False Alarm

I'm convinced that life never happens the way you think it should, which sounds obvious but is still shocking when it happens. Basically, my mom and I were bumped from our oversold flight.

I'm happy to spend one more day in Lebanon, but I can't help worrying about the fact that my time at home in Mississippi has just been shrunk to ONE day before turning around and flying to Virginia. A mad dash to CVS/the mall and an appointment with my eye doctor are in store, along with attempting to spend time with relatives. It's going to be one crazy day.

In the meantime, I'll just have to remember that there's nothing I can do about it. Time to go to sleep...I need to fend off jet lag for the busy week ahead of me.

Farewell

This is my last night in Beirut. I'm sitting on a brown velvety couch in the living room after a homemade dinner of sizzling ginger beef stir fry. My parents are chatting softly while an American Idol rerun plays in the background. We're all savoring spoonfuls of chocolate cream cake from my birthday celebration on Friday and trying not to think about airplanes.

Over the past week, I said goodbye to the warm-hearted people who worked with me during my internship, earned fourth place (out of four) on a bowling trip with some new friends, turned 21, and took a dip in the Mediterranean at the beach for the last time.

As the three of us walked along the waterfront at sunset, I soaked in the scene around us. Old cars, perched along the highway, blasted local tunes onto the sidewalk while their owners stared at the sea nearby. A graying man wheeled his squeaky cart along the path to serve thimble-sized swigs of coffee to passersby. Groups of young women swished by in colorful summer dresses, bending their bobbing heads together and giggling. Tiny baby girls with gold-studded ears yawned and squinted from the arms of their sparkly-eyed, veil-wearing mothers. Preteens sped through the maze of ambling families on dwarfed bicycles and roller blades. A small crowd gathered near a man with a microphone for a chance to win one of the three shiny motorcycles posing on the stage behind him.

I've only been in this complicated, mysterious, captivating country for two months. I don't claim to know much about the culture or the lifestyle, but I do know that I've been infected with the spirit of joie de vivre (to reference the ever-present French influence) that the Lebanese seem to exude. Even in the face of war and conflict, life is celebrated to the utmost.

I'll be on my way back to the U.S. tomorrow. I'll undergo another stage of culture shock as I return home and, shortly afterward, to school. My mom reminded me the other day that I've spent less than a month in the States this entire year. I've been fortunate to be able to experience life in Spain and then Lebanon, two completely contrasting cultures. There is little I can contribute to this magnificent place, but I will put a little of Lebanon in my pocket to keep with me as I return for my fourth year of college. It will remind me of the unbelievable summer I spent in the land of ancient cedars, delicious food, and unrivaled hospitality.

Essplorin'

In Lebanon, sometimes the funniest and most delicious memories are made when you have no idea where you're going. Last weekend, my parents and I took a drive to Ehden, a pleasant summer town in the northern mountains. We hiked along cedar-shaded, rocky paths that stretched through the seemingly untouched countryside. After about three hours of hiking, wewere famished and decided to take up our hotel's recommendation for pizza. Her words were "there is a place in this country that makes pizza." Good to know! So it had to be the best.

After about half an hour of winding uphill past beautiful mountainside villas, asking almost everyone we passed for directions, we found what looked like a house with little white plastic tables and chairs scattered on the front porch. When my dad asked a smiling woman about the type of pizza she served, her cheerful reply was "extra large, large, and medium." He asked about the toppings: "Oh, you know, peppers, mushrooms, onions, tomatoes..." We all thought that sounded fine, so we ended up ordering the largest size. When it came to the table, my parents and I chowed down on the soft, gooey pizza and surprisingly finished the whole thing. Our late night winding adventure was well worth the time and effort.

This past weekend, we had a similarly serendipitous experience. We set out on Sunday afternoon to explore a new part of the country. Our guidebook told us that the Afqaa grotto in Adonis was the mythological site of the first kiss shared between Greek goddess Aphrodite and the god Adonis. Cool, huh? Having no real idea where to find this place, our sense of adventure took the best of us. We piled into the car and took off down the highway.

Along the way, we got lost. My dad must have asked about twenty different people for directions because there were no signs anywhere, and many of the roads marked on our map didn't even exist. A few of the people we asked were barbecuing in their backyard, so they invited us to have dinner. We declined to be polite, but their generosity to three complete strangers lost in the mountain towns of Lebanon was heartwarming.

When we finally found the cave, after driving in circles and almost falling off a few cliffs, there was no way to walk up to it from the road. Convenience is not usually of prime importance here. We could smell some delicious food from the highway, so we parked near the rocky cave and walked down a shady staircase. With our ghostly skin and shorts, my family and I didn't exactly blend in with the tables full of boisterous, sun-baked Lebanese visitors. We definitely got a few stares! My timid nature came through full force, and I became convinced that we were crashing a family party. I walked back up the staircase to hide until my dad got the message.

