More Walking

Here’s another piece on walking. Okay, so I am about 6 months late with this, but better late than never. And I got it from someone else (hat tip Allyson!!! Prachtige link die ik van je feestboek plukte!) And now that the internet supposedly got so much faster, you can all view this.

It is called ‘The Walk of Causes’, and it is a web series of twelve episodes, each around five minutes, about the adventure of two foreign guys crossing Lebanon on foot..

“Without much preparation, Matias and Jorgen embarked on an epic journey that would bring them from the North of Lebanon to the South – a journey that took them through wild forests and dessert-like areas, over steep mountains and dangerous mine fields. Passports were being checked regularly at official military check-points, as well as by the almost-official Hezbollah ”check-points”.

Most images from the Middle East show a depressing reality of countries in crises. In this webseries, the viewer gets the chance to discover people living their everyday lives in the stunning mountains of Lebanon. Matias and Jorgen's approach to these people may at times seem naive, as they enthusiastically and with an open mind walk up to strangers for a ”conversation” based on body language. In a country that officially recognizes18 different religious groups, they were met by many friendly faces of different faiths.

About fifty hours of footage have been recorded from this three week journey that took place in April and May 2010, but financial help is needed in order to edit the project. Lots of goodies are waiting for those willing to help!”

More on this project can be found here. Enjoy!

Made It!

Hana and her mom, and cousin O. at the finish line.  Adrian had passed the finish line some 100 minutes earlier.

We made it. The 10 K of the Beirut International Marathon. They call it the 10 K Fun Run. Wherever did they come up with such a name? But we made it, relatively unscathed, and with a medal. In only 2 hours and 10 minutes, or somewhere around there. Adrian left us at the start line, and made it in only 58 minutes.

Adrian, Hana and Cousin O

And I think we actually did 13 kilometers, because to even get to the start line, we had to hike through the entire city. I live right in the middle of the marathon circuit, and so there’s no going in or out of the neighborhood with the car from 6 A.M. onwards. I had the bright idea that we’d pick up a cab somewhere along the road.

Well, I didn’t see one stinking cab on the road, all the way from my house to the start line, which is some 3 kilometers away.

And then when you get to the start line, there’s another half hour of shuffling before you even make it past the line, due to the massive turn-out.

Good turn-out

But the weather and the mood were good.

We took cousin O and at the last minute, Hana decided her dog Spike would have to come along too. We had an extra bib, from someone who had to forego the race, and so Spike walked with a number as well. If I would have gotten a thousand pounds from every person who wanted to take a picture of that dog, I’d have been a rich woman now. I wonder what all these people will do with a picture of my daughter’s dog on their cell phone.

Spike

The dog right now is in virtual coma, whereas my daughter and cousin O decided to go on a picnic, and – barely home - off they went again. Boundless energy. I, on the other hand, think I will take a nap or so.

Spike, Cousin O and Hana

The 9th Marathon

I signed up for the Beirut Marathon. I won’t be doing the 42 kilometer; I am going for the 10K Fun Run. And I won’t be exactly running that one either. There is a very good reason why all marathon runners have an AA cup size, and I don’t fit that category.

This will be the first year my daughter will actually walk with me. She’s done the 10K before, the very first time when she was some 10 months old, but I was the one doing the walking; she just hung in the back. This year will be the first time she’s actually walking it on her own all the way. It ‘ll be her 9^th marathon. So everyone, come out and cheer for us!

P.S. The picture is yesterday's sunset at Tabarja (On the Austostrade, coming from Jounieh going to Byblos, near the casino).

On Rainy Days

Looking north-northeast on the Corniche

I think we are in Day # 5 of continuous rain. Or is it Day # 6? I sort of lost count. An official of CAD (Civil Aviation Department) said that Lebanon’s rainfall had already exceeded the 112 millimeter 30-year average for the rain season. “So far there has been 145 millimeters of rainfall, more than double the average of last year.” (source)

Pricipitation Averages in Lebanon  (source)

I am not quite sure how to read this. According to weatherbase.com, we should have received about 860 millimeter by the end of this year. Does he mean over the whole year? Or the month of November? Or the rainy season? What is our rainy season?

