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Earlier in May
May Continues More Ramblings
May 15, 2000:
Yesterday I was taken to the old capital of Lebanon, Beiteddine,
in the Chouf Mountains just an hour from Beirut. The road climbed
and curved its way from the sea to almost 200m in elevation.
Since it was a Sunday hundreds of Lebanese had our same idea:
head to the cool mountains and stuff your face. I sat with Ghada
and Ali, two Lebanese-Americans, and discussed the ride up and
the friendly Israeli jets that accompanied us. Flybys are an
everyday occurrence in south Lebanon and I was surprised to see
the villagers react by pointing them out as we drove by. "When
they start to run for cover then I get scared." Said Ali
referring to the villagers.
Lunch was a big affair consisting of plate after plate of
mezze, or side dish. The restaurant sat next to a fresh
spring that pumped water out of the ground and into a large pool
that the tables were gathered around; it is a very Arab thing
to eat next to running water. Ghada finished early and Ali and
I battled for the kibbe (meat and bulgur wheat balls)
huumos, artichoke, cheese, spinach pie and baba ganoush.
An hour and what could have filled 10 stomachs later Ali and
I dared each other to eat "just one more" kumquat,
the fresh fruit of the moment. Rolling back to the car I could
only imagine what I'd feel like had it been a few months down
the road when peaches the size of a soccer ball are the fruit
of the season rather than the golf ball sized kumquat.
Tomorrow I'm heading back to Syria. I could easily spend another
few weeks here without blinking an eye. Even with the constant
threat of bombs Lebanon hasn't forgotten how to live easy. Years
and years of war will do that to people, I guess.
May 19, 2000:
Back in old Damascus. After planning on a short "swing
through" on my way to Jordan I ended up extending my stay;
Damascus is an easy place to pass the time, easier still due
to the time I ended up arriving: I pulled into the city on a
Tuesday evening. Wednesday I spent doing some research for my
upcoming trip to Yemen. Thursday I ran from one post office to
another trying to send off a few gifts I received in Lebanon
-- as nice as the Syrians are, their post office employees aren't
the most helpful people in the world. Once I finally got everything
all stamped, paid for and sent off I headed to the bus ticketing
office. To my great surprise (thanks due to my wonderful memory)
the bus people told me that the next day was booked. In most
Arab countries the weekend falls on Fridays. Therefore everything
is closed on Fridays, therefore people like to travel on Fridays
and therefore it looked like I'd be staying in Damascus through
Friday. "Okay. Yup. Right. Sure." I said and backed
out of the office feeling a bit like a heel but also a bit thankful
that I sent off my package because at least I didn't have one
more thing (10kg) to lug with me to Jordan.
(Batman?- No,
it's not Gotham City.
But at 7:30 in the evening there are enough bats in Damascus
to make any Bruce Wane shutter. Nobody seemed to mind the flying
creatures though. People were more concerned with relaxing the
hours away till nightfall and supper called them in.)
With an extended trip in the works I accepted an invitation
that night to a hummos and chay party being thrown
by a few ex-pats that I met my first time through Damascus. This
was no ordinary hummos and chay party though. No.
This hummos and chay party was going to take place
at the Palestine camp on the western side of Damascus. That in
itself was not a incredible thing, there are over 30,000 Palestines
living in Syria. The interesting part came in when the thrower
of the party turned out to be a feminist New York Jew who rented
the apartment in the Palestine camp. This should be interesting,
I thought as the mini-bus pulled out onto the road.
Stepping out of the bus I was greeted by throngs of children
all screaming to shake hands and trying to lead our group to
the apartment. I guess it's not that strange to think that everyone
in the camp knew where the four of us where heading. The camp
was more of a neighborhood rather than the walled in tents like
the camps in southern Lebanon. And, up five flights of stairs
onto the roof the sun was setting. The kids poked around for
an hour or so, plying us to sing them songs and singing songs
themselves. The city glowed in a gentle evening light as the
call to player swept over the city in a wave -- the mosques closest
to the mountains starting first and working their way outwards.
Clustered on top of every roof sat three to four satellite dishes
all pointing south, looking like people praying. Pet pigeons
did sycronized swan dives in packs above their homes. The hummos
and chay filled the rest of the night, people chatting
and eating away and when I left to catch a bus back to my hotel
a couple Palestines joined me. "It is our duty." They
said as they walked me up the ally to the foot of the hotel door.
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