Dutch Queen's Day

It was the Dutch Queen’s Birthday today; the annual event in which every Dutch clears out the garage and sells it on the sidewalk to his neighbors. The neighbors in turn also haul their junk out of the attic, and sell it to the neighbors on the other side, and so on. On Queen’s Day, a lot of junk changes hands. Whatever is not sold, is left outside, and gets picked up at night by the garbage company. The rest of the day we parade around in orange, because the queen is of the House of Orange. Future Queen of Holland

The party was marred by an incident in Holland almost involving the Queen, which left 5 people dead and a number of wounded, and thus it was a rather subdued affaire. Nevertheless, we left at 9:30 even though the party was supposed to be over by 8:00.

Three Dutch ladies (T, A & L) , up to no good.

Laughing about certain things that I was not allowed to mention (“And you may not blog this, because my mom reads this blog too”).

Skies over Beirut

Tonight’s sky, over the Mediterranean Sea, taken from my balcony.

Growing Up on Hamra

Kids on Hamra

H. needed summer shoes, and cousin O. wanted to help her pick them out for her. And there they went, two jumpin’ jacks, scurrying between the cars on Hamra street. Oblivious of the history of this street, this neighborhood, and the direction in which it is/may be going.

And I was thinking, what great it is to be able to grow up on/near Hamra.

I think the majority of Lebanese would disagree with me. Hell, half of them are trying to get out of this place, joining the million(s) that already managed/were forced to escape this place. But I like this place. I like Hamra, and its neighborhoods. I tried other neighborhoods in Beirut, but the moment you move into a single-sect area, this place can get really nasty. Hamra is soft and chaotic. Hamra is love and let live (well, most of the time).

Hamra at night (Not my picture. Click on picture for source.)

This place is divided in Hamra haters and Hamra lovers. And then there are those that were once Hamra lovers but deplore the demise of the once hippest street in Lebanon now that Wimpy and Modca have closed down. I’m a Hamra lover. Never knew the pre-war Hamra, but it was love at first sight with the post-war version. Over 1 kilometer long, named after the red soil (Hamra = red) that paved the path a long time ago, I don’t really have an explanation as to why I like this street so much. Maybe because of its mixture of east and west? It’s a bit run down, commercial, and borders on the seedy in some places. But Hamra is cosmopolitan and Hicksville in one, chic and sleazy at the same time.Colorful Hamra (Not my picture. Click on picture for source.)

Look how this street inspires me, and all this because we had to buy shoes this afternoon in Hamra Street. How lyrical.

Somebody needs to write a song on this street.

First Beach Day

From a Dutch perspective of course. For the Lebanese this weather does not at all qualify a beach day; too windy, too early, too cold. We Dutch however are used to such pathetic summers in Holland, that today counts as beach day. Mind you, all the beach clubs were still closed, but who did I spot on an otherwise sandy and deserted beach? A fellow Dutchie, I kid you not! That just shows you.

The good sandy beaches (apart from the public Ramlet el-Baida) are north and south of Beirut. I went to an area we call Jiyeh, which is a stretch of coast some 35 kilometers south of Beirut, where many sandy beaches are located. The vast majority of those are private beaches, but since none of them were operating yet, the beaches were free today. No parasols or lounge chairs, waiters with cold beer or swimming pools though. Why would you need a swimming pool when you go to the beach, you ask? Well, we don’t really swim in the sea. People prefer the pool. I know, I know, very odd, but every self-respecting beach club has a pool these days. You don’t have to mess with sand and salt water and waves and jelly fish and such. Yep, we like our luxury in this place. We don’t like to sit or lie in the sand either, that’s for children. The moment you walk in, out come the lounge chairs and the chairs, so you don’t have to forego your comfort.

If you’ve never been to Lebanon (and you by chance read this post), you probably had a different impression of this country. But I am telling you, the Lebanese have no desire to rough it.

Old Road to Saida (Sidon)

On the way back, I took what is known as the ‘Old Road to Saida (tari’ saida al-adeem)’. It is the road that, until 1993, used to be the only connection between Beirut and the South. A two-lane country road, maneuvered by traffic into a four-lane road while going at break neck speed in both directions. It was basically a constant traffic jam. Since the new highway has been opened, it has become a lazy country road again, and is only busy in times when the Israelis bomb the bridges over the highway. Or the overpasses. Or the highway itself. The warm weather brought out the scooter squad by the thousands. And they’re all popping wheelies on the highway, two on a scooter, going 60 km/ph, without helmets. Hey, it’s not my life. The police then comes by and confiscates them by the thousands as well.

Which in turn leads to near-riots right on the highway, because now they all have to get an alternative ride home.