The Corniche this afternoon, in between rain showers and thunder

But it is wet. I had my roof fixed for the first time in 17 years. I had never ever done anything about the roof, and although it wasn’t leaking, I thought that this winter I’d rather be safe than sorry. Well, you know what they say, ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’. Sure enough, my roof started leaking. That was Day # 4 into the rain.

A water spout developing

Sucking up water

It looked really happy though

Enough to give you a depression. But I bet nobody is as a depressed as our Eastern neighbor. Sleepless nights he must have. I bet he’s popping Lexapro by the dozen.

In a matter of 8 years he’s seen one acquaintance after another other go down; and by down, I mean ‘down’.

Saddam Hussein got pulled out of a hole like a rat, had his picture taken like a homeless bum in his underwear, and eventually was hung in a rather odd place surrounded by a jeering crowd. His sons were already dead by then, his family scattered.

Khadaffi got pulled out of a sewer pipe, was sodomized and lynched, and then put on public display for a number of days in a cooler. His family suffered the same fate as that of Saddam.

Mubarak is in jail, billions forever out of his reach, but he’s the lucky one; at least he didn’t get sodomized or hung. Or both.

That Tunisian guy is on the run like a dog, stuck in Saudi Arabia (now that’s a punishment too), his name of the Interpol list.

Still fishing; no matter that they might get 'zapped' into the next dimension

All this should be more than enough to give the Syrian president more than just sleepless nights. How does he think his days are going to end? Will he suffer the same fate? Hung from a lamp post in the streets of Damascus? Lynched like a dog somewhere in the desert while on the run to Iran?

And all I have to complain about is the rain. My future is infinitely and exponentially brighter than any Middle Eastern ruler right now.

Granted, I don’t have the cash that comes with that job, but all the money they accumulated for a rainy day; what good did it do them on when it started to rain?

What Are the Odds?

A Dutch Dominated Hike

A Dutch friend of mine here in Beirut mails me last night, asking if I am up to something this Sunday. Well, I thought about hiking in the hills above Beirut. Actually, the hills above Beirut didn’t appeal to me, I had signed up for something more spectacular; a hike way up north, in Dinnyeh, but that one got cancelled due to excessive fog way up north, and a hike through the hills above Beirut was offered instead.

 

The mountains & forest between Beit Meri & Broumana

A hike with friends is always fun, be it up north or near Beirut, and so we make some calls and get some more Dutch together to join the hike. This organization we hike with is a Lebanese outfit  that organizes outdoor trips all over the country.

On my way up, just below Broumana, I pick up another Dutch friend, and while driving, we both see a lady standing by the road who looks strikingly Dutch. “I could swear that was Merijn,” I tell my friend.

Merijn, as you probably do not remember, is a Dutch culinary journalist, who is in Beirut now and then to work on culinary projects, and through whom I miraculously met the daughter of my cousin, right here in the heart of Beirut. But how could that be? Merijn is in Holland. We drop the topic and continue our way.

Then, while we park our car to hook up with the rest of the hikers, the organizer shows up with – in his car – yep, you guessed it; Merijn and Maaike! Now what are the odds? Of all the people in this country who go hiking with this particular group this exact Sunday in these mountains; it happens to be these two Dutch, who are in town for only a week, and whom one is related to me! Go figure!!

I tell you, you have a better chance winning the lottery than to run into a relative in the mountains above Beirut some 8,000 kilometers from home. That I ran into her once, by chance, is bizarre enough. That it happened a second time, that’s just so weird. Needless to say, I am buying a lottery ticket tomorrow.

