Walking in Lebanon an Addendum...and other ramblings

Last Thursday as the fight was breaking out in Beirut Arab University, my assistant and I were in the Jounieh region filming B-roll. I can go into how we had to get back in to Beirut to drop me off but that's another and less interesting story. As we drove around, I finally asked her a question.

When I was living in Farhabab the first month I was here, above the Casino du Liban, I noticed every time I walked around (which from my blogs was clearly daily), cars would pull up to me, stop, and I'd walk by and then they would drive off. The day before I moved to Beirut, I had an incident where a van pulled up, I got nervous and using my "street smarts" I crossed to the other side of the road. Then, the van took a u-turn and screached to a halt next to me. I wrapped my purse around my hand very tight and began to almost run up the hill. The van tried to back up (as it was on the wrong side of the hill) but power failing, finally drove off.

I find myself as similar to two years ago, in complete denial about certain things...not necessarily ignorant...maybe more repressed..in a refusal to acknowledge certain realities thus it make me angry.

But, I finally chose to ask my assistant. I described the incident and asked, "do you know maybe why this happens? Because it seems like every day I walked back to my apartment in Farhabab, cars would stop for me and they were not taxis."

She smiled, somewhat knowingly, and asked the following questions, "Were you walking alone? After dark? By yourself?" I answered yes, yes, and yes. Ok, so I finally asked, "Did they think I was a prostitute?" ABSOLUTELY, of course.

Farhabab is a very affluent suburb up the hill from Jounieh so it never occured to me at first (although I repressed the thought after it happened about 50xs to me) that this could be the case. And, I said but "it's an expensive suburb." "Akeed, this is why. And it's just up the mountain from the Super Night Clubs."

Ahhhh...I must have seemed very frustrating to those who stopped. And, you know I'm in shooting garb, I wear long shirts that go down to my knees, I always wear a scarf around my kneck in case we're shooting someplace and I need to go into a mosque...I must seem like the most odd looking prostitute. "But, your hair...you have red hair, you look Eastern European," my assistant clarified. Ok, ok, ok. Eastern European girls are often conned into coming to Lebanon under the auspices of working at a Super Night Club as a singer or artist only to find their passport confiscated and forced to work as a...prostitute. Super night clubs seem to be concentrated in the Jounieh region in Lebanon and it's a depressing fact. I have never been to one and but I hear stories...perhaps it's another documentary (as some have suggested) but I'm not sure I have it in me to do it.

You know I can't really do films on subjects that upset too much...about 6 years ago I started a documentary on the Chicago projects...somehow I had managed amazing access into the apartments of high rises and I'm sure it would have been a brilliant documentary. And, I completely failed. I couldn't do it because what I saw...I couldn't take. I was following a woman who had given up her corporate job to help these people. She was white, Irish, and saw it as her Catholic duty. She didn't actually go into the projects because people would get suspicious so she had a small outlet office where she collected goods from rich people and then immediately turned them over to the needy. What was so amazing about what she did is that it was so direct, there was no bureacratic hold up...her help was immediate. And, she used volunteers from the area. Many of these people couldn't get real jobs because the jobs paid lower than the state support they were receiving but they wanted to work. I'm sorry the republican line that people who are on welfare are lazy is bullshit. But, the system as it was, meant that if folks worked they didn't get money they needed to live. So, folks resorted to volunteerism to fill their days.

One woman who was a daily volunteer had terrible asthma. I was about 26 at the time and had grown up with asthma myself but thought it was just genetic. I learned that sure it can be genetic but it can also be if you grow up poor. This woman didn't have money for the expensive drugs that I had in my youth to keep the attacks at bay. As of today, I'm asthma free, my kitties cause me many problems but we have a $700 air purifyer in my house. What did she have? Nothing. She was addicted to the steroids in her inhaler which meant she couldn't use it consistently since her asthma was that bad and she needed it that often. No Advair for her. We went to a home of someone who had been kicked out of the project under Mayor Daley's attempt at tearing down the projects...leaving many homeless. So this young mother had found another apartment through her sister, all her child wanted was a little foot scooter...they were all the rage at that time. But, she had just moved into the apartment and she didn't have the basics...she didn't have even a blanket so I filmed this volunteer bringing her a bedset. But, the little boy looked around, he was sooooo disappointed that he didn't get a scooter for Xmas. He was crushed.

I was crushed. I had no emotional distance. The next day I was at Walgreens and saw a Scooter for $50. Mind you I was the educated poor at the time. But, I had a credit card...so I bought that little kid a scooter and called my friend who ran the organization and said I had some things that could be picked up. My parents had bought me a microwave and some other stuff for my house. Her volunteers came and I gave them the scooter and pretty much everything else that I could because in the end I knew I would always have a decent paying job...I was privileged. But, I never finished the documentary...I never went back.

