The Calm after the Storm

Last week's bomb blast is moving farther and farther from our minds.  All activities were cancelled last week, some scattered gunshots reported, but life has taken a turn toward normal. Traffic picked up again Monday; back to noisy and crowded by Tuesday.  Beirutis want to get back to their lives. Political posturing continues, but that is not new in Lebanon.

Five of us just returned from an overnight getaway at Amchit (/ahm-sheet/), a campground 45 km north of Beirut.  Amchit is next to Byblos, the ancient city we first visited during blistering hot, dripping wet August, that first week in Lebanon.  Now it's t-shirt comfy, even at night.

On Friday evening we walked cobblestone paths in Byblos that led us through the souks and along the harbor where we saw the boats bobbing at their tie-ups. We continued up the roadway to pass a wedding taking place in a beautiful Christian church.  Couldn't help peeking into the lit up doorways at attentive people filling seats and coloring the old stone walls. 

We eventually found our way to an Italian restaurant with tables outside in the cobblestone courtyard, and sat at the foot of the weathered walls to eat pizza by lantern light. Have discovered that Lebanese wine from the Bekaa Valley is really nice. That and pizza; tasty! After dinner, the kindly maitre d' surprised us with small glasses of amaretto.  

By the time we left Byblos, the sky was flashing with dry lightning and thunder blasts.  This lasted into the night.  I slept indoors on a wall long couch.  I guess it's time to admit that "camping" consisted of a "chalet"  rented at the campground by Lucy and me.  It was a bit dicey... not the price ($60), or bathroom, couch or bed, but the ceiling mirror and "artwork"... which creeped us out.  The guys rented tent like "tengalows", which were modest in price and narrow on space.  Anyway, we survived the night, the weather, and the creepies.  (Getting home to my own bed will be nice indeed.)

This morning (Sunday) we sipped Nescafe from the top of the campground bluff, and gazed out at the Mediterranean Sea, broadly banded in dark and turquoise blues; gorgeous AND CALM, the Beirut skyline in the distance.  Suits on, we found a steep stairway that led us down the bluff to the sea's rocky edge. I followed Lucy, gingerly stepped out onto a large barnacle-covered rock that included a metal exit ladder, scoped out a bright blue area just below, and "Geronimo!!!"  The water was fabulous!  Had my goggles and braved looking down to see ripple patterns stretching as far as I could see in white sand, so beautiful. Anyway, the water was warm and luxurious, and I could swim or float like a cork with hardly any effort. It was a dream come true! After the anxiety of the past week, just right. 

As we drove back into Beirut, I was delighted by the "look" of the city, shiny clean from last night's rain, then shocked when I realized I was gawking at MY OWN NEIGHBORHOOD!  The view from the car gave a completely different look to the passing buildings and trees; yes TREES, lining the streets.  From the crowded sidewalk level you don't see the beauty as a whole. You see the broken walkway tiles, metal posts, occasional tree trunks, and all while weaving among passersby and other obstacles. So it was with great delight that I recognized that this beautiful area was My Neighborhood, Hamra. Back to "What's for dinner, Carolyn", laundry, and a shower to wash away Mediterranean salt.  Home Sweet Home.

Just what IS going on?

Many of you are wondering what's going on over here! It's unique being in a city rocked by a bomb blast, and as Carol emailed today, "Hope that's as close as it ever gets!"

It started Friday. I'd just taken my kids downstairs to the buses at 3:20. Tech teacher Barbara came over to ask me if I'd heard about the bomb.  "What bomb?"  She explained that a car bomb had gone off in Ashrafiyeh at 2:30 and that it was a mess. 15 kids from that neighborhood were being kept in the staff room until their parents could come to pick them up.

Whoa! I'd heard nothing. Too busy with my class, getting through the end of our day. I didn't know how to wrap my head around it. How many times had I heard about bomb blasts? London, Madrid, Baghdad...  But I'd never been close to one. All I could imagine was the chaos going on in that neighborhood at that very moment. I went down to the Library to turn in my book order. Jinane, the librarian, told me she lives in Ashrafiyeh, but was thankful that her kids were with their dad in the mountains that day. Her neighbor had called to say some of their windows were broken, that barricades were going up on the roads and would make it hard for her to get home. I looked at her as tears began to well up...

We soon learned that this was a political assassination; aimed at the Minister of Intelligence who died with his driver.  Texts were coming in from everywhere.  The bottom line?  Go home. Stay there. Weekend trips were postponed.