Erica erigena

The hike was a lovely one, from Broumana to Beit Meri, trough the pine forest on the Deir el Qalaa side. Unfortunately we didn’t see much of the scenery as all we did was talk. I will have to publicly apologize to the Lebanese who were also hiking with us. One man did remark that we seem to be talking faster than we walked. That’s true; the only muscles that ache right now are the muscles of my jowls. It was just so odd, to go hiking and for some reason, to end up – impromptu - with the large group of Dutch women. Serge, the organizer, did mention that there was only one group of people that was noisier than us; and that’s when he hikes with school children.

Dutch women all over the place. The poor guide, he signed up for 2, he ended up with 6!

Sorry Serge, I promise you, next time we will talk less and hike more.

Looking for a Saint in Beirut

A blogger wrote the other day that the Lebanese seem to adapt just about anything that comes from outside.  He wrote ‘Call me old-fashioned, but if there’s something I would like to keep “Lebanese,” it’s the day where we wear masks just for the fun of it. There’s no reason for us to copy other people’s holidays just because it has been shoved down our throats in movies, series, pop culture… to the point where it has officially been deemed cool by the masses.’

Another Lebanese blogger got his ass chewed when he suggested going to a Halloween celebration in Sweden, and was told that ‘ this is not a Swedish tradition, and that no Swedes celebrate it, that it's just an effect of American culture,’ which made him wonder about identity.

Well Lebanese of all walks of life, brace yourself, because the Dutch are about to infuse you with yet another non-Lebanese feast, and it involves a saint.

There aren’t that many Dutch in Lebanon, but of the Dutch that are in Lebanon, the majority seems to fit the following profile; they are women, and they have children. And for some reason or another, we (I fit the profile) try to pass our cultural traditions on to our children.

Now the Dutch do not have a whole lot of traditions that are obvious. We do have some (according to my hubbie an immense amount of) quirky habits,  but I wouldn’t really fit them under the chapter of traditions.

But one tradition that we do have is the celebration of Saint Nicolas, or Sinterklaas, as we call him in Dutch. Sinterklaas is the man on which the Americans based their Santa Claus, although I am not sure how come that guy moved from the 5th of December to the 25th.

Every year, there’s quite some planning involved in organizing this feast. This year, the ladies of the St. Nicolas Feast Committee had some difficulties getting all the required candy (pepernoten, chocolate letters and strooigoed) into Beirut. Who was traveling from Holland to Beirut, and had enough space in their luggage to slug some 25 kilos of candy along?

Well, that problem was tackled today.

But now is the next hurdle; Who will be our Saint Nicolas? We used to have a wonderful man, a cleric, who was quite a natural in the bishopric uniform  that Saint Nicolas is known to wear. Unfortunately, he retired quite some years ago, and since then the position of Saint Nicolas has been filled by a number of Dutch men, some better than others.

Saint Nicolas needs to be an older gentleman, dignified, preferably with some facial hair, but I remember one year we had a guy in his thirties. My son found Sinterklaas rather ‘odd' that year.

We’ve had a Saint that looked strangely similar to someone’s father (now why would that be?)

Some Saints are just not as composed and dignified as others. Saint Nicolas is known for his love for children, and bachelors just don’t do that well with fiercely crying babies on their lap.

And so the dilemma is the following; Who will be our Saint Nicolas this year? Who will come and visit all the Dutch children in Lebanon and give them their presents?
It needs to be a gentleman of an advanced age, preferably with facial hair, who can handle children, and who speaks Dutch.

So, is there anyone out there in Beirut who fits that description and is up for the job? Then please mail me. Before December the 5th please.

Sailorettes

Marijke on the boat

And we’ve got ourselves some sailors!! Yes, today we finally made it to our second sailing lesson. Between our busy work schedule, the instructor’s sinuses and an uncooperative wind, it took some coordination, but today was deemed ‘sailable.’ Of course, when we got there, there wasn’t enough wind, so the guy made us ‘undo’ and ‘redo’ the entire boat. Between bowman knots, eight knots, crochet knots and pully-thing-knots, that kept us busy a good hour. I hope that when I get my own boat, it comes with a manual as to where to place what rope and with what knot.

By then the wind had picked up.

“Oh, it’s getting windy,” we remarked chirpy.

