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!

Lights out!

As hard as I try, I can't seem to pin down the sentiments or attitudes of the Lebanese people. An older woman may point at me while shaking her head for wearing shorts on the street, but two minutes later I will pass a group of girls in micro-minis to whom no one pays one bit of attention. I just can't figure it out. My aversion to attention and deep need to be respectful makes it SO hard to decide what to wear to the gym.

In this land of inconsistencies, one regularity is that power outages happen ALL THE TIME. Every single time I've been to a restaurant, we've all been plunged into momentary darkness for a few seconds until the generator has kicked in. They've become a normal part of life in this city.

Until today.

After munching on last night's stir fry for lunch with a group of coworkers, three of us decided to treat ourselves to an elevator ride back up to our offices. One is pregnant, so she had an excuse. I guess I'm just lazy! We piled in and pressed the button for our floor. Halfway between "-1" and "0," the number panel started to flash a bright red question mark. Nervous, one of the women pushed the alarm button and filled the building with a continuous, shrill siren. The doors made a feeble noise like they were trying to open, but they quickly closed again.

"Are you nervous?" the pregnant woman shakily asked.
"No..." I managed to squeak.
"Me too."

Suddenly, darkness fell and we couldn't even see our own feet. I resisted the urge to scream, telling myself that since we were in the basement already, we couldn't fall too far.

The lights flickered on again and the elevator eased down to "-2," even lower than when we started. I was so happy to see the world beyond that tiny cube. Instead of waiting to ride back up to the first floor, I ran out of there as fast as I could.

Needless to say, I'll be opting for the stairs from now on. That's what I get for not wanting to walk up two flights! I think it'll take me a few more weeks to get used to the power outages again. That's my favorite thing about being in a foreign country...learning to adjust. Then again, it's always easier to say that AFTER something scary has happened. This is truly a different world, but I'm not so sure it's worse than the old one.

How was my day, you ask?

My internship at a dynamic, friendly, fast-growing public health company began at 10 am sharp.

I surprised my boss by editing their entire website in a couple of hours. What can I say? Grammar makes me giddy.

I met enough new people to make my face throb from smiling so much.

My lunch (a huge, puffy, spinach calzone and fresh bottle of water) from a charming hole-in-the-wall cost me a whopping $0.66.

My boss let me go early, so I came home to do some laundry and watch an episode of Australia's Next Top Model.

When my dad arrived, we collaborated to make a scrumptious feast of chicken tacos--Lebanese style--with labneh instead of sour cream.

Setting out to find some ice cream, we lost ourselves between intricate stony ghosts of abandoned buildings.

It is midnight. Dad's snoring on the couch, and I'm struggling to keep my eyes focused. I'm about to crawl into bed before doing it all again tomorrow.

How was YOUR day?

Eh eh...yalla bye.

I've managed to escape work for yet another week...but that stops tomorrow. I have a meeting with the editor of a magazine in the morning, then I get the scoop from the public health company's HR department in the afternoon. I start my short "internship/let's-see-what-you-can-do" position soon after that. I'll have to say goodbye to sleeping in until eleven every morning, but I'm looking forward to having somewhere to be and to have people counting on me. After all, I am almost a college senior. (ohmygoodness)

If this week were a pizza, the toppings would be plentiful and the crust would be stuffed with delicious memories. Baked in, there would be a birthday celebration with new friends, some Spanish spices from the Cervantes Institute and a fiesta to celebrate the language, two separate trips to the quaint city of Jbeil (Byblos) late at night and in the sweltering afternoon sun, and a taste of authentic Arabic sweets from Tripoli in Northern Lebanon.

Today, my dad and I are spending this Father's Day afternoon drinking mango smoothies at Costa Coffee. Italy is playing New Zealand, and every face is turned hopefully toward the television on the wall in front of me. It seems we're all unwinding before turning back into responsible adults tomorrow.

For lunch, I tasted the schawarma that's supposed to be the best in the city. I believe whoever made that decision. The thinly-shaved chicken, sour yogurt sauce, crisp pickles and salty fries wrapped in soft bread was the perfect explosion of simplicity. I could really go on forever. Food is my favorite subject to think/write/dream about.

Yikes, my thirty minutes of internet access is whittling away fast. My dad and I are planning to walk the along the seafront at sunset before munching on some homemade tacos later this evening. A relaxing end to my second exhilarating week in Beirut.

Mmmmm, weekend.

I've seen and done so much these past few days that I feel like I'll burst if I don't write it all down. From the slick to the rugged, I've experienced a few more sides of Lebanon.

