“Where are you from?” he asks.
“Holland,” we tell him.
“You’re here on a holiday?” he asks surprised.
“No, we live here,” we reply.
“You like it here?,” he asks.
We have just been listing all the things why we like it in Lebanon so much better than in Holland. There is the continuous sunshine, beaches in summer, skiing in winter time, dining out (very cheap, compared to Holland), domestic helpers (at slave prices), good food, hospitable people (you ARE staying for dinner, aren’t you?), no police alcohol control checkpoints late at night, overall feeling of safety, lack or armored robberies and street crime, and a total lack of respect for authority.
And so we reply in unison; “Absolutely.”
He does not like it here, he says. The political situation is bad, and there is no money to be made. “Everybody is crying, nobody has any money.”
He’s in ‘American Auto Spare Parts’, and nobody is interested in keeping their car up and running. Definitely not an American car, because gas prices have gone up the past months, and everyone is trading their guzzlers for more efficient and cheaper Japanese cars.
“Last week, I worked maybe two days. People cannot pay for things anymore.”
He has, as a side note, noticed that all restaurants however are fully booked. “They are rather seen spending money, as if they still have any, then spend that money on parts for their car, where no one can see it,” he adds incredulously.
Life must be though, we say.
Yes, he sighs. Very tough. No money, no business, no president. It’s bad, bad, bad.
Well, we tell him, we are indeed suffering greatly here, on an empty ski slope in the bright sun on a Staurday afternoon.
“Most people have no money to ski!”
He explains which way we can go. “And if you go over the hill”, he adds, “down the other side, you get to Qanaat Bakish. It’s very nice there.”
“How do you get back though?” we ask him. I can just imagine us hauling skis for 15 miles on a country road in ski boots.
“Oh, you call someone and for 40,000 LBP (18 euros, or $26) they’ll pick you up and bring you back.”
He’s got very fancy skis. “Salomon. The best.”
He is wearing an even fancier outfit. My friend is interested in the gloves. “Are they good?”
“They are the best. Real leather. Very expensive. ”
And off he goes, in his fast and expensive outfit.
My friend and I look at each other. We sure are a sad looking pair. My friend’s sweater is at least 20 years old. His socks he has inherited from his father. His ski gloves are butt-ugly, but they were cheap, his Lidl ski pants and the glasses are quite ‘sousou’ too (sousou = poor taste). I’m in my outlet outfit of $75, and second hand skis.
We’ve got ‘Fashion Emergency’ written all over us. It is that we are foreigners, and foreigners are forgiven for their overall lack of taste, otherwise we’d have been ostracized from the slopes a long time ago.
People don’t have money.
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