For the Home Front V

Yes, this is going to go on for a while. We're still in Saida. And it rained. And the sea was rough.

Waves crashing over the castle in the sea in Saida



Facing the old Saida (Sidon) souq is an old crusader castle. It  was built in 1227 on a rocky outcrop in the sea, and connected with a bridge to the mainland. The crusaders had, by that time, been roaming around the region for already some 120 years, and the town had switched hands from crusader to moslim side already a number of times. It seems King Louis of France lived in that castle when he was on pilgrimage. It then changed hands between several knight orders, back into Arab hands, the Mongols got hold of it once, and this went on and on and on, until an earthquake in 1837 left it for what it is today.

As far as crusader architecture goes, this one is not that interesting. For a really good one I suggest you go and visit the one in Syria; Krak des Chevaliers. When you get there, you wish you had a time machine. 

At the castle, we ran into a bride preparing for a photo session. The poor thing almost got blown off the ramp. “Keep hold of the bride,” a policeman jested, “she’s going to fly off before he can take her home.”

Here comes de bride. The groom is locking the car. How thorough to think about locking your car on your wedding day.

This must be the bride's maid; somebody's sister.

She's almost taking off

He eventually pinned her down on that pier. For life.

To be continued.

For the Home Front IV

The plan on Saturday morning was to go to Baalbeck. But that was until we got to the gas station. There was no gas. What do mean, no gas? No gas . Not even for me? Not even for you. Hmmmm. Go explain that to a visitor from Holland. So Baalbeck was out of the question because we could get there, but not return. And so a different route was calculated with the amount of gas we had left in our tank. It’s a humble reminder that our dependency on fossil fuel is ridiculous.

Saida Souq

And so Baalbeck was changed into Saida (Sidon in English).


I’m glad there was a gas crisis. We walked around the old souq, a traditional market,  and I discovered that it was much larger than I had thought. It’s a veritable labyrinth of narrow little alley ways, sometimes dark, sometimes lit, some with little workshops, others with little courts, small mosques, houses and sometimes a little school. It is also known as the ‘souq el Atme’, the dark souq. I makes sense since most of it is covered. What is absolutely wonderful about the place is that is an actual ‘living’ souq. This is not one renovated for the tourist (although I am sure this may have helped) with one tourist shop after another; this is a place that is actually being used and inhabited by the local population. The workshops are occupied by traditional tradesmen.

The butcher is in the back washing the stomachs of the rams.

The baker getting the bread ready for the over (behind him).

Pastry maker cutting the pastry in squares.

The quilt maker stitching the blankets.

There are butchers and barbers, and pastry shops. There are carpenters and quilt makers, mattress fillers, traditional tea houses, a gold quarter and an alley where they only sell lingerie. The houses above the souq are where the merchants live, regular families. It is an actual working ‘souq’.

We walked around for quite a bit, asking if we could make pictures, and people were extremely accommodating. Parts of the souqs are still being repaired. The pavement is being fixed, and the stucco being taken off the walls to show the original stones. The Audi soap museum is a good example of the old architecture. But a verge large section of the old city market is fixed, and very nice to stroll through.

For the Home Front III

Rauche Rock

More tourism. The cousin/niece has acquired a guide book, and during the day she walks all over Beirut, visits museums, and gets acquainted with the intricate habits of taxi drivers, and who wears what uniform. The length of the gun seems to be quite a shock to her. It is true, you do not ever see weapons in Holland, so an M16 on every street corner (or so it seems) can be disconcerting. Mind you, my guess is that if you look at the percentages, fewer people die of gunshot wounds in Beirut than in the US. Another guess is that we probably do not have the statistics on this particular fact.

Rauche Rock

This afternoon we walked to Rauche (Pigeon Rock). Even though I live practically next door, it is a sight I only visit when with tourists. Just like people living in Paris never ever set foot on the Eiffel Tower. And because my brother (my niece’s father) always accuses me of behaving like a quintessential school teacher when I am around (his) children, here is some information on Rauche.