It turns out I was just being paranoid. A young man came back to enthusiastically convince us that it was, indeed, a restaurant. We all climbed into lawn chairs, prime seating for people-watching, and waited to see what would happen next. Since we were told that our food wouldn't be ready for half an hour, my dad went to check out the Adonis cave while my mom and I chatted about life, love, and the whirlwind of travel we will embark upon next Monday.

The food soon arrived: a steaming plate of fresh "batatas" (french fries...but it sounds more exotic and less unhealthy that way!), tabbouleh salad (chopped parsley and tomato with lemon juice), hummus, soft pita bread, and skewers of spiced grilled chicken and lamb.

After lunch, my dad informed us that the cave was really difficult to reach, so we decided to skip the climb and instead bought some tart, sun-scorched apples for dessert before attempting to find our way back home.

American weddings are SO boring.

Before last Saturday, whenever someone would casually mention nuptials, I would exclaim, "I love weddings!" and it would be the absolute truth. HOWEVER, my eyes (and ears) were recently opened to the fact that my thoughts on matrimony had been tragically limited. This Lebanese wedding reception was more chaotic, louder, and more extravagant than any I had experienced before. In this case, I had only met the bride once (she works in my dad's office) and had never even seen the groom beforehand, but I tagged along because- of course- "I love weddings."

While western weddings are mainly centered on the bride, Lebanese ceremonies place equal emphasis on the guests. Just to blend in (which, ironically, means standing out), women are expected to:

-have recent and flawless manicures/pedicures

-wax every visible inch of their arms and legs

-have their hair professionally styled (more points for extensions or hair pieces)

-wear a vividly bedazzled dress that leaves almost nothing to the imagination

-strap their feet into ludicrously high heels and actually dance (really well) in them

I loved having my nails done for less than half of what it costs in the States and having Danny the exuberant hair stylist curl my locks into a half-straight, half-wavy 'do. I didn't so much enjoy having a stern-faced woman roll hot, green, mint-scented wax onto my poor little arms and rip it all off with more strength than was suggested by her small frame. Not even the fair-haired can get away with leaving it alone in this country. She was visibly shocked when I told her that women in the U.S. don't care about arm hair, and that it was my first time to experience that lovely procedure. I'm pretty sure it'll be my last, too. But back to the wedding, which was a much more positive occasion. (By the way, I scratched those last two "requirements.")

When we arrived, my parents and I sat down at one of the many round tables that was completely PILED with food. Every type of Lebanese mezze (little appetizers) was there, and it was glorious. I sampled my favorites and tried some new dishes. Loud, charged Lebanese music was blasting in the background, and there was an anxious but excited tension as we all waited for the bride to arrive. Two talkative 6-year-old twin girls kept me entertained in the meantime.

After about an hour of chatting and dining, the music stopped. Hair pieces whipped around, dangerously close to letting go, as the guests craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the newlyweds. But first, a troupe of sword dancing men in white billowy costumes burst past the entrance to the room and slid onto the dancefloor. A drummer soon followed to prepare the crowd for the main event. People started to stand up and clap in rhythm, feet tapping with anticipation.

If that wasn't impressive enough, hidden fireworks exploded around the dancers to hide them as they rushed back to the entrance. In an eruption of light and music, a few dancers paraded back onto the dancefloor with the happiest bride I have ever seen hoisted onto their shoulders. She was waving her arms in time with the drum beats, and a wild wave of noise from the guests around me received her.

I commented to a friend about how happy she and her new husband looked together, and she replied, "Yeah I know...and she actually loves this guy too!" I was a bit surprised, because I thought all brides loved their husbands. I mean, it should pretty much be a requirement. But apparently not here. I'm fortunate to have witnessed the real thing.

The rest of the night was packed with energy: dancing, clapping, and shouting. It was one of the happiest events I have ever been a part of, simply because the joy of and for the new couple was almost tangible. Everyone from teetering babies to cane-bearing grandparents was moving to the deafening music. Small groups of enthusiastic men patrolled the tables for wallflowers and lifted them high above their chairs. One of the twin girls strutted out onto the dancefloor with better rhythm and grace than me. That is not a difficult task at all, since I'm not even slightly inclined to be a dancer, but I was still impressed. Her sister was less mobile: she sat back at our table, facedown, with her hair spilling over her arms. She must have been absolutely exhausted to be able to sleep through all that noise.

The next time I tell someone "I love weddings," I'll mean it even more as I think of the intense celebration and excitement that this one brought. If I do get married one day, I'd love to incorporate some elements of Lebanese food, style, and energy into the event. There seems to be no better way to spend a wedding day than to go a little crazy with friends and family.

I'll trade you my Jell-o for an Oreo.

