Hubbie
has momentarily had it with Beirut. We’ve got a compressor in action on both
sides of our building, the garbage doesn’t get picked up very regularly
anymore, business is slow - if not dead, traffic is horrendous, and it’s
just too hot and sticky in town. He’s decided to stay up in the mountains until
the weather gets cold. .
If I want to see him, I’ve got to drive to the mountains. This has some
benefits. I do not have to share the remote control.
When I was young, we had wild rose hip jelly. I don't think they make it here, otherwise they would have all been picked. |
And when hubbie does something, he does it with vigor. He’s
all in favor of the mountain life now. He walks through the village twice
a day, and chats with all the inhabitants on his daily rounds. He’s either
walking his dogs, or looking for them, as they frequently take off.
The other
day, one of the dogs had a very deep wound in his side. It almost looked like
he’d got stabbed with a knife. Now who would do that to a dog, he was wondering?
The mystery was solved when two days later, he walked past a house when
suddenly a huge goat came charging out of the driveway, chasing the dog. “Rana!!!!
Daher el kharouf!!!!!!” yelled an elderly man (Rana, the sheep took off!).
Obviously it was a regular occurrence. The dog must have underestimated the goat the first time.
He’s studying the behavior of the jackals that roam the
house at night, and that try to eat the puppies that were born last month: they
got one so far, but the rest has been fenced in for safety now. He’s
contemplating growing his own tomatoes, gathers cucumbers from fields which the
harvesters have left behind for his salad, has become an expert on what mosquito
repellent works best, knows when the electricity “comes and goes” (typical
vocabulary you’ll only understand when you live in Lebanon), is talking with the black smiths on how to build a
chicken coop, and has long conversations on the phone with a friend on which
chickens are best suited for the cold weather in winter time up in the mountain.
The verdict is ‘djesh pharaon’; Egyptian chickens.
I love sandy roads with stone walls |
He’s decided to support the local economy of the village
and has bought himself some very, how shall I describe it, ‘interesting foot wear’.
He immerges himself in the local culture with a vengeance. Nothing wrong with
that, let’s just say that the sandals and slippers worn by the mountain
inhabitants of a certain age and/or occupation are not to be found in the shops
of Beirut. At least not those where I shop. His enthusiasm has a very endearing
quality to it.
Trees are losing their leaves |
Lately however, he’s been going a step further. He’s upgrading
the mountain house, making it more comfortable than the Beirut house. There’s a plan there;
he’s trying to lure me up there, hoping to convince me to move there permanently.
That’s not going to happen, as we are bound to Beirut for work, school and
social life. And I am not a mountain person. I love the hikes, and the scenery,
and nature, however, Beirut is dear to me. Can’t leave her alone. But hubbie’s
a long term planner. He’s got his eyes set on the mountains.
A snake that molted (not sure if that's a fall thing too) |
Who knows, in ten
years from now, I’ll be ‘Sietske bill Jabal’ instead of ‘Sietske in Beirut’.
1 comment:
Mountain, city or sea, we'll still be following your chronicles avidly.
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