365 Days of Zen in Lebanon

Well, what can I say? Santa’s been good to me. And probably my most favorite gift was this one:

‘365 days of Zen life in Lebanon.’ Has somebody been reading my mind?

I quote “As we live in a rather agitated country, not lacking sources of stress, hamdellah, and where our adrenaline peaks make it to the Guinness Book of World Records, why not bring things into perspective, be positive, and take things the best we can? (. . . ) Between the crises of our teenagers, the fluctuating political situation, the complete lack of civility amongst Lebanese driver and security troubles, we are not really spoiled.”

The theme of the book/agenda? How to stay Zen while living in Lebanon? Chill. Because no matter what shit you’re in, things could always be worse, 365 times! For instance, on October 10, it reads: “Catastrophe! You have paperwork to do at a Lebanese Ministry.” Say again. My housekeeper’s papers need to be renewed, and I am still waiting for my Lebanese BA equivalence

The funny thing is that the author happens to be the sister in-law of my sister in-law. I didn't know that until I checked the agenda online.  I am sure in Arabic there is a term for that. In English (or in Dutch, for that matter), family relations are not that tight, and so all I can explain it is as ‘a sister in-law of the brother of a sister in-law on my brother in-law’s side’. I meet her once a year during the family Easter egg hunt.

This teaches me 3 things:

1) I’m not the only one having difficulties with their Zen,

2) The Arabic language is much more evolved than the English or Dutch, for that matter, and

3) everyone in Lebanon is related to each other.

Interested? Get your copy here.  

Delayed

When I traveled to Holland, I was caught in that infamous snow storm  in northern Europe that got everyone camping at airports for days. I was lucky; after a 12 hour delay in the Czech Republic, I managed to get on the only plane that eventually left for Amsterdam that day, leaving all the other poor suckers stranded for days.

But you know what they say about ‘he who laughs last’.

The way back was not as uneventful. What was supposed to take 5 hours, ended up to be a 22 hour journey spread over 3 different capitals. And the journey wasn't as linear either. I met some Lebanese in Amsterdam who were going the same way, and who had already been stranded for days in New York and London before getting to Amsterdam. It was an absolute delight to see them deal with the service desks at various airports. They had to laugh about it themselves. But it makes me wonder; how did you guys manage with the misery of 15 years of civil war?

Amsterdam Airport            Prague Airport      Paris Airport

The Service at the Audio Visual Department of Virgin Megastores in Downtown Beirut Sucks!

With a capital S! And I know, one should never use reading marks in a title. Well, their loss; I spent my $375 somewhere else. Not that they care.

Just had to get this off my chest, in order to keep my Zen. Otherwise we would have witnessed another one of those ABC Bear Tree moments.

A Merry Christmas

From a very white, cold and snowy Holland, I wish you a very merry Christmas. I’ll be back in Lebanon after Christmas, and hopefully I’ll be able to show you some snow from there, but somehow I doubt that it will be white in Lebanon. As the seasons somehow become more pronounced in Holland (warmer summers and colder winters), in Lebanon it seems we have lost our winter, and we will move from fall back to spring and skip the winter all together.

Something to ponder on on Christmas Eve; A Lebanese boy shoveling snow.

There, I Fixed It II

I was not going to blog about it, because it’s at my work place, and I do not blog about my work place or colleagues (you can get fired over that), but my own boss said I should, so here we go;

Last weekend it rained quite heavily (heavenly, some would say). And for some reason, most of that water accumulated on the roof of my office. And then started to seep through the ceiling. This seeping turned into dripping and finally it was raining inside all over the place. The physical department came and took a good look at it.
“Does this usually happen?” asked the head of the physical department.

“No,” I replied, “Only when it rains.”

It’s been like that since I moved into this office, some 5 years ago. Well, I went home after work, and bought myself a pair of rubber boots for the next day.

But the next day, they had ‘fixed’ it. They had drilled holes in the ceiling, and had a funnel - with a garden hose attached to it which hangs out of the window – installed under the hole. I’ve got a blue funnel and a beige one, for some added color.  

There, I Fixed It  Part I

Snow and Sun

Not to rub it in or anything, but it’s December the 16th , I’m walking around in a T-shirt, it’s 24 degrees Celsius outside and very sunny, and we’ve got snow in the mountains. Will we ski after Christmas? I hope so.

