Waltz with Bashir

I watched ‘Waltz with Bashir’ the other night. Officially the movie is banned in Lebanon. Israeli products are illegal in town. Besides, it seems the phalangists, who are blatantly accused (well, wasn’t this public knowledge already since September 1982?) of carrying out the Sabra-Chatilla massacre, are not too pleased with the product either.Of course that doesn’t mean much in a country where nothing is allowed but everything is possible. And so the banned copies are on sale everywhere. Counterfeit of course, we wouldn’t have it any other way. That makes me a double offender, no doubt, although not really, 'cause we received it from a friend.

But if you live in Beirut, know a little bit about the history and the scenery of this place, I suggest you pick up your copy. I thought it was quite impressive for a documentary/movie. I recognized not only lots of places, but also events, and habits/moods.

It does teach you a lot about the resilience of human nature. Lebanese side, of course. We were all quiet after the movie. That doesn’t happen very often in my household.

Some Good News . . .

. . . for a change, I might add, coming from Lebanon.

Lebanon central bank chief got it right
Riad Toufic Salame bucked pressure in 2005 and kept Lebanese banks from investing in mortgage-backed securities. Now the sector is prospering amid the global downturn.

In 2005, he defied pressure from the Lebanese business community and bucked international trends to issue what now looks like a prophetic decree: a blanket order barring any bank in his country from investing in mortgage-backed securities, which contributed to the most dramatic collapse of financial institutions since the Great Depression. So as major banks in America and Europe were shuttered or partly nationalized and thousands of people in the U.S. financial sector were laid off, Lebanon's banks had one of their best years ever.

Billions in cash continue to pour in to the relative safety of Lebanese savings accounts, with comfy but not extravagant yields of 6%. A nation shunned for years as the quintessential failed state has become a pretty safe bet, or as safe a bet as investors are likely to find in this climate.

In a country known for windbag politicians prone to soaring oratory, Salame favors mundane technical facts as he describes the effort of growing Lebanon's banking sector from $7 billion in assets in the early 1990s to $91 billion today.

More here

Come Rain or Shine (Janne: The Remake)

Picnic in the rain in Janne (34°04’45.47” N & 35°50’00.30”E , 2463 ft)
(If you wait long enough (takes some time to load) it will actually start raining in this picture. I kid you not!)

We’re a picnicking family. We love going out into the country and have outdoor picnics. Or maybe it’s because we are quite susceptible to cabin fever, I don’t know. But come rain or shine, we go picnicking. And I’ve got a SIL (sister in-law) who’s even worse than I am.

And so, last Sunday, while it was raining, she suggested we go picnic. The coast was too windy, we decided, as plastic bags flew over the coastal highway at 60km/ph. The mountain tops were too cold, since we could see our own breath in vaporized clouds and the Bekaa Valley too far (we aren’t exactly early risers, so we’re talking 1 o’clock by the time we’re on the road with the entire menagerie) . But once you’ve got all those Muppets all stacked into the car, there is no going back. We figured a deep narrow valley somewhere would somehow protect us from advanced stages of hypothermia.

A moment without rain

We knew just the one; Janne, the one that’s not on the map. The river was even higher than last time I was there (about a month ago?), and although it wasn’t windy, it did rain a little. Luckily the local christians had built a little chapel of some sorts, for the holy somebody (couldn’t figure out who it was supposed to be), of whom they had a lifelike statue, right in between two massive oak trees. And the holy whoever needs an awning, under which we conducted our picnic.

The holy I don't-know-who

Because it was raining, of course.
The little chapel was not in service, but the bell tower was present, and the kids had a ball pulling the rope. And so this picnic turned out to be quite cozy.

Janne is quite popular in summer, it seems. But in winter time, the place is absolutely deserted. The kind of place where you can teach your son how to drive the car. In the 3 hours that we spent there, exactly one car passed by. They were two local farmers, looking at their land.

