Lebanon part I

As the plane made its final descent the mountainous city of Beirut appeared through the fog (I use the term 'mountainous' here liberally as the city is at sea level being a coastal town, but in comparison with Egypt, the hills of Beirut looked like the Himalayas). I had seen pictures before of Beirut, yet upon first glance from the window of the plane I was awed: the plethora of green vegetation mixed with the reddish soil typical of the Mediterranean was breath-taking. And yet there was something else that took my breath away with regards to the city's appearance but I couldn't immediately put my finger on it. I continued my conversation with the two young female high school teachers sitting adjacent to me in a combination of Arabic, French, and English. But as I turned to the window again I realized what was so stunning: it was the first time I had seen genuine rain clouds, not the mass of smog that envelopes the Cairo sky at dusk, in literally three months.

The airport was pristine and gleaming, and the public officials were courtous and helpful, and the processing of passengers was the most efficient governmental service I had seen in some time. Despite popular belief that I would be detained at the border in a place of supposed lawlessness where terrorists roam freely my first impressions of the country were similar to those I remember from my visits to France and Germany: welcoming and inviting.

After walking the city for a couple of hours, meandering from back alley to seaside, no one asked why an American would come to Lebanon, though it was apparent by the reactions to my response as to their inquiries of my nationality that few Americans frequented this place. The more common question was “Why are you learning Arabic? French and English are much better.”

I could certainly see how this place had earned the title the 'Paris of the Middle East'. It was, without a doubt, worlds away from Cairo. The French Mandate-Era had a profound impact on the area, reminding me more of Marseilles in the south of France than anything I have seen thus far in Egypt.

There is an interesting feeling to the city as well, without alarming my family who will inevitably read this, because of the quite noticeable military presence. In Egypt, with the exception of the heavily armed guards in front of the American embassy, the soldiers and police are mostly decorative, that is, placed strategically for intimidation and repression. In Cairo it is not uncommon to find police officers asleep, head resting on the open barrel of their AK-47s. In Beirut this is certainly not the case. Every five blocks or so you will see a small squad of military troops donning their black, white and gray camouflaged uniforms, and although some of the guns they tote are dirty, the chambers and actions of the guns are polished from recent use. In one building that had been ravaged by the civil war and never been renovated, the walls were completely torn off one side and jungle tarp mesh hung from the ceilings concealing the forty-odd soldiers who must have been housed there. Out front there were two large anti-aircraft mobile gun batteries. This, mind you, is but a 5 minute walk from the heart of downtown.

Another observation I found interesting was that the city of Beirut was literally plastered with poster with the words “truth الحقيقة" sometimes accompanied by pictures of Rafik Hariri, former Prime Minister of Lebanon who was assassinated in 2005. There is much speculation as to who was responsible for the assassination but as the posters clearly demonstrate the issue is still a hot topic in the hearts and minds of numerous Lebanese.

One final note before I go out to experience the infamous Beirut nightlife, several of the buildings in the downtown sector were constructed with a rosy granite. In all honesty, it reminded me of the capital and surrounding buildings in Austin. Beirut's buzzing downtown was just as green and the people were likewise extraordinarily friendly. They spoke a bit more Arabic and French than you would generally find in ol'Waterloo, but I can certainly live with that.

new shisha and days of old

In a back alley of Garden city I found an cafe to rest my tired soles, reflecting on my experience and impressions of Cairo and Egypt thus far. After meandering from the Mogamba office to the American Embassy and back in the heat of the African sun my tunic shirt stuck to my torso. The sweat of an afternoon walk downtown was the gratifying badge of a successful journey through Cairo, discovering cultural nuances in every block. I reached for one of the many wooden-wicker chairs at an empty table in the open-air cafe. This ahawa was typical of traditional haunts that pepper the back streets of downtown, wooden paneling lining the walls, adorned with fans made in the late 60s. I imagined myself traversing the dusty streets of Cairo in the era of Nasser or Sadat when few women wore the hijab and the niqab was nonexistent. Maybe previous days had been spent celebrating the victory of the war of attrition against the Zionist state. Heated conversations following the Sadat's assassination for his appeasement of Israel flaring up over every table. I sat, pensive, contemplating this place that hadn't changed in thirty some years, realizing when I stepped over the threshold of the entrance I had walked into the glory days of Egypt. As I wrote in my diary, the clatter of ivory dominoes penetrated the Arabic conversations around me like rattling bones. The only thing new in this place was the apple and molasses tobacco that filled the bowls of the plethora of shisha water pipes and it was the constancy of shisha culture and continuous demand for shisha that, I supposed, had kept this relic in business. Today, many of the shisha cafes have succumbed to the pressures of modernity, often employing televisions to entertain patrons with a steady stream of music videos, both from the Arab world and America. Yet this house of shisha willfully defied change; not antiquated as younger Egyptians might say but rather, a monument, a living relic providing respite for those who seek to remember better days. After finishing my shisha, I paid the three pound tab and walked towards the street rested, nostalgic for a time before my days, of Egyptian prosperity. But the clouds beneath my feet dissipated as quickly as they came as a glistening new yellow hummer sped by the alley blaring a Justin Timberlake song.

