When Do You Know If The Ship Is Sinking?

When looking back at the events leading up to the 1975 civil war, it seems obvious that something awful was about to happen. ‘Couldn’t they have seen this coming’, you wonder?

Clouds gather above the mountains

I wonder how – in fifty years from now – people will look back on the period we currently live in. ‘Couldn’t they have seen it coming’, they may ask?

I don’t know what’s coming, so I can’t tell you, but things are not looking good right now. I’ve been blogging since February 2005 - which in retrospect seems to be the date when the future changed for this country -, and although I’m always positive, I can’t say I’m writing a whole lot of optimistic stuff about this place. So if you’d reread me in fifty years, you could say that I felt that something was changing. I don’t know what the near future holds for Lebanon, but I’m not holding my breath.

Maybe it is because I live with someone who predicts doom. But when you talk to friends, the overall tone is pessimism. Whenever you hear someone say they got a job abroad, the reaction is ‘lucky you!’ A friend that married a foreigner and moved to her husband’s country was told ‘at least you’re out of this place.’

It’s like the ship is sinking, and everyone is trying to get off. Is the ship really sinking? I don’t know. When do you realize – while on a sinking ship – that the thing is sinking? When people are abandoning ship? In that case; were sinking! When the horizon is skewed? When things are floating around you? I don’t know. But things are not going right.

Some time ago, in early 2006, I was speaking to a colleague, when he mentioned he had recently interviewed Sleiman Frangieh and that Frangieh had told him they were back in the business of buying arms.

Just some things I saw today while driving in the mountains above Beirut.

Roots

I shrugged it off. Frangieh is an old-timer when it comes to militias. He runs the northern mountain Christians, is closely allied to Syria (his Dad fled to Syria once when he was charged in a murder case and found refuge with a certain Assad family. Yes, ‘those’ Assad’s), and during the civil war he had organized a militia (actually his dad did; Sleiman inherited it) called the Marada Brigade, or more officially, the Zghorta Liberation Army

A pumpkin patch (It's almost Halloween)

After the civil war all militias (except Hezbollah) handed in their weapons and continued life as official political parties with seats in the parliament.

And then yesterday I read this; ‘In Lebanon, Mr. Suleiman Franjieh, a Christian opposition leader, was blunt. He told Assafir that his Marada party was arming to prevent another Ehden & Safra massacre. (The one the took the life of his family back in the civil war)’ at this blog.

On the same road; an 'umbrella' pine forest.

And lots of green.

He’s not the only one. The past two weeks several reports have come out from a various number of sources, including (unofficially) the UN, that more and more of the old fractions are preparing for the worst case scenario.

Hezbollah of course never stopped, and is – according to Israel, for what it’s worth – stronger then it was before the 2006 summer war. And now it seems that the druze of Joumblat, and the other druze contingent of Arslan, the sunni Future Movement of Hariri, and the Christians with Aoun are also in the market of some assault type equipment.
In some cases training camps are mentioned, and Aoun’s (as always) people got caught on camera in full regalia, complete with camouflage paint, which the party dismissed as just’ having fun and playing around.’

The only ladies wearing the facial veil (see side right of picture) are tourists from the Gulf countries.

Dutch blogger Riemer words it very well, when he says ‘There is an atmosphere in the country that doesn’t bode well. The thing is that every single aspect is something to shrug off. Combined, however, they show a pattern that is dangerous. It feels like events have been set in motion and before you know it, they take a course of their own.’

It would be such a pity. This place is so special. Nevertheless, its’ better to be prepared, in case the ship really sinks.

For the Dust to Settle

The sound of running water was everywhere; spring has announced itself. This was a short winter indeed.

 

A Dutch correspondent is leaving Lebanon this month; He's been here five years. In his farewell story, “I’ve done my last war” (in Dutch), he states he sees no hope for this region any time soon.

 

“Hope slowly seeped away as ruthless bloodshed took its place, fed by the opening of decade old wounds, and fueled by local players who intend to increase their power base in the new Middle East, which supposedly will appear as soon as the dust settles and the fighting stops; I will not be around to experience it. I’ve done my last war.”

