. Unfortunately it is not. This is an old system, and although it is still pretty much in place in pre-war neighborhoods, it is non-existent in areas that have been built after the civil war. And in the areas where it is still in place, it is not being used. Street names are an alien thing to the Lebanese. When explaining where someone lives, it is done in terms of landmarks. Thus I have friends who live near the SNA building, above Kayaan. And there are friends that live three houses down from the Maria statue near the overpass in Tahwita. I know a couple near the airport bridge, on the left side of the sheikh. But street names are never used.

What a job for a mailman, you might ask. Indeed. And therefore we don’t have many of those. Only recently did I see one walking, and that was the first time in 16 years that I saw one.

Some years ago, the Canadian Postal Services tried to give their Lebanese counterpart a facelift. I’m afraid that endeavor was well meant, but not completely successful. Granted, the post offices are the cleanest and best organized public offices in town. They even have ropes that sort of try to coax the Lebanese to line up. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, but it is the thought that counts. What they also tried to do is to get people to use proper addresses, so mail could be delivered to your house. The Lebanese didn’t buy that one; they only use postal boxes. It is not a nation of letter senders; they prefer to operate by telephone.

My housekeeper is from the Philippines, and unfamiliar with such an archaic system. So she adheres to the postal system, and wrote her family how her letters should be addresses. She is the only one in the entire building that gets mail delivered to the building. I, on the other hand, need to go to post office to open my mailbox every week.

Rue Gouraud, a.k.a. Gemazye main street

0 - 0

Uneventful is the word. We enjoyed ourselves, but were not really following the game. Well, I did know it was Argentine we were up against, but other than that, Theo had to fill us in with his remarkable well-thought-of and intelligent commentaries to keep us interested. To keep me interested. The ride home was much more fun. Dropped Theo and some lady friends off at a 'short pants party' which - it seemed - had already ended.
This is one from another game.

Summer Cleaning

School's over, and now we finally get to see what's in that schoolbag of his. Papers to be signed by parents for fieldtrips, permission slips, invitations to meetings, birthdays, exhibitions and performances, tests that were to be signed, homework that needed to be checked and on and on and on a n d o n . . . . . .
Who cares, he made it into the next grade. It's all on the bedroom floor. I've instructed the housekeeper not to clean it. Let's see how long he can manage to live in this.

Doors of Beirut

Beirut, being a mix of Oriental and Mediterranean architecture, has some amazing doors and windows. Especially the older parts of town, such as Achrafiya, Gemayze, Basta and basically all the neighborhoods that are situated around downtown (not downtown itself) have often beautiful old buildings. All that is quickly disappearing, as the wrecking ball - despite the poor economic situation although I am beginning to doubt that now - is very active these days. What comes in their place are highrise blocks that are designed by engineers rather than architects, it seems, or if they are architects, they have little interest in preserving any sort of tradition, or Oriental/Mediterranean look to it all.

Lois, a friend, and I used to get out on Sundays and roam around these neighborhoods and take pictures of doors, windows and facades. I have only posted some of the doors here. I stole three, but the garage door is mine. Fouad posted the same door recently on his blog, it seems we're traveling the same route..



Maybe I'll post another one on windows in a while.

Dog in truck; nose in the wind

Dog in Truck; Summer in town

Dog in truck with nose in the air while driving up to the mountains. (See up)

My summer holiday has started (officially it starts on Wednesday, but these last three days are just to finish some loose odds and ends), and this has considerably improved my mood. I can sleep late again, hang around, do nothing and not feel guilty about it and roam around the country without a deadline. The atmosphere is pretty relaxed now. It always is, but when you're flooded with a million-and-one things to do, you don't notice it.

People in Holland (or in most North-Western countries, for that matter) work the entire year to get three weeks off with pay, which they often spend in cultures exhaling exactly this atmosphere, around the Mediterranean. Lebanon is often still associated with war and car bombs. Granted, they are not a thing of the past yet, but even with this, the atmosphere doesn't really change. While reading some blogs this morning, I picked up some stuff to show you what the atmosphere in town is (and apparently always was) like.