Arij texted me: "Carolyn, are you alone?  Do you want to come over?  spend the night here?"  I told her I was fine, and appreciated the invite. Then Saturday, "Carolyn, are you okay?"  I went over to visit her house and took Charlene.  We talked, even laughed, then went to a birthday celebration planned from the week before for Totally Todd, also new this year. Mike and Gretchen's flat was packed.  Todd brought out his guitar and sang to us, accompanied by Music teacher Ingrid on her violin.  I felt so much at ease, thinking of Kimmer, enjoying the moment.  It was just right; no place I'd rather be!

By Sunday, tension started to mount.  It was recommended by the locals that we plan to be home during and after the funeral, from 1 pm on. Thinking about Diane's advice, I madly swept out the flat with my short handled broom, mopped inside and out, then went downstairs to Charlene's and watched some of the funeral, in Arabic. Returned to my flat a while later to make a pot of "refrigerator soup" and applesauce, corrected papers, and got in some skype time with sister Liz and my Dad.  Kept an eye on Naharnet, the local Beirut news website, and school email. "The Ministry of Education recommends that students return to school Monday". School was on!

This morning young Kris was first through the classroom door.  He was agitated and wanted me to know that, "My house is okay, but our friends lost their windows!  We live really close to where the bomb exploded!  My dad and I go to that grocery store!"  As kids came in there was a hubbub about what they'd seen, heard, done over the weekend.  Most of it centered on their weekends "at home" playing games, watching movies, and eating popcorn. Two of my students did not make it to school this morning.  Three more were pulled from class during the course of the day.

From the teachers: Charlene showed me an iphoto sent to her that morning from a friend downtown.  It showed a group of black-masked men poised on a corner, rifles in hand.  Rania said it was the second night she'd heard gunshots in her neighborhood.  Sarah went home at noon today, worried that she had a long drive across town and there was news of snipers.  Lucy arrived at the airport last night. Her taxi driver had a hard time circumventing blocked roads to get her home. This morning, Charlene made the visa trip to the Security Office and described it as "Strange to see those big tanks and soldiers at the intersections."  We hear that the security forces are literally chasing down all gunmen and detaining them; doing everything they can to keep a lid on the simmering pot.

Meanwhile, I'm living in a bubble here in the Hamra neighborhood, a neighborhood that is very international, and surrounds the American University of Beirut and American Community School.  Our only clues that something is afoot? The increased numbers of soldiers and reduced traffic.  I have been watching the news, and getting most of my info on line.  It is very quiet; a silent night.

So what's it really like?  Surreal, but I can compare it to those days when the weather is for heavy snow.  I'd get that flutter in the stomach and wonder, "Am I ready? Do I need to get gas? batteries?  Will we have school tomorrow?"  That's how it's been here today. There is an anxiety that stirs the gut.  All after-school activities and sports events have been cancelled this week.

I happened to join the German Paster in the elevator on my way upstairs tonight. I asked him what he thought about our situation.  His hearty answer: "Give it a few more days to calm down. Hey, this is Lebanon!"  You've gotta smile at that!

It's Official!

          This morning was my first field trip, but without kids!  I was escorted out of school by Walid, after giving the reins to a substitute teacher.  Two other new hires, Paul and Andrew, were already in tow.  Our destination?  The heavily guarded Beirut Security Office.  Purpose? To make an appearance for our residence visas.  Back in August I was required to turn in my passport to the business department at school, and given a laminated copy. Today was the first time I've seen my passport, and see it was all I did. Walid is the school's resident "Visa Broker".  His job is to take each "foreign hire" through the process, made painless, of getting the residency visa.  He's been doing this for the past 20 years!  And our role?  To sit on the chairs at the back of the room. Walid waited in line for over an hour. There were three people ahead of him.
          It was nice to have Andrew and Paul along.  We talked about hot topics for foreigners;  our Lebanese banking experiences (comparing notes and banks), Food preparation and Eating (we concluded that those who cook and eat at home get sick less often), School related topics (just where is the "Rabbit Field"?), and Housekeepers.  Paul and Andrew each live in resident hotels, in other words, a hotel suite complete with counter, fridge and hotplate.  This set-up includes housekeeping; a maid who comes in to tidy up.  Many of the veteran staff have hired housekeepers who clean everything from floors to dishes to laundry for 10,000 LL an hour (less than $7 an hour). Others hire cooks who drop off meals.  My place is small, and I prefer to do the cooking myself (more of that "Spendthrift
mentality!")  But I DO enjoy cooking!  Anyway, we kept up a friendly banter until Walid waved us over to the counter.  The busy clerk gave us nothing more than a glance as Walid handed Paul a pen and pointed to the line where he should sign.  Then it was my turn, Andrew's turn, and that was it!
           We backtracked down the stairs and through the halls, waving our blue slips under the eyes of camo-dressed guards in each doorway before handing these off to guards at the exit door, and  back to the car we went.  I got to school as the students were out at recess; two and a half hours later.  At some point in the day I had a realization.  I am now part of some kind of IN crowd; I am an official resident of Lebanon! Should be getting my passport back any day now, and you know what that means?  The gates to travel are OPEN!