A part of me regrets that I didn't continue that documentary but I couldn't keep professional distance and I was weak...I admit it...I was weak. It was too hard to see Americans live like that. Too hard. I saw people who slept on the floor and who were thrilled when folks delivered them a mattress...and this was during the Clinton administration. I was so critical of him but things are so much worse now....oof.

So, a documentary on Super Nightclubs? I already know that would be way too tough for me to handle.

And, I find myself in the same situation now with this current doc. Umm Mustafa is a breast cancer survivor like my mother but she still needs $200 to go to the doctor...there is so much need out there that Sheikha Hammoud tries but can't even attempt to cover with a grant she received from Rafik Harriri. She doesn't know what she'll do when that money dries up.

And, I'm concerned about having enough money for chair covers at my wedding. Haram...we are registering to charities at least but it's not enough...none of us do enough.

So, in my ramblings about walking in Lebanon...I'm reminded of much, much more. I don't mind if people think I'm a prostitute for walking up a hill to get into "wedding shape," I am too humbled by those who have to do it by without choice.

Bahubbak ya Fatoush

Warning: This blog/poem/dedication is downright silly. And, trust me my fiance is well aware of my crush.

Fatoush...ya fatoush...bahuabbak ya fatoush.
You are diverse and colorful and never the same.
You can have

lettuce
cucumbers
tomatoes
mint
onion
radishes
peppers
and thyme.

Sometimes you are served with vinegar and oil, however most times with lemon, oil, and semac (not to be confused with summac).

Sometimes the pita is fried and at other times baked...

And, in many ways ya fatoush, you are a metaphor for this region. Often tart sometimes sweet or hot and always tasty...ya fatoush...I am addicted.

Your brother tabouleh is very similar in diversity but rarely is it as good as it was on Sunday mixed with grenadine (SJ's mother's is certainly the best) so I apologize to you tabouleh because fatoush seems to always hold my interest.


In times of trouble, boredom and excitement fi Lubnan, I am always happy for fatoush. For the 2 to 3 readers of this blog, feel free to chime in on other lovely ingredients that may come up with forever diverse...fatoush.

Bahubbak ya Fatoush...how I will miss thee when I leave....

And, as you are a food, my fiance seems to accept my wandering eye...

Beirut under curfew?

I was shooting in the Kerseroun area today when my assistant in crime received a phone call from her mother than there was trouble in Beirut. We get shooting and her mom kept calling until we finally decided to try to get to Beirut to drop me off as we heard the roads were closing.

I got in to see my neighbors all hanging out by the communal tv watching the footage. College students from opposite sides of the political division had begun fighting and it escalated to gun fire. The military, worried violence would spread, began to shut down the roads.

And, I read an hour ago that Beirut is under curfew tonight. I didn't even know, lol. All the shops are closed and were closed as of 5pm when I was dropped off in Hamra except for a few restaurants. I was going to go out to forage for some food but apparently there is no Fatoush easily accessible by walking distance so I have succombed to the wide spread and easily accessible free delivery which everyone seems to depend on in times of political turmoil. My neighbors quickly gave me numbers and before I knew it I was enjoying some yummy salad from Barbars - an excellent choice.

By 6pm two of the girls' mother came in, she was in Beirut for the day and got stuck as the roads closed before she could leave. So, we're all camped out here waiting to see what will happen tomorrow. I think everyone knew about the curfew. People called me and told me not to go out until 8am or so tomorrow as did my neighbors. It's just always humorous when people in translating information forget the why.

Luckily, I have become a down right chicken in my old age so I easily comply unless it conflicts with my work - then it's not so much that I'm not a chicken but my work ethic or fear of boredom overrides it. But for now as I worked until 4am the night before, I was satisfied at staying in, eating fatoush and trying to avoid thinking about what the future had in store for this beautiful yet tragic city.

2:15pm: Will the strikes continue? Kitchen says yes.

The sheikha sent me an SMS, the streets are closed in her area and people can only move by use of their own feet. She and her family remain in her house for now and hopefully I'll be able see her tomorrow...

Hamra still needs quiet and things are open. From my balcony, I can see people going in and out of the local coffee shop or saj joint. I am still in my room, logging footage, making use of this day off I suppose but as I exited out of the kitchen after I made a mean leftover+maggi noodle lunch, I was struck by a scary thought...either the girls next door somehow secretly know me and have read my blog or the strikes may continue. Why? They started to clean the kitchen!!! Strike = no maid service so...are the anticipating that they'll have to keep the place clean for the next week? Or, is it a way of coping with the boredom of staying indoors?

People are out and about in this solidly pro-government area but I think most peoples' concerns are if things escalate they don't want to be caught outside holding a sandwich from a shop that didn't abide by the strike (or so to speak). Although I can't see this happening here and frankly if you read the news reports it looks like any squirmishes were in the Christian areas (Byblos) - Aounees against Lebanese Forces I assume.

