You Tend To Forget . . .

After so many years in a country where the average temperature lies a good 10 degrees Celsius above the one in Holland, with clear skies, sunny days, outdoor meals with friends and family, late night dinners and sandy beaches on the weekends, you sort of lose the perpetual ‘holiday’ feeling. After all, the things you used to experience only 3 weeks a year while living in Holland, you now experience some 240 days a year.

So you tend to forget how good you have it. You tend to take for granted that you lounge the day away with friends, discussing yoga, holiday plans, work, sun tans, and other easy topics. Especially when you read e-mails and blogs of friends that are stuck in other, far away places, in the rain, in cold weather, in jobs that will grant them 10 days off with pay or in places where the beach is 6 hours away.

And so for all those poor Lebanese that are stuck somewhere overseas, living the 9 to 5, stuck in traffic jams during morning and evening rush hour, and under grey and overcast skies, where you don’t know your neighbors even though you've lived in the same apartment building for some 4 years now, here are some pictures of our arduous life in Lebanon. Eat that ;)

Pictures taken at Lazy B . They even have a web cam

Mleeta, The Hezbollah Resistance Museum

So on Tuesday, the new public holiday of Resistance & Liberation, I went down south to check out this new Resistance Museum I had read about in the paper. Well, you can’t miss it; the signs – Resistance Tourist Landmark – start somewhere way back in Nabatiya. The Mleeta museum is a larger version, or actually, a very large version of the Spider Web Exhibition that Hezbollah organized some years ago in the southern suburbs. In Mleeta, they’ve perfected the art; it’s a genuine war museum. With a website (but the English pasrt is still under construction).

The Abyss; the original 'dead zone'

The museum is situated on the hill of Mleeta; a hill that is apparently quite significant in Hezbollah history. This is where, back in the early 80’s, Imad Mugnieyhe  and Abbas Moussawi, started training the very first Muqawameh (resistance) people. The area was occupied by the Israelis in 1982, who started a slow withdrawal in 84-85 until they formed their so-called ‘Security Zone’. Mleeta was right outside this zone, and had a good view on the ridge where the Israelis had set up their fence. Both men have since then been blown up.

Some visitors with very gung-ho kids

Another thing I learned about this hill,  is that it was a so-called ‘dead zone’. Israeli planes apparently leave base only with ammo on board when they have a planned target. Sometimes, they cannot see or find the target, but they do not want to take the bombs back to base and land with them. So they have to drop their bombs in an area where it cannot hurt anyone. This is not done for humanitarian reasons but because of strategic rationale. Any civilian you hit is a reason for the other side to retaliate. Mleeta was one of these zones, so in this hill there’s this huge pit created by years of ‘left-over’ bombs.

"Are you done now? Can we get down?"

The Israelis never intended this, I am sure, but if their invasion into Lebanon in 1982 left one lasting legacy, it is a very powerful and persistent resistance. One so well organized and huge that today - some 28 years after the invasion into Lebanon, and some 10 years after their withdrawal – these couple of men have transformed it into a vast organization with a political party, a permanent army, a large social network (schools and clinics), a media apparatus (radio station, TV, public relation offices for local and foreign press and a number of web sites), a boy-scouts division from which they draw future martyrs, logistical skills that are awesome (they can organize and discipline a crowd like no other in Lebanon), and a intelligence division that is quite sophisticated.

Posing for papa with an Israeli helmet on your head.

All that was missing, is some history. And now, they’ve got that too, with an entire museum. They have built an entire theme park around the spoils of war, intelligence and victories they have gained from their enemy over the years. Now all of this is open to debate; it has come at a huge price, but I am not going to enter into that discussion. Whatever your opinion, this museum is something else.

Checking out Israeli ammo up close

This dead zone’ pit has been filled with all sorts of Israeli military equipment that Hezbollah has gathered over the years. Entire Merkava tanks are lying there. There’s a hall where the complete IDF structure has been posted, all 8 division, complete with who’s the general running it, how many people are in it, what subdivision are stationed where and with what material. Those Hezbollahs are busy bodies, checking the wires on a daily basis for updates. “The Israeli press is open, so we can follow exactly what, where and how,” explained one of the guides. “In order to defeat your enemy, you have to know him, and we know them very well.” He knew how to read Hebrew, but that was as far as he was willing to go. Hezbollahs do – as a rule - not share information with outsiders. Not ever. Everything has to be approved by the main office. And the main office approves almost nothing, since one of their guys once said that the PLO was finished once they let outsiders in on their affairs.