 

He will not be around to experience the dust to settle. I am a hopeful person, but sometimes I wonder the same. Will I experience peace in this region?

Some 8 years ago, I was questioning here whether maybe we were on a sinking ship. You don’t notice right away that your ship is sinking: It takes some time before the ship takes on enough water to start to list.

Now, instead of just us (Lebanon) listing, it seems the entire Middle East is heeling to one side. Some areas have already keeled over.

The Americans are sleeping with the enemy (the Iranians) and although they have not yet dumped their old bed partner (Saudi Arabia), they’re not exactly faithful lovers anymore. All this does not bode well for stability in this region.

 

Good news though is that it seems all reservoirs have been filled by the winter rains. Maybe we will have enough water to make it through this summer

 

I am, overall, a hopeful person, and I realize that – even when things go wrong - it is not the end for all. Experience has taught me that even in the midst of a war, life will go on as usual for many.
You’d be surprised, but I know of areas in Syria, where life is much the same as it has for many years. There is no fighting there, no ISIS and no bombardments, and if you wouldn’t read the newspapers, you wouldn’t know there was a war going on. Maybe they no longer have 24 hours electricity, and their country has ‘shrunk’; most areas are no longer safe to go to. But they do their shopping in the morning, go to work, prepare their lunches and dinners, celebrate birthday parties and visit each other on Sundays

In 2006, when many Lebanese were killed, and others had to flee, because of intensive Israeli bombardments, others continued their daily lives as if nothing was happening. Unless your house gets a direct hit, or your neighborhood is under siege, life needs to continue. One adapts.

 

An American friend in town is convinced that in two years from now, a peace deal will have been struck in Syria, and everything will be back to normal. Well, accept for the massive destruction.  From an outside point of view, that may very well be.

We smile at his innocence and enthusiasm.

He thinks that all the beheadings, the raping and the looting will be forgotten and forgiven, just like the Tutsis in Rwanda, who seem to be getting along fine, even though they once literally decimated one another on a massive scale only 20 years ago. I doubt that; people here still talk about massacres in the mountains that took place over a 100 years ago. Wounds do not heal that fast. People have a long memory in this place.

 

Reservoirs filled to the brim on Jabel Knisseh

 

As I said, I am in general a hopeful person, but whereas the friend thinks the end is in sight, we think that the war has only just begun. The Dutch correspondent is leaving; he knows he will not be around to experience it.
And these days, I even wonder if even my children will be around to experience the dust to settle.

 

Turmoil and Tranquility

A balloon salesman at the Beirut Garden Show demonstrates how to

'walk the dog' against the backdrop of the Beirut Race Track.

While the Lebanese armed forces are still engaged in full-scale battles with a number (some say no more than 200) of broom-bearded radicals in the north of Lebanon, and the eastern part of Beirut gets shaken (but not stirred) last night by a 15 kilogram car bomb near a major shopping center (remember the shoe story?), I went to the Beirut Garden Show. Garden show? Well yes, because life goes on. (I know that if I write one more nice thing about Lebanon, some people are going to vomit).

A soldier, waiting on top of his tank, while eating 'bizr' (pumkin seeds).

Because even when this place is in turmoil, there’s always a place where you can find tranquility. There are a great number of Lebanese who – over the years – have developed a sort of ‘ostrich syndrome’. Instead of getting all upset and nervous, they steadfastly ignore the entire situation and pretend as if nothing unusual is happening.
Last summer, while the southern suburbs of Beirut got bombed to smithereens, many Lebanese took cover in Feraya, an up-scale ski-resort some 45 miles above Beirut, and partied as if the country was not at war. “Well, you could hear the Israeli planes going over,” explained one lady I interviewed, “very annoying.” It is gardenia season in Lebanon. They grow like weed, and people string 'em on a rope and sell them to wating commuters at traffic intersections. Usually at 1,000 for 1, but today they were selling them for 'tlate be alf' (3 voor 1,000 pounds)

It is similar to the chamber orchestra on board the Titanic that kept playing while the ship went down. Mind you, we believe that the ship isn’t sinking, we’re just experiencing a bit of rough weather. Of course, this is seen from the inside. Please advise us if you have other information.