Next to us a waterfall came crashing down the mountain, joining the Ibrahim River (Nahr el-Ibrahim), Like a couple of rednecks, it started with throwing rocks in the water. Then they (the menagerie) proceeded with building dams and otherwise trying to block the water flow. Next they tried to get to the other side, and before you know it, they’re in the water and the mud - shoes and all – up to their knees. The river, Abraham river in English, used to be called the Adonis river, after the legend.

In mythological terms, Nahr-Ibrahim is known as the river of the god Adonis, (the god of fertility). Adonis was said to be gravely injured as a result of his falling prey to a wild hog and when his beloved, the goddess Astrat (Astarte was accepted by the Greeks under the name of Aphrodite), ran to save his life, his blood mixed with the waters of the river and brought about his fatal death.Broken-Hearted, Astrate fell down to her knees by the riverside where she died imprinting, thus, her love story with Adonis forever on the sand. As such "Nahr-Ibrahim" gained a third appellation, the River of Immortal Love. (Source)

Some say that Beirut is named after Beroe, the daughter of Adonis & Aphrodite. Well, there’s a whole lot more on the legend surrounding this river, but I’m not into mythology.

I hope you appreciate the ‘rain’ pictures. Sure took me a long time – and a tutorial of 27 pages – to get them working.

Flash(er) Mode

I’m on the highway, driving from Jbeil (Byblos) back to Beirut on a late Sunday afternoon. My kids are with me, but crashed in various position, and out of sight. And so I drive in the right lane, until I notice there is a car on my left side. It stays exactly where I drive, window open, driver looking at me.

Yep, this is him! (I know, it might need some imagination)

It’s a bit odd, but I ignore him. He’s quite persistent though, making odd movements. I look at him. He’s got a silly smile on him. Now why is he looking at me like that? Why is he not passing me? He’s in the fast lane, isn't he?

And suddenly I get it. Fast lane, my ass! The guy is whacking off! Right in his car, on the highway doing 100 km an hour! Eeew, that’s sick. I’m in an SUV, he’s in a regular sedan, so I am higher that he is. Full vision, so to speak.

But I’ve always got a camera on me, and it’s right in my lap. So I pick it up and go ‘snap snap snap’. Luckily it’s in flash mode, for some added drama. And there he sits, on the highway, doing 100 km an hour, unbuttoned pants and in full flash mode, while this idiotic woman is taking PICTURES OF HIM!!!!!!

That's him! Disappointing? Wanted to see more?

Have you ever seem these car ads, where they show you acceleration capabilities of the car? 0 to 80 in 3 seconds? Well, it’s true. I saw it right before my own eyes. Had his crummy car allowed it, he’d have broken the speed of light. He took off! Man, did he take off!

I followed him a bit, just to scare him some more, but it got to the point where he was taking such risks overtaking other cars that I thought he was going to kill himself.
Boy, I sure got that guy. I think he thinks I shot his license plate as well. No such luck, too blurry. I bet he’s not sleeping well tonight. And so he shouldn’t: Flashing middle aged mothers on the highway! Tseh tseh tseh.

Unfortunately (although fortunately for him) the pictures did not come out great. Doesn’t matter. I’m sure somebody recognizes this car as the car of the son of the neighbors, that nice boy that helps old ladies cross the street. Well, then here is something you can ask him about next time you see him. First offer him a drink, and wait till he takes a sip before you ask him. For some added drama.

Boy, that was a good one, if I may say so myself. :)

Politics or Pleasure?

Lift line scenery

Valentine’s Day has somewhat of a tarnished image here in Beirut. A bit like it must have been in Chicago in the early thirties. Everyone here remembers where they were and what they were doing when Hariri was blown up that day.

More lift line scenery

Valentine’s Day gave us two options: politics or pleasure. I opted for pleasure, as I have totally given up on politics in this place. I think we were meant for doom anyway. It’s not like it is anything new, just look at the history of this area.

I was obviously not the only one in that mindset; I haven’t seen the ski slopes this busy in some 4 years. We had loooong line-ups. But the weather was first-class, the mood fantastic and the company fine.