The mountains in the distance are covered with snow

And oh, I’m not working today; we’ve got the day off because of Ashoura . Meanwhile, here are the (weather) headlines in other parts of the world;

Rain Today, Gone Tomorrow

When the rains came, it suddenly got very cold. Thumbs up if y’all spent this weekend getting your winter stuff out! This is an unknown phenomenon in Holland, that you would pack away your winter clothes. In Holland it can be cold anytime of the year, not just in winter. But here in Lebanon you have your winter clothes, and your summer clothes. I’ve been waiting for weeks to get the winter stuff out of the boxes; I am bored out of my wits with my summer clothes!

And so this morning I went to work, dressed up to the teeth in my winter sweaters, socks, jackets and shawls.

Guess what? By noon I was huffing and puffing - peeling off layer after layer - and when I walked back home today, I had to carry my winter coat in my arms.

They predicted rain, but I guess it’s “rain today, gone tomorrow.” (On the tune of Little Bunny Fufu). We’re back to fall.

The Rains Have Come

Well, the rain came. On Friday at 5 PM, I could see it rolling in. Let no one complain about not enough water; what was supposed to fall the past two months fell this weekend. How about not complaining at all? If you live in a good Lebanese house, like I do, you’ve probably got water coming in from all sides. The windows, the ceilings, the balcony doors, you name it. But hey, you guys wanted water; now you’ve got water.

Rain on the road

And I was driving in it, all the way down to Naqoura. I think I may be in the market for a little amphibian vehicle.
Naqoura is a small village in the southern-most tip of Lebanon; Three kilometers more south, and I would have been in Israel. Actually, when I reached Naqoura, it was pitch dark, raining and thundering, and I couldn’t see a thing. Electricity was out, so no street lights. The place I was supposed to be was somewhere in the middle of the banana plantations. And suddenly, you drive around a bend, and there’s this entire village in front of you, completely lit. It was clearly a big town, and Naqoura is just a hole in the wall, so you know you’re looking right at an Israeli town.

I think I may be in the market for a little amphibian vehicle.

It’s bizarre how close you can get when we’re literally worlds apart. At that point you’re closer to Tel Aviv then you are to Beirut (102 kilometers), but I doubt I’ll ever be able to drive there in my life time.

Coastline in Naqoura

Naqoura is in the former security zone, and as such not accessible to non-Lebanese, accept with permission from the Lebanese army. What’s Naqoura like? I couldn’t tell. I arrived in the dark, stayed between the banana plantations, and left in the pouring rain, so I can’t help you much, but I hear it’s beautiful. A pristine coastline and no coastal development.

I went there to celebrate the birthday of one of our Dutchies; she became 11 (I think). Her mom had organized a disco-party for the entire classroom, but had failed to realize that this is – after all – the month of Ashoura. Things are done a little different in the south. And during Ashoura, one does NOT party. So only the one other christian child in the classroom showed up with his parents. But soon the adults took over the dance floor, and that was the end of the children’s birthday. Kids were delegated to a room with a TV, and disco from the 90’s came on. Oh? The 80’s, you say? Could be, I don’t pay to such trivial details.

We had wicked fun though

The hotel we stayed in hadn’t really opened yet; they’re opening in May. So the generator and the hot water weren’t connected. We found that out the next morning, as everyone was text-messaging each other. ‘Do you have hot water?’ The kids all wanted to stay. The grown-up all wanted to go home. “But what are we going to do in Beirut?” the children asked. “Taking a shower,” the parents answered in unison.  And that was the story about my weekend in Naqoura. We are planning to all come back again somewhere in May, when the weather is better.

On Protocol, and Flaunting it

My husband has a horrendous disregard for protocol. That’s disregard with a capital D. But protocol is what this country is all about. There are very strict – yet unwritten – rules about what to wear and how to behave for every possible and imaginable occasion.

This disregard for protocol is a family thing. His entire family is like that. He goes to funerals in colored shirts, has lunches with prime ministers in faded jeans and flip flops, leaves dinner parties before the main course is on the table, will display utter boredom on his face when someone does not interest him and comes to the family Christmas gathering in his work clothes.

