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.
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!
That was a wonderfully familiar description of the place, Claudia! Wish I were there with you and dad, I miss you both very much! Cant wait to read the next entry....
ReplyDeleteLove and Miss you,
Mom