"Ouf, zoals ze hier zeggen, het veel later dan ik in gedachten had. Als ik geweten had dat het bijna 5 uur was, had ik die araq (alcoholisch drankje met een alcohol gehalte van 50% of meer. red.) niet meer ingeschonken. We hebben een paar aardige uren doorgebracht in Kayan (cafe, red.). Ons, zijnde Anne, die er nauwelijks bij was, want veel te druk met een ander eigen netwerk, Charles, een matige kunstenaar die een oogje op me heeft en Karin, een Nederlandse die op de trappen naast hem zit en dus verrast werd door mijn Nederlands-zijn.Het was me de avond wel. **** ging wel en de mabarif-shou kwam op de tafel. Dank je Anne, zeker ook voor de rekening. Karin bracht me thuis. Gezellig gelul in een auto. Tot er een raam openging voor het autoraam, dat ons maande om er een einde aan te maken. "
http://theoinbeirut.spaces.msn.com/PersonalSpace.aspx

'The driver picked me up from the airport. He asked, "Where you coming from?"I said, "Lebanon. "He said, "Tell me. Is the St. George Hotel still there?"Stunned, I said, "Yes, but it's not been repaired or renovated since the war. Are you Lebanese?"He said, "No, no. I served in the US Navy and was sent to Lebanon in 1958. The whole 6th fleet was there. From the beach, it was battleships, boats, and aircraft carriers as far as the eye could see. We boarded the beach and there were all these women in bikinis all over and guys selling stuff. We didn't see any war going on. All we saw were people enjoying themselves. We couldn't tell who the enemy was. From our view, it didn't seem like there were any." http://inlebanon.blogspot.com/

Elvis on Hamra

See him in action (again) at http://www.speeding.co.uk/dancingelvis.mpeg

And the message is . . . . .

I saw this billboard hanging in Beirut. No, Exotica is not a store that sells sex toys or X-rated movies and leather whips; it is a flower shop. This one is for the upcoming Father's Day, but I am not quite sure what the message is.
Fill me in if you got the message

Birthday parties and 2-1

Little cousin Obi celebrated his birthday party,

and he invited all his friends for a swim, Eddie provided the entertainment. and they went for a boatride.

The little muppets were very happy. When they left, the match Holland - Ivory Coast started.

Heineken proveded the free beer, and the Dutch provided the cheers.

We won, but not overly convincing, I must say.
And that is how our summer holiday started.
Long live the French,
who gave us the tradition of three months of summer holiday!

Motorcade Madness

If you live in Beirut, you know that motorcades are a very common sight . A long trail of - always - black shiny SUV’s snaking their way through traffic, with loud sirens, honking and beeping along the way. It’s very intrusive, but politics is a dangerous business in this country, and it seems that moving from one place to another in this town is considered hazardous to a politician’s health.

These motorcades come in all sizes, depending on the importance of the person traveling in the motorcade. The American ambassador used to travel in a really heavy-duty one, with U.S. marines popping out of the roof of some cars with machine guns screwed to the top. They’d have security guys sitting at the window who’s stick M16’s out of the window and swivel the muzzle in all directions, screaming loud and gesturing wildly, ‘shooing’ all other road occupants off the road. You did not want to mess with those guys.
Either the ambassador does not leave the embassy compound anymore, or he’s not visiting this part of town anymore, or he has down-scaled his operation, but those obnoxious parade are a thing of the past.
These days it is 5 or more vehicles, with a policeman on a motorcycle in the front and one in the back.

Hariri’s motorcade was a little larger; he usually had 10 cars, with all types of smaller vehicles and police cars attached to it as well. When he’d pass by, your cell phone didn’t work because he had some type of device that blocked all radio traffic out of fear that they would use a bombing device with remote control. The theory was that if the remote control didn’t work, neither did the bomb. Well, that theory proved to be incorrect; he was blown up by a massive bomb, detonated with a remote control. Or at least that is what the UN thinks. Partially. They actually do not know yet. They’ve been investigating for a year and-a-half now.