“No, it’s gusty,” dreadlocks replied.

“Ah. Yes, of course. Gusty.”

And on the water it was. But by the time it was Marijke’s turn (the other Dutch sailorette), the wind had gotten really ‘gusty’. And then it wasn’t sailable anymore. Gusty, it seems, is not good. As a result, I got to sail onto the Mediterranean, and she didn’t make it out of the port. Or bay, I think it is, there is no real port. We’re going to try again tomorrow.

The way this is going, we might be real sailors by March. Maybe. We’re not giving up though, we can be pretty persistent.

Sietske on the boat

The boat (we un-rigged and and then rigged again)

Professional Sailorettes

But I have to say, the weather was absolutely gorgeous. It is halfway November, there is snow up in the mountains, and we’re hanging out on the beach, looking glamorous & professional in our wet suits. Too bad there was nobody to watch us!



Dreadlocks, our instructor

On a side note; weren’t we supposed to get faster Internet? I have never had such slow Internet service these past four days. I think someone is turning the dial the wrong way.

Something Funny the Other Day

I am standing with a friend in an elevator in a department store somewhere in the mountains above Rabieh. With us is another lady. At the next floor, a rather heavy-set family - mother, daughter and husband - gets in with the housekeeper. The guy alone must have weighed about 150 kilos. We all get squashed against the wall. I tell me friend in Dutch that I don’t think this elevator is going to move anymore.

And indeed, a red button flashes. Overload.

“Yuuh?! Overload?” states the man, as the doors open again.

“You go out,” as he motions his daughter and housekeeper out of the elevator, and the doors close again.

But the elevator doesn’t move. Still overload.

He looks around the elevator, but it is clear that none of us is going to get out of this elevator as we came in first, and he cannot ask his wife since she is pushing the shopping cart.

“Taib. I go out,” he says.

And the elevator finally descends, with four laughing women (including his wife).

“Yuuh, he asks the Pilipino to get out! The poor girl only weighs 2 kilos,” she says.

He must have heard us laughing.

And the weather is (again) fantastic. I am going sailing today. I don’t care if there is wind today or not. I don’t care if dreadlocks will have to blow in the sails to create wind, but I am sailing. And so I leave you with pictures of the Eid crowd on the Corniche yesterday evening. The blog is slowly turning into a photo blog, it seems.

Jisr el-Qadi

The pine forest above Jisr el-Qadi

I was going canyoning,  but apparently it rained a lot these last few days and so the river was too high, and it got cancelled. I had sort of hoped for a high river and some danger, but what can I say; contrary to what you read in the papers, this is not a place where people like to live dangerously.
Then I called my sail instructor, and he said there wasn’t enough wind, so that plan got shelved as well. It’s been my luck lately; all ready to go and nowhere to go to. And since the Adha crowd is in town, you need to avoid all public places if you do not wish to get trampled, so where to go?

It’s easier working with younger kids, they still don’t mind posing for the photo

Luckily there’s always the mountains and the valleys, and so we collected a couple of kids and ended up in a pine forest somewhere near Jisr el-Qadi (The judge’s bridge, if I translate that correctly). Somewhere at the bottom of the valley runs the Damour-Safa River. The bridge takes its name from the man who ordered the bridge to be build, under Mamluk rule (1282-1516), Emir Zayn ad-Dine at-Tannoukhi, who happened to be a judge as well. We didn’t make it to the bridge though; we ended up in the pine forests that cover the hills (source).

I did have to redo this one about 6 times though, on account of the ‘weird’ faces they pulled on purpose.