This week at my internship, things have been hectic. I've never before had to stay from 8:30 to nearly 5 pm...three days in a row. My supervisor normally waves his hand in my direction to tell me to leave whenever I want, which is usually about 2 in the afternoon. I don't know how anyone can sit at a desk and stare at their computer screen for 8 hours straight. Guess I'm not meant to work in a cubicle.

I started a "special project" for the company's CEO, a loud and optimistic leader with the power to make everyone around him feel at ease. This involved counting employee surveys and categorizing their comments. I enjoyed being able to use my creative juices by dreaming up a vibrant color scheme to show which topics were repeated. Hey... I do what I can to keep myself interested.

I'm not sure if my need to break free from routine comes from my lack of office experience or if it means that I'm designed for an unconventional job. I'm hoping for the latter, because there's just too much unnecessary stress involved. The woman who works across from me says she can't even stand up to go to the bathroom because her clients NEVER. STOP. CALLING. I know she probably didn't dream of working in pest control sales as a little girl either, but I want to do everything I can to avoid being chained to my desk one day.

Lunchtime at the office reminds me of middle school. We all sit down at a long metal table in the basement and compare tupperware containers. Most of my colleagues are women over 30, but it seems that not one of them knows how to cook for herself. Every time I sample a rice dish or piece of spiced lamb from my neighbor's plastic square, I remark that it's delicious (because it's always true) and ask, "Did you cook this?"

The response is always "Of course not! My mother/grandmother cooked it for me." Everyone was so shocked when I brought in homemade tofu stir fry that *I* (gasp) had cooked with my dad. This was after a week of bringing sandwiches, which horrified the women and made them feel sorry for me.

I learned quickly that, to survive in this middle school world, I have to conform to the fancier (but not self-cooked) meals that require reheating on a plate. Today I brought some leftover tomato rice and half a sandwich. I'd say it's a fair compromise.

Lazy, Hazy, Crazy

Some of my favorite things about weekends in Beirut have become catching up on sleep after six days of waking at 7:20 (we work on Saturdays too), breakfasts of halloumi cheese sandwiches with labneh, grilled tomatoes and spinach on freshly baked pita bread, spending time with new friends, mint lemonade by the sea, and enough extra time to update this blog.

This weekend is particularly special because:
-SPAIN is going to the World Cup semifinals

-I succeeded in convincing my boss that I need a day off on Monday

-all over the world today, Americans are barbecuing, eating watermelon and celebrating Independence Day with family and friends

-my mom flies in tonight!!!

My toughest decision right now is whether to go to the beach, visit the pool, go hiking, or explore the sites that this beautiful country has to offer. I love summertime.

It is not what happens to us that shapes us, but how we deal with the aftermath.

It amazes me how people in a country with such violence and war in its recent history can place so much value on nightlife. Entertainment and luxury are everywhere. I heard someone say that the most popular sport in this country is "seeing and being seen." Most men and women are on top of the latest fashion trends in this land where plastic surgery is practically routine. Ridiculously large German and Brazilian flags hang from balconies and flap in the wind behind cars, showing steadfast loyalty to favorite World Cup teams. Thousands of people pack into cafes at the end of a long workday to drink sweet mint lemonade and smoke argheela, showing off their hairstyles and catching up with friends. Every day is lived fully and enjoyed immensely.

There is another side to this love for luxury. The Lebanese are extremely resilient to conflict. One conversation with my boss has impacted me so directly that I have started writing a story about what he told me. During the 2006 Israel-Hezbollah war, he remembers sitting on a balcony with his young nephew and watching the planes fly over Beirut. They would take turns guessing where the next bomb was going to fall. He says he knew it was terribly wrong because people could have been dying from each explosion, but there was nothing else he could have done. Rather than panic and hide, he just had to wait it out.

In my lifetime, I have never even come close to experiencing something of that magnitude. I take my personal safety and the safety of my friends and family for granted every single day. If I don't feel like doing one thing, I put it off until tomorrow. Most people here know that tomorrow may not come. Meeting friends for coffee after work suddenly seems much more important than putting in an extra hour or two at the office when everyone else has gone home. Wearing your brand new dress on a ten minute trip to the supermarket, with your hair and makeup perfectly done, may sound pointless until you realize another occasion may not come around.

Though these thoughts may not explicitly rest in the minds of these people, I have found that they are much more prone to live for today instead of for the indefinite future. It is important to understand the consequences of our actions, so I'm not suggesting we eat an entire chocolate cake today and throw our health out the window because we may not live until tomorrow. I'm only saying that seizing the moment may be more important than accomplishing something that won't matter in the long run.

The man who works at the desk next to mine has just announced that he is taking off tomorrow "to find a wife." If that's not seizing the moment, I'm not sure what is!