On the shiny side, my dad and I enjoyed some drinks at his favorite bar, Cayenne, close to the apartment. We sat on wooden stools in the crowded hangout and laughed with the bartenders as we all basked in the long awaited Friday afternoon ease. We walked through Gemmayzeh, a region famous for its roaring nightlife, to arrive at a cozy Italian restaurant to share some homemade lasagna and crispy pizza under the moon. The red and white checkered tablecloth had teeny black ants sewn into it. A whimsical touch. After dinner, we came nose-to-nose with a fuzzy Pomeranian puppy in a pet store window. His quizzical look stole my heart immediately, but my dad wasn't so enthused. Don't worry, Butterscotch. We'll come back for you.

Saturday morning was l-a-z-y and wonderful. I slept in until around 10:30, and we decided to pack up for a day at the beach. Seemed like everyone in Beirut had the same idea, too. While sampling nearly every radio station, including a static-ridden Portuguese channel, we inched alongside honking Mercedes' to reach the sunny, secluded Lazy B beach. My equally pale dad and I wafted between the rocky waterfront and the shade of the wobbly umbrellas covering our chairs. We read our novels side-by-side until the sun took a dip into the horizon. For dinner, we shared a grilled garlicked and hot-peppered grouper with hummus, cauliflower and eggplant. Uh-mayzin.

This morning, we woke at the crack of dawn to support Beyond Beirut's very first alternative tourism jaunt into the villages outside this city. My usual terror at the thought of walking across

busy streets was pleasantly unwelcome. NO ONE was awake. This is definitely a stay-out-late and sleep-in-even-later kind of culture. Reminiscent of Spain, a place I still have nostalgic pangs for.

This was a day of Roman temple climbing, fuzzy green almond picking, homemade Lebanese lunch tasting, new friends meeting, and warm sun-soaking. We also spent quite a bit of time on a bus whose cool air was a welcomed refuge from the beating yellow orb. I have some cheery pictures from today, including a series of pleasantly-surprising macro shots after finally discovering this setting on my trusty red Canon, but I'm so droopy-eyed that they will just have to wait for another time.

While I would love my time in Beirut to only consist of beach trips, sightseeing and sampling the mouthwatering local cuisine, I actually came here to gain some work experience with a Public Health company. I have a meeting with the CEO tomorrow afternoon. He sounds like a kind man from his email voice, which I'm told mirrors his true personality. I'm looking forward to adding a new dimension to my time in Beirut with this opportunity.

Now, with grateful feet and a belly full of pillowy Tiramisu ice cream, I'm enjoying a low-key evening with the Australia-Germany game playing in the background. It's a pretty close game (not). Poor Aussies...you're good at much more than football. You have really groovy accents, and I'm sure you fare better on the rugby field. Don't be sad.

Goodnight!

Leba-oui

I'm spending the morning in my Dad's office listening to melodic French-Arabic chatter. The three women in this office with me have wide smiles and colorful, vivid clothes. Some of the friendliest people I've met, but also very professional. I'm amazed how they flit from being shocked that I've never been to New York City to discussing fruit tree exportation.

Directly in front of me, outside the floor-to-ceiling window of this small office, I see a four-story tall advertisement of a scruffy, suited dark-and-handsome man. The slogan reads "Creating Your Suit is Creating Your Self." Are we all just insignificant, fleshy bags whose self-expression only takes on the identity of the threads we clothe ourselves in? Sometimes, it seems that way. That's about as deep as I can take my thoughts this morning. Forgive me.

Maybe my randomness has something to do with staying inside for the past two days. I was sick with some sort of stomach bug (I guess I should brush my teeth with bottled water from now on) and just recovered yesterday morning, but then my dad caught the same thing. We didn't leave the apartment because he wasn't feeling well. I'm not complaining at all; it was actually kind of nice to sleep in and recover from jet lag while watching reruns of American TV and catching up on reading about pop culture. There go my guilty pleasures, exposed to the world. But I'm glad to have some human contact today. Both of us are feeling much better. And laughing with these cheerful women is MUCH more fun than revisiting Rachel's famous 1990s haircut on Friends. Biggest understatement ever...um...stated.

Still loving Beirut! More to come. Also, photos will be uploaded in the next few days. Have a terrific day.

I made it!