Trenches

Anyone you’ve ever met, who claimed he was working with Hezbollah, is - what we call in the trade - a Wholla (Wanna-be Hezbollah). A real Hezbollah would never say that. They don’t talk. They hate small-talk. One of the guides at the museum spoke perfect American. How come? Well, he’d been living in Dearborn, MI, for a number of years. If you are unfamiliar with Dearborn, it’s where the rest of (shi muslim) Lebanon is living. Rima Fakih, the Lebanese Miss America, is also from Dearborn. Well, our guide was not familiar with the Fakih family, and most definitely not with Miss America. “If you say so,” he replied.

Inside the mountains they dug an entire tunnel system with rooms

Around the hill, you get access to the original Muqawameh base; the thing was dug into the hill, with tunnels running all over the place. They could keep people underground for as long as two weeks. And from this base the moved into the Security Zone, as the Israeli called the occupied area.

Another vehicle

Would I recommend you go and see it? Yes. Admitted, the entire display has a slight ‘Disney’-like quality it, with little signs at every piece of artillery or bomb. The English is stilted, translated from classical Arabic - is a very flowery and poetic language - into the more business-like oriented English, and that just doesn’t read quite well at times. It’s a little kitsch at times, and the symbolism of the display is so thick it almost smothers it. The ratio of veiled ladies versus non-veiled ladies was something like 999:1 (there was quite a large contingent of mullas visiting as well, but I was told that was because of opening day)

A Hezbollah soldier somewhere in the bushes (no, not a real one)

However, you’ve got to hand it to these guys. The Lebanese have yet to come up with a real monument to commemorate 15 years of civil war and they’re still fighting over what should be written in the school history books (and thus all parents only teach their view, which ensure we will perpetuate the reasons for conflict).

But these Hezbollahs have managed to get an entire museum in place. So, if you have nothing to do, check out this Mleeta museum. Whether you’re a Hezbollah fan or foe; I think you’re going to be surprised either way.

And I suggest you do it really fast too, because my guess is that the next time the Israelis drop a bomb on Lebanon, this museum is the first one to go.

The Security Zone. This is the road between Nabatiya and KfarKila; the place is pristine, because the zone was virtually empty of inhabitants for quite a number of years.

Window on Wednesday III

A Dutch-Lebanese (or Lebanese-Dutch) reader, Roula, mentioned how these windows made her homesick. I agree, these windows are quintessential Lebanese. And although based on the French model, the shutters in Lebanon are different from the shutters in the French Mediterranean.

She mentioned Andre Kalfayan, who paints doors and windows. I checked his site. Very appealing. (Thank you, Roula)

Jean Pierre Arcile, a French (?) artist who recently had an exposition in a restaurant called Tawlet, also did some windows. This one, unfortunately, was sold already.

I’ve got a thing for windows and doors. Another blogger in Beirut, Mary Ann, finds them equally interesting. Anyone else inspired by windows?

Resistance and Liberation Day

We’ve added yet another holiday to the plethora of national holidays. Today was Resistance and Liberation Day, to commemorate Israel’s withdrawal from the south on May 24, 2000. We’ve got 18 public holidays now, against 9 in Holland. I am not complaining.

Fatimah's Gate, in Kfar Kila; Two Lebanese soldiers and a Spanish Unifil member walk along the fence with Israel.

I went down south to check out this newly opened ‘Resistance Tourist Landmark’, as the sign post announced. It was quite entertaining, I must say. I’m a bit of a WWI buff, and can really appreciate this type of military display of trenches, sandbags and battlefield equipment. After all, southern Belgium and northern France are teeming with these types of museums, so why not have one in Lebanon as well?

You’ve got to have a strong tolerance for symbolic overkill though, but then again, Hezbollah is quite evolved in this department. There’s an element of ‘kitsch’ in it all as well, but that did not seem to bother any of the visitors I spoke to.