A Wee Bit Homesick

tWoke up Monday with a clear agenda: "This has been nice, but it's time to go home."  I shook myself awake.  5 a.m. "Carolyn, you aren't going home. You're getting up for your walk!"  Luckily, the walk part was true! Weird.  My dream seemed so reasonable, and the clarity of the thought stayed with me for a long time.  Before I could feel sad, I hopped out of bed to meet Lucy for our early walk to the Corniche.  So glad I had that reason to get up and go; grateful to have someone else to help me laugh it off!

Temperatures have dropped into the 20's celsius, which means the 80's for us Fahrenheit folks.  In other words, I can wear my long pants again.  Sometimes I even forget to turn on the AC when I get home... remarkable!  Had my building buddies over for dinner on the balcony last night.  We ate outside to Nora Jones and the ever present honking of cars below.  It's nice being 4 stories up!  But traffic on our one lane street is busy.  You wouldn't think so to see it, but 5 or more cars lined up spells HONK HONK HONK!  We enjoyed our dinner.  I ran into fajita mix at a little market.  The corn tortillas were already in the freezer, and salsa on the shelf.  Time to put it all together!  Lebanese apples went into a crisp; gluten free, and oh so good. I love the smell of apples and cinnamon; HOMEY!

This life is mentally and physically demanding.  Besides a new classroom and culture to adjust to, there's a whole new way of shopping, laundering, cooking, and even cleaning.  I mean, what a learning curve!  I've always been a homebody.  I've always loved my kitchen and all the equipment in my home.  When I arrived here to my fully furnished apt, the toilet seat was hanging by a hinge, the AC didn't work, and I couldn't figure out how to turn on the stove. Why did the sink have two faucets? Yeah, I have two faucets in the kitchen sink!  One is for cooking water and the other is for cleaning dishes.  Neither is drinking water.  That comes from a bottle.  I make a weekly trip to the corner market and carry home a large container of water. This I pour into smaller liter sized bottles that fit in my little fridge.

The my fully furnished cleaning tools include a mop/bucket, small sponges, and a tiny broom on a 2 foot handle.  Can you picture that?  Sweeping a tile floor using a broom with a 2-ft handle?  Well, that's what I've been doing. (Please laugh; it IS silly!) Luckily my friend Lucy has offered me her extra broom...  I know; I'm such a cheapskate!

Laundering takes place on the 8th floor.  I share two stacking machines with the building.  There is no schedule; it's first come, first served.  I've learned that if I'm up before 7 a.m., I can use both machines at once.  They are quite small.  Two bath towels, a hand towel, a couple of dish towels, and these things are full!  The water is harsh.  I've opted to hand wash quite a few of my shirts, pants, and underwear.  I have a drying rack that has become a permanent fixture in my bedroom.  I told you about those mini power blinks? Well, every time we have one of those the machines stop, and the dryers don't restart.  That's another trip to the top floor... but I usually just go up there to find my laundry as wet as when I put it in the dryer, so downstairs it comes to the drying rack.

My feet are holding up very well, thank you.  This is important, because it is my feet and legs that allow this life style to work.  I walk EVERYWHERE:  school, upstairs, downstairs, market, AUB, pool, and then home again.  Walking is the glue that keeps it all going, and I really appreciate it.  Exercise au naturel... just the way I like it.  I'm really trying to find home here.  I do miss my kids, my dad and family, my friends... I miss the green trees and clear clean air.  Homesickness rolls in and out, part of the landscape.  I'm just thankful for have so much and so many to miss!

Courage

My Saturday started with an early Skype call with Marguerite who IS coming to Beirut in November, in spite of all the press to the contrary.  We've had several emails.  "Would you make this trip if you were me?" she asked.  "Yes, but get traveler's insurance; that way you don't have to worry."  Marguerite's courage takes me back to my own journey and a conversation I had with Phil last night. "We each took a leap of faith," he reminded, this being his third year in Beirut.  I looked around the room at the "new" Americans attending Friday night's potluck: Joe and Jessica, Lolita, and Charlene, Susan and Henry, and Totally Todd, all crowded on couches with our new Lebanese friends in the "Senior Lounge".  It was a great relief to be on this shore, and on this side of all those doubts.