When driving through town, they literally push everyone of the road, and that annoys me to no extend. Once, a long time ago, I was on my way back home after work, and it had not been a particular good day. Just as I drove into my street, the Hariri caravan announced its arrival. He’s the only big shot living in my part of town, and since I am not near the parliament or ministry building, the only one using this street would be him. I was not very much in the mood that, and decided that this was not a great day to vex a Dutch lady with some stupid idiot that needed to pass by and who thought he was infinitely more important than I was.
So I decided not to stop, and continue. Since some people had doubled parked, I ended up blocking the whole friggin’ motorcade. Well, I was still young and pretty in those days, and a lady after all, so I figured they’d treat me some respect while kindly asking me if I could please back up now that I had blocked the road. Are you kidding? These gorillas were on top of me in a New York minute, yelling their lungs out, waving their guns at me, ripping me out of my car seat, shoving me aside and being incredibly rude and impolite.
Very unsettling, I must say.
So I do not bother motorcades anymore, these gentlemen have no humor.

I doubt whether all these security measures are very helpful. Rene Mouawad (he’d been president for 9 days) was blown up while sitting in his car, Gibran Tueni (anti-Syrian journalist) was blown up in the car, and so was Hariri. And it all happened while traveling in their motorcades.

And what is most annoying are those people that slip into the vortex of the last motorcade car. It may be smart, this way they get through traffic at exactly the same speed as the politicians, but it’s aggravating all those poor suckers (like me) that just got ditched off the road.
One good thing though; those that were following Hariri’s motorcade are probably having their DNA analyzed now by the UN.

Band Performance

Eddie had a band performance last night at his school.

On his way to the performance.

You couldn’t have missed it; the Infinities, ML320’s, Wagoneers, Pathfinders, Nissan Patrol, Range Rover Discoveries, Pajeros, Hummers and Porsche Cayennes were triple parked on the beach boulevard and the traffic jam it caused was backed up all the way to the lighthouse. I realize that the roads in Beirut are often ‘treacherous’, and that traffic conditions and drivers’ behavior requires a ‘safe’ vehicle, but it does not explain the massive number of SUV’s and 4x4’s you see in town. Now I have one too, albeit a modest one, but I’ve got stuff to transport; a dog, the annual Christmas tree, kids, diving gear, tiles for the plumber, bicycles, you name it. Besides, I tend to be oblivious (according to hubbie) of potholes, ditches, speed bumps and other minor obstacles on the road. I would therefore need a tank to drive, and my car is the closest that got to a vehicle that was sturdy, yet not pretty. Pretty would make it attractive for car thieves. Mine’s so butt-ugly I don’t even lock it anymore. It doesn’t have a car stereo, everything is manual, no airbags, plastic upholstery, and on you go. The only thing they could steal is my ‘dancing Elvis’ swinging from the rear-view mirror. Mine cost 500 pounds (€0.26) at the 1$ store, but in the UK they charge you £7.99. (22,000 LBP or €11.65).

The performance was lovely, would have loved to paste the entire film here, but it would take days to download it, so you’ll have to take my word for it. Hana was going to attend, but fell asleep on the balcony just before we were leaving.

And the bathroom is nearing completion (after two weeks in the dust), there isn't even a door in the thing anymore, I got dust all over the house. We are getting somewhere. Except that the tiler is suddenly five tiles short, and the shop doesn't have anymore. Sh*t.

1-0 Part II

Two avid Dutch soccer fans showing off their colors in Beirut. Now that hand . . . . . yes, that hand. I'm pretty sure it is your hand, Theo . And I thought . . . . . . Theo?

The Dutch in Beirut got together somewhere in Monot (de uitgaanswijk van Beiroet), to watch the game against Serbia. (We thought a player with a name like Milosovic had to be wrong. Didn't that guy just die?) And we all had to sneak in with our orange drab, as in Beirut these days orange is associated with ‘the general’, a former general who has recently shacked up with the Hezbo-la-lahs. But that did not spoil the fun. We won; 1-0
My thanks to Ronald Voorn of Heineken Lebanon, who hosted the afternoon. So everybody out there, drink Heineken!

1-0

Saturdays in Beirut: Weddings and Concerts

Wedding
I love weddings. Bridget got married to Frank Saturday afternoon, in downtown Beirut.