Fatimah's Gate, in Kfar Kila; Israel's on the other side. Very close, yet it might as well be Uzbekistan or something. It's probably easier to get to Uzbekhistan than to Israel.

Nevertheless, an entertaining day, and I learned all kinds of new things, which I will share later this week, as I am dead tired now after a long drive all the way over the south, along the Israeli border, and back again, in the mean time slugging my way through trenches, caves, artillery posts and tunnels.

Fatimah's Gate, in Kfar Kila; the houses in the picture are in Metullah, an Israeli village.

So I will leave you with a picture of Israel, and Fatimah Gate, where the atmosphere was jovial, to say the least. We tried to look for this thing, but couldn’t find it.

On Friends and Banks

On Friday, I’m flat broke, and after work I pass by the ATM machine to pick up some cash. For some reasons there is no money coming out of the thing.

After last Sunday's lovely man, some lovely ladies.

You’re probably have no money left in your account,” suggest friend H, who is standing next to me.

“No, I’m sure have money,” I reply.

“Oh, that darn thing never works,” suggest friend B, standing on my other side.

“No, it usually works,” I assure her.

“Maybe it is empty,” says B.

“Or it has no paper slips left. Don’t ask for a receipt,” H. advises.
But no matter how I try, I get no money.

Suddenly a message on the screen reads ‘We cannot contact your bank.'

“Maybe the phone line is dead,” H says.
“Don’t worry,” says B, “I’ll pay for the drinks.”

On Saturday, I pass by the ATM machine of my bank. Same problem. After 3 attempts, I get a message.

‘Your card is no longer VALID.’ In capital letters.

I check the expiry date. I still have 7 months to go. So I enter the bank.
“Oh, we cancelled your card on Wednesday. When there are suspicious transactions, we cancel automatically and issue a new one,” says the teller, and she gives me the new one.
“What suspicious transactions?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she replies
“Well, shouldn’t you call me?” I ask.
“We tried, but nobody picked up.”
I know they didn’t call my cell phone. Maybe my home number. But hey, I’m a working woman.
I get my new card, a new PIN number, and out I go. Back at the ATM machine, I try 3 times.

"Your card is no longer VALID.’

Back to the bank teller.
“Oh, it will be working as of 4 o’clock this afternoon.
How lovely.The line at the bank is long. Too long. Do I really need the money? No, it can wait till 4, I’m thinking.

S, M and little H in the pool

Well, four o’clock comes. And what do you know? The bank card is still not working, but now the bank is closed. Until Monday morning.
“Why don’t you come to my beach”, says M. another friend. “I’ll invite you.”

I tell you, with a banking system like this, you need friends like mine.

Window on Wednesday II

Did I Miss Something?

After this very uplifting post on beaches in Lebanon, something more down to earth.

A friend of mine is asking why, since my holiday starts somewhere in June, I have my airplane ticket booked for July?

 

“Why not?” I ask her.

“Well, because of the war,” she replies. “Better get out right away.”

Right away?

Then I receive an e-mail from a colleague in journalism.

“If war breaks out in Lebanon, do they close the border with Syria? I am just wondering how much time I have to get into the country in case that happens,” he writes. “Just a thought.”

Just a thought?

Did I miss something?

On Beaches in Lebanon versus Beaches in Europe

I went lounging at Lazy B. today. It’s one of the southern beaches (i.e. beaches south of Beirut). Going to the beach in Lebanon is definitely a different experience than in Europe. More relaxing, I’d say.

This particular beach has a sort of lagoon between the beach and the sea,

where you can jump, dive and do back flips

In Europe, be it France, or Holland, or Belgium, you’ve got to park your car on one of those massive parking lots some 2 kilometers behind the dunes, and then slug all the way up the dune and down again, through the sand, stacked like a packing mule.
Like a packing mule, because you’ve got to haul all your gear in one shot. The beach umbrella, the beach chairs, the towels, the ice box, the inflatable boat, the drinks, the wind screen, the sun screen, you name it.
There is nothing at the beach, so you either carry it yourself, or you’re sitting in the sand. And for every bit of food, or drink, if you haven’t brought it along yourself, you need to slug all the way back, over the dune, back to the lot, where the food stalls are.