The company

We had Terror Theo with us, well-known for his verbal assaults on people not lining-up properly, shop assistants not doing their job and lift-operators who fail to notice people losing their skis, (Sorry Theo, couldn’t resist. As a sign of goodwill I will not display your yesterday’s ski outfit here) and so we had great fun. We missed the last lift, and got stuck (just for a moment) somewhere in the middle. Good for a retake next weekend. If it snows in the meantime. Slopes of Feraya, with the sea in the background

And so I cannot tell you anything about what happened during the political ralley downtown this weekend. It is a distinctly different mood from what is was a number of years ago here in Lebanon. Just like the Americans, now with Obama, all see this as a moment of change, and everyone is in a hopeful mood, we had this moment right after Hariri died. The spring of 2005 was exhilarating! Everyone was talking about change and how this place was going to be a real democracy and how we’d be free from everyone.

From the highest point (Mzaar; 33°58’55.72”N & 35°51’20.82”E 2287 meters (7504 ft), looking over Baskinta and Qanaat Bakish

What happened?

We missed our moment (like we missed our lift). And so we go skiing instead of trying to be involved in the future of our children’s country. Go figure.

Friday Afternoon on the Shores of the Mediterranean

Colleagues, glad the week is over, on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea.

It’s Friday afternoon, end of the workweek in Beirut (for most). We start again on Monday. I think we’re one of the few Arab countries that follows the ‘Western’ weekend. Most countries in the region start on a Sunday.

And so, while you amble down the Corniche on your way home, you’ll see all kinds of city scenes. The weather is unbelievably mellow for this time of year. When walking the Corniche, I am often reminded of the fact that there are people in this world who work all year long to be able to afford a 3-week holiday on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea.

Okay, so we’re not exactly on the right side of the Mediterranean. But still, it is the Mediterranean, and I live on its shores. I can see it from all the windows of my house. And my job is right on the edge too. I get to see pretty fabulous sunsets on an almost daily basis! So while walking from work to home, or from work to TGIF (as today), I walk along the shores of the Mediterranean Sea, a sea with an incredible history. And most of the time I don’t even notice .

More than 10,000 km of coastline, around a relatively calm sea, with plentiful harbors and numerous islands as staging posts, provide an ideal setting for intricate patterns of trade, migration and warfare - all of which stimulate a mood of creative energy in human communities. (Source)

A mood of 'creative energy'. That's a bit of an understatement for Lebanon, don't you think?

Three ladies, with the housekeeper in waiting on the right, enjoying the scenery on a Friday afternoon.

Two gentlemen, dressed to a T. My guess is they aren’t Lebanese, but what they call here ‘Khalije’, Gulf Arabs. They are known (well, the men at least) for a ‘flashier’ style. It’s the suite of the guy on the left that does it. And the sun glasses. Not quite right, somehow.

The local fast food here is ‘corn on the cob’ but without the butter, and boiled broad beans with chunks of lemon and coriander powder. Sounds odd, but is absolutely delicious. Quite healthy too. The guy on the right (with his back, walking away) is selling lottery tickets. The three gas tanks in the left hand corner (red, blue and brown) are the gas lamps they use to light their push carts as they push them around the Corniche well into the night.

Striking a pose.

This gentleman sells Arabic style coffee, although I’m a bit confused about the Coffee Mate. Seems he can do Nescafe as well. The pink sweater of the boy seems a little odd. Little small too.

A family having lunch. For some background information; the building in scaffolds behind them is under construction, and stands where the old American Embassy compound was, which was blown to smithereens by a suicide truck in 1983. This place is teemed in history.
Of course we have our shoe shiners, operating from a milk tin. Business must be slow these days since everyone is wearing sneakers .
Another family enjoying the afternoon. Beirut is all apartment buildings with very little green space for kids to play. Many parents take the kids here with their bicycles.
Or place to exercise, for that matter. Must be a good place to train for an obstacle course. This one is for H. Do you see the legs on that guy, H?
Another typical scene. Mom and dad enjoy a romantic walk together while the maid pushes the baby carriage. To weird for words, sometimes. But look at it from the bright side; at least she gets to come out of the house.
And more families with bicycles. Pink bicycles seem to be the trend in Beirut these days.