I'm going to go out later and at least get a saj sandwich, I've been staring at the shop all day after all. But, for now, I'm huddled back in my room, astonished by the cleaning outside my door.

Another Editing Day?

10:05am, I just received a SMS from Tanya that there will be no lesson today with the Sheikha. 10:08am, I received a SMS from the Sheikha stating there would be no class as people are afraid or cannot travel but that she would SMS me later if the situation improved to pick me up for lunch.

I reflected last night to M that we were really lucky so far. He came here to Lebanon and had a great time while politics were on hiatus, I was able to knock of one week of shooting last week although this week was meant to be our biggest push yet (6 shooting days which if we're lucky know we'll have about 3 or 4). And, it's not as if I didn't anticipate something like this would happen...I was pushing for locking down our schedule and working as much as possible in case today would happen.

The question is whether or not this is just a one day thing. The news is on in the main room asks the question as well. What does Nasrallah have in mind for us?

And, the girls aren't going to class today. There seems to be some vague attempts at bonding, I was invited to eat maanusha which I declined since I need to keep a vague eye on my wedding weight and to my chagrin they don't drink coffee so they can't ooh and ahhh at my stellar Arabic coffee. One popped in to say, "don't go out, eh? You're new." Oh, if I only I was yet I think I'd have to live here a lifetime before I'd be able to even crack the cultural and political nuances here, rather I regular step on cultural land mines.

For now, I'll go back to logging...a necesarry task as I am floored by the openness and kindness the sheikha and students have provided me...and hope this doc. will be the groundbreaking film that it seems to be becoming.

The Calm Before the Storm

Last night in Beirut seemed like any other night in the busy district of Hamra. I moved here a few days and am excited to be in the heart of the city. Internet cafes were packed and students were walking around in packs – girls kissing their boyfriends for hours outside my all women-only apartment building. And if you didn’t know what was going on – you’d think everything was fine, yet under the surface everyone was going about their daily life in anticipation that today everything would stop.

I live on a hallway with college girls and they all know each other. We have maid service and laundry in this building, which the girls take VERY seriously because this place is a pig sty. The maid does our dishes but these girls don’t even remove unfinished food to the kitchen, rather they just leave it where they ate it. Luckily, I have my own room, fridge and necessities so I don’t venture out into the common area except last night to watch a friend on a Lebanese game show (who did great). But, I couldn’t help but look around and wonder what exactly on was sitting on besides the couch cushion. And, just an hour before that as I worked in my room; I heard a thunder of outrage and swearing both in English and Arabic. The girls seem to know each other too well because there was some fighting going on that resulted in door slamming – opening to get the last slur in and slamming again. So, it that was the calm before the storm?

And, I meant to blog last night, I meant to work last night, let’s be honest rather I reread some old blogs from when I was here two years ago and today reminds me a bit of April 22, 2005 when Lebanese Forces attempted to shut down NDU. Same feeling of tacit acceptance in some areas and brute force in others.

I keep looking down this morning on to Emile Edde Street from my balcony and people are walking around and motorcycles are zipping back and forth. The coffee shop and saj shops are open…and in this predominantly pro-Harriri area that makes sense. I see few shared taxis though, which doesn’t bode well for my work today. It appears as if everyone staying put so to speak, which reflects what everyone has been telling me. As I moved around in my morning routine, my phone went of a few times with SMS’ stating things such as “I’d rather you didn’t go out” or “5 people have been injured, don’t leave.”

Well, we’ll see. But, the city is tense and infractions are happening along the areas where Hisballah, et al has set up road blocks. I sent a message to the Sheikha who I am filming today to get her thoughts. I’d like to film because it would be interesting to see who comes out to the lessons as it is in a mixed Sunni/Shia area, she draws on a mixed crowd but she’s firmly pro-Harriri as the family has been great supporters of her social work. And, as Saud Al Harriri put it (in not the exact words), the show must go on.

Walking in Lebanon: A Retraction

I was in Beirut the other night with my two friends S and S when I inquired what SC thought of my latest blogs on walking in Lebanon. He insisted that it was "absolutely unfair and untrue. Beirut is a very walkable city." So, I must write a retraction and acknowledge that walking is possible in Beirut, especially downtown, along the Corniche or Roche, Hamra Street, Monot, Gemayze, those are the spots I'm familiar with and SC could list far more. And, so we all spent the evening walking around. We saw the sit in with the Aounees and their current compatriots from Hisballah in two different camps - music, lights, action. All in all a great night walking in Beirut.