Never a dull day in this place. . .

On Ramlet el-Baida, and Almost Summer

Not yet summer, but we’re almost there. People are preparing what beach to go this summer. You’d be surprised, but with some 250 kilometers of coastline, you actually end up paying for a beach in this place. There are very few public beaches in Lebanon; those that are, are often very dirty, and practically impossible to go to in a bikini, unless you want to be ogled by everyone. Private beaches, which range from 12,000 LBP entrance for the basic (umbrella, lounge chair + waiter who will bring you cold beers) to more than 45,000 ($30) for the high scale (kids not allowed), are basically your European style public beaches; hassle free, although topless is where they draw the limit.

There’s only one real public beach in Beirut; Ramlet el-Baida, or white sands.

I remember during my very first summer month in Lebanon, I went to the Ramlet el-Baida beach on my own in a bathing suit. I drove there on my motorbike, towel on the back. After all, you do that in Holland too. I don't remember what scene that caused. None that I can remember.

Do I hear some ladies cringe? You couldn’t pay me enough now to go and lie on Ramlet el-Baida in a bikini this summer, or any summer for that matter, but I didn’t know then that this was just ‘not done’. I did notice that there were few women, and those women that were there either didn’t swim, and sat on the shore fully dressed, or wore pants and shirts while swimming.

When I went into the water, (remember, I was quite young and cute then), so would the entire male population of the beach, and when I would get out, so would all the men. There was even a group of Syrian soldiers (didn’t know they were Syrians then, just thought they were Lebanese regulars), that were based near Beau Rivage (an occupied hotel where the Syrian Military Secret Service conducted ‘interviews’).

The name ‘Beau Rivage’ in those days had a very ominous ring to it, like the proverbial ‘one way ticket’. Hubbie once spent a couple of nights there in the late 80’s. He still has the jacket he wore the night they picked him up, and he’s quite attached to it, because he came out again. There’s scores and scores of people who knew loved ones that were brought there, and then vanished. Forever.

Nobody bothered me on the beach that day, though. Maybe it was because of the Syrians. You didn’t want to mess with those guys. The name ‘Ramlet el Baida’ these days is synonymous with luxurious high rise apartments. What a pity; you’re looking out over a wide sandy beach but you can’t/won’t lie on it.

Anyway, these thoughts came up this afternoon as I took a variety of dogs, kids and cousins for a walk on the beach; Ramlet el Baida. It’s not summer yet, so the beach is not crowded, but the weather was gorgeous.

First Sign of Summer

Now I know one swallow doesn't make a summer, but I think summer is definitely announcing itself. Today I saw the first sign in the city; two older men, in suits, sat next to the road in a busy neighborhood, playing a game of ‘tauwle’ on the side walk. You will see this all summer long on the sidewalks of Beirut.
‘Tauwle’, or backgammon, is a very popular game among the local population. The game is ancient, originating from Mesopotamia (modern day Iraq), and was played already some 5,000 years ago, in Ur. The old version is known these days as the Royal Game of Ur.
And so here we are, some 5,000 years later, and we still play (a slightly different version of) the game’: a sign that the winter is definitely over

More on the history of the game here. You want to play the Royal Game of Ur? Go here.

Tupperware Politics

Nothing much happening these days, if you are not following the news. Beirut is very quiet tonight. My city block is unusually dark; the street lights are out. It must be our turn in the electricity rationing cycle. That makes walking the dog a bit of a hazard, as the municipality has dug holes some three months ago all along the sidewalk, and then abandoned the job.

There’s fireworks’ going off here and there. It’s too early for the wedding season, so some politician must be giving a speech on TV. The different parties are announcing their candidates for the upcoming parliamentary elections on June 7th.

A garden in Shimlan. (Also written as Chemlan, Chemlane, Shemlan, among others. Very complicated if you want to find it on your GPS).

I’ve been receiving calls from a number of parties inviting me to come and drink coffee with other ladies while ‘someone’ talks about the elections; Tupperware politics. I’ve been too busy, but maybe I should go, just for the heck of it. I wonder what they have to say. I've never had calls like these, and I've been eligible to vote for some 3 parliamentary elections now. I wonder what's the difference. This upcoming election isn’t really about who you want to vote for, but rather who you want to vote against. I have nobody to vote for, yet so many against.

But I am more interested in hanging out with friends and families on Sunday lunches in the mountains; yep, the season has started again.

Catching tadpoles in Shimlan.

The houses in the background are still abandoned, more than 20 years after the inhabitants fled conflicts in this neighborhood. You'd think it was about time to come back.

And studying tadpoles with my daughter. I guess politics will have to wait.