I, on the other hand, love dressing up. There aren’t many occasions to dress up anymore these days; our circle of friends has been culled over the years from those that are unlike us, and now we remain with the others that don’t ‘do’ protocol either. Dinners and parties are usually ‘come-as-you-are' events. But every now and then, we receive invitations from outside our circle of friends.

So Wednesday we are invited to this dinner party. Hubbie receives the invitation, which means I do not get informed until the evening before.

“Is it formal?” I ask.

“No, it’s that guy I dive with,” he replies.

I don’t really know ‘that guy’ he dives with, but if I have anything to go by, most divers tend to be shorts, T-shirt and flip-flop kind of guys.

“There’s going to be a lot of people, something like 50, so don’t worry,” he adds. “I’m going in jeans.” And he pulls out his possibly oldest pair of jeans yet, and some sweater that might be new, but might be very old as well.

Okay, 50 divers, that should be fun. So I get in my jeans, snatch a clean shirt, wear my boots, and off we go.

The neighborhood we arrive to is neutral; not too posh, not too poor. But when we stop in front of the house, I realize I might be slightly under-dressed. There’s big SUV’s with tinted windows everywhere, and drivers roaming around. Divers that have drivers?

Closer to the entrance, it is clear that there’s a large contingent of body guards as well. Now I know for sure that I’ll stand out like a sore thumb. Divers may come in flip flops, but wives with body guards will come dressed to kill.

And indeed, so it was.

Needless to say, this was not a ‘bunch of divers’. Okay, so some of them dive. But the place was packed with political and industrial movers and shakers. I recognized everyone. From TV. Needless to say, that’s a one-way communication. And all over the rooms floated these lovely ladies, loads of them, size 6 average, well-groomed, soft flowing hair, dangling earrings, French manicure, honey-colored tans, dainty high heels and the cutest black dresses ever.

Can you visualize me, in blue jeans, creased shirt and my hair in a bun. A friggin’ bun, can you believe it?!

Hubbie, of course, in his oldest jeans, looked equally out of place between all these man in jackets and ties, but he couldn’t care less.

I did enjoy myself quite well, once I got over the initial embarrassment. After all, I’m just an ignorant foreigner, and my flaunting of the social rules is accepted; the Lebanese are notorious xenophiles (well, at least to certain nationalities, the Dutch being among them) and besides, you should never take yourself too serious (~ly? Hadile, is it with an ~ly? Help me out here!). And the ladies always have interesting stories to tell! I heard an absolutely wonderful (insider) one on that ABC bear tree, but that one will (upon request) not be shared.

Comes Thursday (yes, the next night), and we have yet another dinner party.

With some other divers. Says hubbie.

It will be casual. Says hubbie.

And a smaller gathering. Says hubbie.

Yeah, right. I ain’t buying that one, so I spend about two hours in the bathroom, trying on everything black and dainty I have in my closet. I get my high heels out of the attic. Fumigate my household members with perfume.

And boy, am I dressed to kill!

'I’m ready', I announce.

"Wear a leather jacket", says hubbie, "it is hard to find a parking there, so we’re going on the bike. "

On the bike. Yes, of course. In my cute little black dress and my dainty high heels.

HAS ANYBODY NOTICED I JUST SPEND TWO HOURS GETTING DRESSED !

Sure, on the bike, no problem. And so I dig out my old black leather jacket as well.

But somehow I feel a little too dressed up, even with the leather jacket. I need something dorky with me. Something that brings me down to Earth. And so I take along a box of home-baked Christmas cookies. Home baked stuff. Taking home-baked cookies to a Lebanese dinner party? Talking about breaking protocol.

Well, I bet you know where I am going with this story. I enter the house . . . Well, I won’t lie, I was not exactly the ONLY one in a little black dress with dainty high heels, but we were severely outnumbered by the more down-to earth casual ladies. The evening was lovely, as always. The Lebanese know how to throw a good dinner party.

And thank god I came in with my box of home-baked cookies.

Tomorrow night I have a Dutch party. Protocol? The Dutch probably don’t even know what it means.

T'is the Season to Be Jolly

T’is the season to be jolly. And busy. So here is what we did this weekend. Nothing adventurous, just household stuff.

The Christmas Starred Cookies

We baked Christmas cookies. Hana wanted them star-shaped, and so star-shaped they are. I did notice that they slightly resemble the national symbol of our southern neighbors. These things are always a bit sensitive here, and it is amazing how self-censorship works, but I think we can pass them for Christmas stars.