So, I've been showing M Lebanon. Today we ate a traditional fish lunch at Manuela's in Jounieh and just walked to Kaslik and I have to say - walking in Jounieh is a dangerous thing. Yet, we had fun and had to work off our long and intensive meal. We walked past all the super night clubs and Russian market (a concept that to this moment absolutely astonishes M), Old Jounieh, the beach, and then up to Kaslik. None of this was necessarily an easy task despite the fun - M at moments was grabbing my arm and throwing me practically into the bushes out of fear that I'd get clipped. "You were that close, sweetie, you should have seen him. You think I came this far for us to meet our death?" A part of me wants to answer "of course, dear." But instead I just laugh and call him a "chicken, chick, chick" for refusing to take the Teleforique up to Harissa. The Teleforique or Horrorforique is a almost-vertical gondolo up to Harissa what a friend (not I) once called the "Mary Disneyland." Very beautiful area and view but the pure vertical pitch can make anyone nervous as it travels above Jounieh up to the mountain bearing the Christian pilgrimage site and a very giant statue of Mary that can be scene from the sea.

I think in one short week based on his reaction I've grown accustomed to walking Keseroun style - always one step away from death.

Beauty in Lebanon

So, I just got my hair cut. Beauty is cheap in Lebanon and if we had the same prices in the US, I'd get my hair blow dried more often. In the States, I drop $100 just entering the hair salon - now I just dropped $30. Although the Marcel fellow managed to cut off 6 inches when I said cut a little. I practically have bangs! Urgh. Mike's dreams of my hair down to my ass have been temporarily put on hold. And, I'm not sure he'll ever get his wish until I'm an old white haired grandma. The white hair bit shouldn't be too hard for me to accomplish, two months without doing my roots. I will say that the hair dresser complimented me on my hair color so that made me quite happy as I like it as well.

Tanya said my eyebrows were too "rounded." Good grief, so I got them plucked or "threaded," that with a manicure was $7. It's just all so delightfully affordable although my manicure is now ruined after I cooked dinner. Manicures only hold if you do no useful work what so ever.

I'm in the dingy internet cafe where boys young enough to be my sons hit on me last time. Luckily there is a bit of an older crowd here now so hopefully I'll avoid the "you from Paris?" remarks. Right now I have heard the George Michael's song "Last Christmas" four times in a row so if it wasn't for all the cigarrette smoke I'd start to get in the Christmas spirit.

It all feels a bit wrong though being away from my kitties and my house for Christmas. Little scamp loves the Christmas tree and meows at it, climbs up it, hangs off it, makes his older brother run to the door and scream bloody murder to get out of the house and away from his very cute but not so clever younger brother. One day I was commenting on the less than clever nature of my youngest boy when Scamp jumped off the couch, runs up to a mirror, claws it and dashes away, yes not the brightest but very cute. Tigger meanwhile just can't be bothered by anything outside of his obsession at scratching at the kitchen cabinets and meowing to leave us all. And, to top it off, mom and dad are alone for Christmas and I may not get to see them until the wedding this summer. All for the sake of work, a documentary on the diayat movement in the Middle East. On the bright side, Mike and I will get to spend it together and for that I am very grateful.

Walking in Lebanon: How Quickly I Forgot

I've been back for about 20 hours from Damascus, Syria. Tanya managed to arrange for us to finish our shoot early - how often does that happen? I wasn't happy at all about it either as I couldn't imagine what I'd do with myself for the four days until Mike arrives. Well I can: log, log and when I get tired log some more (the downside of a very successful shoot - so much footage to organize).

This time around I really wanted to stay in Beirut but once again I find myself in Jounieh or rather Kfar Al Bab - not quite as nowhere as Zouk Mosbeh but definitely up another hill. Last time around I had honed my walking to a well whittled skill. No one really walks in Lebanon, outside of perhaps the homeless and they're aren't any so, no one walks. How quickly I forgot! As I ran my errands this afternoon, I had to jump between cars zipping around turns and crossing various lanes. My errands were typical - easy, yet as I ran to get a phone and pick up as much lebneh as I could carry I was keenly aware that I had forgotten my insurance card in the apartment - won't forget that again in case I get clipped and my bloody body is crumpled on the ground as folks scratch their heads wondering where to take me. Must remember to leave Mike's cell phone on my person too as an emergency contact. Once again, Lebanon is as safe as can be for anyone providing they aren't an anti-Syrian politician or a pedestrian.

Dido is on the radio in this really dingy internet cafe run by 12 year old boys. At least I can think of Mike as Dido claims "she'll go down in this ship." Ok, girlfriend but I doubt it, you've got millions. Anyhow, reminds me of me Mike as he's quite the fan and we have our own nick name for her. So, next Monday, he'll be arriving and I really wonder what he'll think of all this. My obsession with the sunset, the food, the smells and simple living. Can I convince him to love this place as much as I do? Well, I just found Jaffa cakes here so that's a good start. I'll start with his stomach and work my way into his brain(has worked so far).

Yallah, haida Lebanon. If only the kids would turn down the dance music that is now blaring.