Education
Long ago, parents would send their children on a trip to Paris, Venice, Florence, and above all Rome, as the culmination of their classical education. This so called ‘Grand Tour’ primary educational value was to expose their offspring to the cultured artifacts of antiquity and the Renaissance. This was their idea of an all-round education.
When I grew up, the idea of an all-round education had changed a little. Apart from the formal education, children were enrolled in a massive amount of extra-curricular activities, such as sports, music lessons, swimming lessons and on you go.
My idea of a Grand Tour is to expose my offspring to Rock concerts. We don’t have too much choice here in Lebanon as we are a bit off the beaten concert track, but still, we get some artists in town.
So yesterday we had 50 cents I town. Since we played his ‘In Da Club’ quite frequently in the car, I thought it might be nice for Eddie to see the guy live. The tickets were criminally expensive. And Haifa Wehbe was in the program as well. For the Dutch unfamiliar with Haifa Wehbe; remember Vanessa (now Mrs. Breukhoven)? And the guy did not start his show until 12:30 which was a bit annoying since the downtown parking where I had put my car announced it would close its door 1:45. That did not spoil the fun.
Show was okay.

Before I forget . . .

Happy Birthday to Ysbrand (I forgot my Mom’s birthday last week, so I’ve got to make sure I don’t forget this one). I’ve got three brothers and he’s the oldest one, although – according to hubbie – this one believes he’s still 21. It’s the one on the right. The one on the left is also a brother, the youngest one, and then there is still one in the middle, his picture was not taking but believe me, he looks like the other two.
I believe this alcohol induced picture was taken this April, during a dinner, while both brothers are looking into a spoon or some other silver type of device on the dining table.

Losing the view

When we, or rather I, moved into this house, the war had only recently ended, and the snipers’ bullets were still embedded in the outside walls. All the windows were covered with M3, a thick plastic transparent foil that, in case of shelling, would prevent shattered glass from flying through the house. The balcony railings were a little bent in some places where shrapnel had cut through. We had some holes in the tiles added, a reminder of the Israeli Grapes of Wrath action in 1996, when Israeli jets flew low over town, and the Lebanese army peppered the sky with anti-aircraft bullets. What goes up, must come down.

And we had 360° view! There was not a single building, except for the Murr tower, that covered the mountain line. And we could see the horizon across all of the Mediterranean Sea. The snow in wintertime, the sunsets in summer.

Well, things have changed a little.

A painter dislodged the bullets while fixing the walls outside. I would have thought he’d keep them; a monument, but obviously he didn’t see the significance of it. There is only one left; way up, stuck in an iron bar. Amazing how a sniper managed to get it there; wedged right in the middle of that bar. It's been painted over, but it's still there.

The little chipped part where a bullet hit as my hubbie walked past was filled in, but luckily that piece fell out again, so the chip is back; a memory of that day when he was almost shot on his own balcony by a sniper.
I managed to peel off the M3 sheets (after mailing the company. Their advice; smear the foil with concentrated dishwashing liquid, stick garbage bags on top of this, leave it for 24 hours and then you can peel it right off), and after a leak we had the balcony tiled again, erasing the traces of the anti-aircraft guns.

But all this is not the issue. Although from our balcony we are still doing a lot better than most people in Beirut, it’s the view that is going. We still can see the mountain line, but now it has been cut in several places by high rise building; a hotel in Hamra being one of them, Hariri’s top floor being another. In summertime we can see the flashes from the top floor of the hotel; cameras that shoot photos during weddings. Nobody’s using the top floor in the Hariri’s house anymore; too exposed. Syrians (or anybody else) could blow that top floor off with ease.

On the seaside, we do not fare as well. First it was several buildings with 15 floors and over that blocked our direct sea view, but currently we have more buildings blocking the sea than we have sea. The most recent are three that have mushroomed right at the end of our street. These are apartments that start at $700,000 and up. I wonder who buys apartments like these nowadays. Mortgages are not a very current thing in this country - most people tend to pay cash for their apartment - and people are not exactly making $5000 on a regular basis in this town. I had hoped that with these ever grimmer reports on the Lebanese economy, people would have to downsize a little. I guess some people are downsizing, but not in this neighborhood. They're building, so there must be a market.

So bit by bit we are losing our 360° view.
And thus, when we were fixing the bathroom on the seaside this week, we decided that we would need a large window in order to enjoy the view for as long it would last. Now I can see the sunset while showering. I’m not quite sure of how the details are going to work out, because as the window is quite long and low, and while I can see everything, everyone can see me (taking a shower) as well. We’ll solve that problem when we get there.

But look at my fantastic bathroom view!

You know it is summer when . . . .

you have to inflate and deflate the floaters 367 times a day.