There’s this relentless energy in kids when they get near water.

If you’re not an experienced sun bather, and you arrive at low tide, you will probably have set up shop right on the shore line. Subsequently, all your stuff gets washed away while you are somewhere in the surf, much to the amusement of beach goers who have placed their stuff right under the dunes.

They have to jump, splash, fall, roll over and dive.

If you need to go to the bathroom, back over the dunes you go, and you have to stand in line with another 20 ladies for a not-so-clean toilet without toilet paper (of course).

Slam dunking sisters is quite popular too (with teenage brothers).

And then, at the end of the day, you’ve got to repeat the whole process and drag your stuff, sandy, oily, sweaty and all, back to the car. There is no shower, or just one on top of the dunes, that you have to share with the other 5000 people that went to the beach that day. No changing rooms either. And you arrive home, sweaty, greasy, sandy, dead-dead tired, and totally exhausted.
I used to leave the beach early, because 1) I did not want to get stuck in a 2-hour long traffic jam, and 2) I’d be so stressed out from going to the beach that I felt I needed the time to recuperate at home before being able to go back to work on Monday.

He hates entertaining his little sister, accept when it involves water.

I was contemplating over that, while I lay at the beach in Lebanon. Here we do things slightly differently. Granted, we do not have dunes, nor a tide.

But here we drive to the beach, and give our car to the valet parking, while at the entrance a gentleman takes your bags down to the beach. You pick a spot, and another guy gets you some lounge chairs and a little table. A third guy brings a couple of umbrellas and a little waste basket. And then the waiter asks you if you’d like to order something. Sure, we’ll have a beer. Lunch? No, later maybe.
There’s an open-air shower as you get out of the sea, or would you prefer the pool? No problem. There are changing rooms, mirrors everywhere, lovely clean toilets, a lounge with beds, and a couple of life guards who make sure your kids don’t drown.

Doing double flips, can’t get enough of those.

You want to move to a place under the thatched roof? No problem. The men come out and move your stuff.

And thus you lazily lounge your Sunday away, hence the name; Lazy B. But there’s like another 20 more beaches down that stretch of coast, all with pretty much the same amenities, or even more up-scale.

At the end of the day, you walk back up the board walk (made for you because walking in the sand is so tedious and tiresome), the valet brings you your car, and home you go. And if you’re really disgusting, at home, you let the maid empty your car. Mine’s off on Sunday, so I’ve got to do that myself.

And the water … oops, what’s this? Uhhhmmm, well. Another beach goer, I guess. I can’t think for the world why I’ would take a picture of him. His 6-pack maybe?

Definitely more relaxing than going to the beach in Europe, I’d say. And if you're going to come up with the argument that at least beaches in Europe are free, well, I guess you haven't paid those parking fees!

All around the Mulberry Tree

Some history today. We don’t have mulberries in Holland. At least not that I know of. I even had to look up the Dutch translation for the word ‘mulberry’. (It is ‘moerbei’, in case you didn’t know either) Mulberry has a distinctive old-fashioned quality to it. But here in Lebanon, the fruit is quite common.

The first time I ever saw it sold, was on one of the old wooden push-carts (the one that slowly seems to disappear out of the city) in Hamra. They were advertised as ‘toot’. I thought they were brambles, or some type of blackberry. I actually thought that for many years, until last fall, I saw some construction workers raiding a tree next to a building site. When I passed by, they offered me some. What do you know! Those blackberries grow on trees? “Toot,” they indicated, as they pointed upwards.

Only then did I make the connection. They’re not blackberries!

Mulberry trees are quite common here, there used to be entire mulberry plantation around here. Not for the mulberry though, that was just a by-product. They were cultivated for their leaves, which were quite popular with the silk worm, which at one point in time was a thriving industry here in Lebanon.

According to Mona Sader Issa, who is connected to the silk museum in Bsous, silk was aslready a booming business before the Romans got here, but we used to import it from the Chinese to make the famous purple colored silk. Emperor Justinian the Great (537-564 AD) figured that what the Chinese could do, we could do better, and mulberry trees were cultivated. For quite some time it was a booming business.  The decline of the industry started somewhere around the 1900’s.