After about 20 hours of plastic airplane food, cramped knees, endearing seat partners and rushing through passport control, I found my dad in the airport lobby in Beirut and watched through jetlagged eyes as we motored through the city to his apartment in Ashrafieh. At first I was appalled at his driving, but I soon realized no one else follows the rules either. Or, more accurately, that there aren't any. To stay alive, you have to keep up and rest your hand permanently on the horn. I don't even remember the driving being this crazy in Amman. I found it better to close my eyes and sway with the jolts instead of gasping at every risky overtake or vision of a dusty red truck heading straight for us on the wrong side of the road.

Besides the crazy driving, there are other quirks and qualities of Beirut that pleasantly remind me of my middle and high school years in Jordan. My fingers remember exactly how to pull off the top of an aluminum soda can instead of popping it backward. Everyone cuts in line. Beautiful, tall mosques can be seen from the highway. A thin layer of rock dust coats everything outside and in. Mouthwatering local foods like shish tawook (grilled chicken kebab) and fatteh (a dish of fried pita bread, chickpeas, meat and spices in a flavorful yogurt sauce) satisfy my long-felt cravings. The countless roadside cafes are stuffed with people clouding the air with slow puffs from hubbly bubbly or argheela pipes. Drivers with their left arms draped lazily outside rolled-down windows blast lively tunes sprinkled with the word habibi, or "my beloved."

But many things about Beirut are completely different than Amman.
1. Green, lush grass is actually pretty common here. As are trees. My dad and I drove to a Cedar Reserve today and witnessed a 2,000 year old tree growing on the side of a huge mountain.
2. Dressing conservatively is not widely practiced among women. The summer heat calls for sun dresses, tube tops and shorts. On a trip to a sport/pool club in the city, local women strutted by in bikinis, high heels and oversized Chanel handbags. My perception of Middle Eastern culture has been flipped.
3. Nearly everything is written or spoken in French. Eager to hear the melodic Arabic I was dreaming of, I was thrown off guard when the pilot of my flight from Athens to Beirut called out "Bonjour!" as I sprinted past him to claim the last empty seat. My Spanish definitely helps a little when trying to translate signs, but I'm amazed at the way people switch effortlessly between French, Arabic and English in their conversations to create a seamless mosaic of rhythms.

Maybe my preconceptions of Jordan have changed in the four years I've lived outside of the country, but even so, Lebanon has a similar but still distinct vibe that makes me want to learn and experience more. Today, after visiting a palace and touring the cedar forest with a verbose and exuberant guide (we said hello to Bette Midler on the trail donning a red Chinese sun umbrella!), my dad and I met one of his colleagues, her mother and some friends for lunch at a restaurant called Chalet du Lac overlooking a lake on the side of a mountain. We laughed and shouted over the relentless singer's drawn out melodies. The kindness and hospitality of the women made the delicious meal even more enjoyable, while the fresh air and unbeatable view topped it off. My second full day in Beirut was even busier than the first, but I loved every minute of it.

I had been worried about losing my Spanish as I learn new Arabic words to fill up my brain. Ironically, I'm sitting in the living room listening to a reporter on a Spanish TV channel talk with an author from Palma de Mallorca. I can still understand every word. So far, so good.

Right now, I'm looking forward to resting a bit after a long day in the sun. If the rest of my time in Beirut is even half as eventful as it has been up until now, I'll have plenty of crazy stories and (hopefully) engaging commentary for you soon. Hope you've all had a wonderful weekend!

"There is no moment of delight in any pilgrimage like the beginning of it." -- Charles Dudley Warner

It seems like I just got finished neatly stowing my suitcases and hanging up my clothes after my semester abroad in Spain. Well, if you know me at all, that situation truthfully involved throwing my bags on top of a treacherous pile of clothes and shutting the door to my closet. Same thing.

I'm filling my trusty red companions with Jack Link's beef jerky, Peet's coffee, Clif Bars and A-1 steak sauce to bring to my dad. I, on the other hand, cannot WAIT to taste my first bite of authentic Middle Eastern cuisine in four years. Baba ghanouj, labna, falafel and kunafi are calling my name. I don't think I'll have cravings for stateside junk food anytime soon.

I am mostly looking forward to hanging out with my dad, picking up some Arabic, working with a public health company on their website, meeting new people, and focusing on finding out what it is I am supposed to do after I graduate from college. I'm also excited that my mom, and hopefully my brother, will be following me to Beirut in a month.

My little Yorkie, Rusty, is trotting around my room in a nervous state of confusion. He gets anxious whenever one of us breaks out the suitcases, which happens quite often in my globe-trotting family. He just hopped right in...maybe I can stick him in my carry-on. No one will know!

Better go finish packing. It's already five o'clock! Keep coming back, and soon I'll have a much more exciting entry for you to read.

Ma'a salama (Goodbye) !