Apparently there is some effort underway to make this place a natural reserve. ‘The Druze in Lebanon ( . . .) pledged to dedicate the ecologically fragile Jisr-El-Qadi region in their ancient Chouf valley as a Sacred Gift to the Earth. (. . . ) According to General Director of the Druze Religious Council, Marzen Fayad, It is a place of medicinal plants, of wild thyme for mouthwash, of wild roses for drinks, of rarer flora, and of migrant and local birds. “We are hoping too for a decree on hunting: people often just shoot these birds, whether or not they are rare. This is a place that we want to conserve – and it is important for everyone to collaborate in order to achieve this…. We need tools and training, we need to guard against forest fires and we need guidance and infrastructure for eco-tourism, or perhaps eco-religious tourism,” he said. (Source)

Mudpie making

However, there is always a quite distinct discrepancy in Lebanon between what is said they want to do, and what is actually done. The way we got into the forest is by a newly constructed path which was obviously wide enough for construction trucks. Several wide paths were dug right through the forest, and my guess is, you’ll be able to buy a nice villa here in a couple of years. Forget eco-tourism when you can make real money.

I think this village might be called Ain Trez (but I am not sure)

While we were in the forest however, it was nice and quiet. Except for our kids. Whatever birds were left in that forest, migrated instantly.  We collected pine cones and acorns for the Christmas decoration (yes, we’re a little early). The weather was soft. Maybe tomorrow there will be wind. Sigh. What can I say? Life is sometimes soooo slow.

Back to Beirut

Blogging

A man selling cooked corn on the street. Two ladies are buying, while another lady, just exiting the make-up/perfume store, is looking. 

I love living in Beirut, but you know the saying; ‘the grass is always greener on the other side.’ I wouldn’t mind living in Paris for a couple of years. Or Australia. Or the south of France. I wouldn’t mind trying some time eeking out a living in the tundra up in Alaska. I’d like to do the Iditarod one time. New Zealand has my interest too.

But as it is, my job & family dictate that I live here, in Beirut.

And although Beirut is mighty fascinating, there’s the regret of all these places I will never live in, all these things I will never experience. I can go there on holidays, but holiday is not the same as living.

A wooden fence usually indicates a new building will go up/is going up (in Hamra Street). They soon get plastered with posters of events and movies. My daughter is holding a pair of knitting needles we just bought; she wants to learn how to knit.

Blogging, however, has opened up these places. I can now read other people’s experiences that live there. And when these bloggers post pictures of their daily routines (be it of snow shoveling the drive way in upper state New York, picking berries on the Yukon River, getting rid of hairy huntsman in Adelaide, Australia or the morning after the earthquake in Christchurch New Zealand), it is almost as if I am there myself. It satisfies – up to a certain point – the longing of being there myself.

And so I follow quite a few bloggers, most of them Dutch, who have left Holland and are living in places that I’d like to live sometime. Some of them are expats, but the most interesting ones are the migrants; those that have chosen to stay permanently in their adopted homeland.

Is there government power, or does the light indicate that they’re on generator? I never know the difference. Everyone’s power breaker is right in the open, wires go in all directions. Political posters, and a death announcement (left side) are stuck on the wall.

I find it odd that it is specifically the pictures of simple things that interest me most. Landscapes are always good ones, but the BBQ’s with family in the garden, the standing in line at the A & P and the decorated Christmas tree in the living room somehow display a much more ‘real’ version of life abroad.

You are basically looking into someone else’s living room. I don’t think it has anything to do with voyeurism, although there is a term for people that read other people’s blogs but ever leave comments, and it has a rather negative connotation; ‘lurkers.’  I am in good company; it seems that 99% of the people that visit other sites are lurkers. You do read some very personal things now and then. I have been through two online divorces, and two deaths from cancer.
I am lucky to live in a day and age where blogging is a common thing. It seems that some 20 years ago, in 1999, there were only 23 web logs.

Somebody was moving house in the mountains over the weekend.
Why call in themoving van if you have a tow truck of your own?

So what is my point? Since I enjoy seeing pictures of the simple, day-to-day things in other places, I thought I’d leave you today with some of those pictures, for those who who’d like a glimpse of the ‘normal’ Beirut, because they used to live here once, and are melancholic, or would like to live her one day. Who knows?

Hamra is all hip these days. When I just moved into Hamra, some 20 years ago, the place was a dump.
This could be Paris, no?