Suburban Lemons

Where I come from, they sell the lemons three to a net for €1.29 (that’s $1.66 or 2,500 LBP). So that’s 50 cents a lemon. Sour deal, no? They come without stems or leaves. Three yellow lemons in a yellow net. I remember one year I found two lemons attached together with a stem, and one leaf. I was totally mesmerized by that. The realization that lemons are from trees was a foreign concept to a Dutch city girl.

Here in Lebanon we’ve got massive lemon orchards down south, and if you’d buy your lemons three at a time, I think the grocery guy would take pity on you, and give them to you for free. “Poor girl, can’t afford a kilo of lemons. Here, have ‘em for free.” Lemons here go for 950 LBP/kilo (€0.48 or 0.63$). I just got back from my sister in-law, who lives on the outskirts of Beirut. Actually, Beirut has no outskirts; it has become one huge metropolitan area, stretching all the way from Jounieh in the north to Khaldeh in the south.

Anyway, as I sat in her garden, I realized the kids were targeting each other with yellow balls. Turns out she’s got a lemon tree in her yard, and the yellow balls were lemons. I never noticed, because the thing never had any lemons. But for some odd reason, in mid-winter, it suddenly has started growing lemons, and it grows them by the hundreds. We gave them a job, and now I’ve got kilos and kilos of lemons in my car. And so here I sit, in suburban Beirut, under a lemon tree. How idyllic.

Some local red-neck lemon pickers in the back of a pick-up truck

This modern, metropolitan multi-million dollar megapolis is sometimes such a hicksville.

Skiing in Feraya

It was a gorgeous day for skiing in Lebanon, although I think that if it doesn’t snow tomorrow, it was the last day of the season. It’s unseasonably warm this winter.

I went with Theo, a fellow Dutchie, who I successfully convinced that it was going to be horrendously cold up on the mountains and that his sweater would not suffice. Theo is well known for wearing 'just not quite right clothes' on the ski slopes. He therefore resorted to wearing an oversized down ski jacket, and a type of German cap (which he claimed was Italian) and he ended up sweating himself to death all day. That’s what you get for listening to me.
‘Travels with Theo’ was going to be one of my blog post once, as I had planned to travel with Theo to the Palestinian Nahr el- Bared camp some time ago. However, that same night, Theo got himself incarcerated for one reason or another, and was thrown in jail, and thus it was to be travels without Theo. It doesn’t take much for a man to get thrown in jail in this place, so we did not take it very serious. I remember we asked Anne, his friend, the next morning whether she was going to bail him out. “No, not today, I am busy. He can wait till tomorrow.” We were greatly amused by that. Did anyone ever tell you that story, Theo? Well, now you know.And can anyone tell me why the peanut sellers only sell their wares on the parking lot of the ski slopes? I never ever see these guys anywhere else, but always here. And not just one, no, seven eight, peddling their ware in the back of their cars. They let you taste all their goodies, special Chinese nuts, dried figs, pistachio nuts like no others, nougat and other sugary stuff, and then there really isn’t a way that you can say; “Well, thank you for all that good stuff, now, goodbye, I’ve got to go home.” We always get suckered into buying something. I think they should call it ‘the harassment of the nut sellers’.

Slow . . .

. . . as the pictures indicate. Nothing much moving. We're waiting for the International Tribunal in The Hague (April) and the parliamentary elections (panned in May, now postponed to June)..

Not Much To Say

I thought for a brief moment we had skipped winter this year and moved into an early spring.

A bouquet of Anemone coronaria. Check out Lebanese wildflowers here. This is my kind of flower guide; the flowers are arranged by colors.

Beirut in the rain, taken from Souq el-Harb

Ahum.
It rained all weekend. At least we get to ski again

Udate: It is Souq elGharb, according to Kheireddine (check comments), and he is right. Thanks, Kheireddine.