With the dawn of the nineteen-hundreds, the growing of mulberry trees began to decline because of the competition of the Far East on the silk market. The mulberry trees were replaced by citrus on the coast and by tobacco, vines and fruit trees in the mountainous regions. (Source)

Picture comes the Keystone-Mast Collection, 1870-1963 (web site)

All that we have left now are a silk museum, and a large number of mulberry trees. The mulberry season runs from the end of May to the end of August, when the mulberry leaves needed for the silk were harvested. And that’s when they appear on the market. You see them in shades from milky white to almost black. I never acquired a taste for them though. But my colleagues swear by the taste of mulberry juice, so if you have a tree in your back yard, here is a recipe.

On Food Pirates and Family

Don’t they always say that in Lebanon everyone is related to everyone else? And if they’re not related, than at least they know them from somewhere? Well, I tell you, I am well integrated in this society.

Merijn Tol and Nadia Zerouali in the kitchen of Tawlet

 

Where am I getting at? Let me start from the beginning. Two Dutch ladies, Merijn Tol  & Nadia Zerouali  are in town to work on their second cookbook of the Mediterranean region. Their first one, Arabia, was a pretty big hit in Holland (they’re working on a French/English version for Lebanon and the region). These two ladies are a bit like food pirates; they roam around the region, raid kitchens, talk/cook with people, pick up interesting recipes, give it a little twist, write about it, and then pack up their bags and move on to the next country. They’ve done quite a few of the Mediterranean countries already (Marocco, Libya, Lebanon, Syria, Sicily and more) and are now working on some more culinary anthropology in Palestine, Algeria, and Lebanon again. Remember, way back when the Romans were ruling the world, they already figured out that it is actually the Mediterranean Sea that is the center of the world, and they wanted to conquer it all. They got pretty close, and ever since, these Mediterranean countries have a common denominator. Several common denominators actually and food is one of them.

Today the two ladies showed off some of their recipes/food to a packed Tawlet, the restaurant connected to Souk el Tayeb, Lebanon’s first Farmer’s Market.

Tawlet, in between lunch and dinner

Because this might be an interesting story for Dutch newspapers, they had contacted some Dutch journalist. Here I come in. I couldn’t make lunch, and already had plans for dinner (this country is absolutely ruthless on your social life) but I could come in between. And so I dropped by while they ladies were taking a breather from the lunch, and getting ready for the dinner crowd at 9:00.

And so here we sit, talk about food, what attracts them to the region, and Lebanon in particular, and the wild & exotic plans they still have in discovering more regional flavors, when their photographer walks in. “Hey, are you not a Galama?” she asks. You bet ya I am a Galama. The Galama’s are a Frisian family, originally rebels, war lords , robber barons, and we even have a few crusaders on the list as well.

Nadia Zerouali , a Galama, another Galama, and Merijn Tol

Turns out she’s my cousin’s daughter. She didn’t know I lived in Beirut, I did not know she was in town, and here, in a city of one million and something, I run into my – what do you call it – second cousin. What are the odds? I must say, she was in good company; two food pirates.  And so, when you live long enough in Lebanon, even here you are somehow related. It's a small world.

They’ll be at the Farmers Market this Saturday, in downtown, so come and check them out!

Window on Wednesday

Things are a little slow these days; all I seem to be doing is running errands. The beach season is starting, so the picnics in wild & exotic places has been placed on the back burner for the moment. My parents have finally reached Europe, so that is it for a while as the discovery of Roman ruins in far and forgotten places is concerned. 7 more weeks of school for the kids left, summer is definitely in sight.

And so – for lack of anything more interesting to blog about - I decided I will leave you with my extensive collection of Lebanese windows, one a week.

Lovely Evening in Beirut

New York Times suggest I should go sit at the Hard Rock at dusk and watch the city parade on the Corniche. I gladly do that, probably more often than my health/weight allows me to. And so we go out for dinner.