Girls waiting to get on stage for the performance

Then we attended a childrens’ school choir on Saturday evening at the Assembly Hall at AUB. They gave a Christmas concert and my claim to fame here is that several of my daughter’s classmates sing in it. I thought it was quite impressive. Why is Hana not singing in it, you wonder? “Too many words to remember,” she replied. Well, can’t argue with that one.

Here's a small clip of the concert. It really was quite impressive.

We tried to buy a Christmas tree, but with prices started at 195,000 LBP, and 285,000 LBP for the one I had in mind, we dug out the old artificial one from the attic. We set it up, put the lights in, hung the ornaments, and when we plugged it in; nothing. So all the ornaments out again, lights out, a quick run to the supermarket for some new light strings, and here’s the result.

The tree

The manger was quickly transformed into a dog kennel, and Josef is now the head trainer. Josef shouldn’t complain; at least he’s back in het manger. I remember playing for hours whenever we would put the manger under the tree back home.

And then of course there was Saint Nicolas. The real one, not that face fat guy in the red suit. No, Saint Nicolas is the bishop of Myra, and once a year, on December 5th, he hands out presents to all the (Dutch) children. . Her belief is shaking, after she was called a geek at school for still thinking it was actually Santa Claus who has put those little gifts in her stockings this week. “It’s your parents, you idiot,” she was told by a classmate.

Sinterklaas handing out his gifts

It didn’t help much when she recognized one of the Black Pete’s as the older sister of a friend of hers. But she explained that one as “he’s hiring local people; it is too difficult to take everyone to Lebanon.” Quite right. I've reconvinced her, with this obvious real Sinterklaas, but I do think this is her last year she’s a ‘believer’. She celebrated her 8th birthday this week; that's the cut-off point when it comes to believing in Santa.

We'll be unwrapping presents all the way till Christmas. And this is how we celebrate our way through December. One week gone, three more to go. And no rain yet.

Season's Greetings

After last year’s batch of Christmas cards disappeared into oblivion, I decided to take preventive measure; I went straight to the main post office in Hamra, and mailed my Christmas wishes from there.

Last year’s cards only brought Season’s Greetings to the guy that peeled off the stamps and resold them. Or it may be that they were intrigued by the white powder that seeped from the envelope seams. Alas, that would have resulted in a nasty sinus infection; it was artificial snow.

And I have proof that I mailed them; here they are. Now if you do not receive a Christmas card from me, there are several scenarios. A) I meet you frequently, so no need to send you a Christmas card, B) I do not see you frequently, but I don’t like you enough to devote a card to you or C) the Lebanese postal system is conspiring against me.

Praying for Rain

“Het moet niet gekker worden!” as we would say in Holland. It seems that - even though nobody likes anybody else in this country when it comes to their spiritual background - in times of trouble they tend to find one another. And currently that is the state of the rain. Or actually, the lack of it.

It has not been raining decently since last March, I’d say. Actually it has, but only twice, and those occasions were so joyful that I promptly blogged about it.

But two times obviously won’t do. Farmers are complaining, and disaster and doom is predicted by the director general of the ministry, the head of the farmers union, engineer Charbel Lahoud, the dean of the Faculty of Science at the Lebanese American University and an army of other water experts or otherwise.

What shall we do, oh loh and behold?

We shall not conserve our water consumption, nor teach water conservation techniques to the people, we shall not fix the leaky water infra structure. Nor shall we do anything that would avoid that half of the water that falls in Lebanon just runs into the sea. No no no, we shall do nothing of the sort.

Instead, we shall pray. I think that is just wonderful.

The muslims have been praying for divine intervention  this Friday. I am not sure whether the shia and the sunni are in unison over this one. Coming Sunday the christians are going at it as well. They are praying for rain.

It is not impossible, you know, here in the Middle East. I have actually seen that happen before. Not the praying, but the divine intervention of a rain shower. That was in May 2008, when a massive rain shower in my neighborhood sent all the pathetic little Rambos with Kalshnikoffs scurrying back into their holes. They didn’t stay there very long, but it was the end of the battle for that night.

I think I can answer everybody’s prayers; My iPad application says that as of Monday, we can expect rain.