The ACS staff was invited to a reception in Headmaster Damon's rooftop garden, to meet new personnel from the U.S. embassy.  Only a few came, Ambassador Maura Connelly being among them.  Talk about courage?  With all the uproar of the past two months, these people have been under the tightest security.  They are not allowed to leave the embassy compound except on carefully preplannned outings, this being one of them.  A handful came, but late, and were preceded by security guards, complete with those curly wired ear phones, who arrived first.  It was such an honor to meet and talk with these Americans.  Azza, so gracious and warm, has worked for the US all over the world.  This is her first position in the Middle East.  I met Ambassador Connelly, and learned that she was the only person in her family who had the desire to serve and work outside the US, which she's been doing ever since college.  She is a tall, white haired woman.  You can read her bulletins on the US Embassy, Beirut, website.

Talk about a "leap of faith"?  Mine was what I was able and determined to take.  But I've thought about this process and how it works for each of us.  I can only imagine what a soldier goes through, who is "assigned" duty in Afghanistan, or some other not-so-friendly outpost.  We each take our "leaps" as we go through life, every day.  Look at Mary, and her decision to retire.  Or Diana's move to the mainland.  Then there's Pam and her pending surgery, and my sister with her challenging ankle and move to California.  My Dad is adjusting to his new pacemaker. Talk about courage and that leap of faith?  I'm in awe of you all.

Your apples, Miss...

      It was Wednesday and I was free after school.  My watch band had given out, so I asked Hasmig where I might find a replacement. She described a shop "just up the road from the Plaza Pharmacy". Oh, those directions! It's always a challenge to follow them. You see, street names hardly exist, especially on all the tiny side streets.  We use landmarks to describe destinations.  For example, just today I asked Lucy if The Backyard restaurant we visited last night was up the road from "Bubbles".  She knew exactly what I was talking about, because we pass a sign that says Bubbles on our way home from morning walks.  "Is it past the Hummus guy?", further refining the search. Yes, she answered; "same block".
       Well, I found the Plaza pharmacy and stopped in to get a prescription filled.  From there, on to the jewelry shop.  What I did find, was a very small shop, a hole in the wall, you'd say.  The man there, working at his counter, came to the door to let me in.  "No English" he said.  I showed him my broken watch band.  "Oh, know good man," and described to me in English and Arabic the name of a shop that was next to a perfume shop, and pointed toward Hamra.  Smarter than usual, I asked him to write the name of the shop for me, which he did, in Arabic.  Off I went with my paper.  I got to Hamra and walked in the direction he'd indicated.  I showed my paper to a shop keeper standing in her doorway.  She pointed to the corner and waved a left turn. A ways down that street I showed my paper to another shopkeeper, who waved ahead, "See blue? (a dumpster) There!"  I walked another 20 yards, and sure enough, "Daoud"was printed on the window.  The jeweler buzzed me in.  (Jewelers keep their doors locked until they size up the customer.)  I showed him my watch band.  He pulled out a box and I pointed, "black one, please!"  "That'll be 10 dollars." (= to 15,000 Lebanese Lira).  Lira notes are small and easily get lost in your bag or purse.  As I pulled out bill after bill, up to 12,000 or $8 worth, the shop keeper said "Good! Enough!"  "Shukleen! (Thank you!) I said, surprised, and out I went, happy to wear my watch again.  I was feeling pretty successful!
       On my way home, I decided to stop at a vendor's cart and get some apples.  They looked like golden delicious; fresh from the tree.  "6 apples, please" I said.  The vendor carefully chose six nice ones. "2,500" ($1.50) he said.  As I was searching through my bag, a young girl was suddenly beside me, body space of no consequence, speaking Arabic and pointing to my purse; a street beggar.  My instincts were saying don't do it.  She was persistent, and shockingly so.  I scrambled around in my bag for the apple money, for the smallest bill I could find, feeling that I didn't want her to see anything larger.  I handed a 5,000 note to the vendor, who handed me change; 2-1,000 notes and a 500 coin.  The girl by now had her hand on my wrist.  I dropped the coin into her hand, but that's not what she wanted.  She proceeded to follow my hand back to my bag.  As I pulled away, the vendor came to my rescue:  "La La La!  (*&(^%*" he shouted,  (No, no, no! Scram!)  She darted off, joined by another young girl, no more than 12 or 13.  She flashed me a naughty grin. I said to the vendor, "Hard times", and started away.
       A ways down the street, still feeling shaken, a hand was held in front of me holding a bag of apples!  "Your apples, Miss..." said the vendor.  I smiled my thanks, and then continued home.  It was the first time I've cried in a while.  I cried about the kind vendor who had looked out for me.  I cried for the young girl who had learned to be so aggressive for reasons I could only imagine, and I cried, feeling lucky that given a situation like that, nothing worse had happened.  I had been a traitor to my instinct, which told me to refuse that girl.  What I had done was reinforce the very behavior I detested. I reviewed my lesson that day:  Trust yourself, and stand firm.  Be clear about your intentions and communicate them.  I'll know better next time.