Beirut behind Rauche

‘Almost all the rocks in Lebanon are sedimentary rocks and most of these are pale limestones.‘ (source). Limestone composed largely of skeletal fragments of marine organisms such as coral, because at one point in time, Lebanon was a lagoon, covered by a tropical sea. No, the sea level wasn’t that high, it’s just that the crust got uplifted. Didn’t you guys go through elementary school? ‘When Africa began to collide with Eurasia 50 million years ago, the seafloor of the ancient Tethys ocean began to buckle and rise’. (source)   (Are you reading this, Ysbrand? This is all very educational!) Limestone of course is very ‘soft’ rock, and subject to erosion. The waves of the Mediterranean have carved Rauche rock into its current shape, and eventually the rock will completely vanish, although not in my time.

The shores near Raouche have yielded the area's oldest evidence of human existence, flints and basic stone tools, which are displayed in the AUB Archaeological Museum. (I stole this quote somewhere but cannot remember from where)

In the Ferris Wheel

We hiked to another Beirut landmark; the Luna Park. These days it’s a sad collection of dilapidated machinery, and only the Ferris wheel seems to be functioning. For the moment.

You pay 2,000 LBP for a ride, and the man operating the machine will let you make as many turns as it suits him. And that was the tourism tip for the day.

I think hubbie has instructed the sons of some of his friends to take the cousin/niece out this week, so we will see what will ensue.

For the Home Front II

Coastal road on Sunday. The roads had turned into rivers.

Okay, some tourism this week. Sunday we had this massive rain storm. We went to Jeita Cave , thinking the place was probably closed due to the flooding, since there’s a river running through it. Well, no such thing; the highway and all other roads were flooded all right, but not the cave.


Under the rampart of the Crusader castle. In 1104, Jbail (Byblos) was conquered by the Crusaders, who used the large Roman stones and columns to construct the castle .


You probably are expecting some nice pictures  of the cave. Well, no. They do not allow you to make pictures in the cave. Never mind, plenty of other picture material, because we went to Byblos afterwards.

Byblos Port in the rain

Byblos is of course where there is a pretty intact crusader castle, a Roman nympheum, a Roman miniature amphi theater, a Roman colonnaded street (these Romans did not sit on their a**), a Phoenician grave yard, an Arabic souk, a medieval church, an old port, and hundreds of Roman pillars lying all over the place, and all of that in about 1 square kilometer. 

A tiny Roman theatre (rained in). (218 A.D.)

Mind you, half the place hasn’t even been properly excavated yet. I don’t know much about the some 7,000 year old history of Byblos, other than what you find on the Internet. Here’s a pretty good brochure on it from the Ministry of Tourism. It’s a 25 page brochure, but after reading this you probably could work as a tourist guide in the place. 

St. John the Baptist church,  started during the crusades in 1150. We didn't notice the coffin until later. Sorry about that.

The cousin was quite surprised that we were allowed to climb all over the ruins, Roman pillars and all. While there, we got caught in another massive rain storm, right while we were out and about in the field. When it rains here, it rains!

Wet wet wet

Running for cover into the castle

With a flimsy umbrella, lots of wind and even more water, we ended up getting totally soaked.

For the Home Front

One of my nieces from Holland is in town this week, so here are some pictures for the home front.  We took her skiing, if only to show her the cliche that while her uncle went diving, her aunt took her skiing, all in the same day.

Sietske in Beirut, Maaike from Holland, and 3 half Dutchies (not all mine :)

There’s not that many Dutch in Lebanon, but the contingent of ‘half-Dutchies’ is slowly (We’re not very prolific breeders) but surely growing. Half breeds tend to pick up the best genes of each side, resulting in a wonderful concoction. At least, that is what I observe.

Holland is quite a multi-cultural society anyway these days; we’re becoming a little bit like Lebanon in that aspect, where just about every family has some connection to a more exotic place such as Baghdad, Amman, Cairo, Tunis or Jerusalem. In the old days, it was quite unusual for a Dutch family to have a foreigner as a mom or a dad. I remember this family in our neighborhood that had a German mom. And that was as foreign as our entire village got. The European borders were quite ‘love-resistant’ in those days.