It is a lovely evening here in Beirut, one of many nights to come this summer, and the sunsets are as fantastic as ever, with or without Icelandic volcanic ash in the atmosphere. It seems the Hezbollah people telling us that Israel will not be attacking us any soon. Always nice to know this bit of insiders information. They say it’s because Israel is afraid. The Jerusalem Post says the same, with this difference; it is not them who are afraid. I don’t care who’s afraid of whom; I want a quiet summer.

Muslim women in headscarves, scruffy locals in rock T-shirts, Filipina baby sitters: come dusk, Beirut’s seaside walkway known as the Corniche becomes host to a city on parade. To watch it and enjoy views of the glittering Mediterranean while you’re at it, start across from the Hard Rock Cafe …and stroll west past the fast-rising hotels, luxury apartment buildings.

We drive past the Abdel Nasser mosque, although I think it may actually have another name. It’s always decorated as if it is Christmas. The city is out in force, corn-on-the-cob vendors and all.

And for desert, we take a ride in the Ferris Wheel. 4 people for 8,000 pounds. Granted, the little carriage has no door, and swings quite ferociously. It sure helps with the digestion. A lovely evening in Beirut.

On Rain and Sunday Picnics

This reminded me of this poem of  'maggie and milly and molly and may'

I’ve been told since Wednesday that it was going to rain over the weekend. And not just a little bit either. A serious downpour. My father-in-law cancelled his Sunday garden brunch, and some friends received a call that their hike to the Saninne mountains was postponed due to the ‘unfavorable weather conditions.’ Rain was expected.

“I guess we’ll have to go and picnic then,” said Allyson, a fellow Dutchie.

Catching crabs with your Crocs

“Outdoors?” said the old aunt in surprise, “But they say it’s going to rain!”

We Dutch are used to rain. We don’t get anything but rain where we come from. If we’d cancel anything because of the rain, there wouldn’t be any outdoor activities ever.

So we planned a picnic by the seaside.

And as a punishment for ignoring the weather forecast and organizing a picnic on a rainy day, we all got seriously sun burnt. It was warm, it was hot. And the sun shone ALL day. I didn’t see one drop of rain. And there was a lovely breeze by the seaside. And we saw nobody. Of course not, everyone stayed at home because it was going to rain.
Another lovely Sunday with friends and family.

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me) it's always ourselves we find in the sea
(Poem by e.e.cummings)

And this dog is going to have a serious hangover tomorrow!

Shopping with Mom

On Monday my son announces that we will go shopping early on Saturday morning because he needs clothes. On Tuesday he announces he will need polo shirts and T-shirts as well, and we have to go early. On Wednesday he announces he needs jeans and belts too, and we have to go early. On Thursday he announces he also needs shoes, and we have to go early. On Friday he announces that he also needs shorts and socks, and we have to go early. I am all happy. I like shopping, and I haven’t done any shopping with my son since he was 3. I’m so looking forward to this.

On Saturday morning I wake him up. Early. As requested.

From under the covers, he announces that, on second thought, I can go without him and buy all that stuff. He trusts my taste and judgment on his clothes. And he rolls over again.

Disappointed? What are you talking about? I just kicked his sorry @#$ out of bed and into Hamra.

And we were so early, (didn't he repeatedly request 'early'?) that all shops were still closed. Seems they don’t open till 10. And so I had to buy him breakfast at Bread Republic to kill the time. The son was still asleep. It is a normal thing, it seems. It’s all related to the production of melatonin.

There is a certain ‘darkness hormone’ called melatonin that induces sleep in all human beings. (…) This melatonin is like a sleep inducing hormone that releases itself normally at night times. This helps us go to sleep. For any adult, this hormone releases itself at about 10 pm. Unfortunately, for your poor teen, it isn’t so. Teenagers only release this hormone at about 1 pm at night. This means that even if they try to go to bed, they don’t feel like sleeping until quite late. This then has a knock on effect when they have to wake up in the morning. Think of it as an internal clock. Teenagers’ clocks are set to release melatonin much late but what happens is in the morning, when it’s time to get ready for school, the teenagers’ internal clocks still feel it is night time which is why they struggle to wake up.So don’t bother blaming your teenager if you find they are sleeping in, they need it because they can’t help it! Source

Hey, I am not blaming him for anything. It’s just that if you’ve been promising your mom for a whole week you want to go shopping with her early, you better come through.