God almighty it is hot!!!!!! And this is at 10 (9:57) in the morning! The humidity hasn't set in (yet), so if you can find a breeze, it is still 'survivable'. The AC in my car doesn't work, so when you get in your car after work, you cannot even touch the steering wheel. As I have very fashionable plastic upholstery (yes, they still make them), you receive third degree burns if you're not careful.
Right after the war, in the early nineties, the government did not supply electricity. Well, they did, but now and then. And somehow, they never did at night, at least not in my neighborhood (depends if you live around a big shot or not) . So you'd have no AC at night, and we'd be sleeping, spread-eagled and naked, on the marble floor, just to cool off.

Sometimes electricity stills 'disappears', and then you wake up in the middle of the night in this greenhouse of a room, hot and sweaty.

Now if this global warming theory is correct, it should get hotter out here. Hmmm

Democracy Hezbollah Style: Tolerant with the Intolerant.

We’ve had (and are still having) this discussion in Holland; what to do with our Islamic fundamentalists? We (the Dutch) are a tolerant nation; we’ve got all kinds of laws protecting the rights of each and every individual. One has freedom of speech, freedom of religion, and other very useful kind of rights.

However, we are facing grave problems in Dutch society, because we have been tolerant with those that are not tolerant towards our tolerance. We have to accept their differences, yet they have no desire, and seemingly no duty, to accept our differences. And since we do not have the right to discriminate, we are forced to tolerate those that discriminate against us.

A rather screwed up situation; one that seems to be surfacing as well in Lebanon. Because last night, a crowd of Hezbollah supporters went on a (albeit minor) rampage through town.

‘BEIRUT, Lebanon (AP) - Hundreds of Shiite Muslims (…) took to the streets of southern Beirut on Thursday night, burning car tires and blocking roads - including the highway to Lebanon’s international airport, police and witnesses said’

And why did they do that? Because they were enraged by a TV comedy that mocked the leader of Hezbollah. A satiric TV show had used the head of Hezbollah, a certain (and rather charismatic, I might add) sjeikh Hassan Nasrallah. (although some may prefer this biography)

It is very acceptable to burn a puppet representing George Bush during Hezbollah demonstrations, or step on the flag of the Israeli state, but lo and behold if you make fun of their sacred Hassan! Boy, will you eat shit if you ever use Mr. Nasrallah’s name in vain!

And this is democracy Hezbollah style, which is not a democracy at all, but rather a “you have the freedom to so and say whatever you want, provided it suits us”.

Hezbollah is always very careful in how they express themselves. Granted, ‘Death to America’ and ‘Death to Israel’ is far from nuancated, but if you are willing to ignore that part, they are a moderate bunch. Or so they would like you to believe. Last night shows you however that this is not a moderate group, they are a bunch of very fanatic individuals, and this is how things will be in this country if Hezbollah would ever get more power. Well, you wonder, what idiot would ever vote for these guys? Apart from the fanatic individuals themselves?
Well, there this Christian general (picture his wife with a scarf. In Iran you must cover your hair as a woman, whether you are a Muslim or not), who used to be anti-Syrian, but who seems to be pro-Syrian and nowadays pro-Hezbollah as well, who’s bedmates with this Nasrallah guy.
Now how anyone can back up Aoun, since he’s backing up Hezbollah, and still believe they are not some tool in the greater Hezbollah scheme is totally beyond my comprehension.

Some statements made in Lebanese blogs
First it was the Prophet Mohammed pyromaniac protest but now Sayyed Nasrallah has his own "I want to burn something" fan club. Zadig

Nasrallah issued a statement urging his followers, uh, worshippers to go back home. From Beirut to Beltway.

I am confused. What exactly is Hassan Nasrallah to you? Is he your holy, sacred and revered spiritual leader? Or is he your political representative in a relatively democratic and plural political system? Lebanese bloggers

Pictures will follow

When devoid of inspiration . .

“How come I need subtitles”?
I’ve had this clip for a while on my computer, and every time I watch it, it makes me laugh out loud. It is a TV report from Iraq.

The German Coastguard
Here’s another very funny one from the German Coast Guard, and the importance of learning languages (if you are German).

Piano Duet
And this one I stole from a friend’s blog. These are the Fabulous Freakin’ Brothers; a famous piano duo.