Maaike, Walid & Adrian

The Arabic borders, in that aspect, were not really seen as barriers. The use of one single language (classical Arabic) and religion probably helped in that aspect. Religion is still a bit of barrier in these regions, though.

And so yesterday we were on the slopes with quite a large body of ‘half-Dutchies’. There was even your quintessential ‘Dutch’ family; Mom from Tunis, Dad from Baskinta, and 3 kids that only speak Dutch, and are currently learning Arabic.

Feraya on Saturday Morning

Now that I’ve got some ideas as to why veiled ladies won’t ski, and I am wondering what all these mixed relationships will do to the politics of this country on the long run. Will confessionalism in Lebanon eventually be abandoned as more and more people are no longer ‘pure’ Lebanese, or pure ‘Arab’? I hope so.

What Are the Chances?

One of my nieces, (my son's cousin),  is coming over this week; it's her first time in Lebanon. She's Dutch, she's 19 and she's blond; I'm sure she'll have a good time in Lebanon. In case the homefront is worried about all this Middle East upheavel, revolutions, ousted presidents, burning barricades and what not (although I know my brother, her father, is probably not), here are two charts that sum up the possibility of revolution in Lebanon.

The Shoe Throwers Index

(Source) 

The Lebanese Revolution Flow Chart

(Source)

So what are the chances? Zero.

Charlie Don’t Surf

It’s a famous line from Apocalypse Now. Colonel Bill Kilgore insist on surfing the waves of the beaches of the Mekong Delta in Vietnam, and his men are warning him that Charlie (nickname the Americans used for the Vietnamese) is quite active in the area, i.e. they might shoot him. Colonel Bill Kilgore, your quintessential insensitive American soldier in foreign parts of the world, responds by saying ‘Charlie Don’t Surf.’

Sledding on the hills of Feraya

 This famous line came to mind yesterday, as I was sitting in the ski lift in Feraya, a ski resort some 55 kilometers in the mountains above Beirut. It was a sunny day (Sunday, that was), and thousands and thousands of people had decided to come up for the day and play in the snow. Feraya is usually only frequented by people that come and ski, but on long weekends many people come up with busses on a day trip to the snow.

And so while on the left side of the hill the skiers and snow boarders come thundering down the mountain, the right side of the hill is occupied by throngs of city people that rent sleds. And they’re having an awful lot of fun. Grown up men and women, clambering uphill, and then sliding downhill again while shrieking with laughter. It is fun to see people having so much fun. Snow is clearly not a common commodity in Lebanon.

Here's one that wishes she wouldn't have to ski ever again!

A gentleman sitting next to me in the ski lift me, saw me looking at them, and he said; “They don’t ski.”

“They?” I asked.

“Mohajabeen (The ones with veils). Mohajabeen don’t ski.”

And indeed, practically all of the ladies sledding were wearing a veil. That is quite an unusual sight; you do not see veiled ladies ski in Feraya, unless it is the ladies from the gulf who –dressed from head to toe in black – come for a holiday with their families.

Down in Beirut, this divide is not really present. In the area where I live, it’s all mixed; tight veil, loose veil, no veil, you don’t really notice it. Several of my colleagues are veiled, but you don’t take in that detail either when you work together. Just like they probably don’t notice that I do not wear a veil.

But in Feraya, there was this very sharp divide. Unveiled ladies skiing on the left and veiled ladies sledding on the right.

And this gentleman, remarking: “Mohajabeen don’t ski.”

And that when that line came to mind; ‘Charlie Don’t Surf’.



H and I in the lift



Can someone explain the social background of this phenomena? Some anthropological wisdom please. It is not that muslims don’t ski, because I know for a fact they/we do. It cannot be a financial issue, as among the muslim society there are some very wealthy people as well. So what creates this sharp divide?

Balloon Man

A picture tells a thousand words, they say. I wonder what you make of this scene then.

A family on the beach. In Lebanon. On a Sunday afternoon. Two women, one man, and five kids; a morose teenager with an Iphone/BBM/Ipad or whatever it is they have glued to their hand these days, a pre-teen with a mood, a toddler, a rambunctious boy, a little girl with a terrible disposition, and a dog (that pissed on my SIL’s coat), all lounging in the sun on an empty pebble beach.