When you watch the news, you get the impression that the entire country is at war. This is quite inaccurate, as all those that have been in a war zone will know. A bomb may explode, but 3 blocks down the road, you probably won’t even notice it. An old man in Beirut, waiting, watching the traffic pas by.

There isn’t much else to do anyway. While the fighting continues, and bombs may (or may not) explode in your part of town, there isn’t much you can do. You cannot really plan ahead, as you need to have an idea what the future is going to bring in order to do some planning. All you can do it wait. And wait is what we do best here in Beirut. We've become experts at it.

And so it is best to just ignore it, in order to make life bearable. After all, no sane person can live in similar circumstances for over 2 years if they were going to get all worked up over each and every fight. This may explain the overall insanity of Lebanese.

And so the garden show, which is held annually on the grounds of the Beirut Race Track went ahead as planned. It was a bit of a bland affaire; people right now are obviously not in the mood to buy new balcony furniture or replant their garden (who’s got gardens in this town?).
And while you are pondering over the mysteries of Lebanese life, go figure this one out; which one came first; the lamppost or the awning?

Fall

I went for a walk in the park this morning. I am not going to tell you where it is; I'd like to keep this park to myself in the mornings. It's not in Taanayel, in case you are wondering. (The pictures in this post are not related to the text, btw)

October is when Beirut is at its best. This is the time when the city reverts to its old self. Schools and universities have started again, mountain residences have been closed up, visiting family members have flown back to their adopted countries, and temperatures have dropped to a level that a walk to the supermarket no longer is a sweating exercise. The recent rains have cleaned up the town a little, there’s a freshness in the air. 

It's a 'real' park; it's got benches and grass, and garbage cans, and lanes you can walk on. 

I like fall, although I cannot really pinpoint the reason why. Beirut's inhabitants go back to their daily lives; it’s our town again. We gather at birthdays where we compare generator prices for 5 and 10 ampere (for those unaware of the finer workings of the neighborhood generator; you buy your additional electricity – when government fails to provide – in clusters of 5 amperes. The prices vary according to the neighborhood you live in, and this is not a question of supply and demand, but rather a generator operator who knows how to squeeze his customers), and discuss if there will be a war, and if so, who will be on whose side. 

It's fall, as you can see.

It’s odd how in the light of somehow impending doom, we carry on as if nothing is happening. Biking events have been planned (here and here) , book markets are organized, and we try to be a normal town with all our might. 

It's used for races, now and then.

We know deep inside that it is never going to happen, but we happily ignore that and we cling to the memories of those short periods of normalcy we have experienced, and carry on like the little chamber orchestra on the Titanic that – rumor has it – diligently kept on playing even as the ship was sinking. I think the recent vice article is an excellent example of that. 

'This disregard for the violence that surrounds Beirut is not apathy. . . . It can be very surreal at times, but we can't let ourselves get paralyzed by these incidents. We have to continue living, and trying to live well.’ (from that article) 

In the early morning, there's still dew on the grass. 

We don't have the spiders that build the traditional cart wheel type of web, it's more like a funnel web type of thing. In the early morning it catches the dew drops.

It isn't ignorance that makes is ignore what is happening around us, as some people claim. It's the fact that we cannot (seem to) change it, we're part of a bigger picture and once you're on that wave, you'll have to ride it to the end. You might as well ride it as best as you can. 
How true that is.

Signs on the Wall Indeed

Read Riemer’s Signs on the Wall post. I’ve said it before, and so has he.

He writes “People are tense, tired and simply fed up with it all.”

I - for a fact - am so tired of it all that I can’t even blog about it anymore, and had to borrow someone’ else’s blog post.
I had a conversation with a fellow Dutch on Saturday, and I mentioned to her that in the 17 years that I have lived here, I always loved it. But it seems that even I have reached my breaking point. The ship is sinking rapidly now. Can't even get my coffee anymore, and Aunt Jemima's 'Just Add Water' Buttermilk Pancakes has gone off the shelves in the supermarkets as well. You may think that is something trivial. But everything is. It just adds up, and adds up, and then adds up some more . . . . .

But if you read her post, I think she's just about had it too.