5 kids!

The Balloon Man

That’s what the balloon man thought as well. He had spotted us from miles away, and as there was no one else on the beach, we were his only potential customers. And five kids are a lot of potential customers.

“All yours?” he asked my brother in-law (BIL), pointed at the children.
“Sure,” BIL answered.
“And the women?”
“Mine too.”
“Both?”
“Yes.”
“That old one too?” the balloon man nodded in my direction.
“Yes. You don’t believe me?”
“No, not the old one, that one’s not yours.”

Be careful, balloon man, you’re playing with your life.

I find it funny how total strangers will talk about you as if you are not there. Or how they will ask you all kinds of very personal questions that really are none of their business.

Danielle asked: “do you kids ever complain about too many outings, and just want to stay home? " Haha, I think my teenage son and you should have a conversation. We keep telling him that later in life on he will remember, and even appreciate, these outings. He isn’t buying it, and only forces form higher up will help him decide to come along. What was this Sunday’s ‘force’? “You either stay home and study, or you can go with your mom on a picnic”, his father had said. The boy has his priorities; Picnic it was.

Sunday

The predication was rain, and so ‘tout Beyrouth’ stayed down in the city, leaving us with beautifully sunny and empty slopes. Why does anyone listen to the weather report?

 There’s not much going in this household these days; pretty much a reflection of the rest of the country. When you watch TV and you see all these full-scale revolutions going on in other parts of the Arab world, there’s this faint pang of jealousy; how come they get to be the first item on CNN? That’s our domain!

We met some cross-country skiers on the mountain top; while we slide down, they struggle their way up.

After a few decades (okay, only 2) in Beirut, you become a bit of an adrenaline junkie. Long periods of stability are often associated (at least by me) with boredom. My colleagues display an equal increase of anxiety over extended calmness in the country, but for a different reason; they associate it with an increased possibility of an ‘event’, the Lebanese euphemism for trouble. After all, after sunshine comes rain. 

 Ski buddies

But I dare say if we manage to get through a cabinet crisis with just a few tires burning, we are maybe getting used to dealing with our problems in slightly more ‘civilized’ ways. Which is a pity, because I thrive on chaos. I should go out into the county more, discover things, hang out in places, but work prohibits me on one hand, and the snow limits me on the other hand. There’s only one more month in the season; it would be a waste to let that just pass by. But I do miss exploring. Maybe in March again.

Lebanese/Dutch Ski Patrol.My daughter is an avid fan of the snow. Not. Can you guess which one she is? One of my friends equated the look on my daughter’s face it with her face when she had to go to church every Sunday when she was young. Yep, I remember that look too!

Everyone in Turmoil, Except Us

 It’s a bad season for Presidents. All over the Arab world leaders are fidgeting in their chairs. They're not sleeping well at night. They're sipping Rabeprazole at cocktail hour. And so they should. The Tunisian president had to make a run for it. Moubarak is about to go, today or tomorrow (although he may not realize it yet). The Arab leader in my household suddenly took the initiative this evening of actually helping clearing the table. Talking about revolution!  The Jordanian king is trying to be ahead of the game by dismissing the parliament. That might work. And then again it might not. It would be a pity, I like the guy, but apparently quite a few Jordanians do not. We hear about demonstrations in Yemen and self-immolations in Algeria, Mauritania, and Saudi Arabia. Who’s next?

Yep, a bad day for Arab leaders. Will it be a good day for democracy? I doubt it, most of them will be replaced by another bad leader. But it’s a start. Isn't it good to see the other places in the Middle East be in trouble now and then, instead of us? Well, there is always Palestine. And Israel.

Beirut Sunset

And in Lebanon? Guys, it’s too ‘cold’ to go out and demonstrate. Today is the first ‘fresh’ day of the winter. It is 12 degrees Celsius in Beirut. The coldest one so far. The air is absolutely still, I can clearly see the mountains. The sunset tonight is absolutely stunning.

And then there’s the realization that we might be in trouble, but not as deep as Egypt, or Syria, or Jordan, or Saudi Arabia, or Libya, or Yemen. Isn’t that good news, for a change?