Egyptian dating

Tonight I had my first date with an Egyptian girl, two in fact. Samah and her friend Nora met me at Groppie Cafe in Medan Talet Harb for the most interesting practice of my Arabic skills to date. Between the two of them, they have had nine years of English training but their English skills were very poor, virtually non-existent, which made null and void my conversational charm that typifies my interactions with members of the opposite sex. In all seriousness, this was a chance for me to woo these girls in Arabic, so my usual fumbling for words could be passed off as a cute foreigner struggling with a new language.
Yes, this cultural encounter truly defied all of my preconceived notions of dating from which I extrapolated a number of truths. Firstly, flirtatiousness is a universal language that transcends even the most tenuous communicative scenarios.
Nora began the conversation by quizzing me on Arabic words found in my borrowed Egyptian Arabic phrasebook but after some time the novelty of such practice wore off. And so we seemed at an impasse: I had exhausted my limited vocabulary of Ammaya (Egyptian Colloquial Arabic) and the girls began to seem frustrated with the lack of steady communication. At this moment, when it seemed this evening was about to be filed into one of the over-flowing cabinets in my brain labeled 'failed attempts', just went I thought the night was about to come to an abrupt end, I began to smile.
Truth number two: never underestimate the power of a smile.
I smiled, musing this date marked my third Friday in Cairo and I was already having dinner with two Egyptian girls. I smiled because in three weeks I have made numerous potentially lifelong friends, Egyptian, European, and American. I smiled because Egypt is beautiful and I was sitting across from two beautiful young Egyptian women. And then something wonderful happened...they smiled back.
These weren't run-of-the-mill, everyday smiles. No, They weren't even the typical Egyptian smiles, pleasant and inviting, which accompany everyone who returns your salutation. No. These smiles conveyed a feeling of contentment and happiness that, had we the words in any language, would fail description. They were filled with warmth and beauty. A truly wonderful smile is not just a few muscles in the mouth contorting to a pleasing form but rather it is a body language of infinite expression involving the entire face, eyes, and posture. These smiles spoke volumes.
And, with my confidence renewed, I switched to speaking foos'ha, a bit archaic to their ears, I'm sure, as it is not a spoken language but rather the written language for Quranic studies. It was, nonetheless, discernible to their ears and a way to further the conversation. As we continued chatting we came to the subject of religion. Perhaps they were using very simple sentence constructions to facilitate my understanding or perhaps it is just a common question but they asked “do you know Mohammad?” Being the cheeky bastard that I am, I replied in good smart-ass fashion, “I know many Muhammads” (because the name Muhammad is so prevalent, there is a common joke among Egyptians that, if you call for Muhammad down a crowded street, everyone will turn around). But after seeing their confused and disconcerted expressions they repeated the question, this time using the definite article 'the' to make their point clear (a bit redundant because Muhammad is a proper noun, definite by nature). I then, more tactfully replied, “Yes, I know the Muhammad.” They then asked if I loved Muhammad and it was here that I was really at a loss as to the proper response. On the one hand I could say yes, knowing full well that the connotation of such love conveyed a religious affiliation and I would be expected to act accordingly. (It is also of note that to the everyday Egyptian, the first reason a Westerner, especially an American, would learn Arabic is because they are a Muslim.) Yet saying I didn't love Muhammad would have brought a most certain premature end to what had thus far been a wonderful evening. So, in one of my more brilliant moments (few and far between though they may be) I reached for the Arabic phrasebook and rifled through the pages to spit out quickly “I am Christian.” In my haste to find the word I butchered the pronunciation, so I pointed to the Arabic script on the page. They let out a long “ah” of approval, then saying, “so, you love the Messiah.”
“Yes, I love the Messiah.”
Crisis averted.
The next fifteen minutes of the conversation were spent trying to decipher a phrase that I had not yet come into contact with. After much struggling I reluctantly reached again for the Arabic dictionary. They were using the future tense, with which I am not familiar. I frantically scoured the book to find their meaning. At last, the word they were using I translated to mean “next meeting.” She was asking for another date.
And the saga continues...

friend from Dahab

We left Cairo near half past nine, quite early considering my 5am return from the Omar Sharif film cast party on the Nile the night before. Following a brief shisha and tea with my Egyptian friend Tarik and Swedish friend Stefan, the three of us caught a microbus to Giza, but before delving into the minutiae of my pyramidal adventure I'd first like to share a few words about Tarik, a truly unique character. A former man of the street the face of the fifty-something Egyptian was that of leather, worn, marked by creases stretching the length of his forehead and far more defined and deep than his age would suggest. Fifteen years ago the street beggar cleaned up his act, quit drugs and drinking, the impetus for said drastic changes I suspect was a European woman he met and maybe loved. He has spoken about a Western woman who gave him the advice to extricate the 'Egyptian” sense of time from his mind. When dealing with Western tourists, always be punctual and on time, if not early. To best illustrate the concept of Egyptian time I refer to my recent lesson in Arabic noting there are no words in commonly used Ammaya or Egyptian Arabic to specify a time increment of less than five minutes. That is, there are only words for five after, ten after, one-quarter past, one-third past, ten till half past, five till half past, and so on. In addition, a time, say 5:31, is commonly referred to in Arabic either by five till half past, half past, or five after half past; there is a ten minute window of time that is, by Egyptian standards, is completely equivalent. None of these is more correct of a response than the other. With this understanding of the Egyptian notion of time one can begin to understand the magnitude of change in behavior required for an Egyptian to become punctual in the Western sense. And now Tarik is truly the most punctual Egyptian I have met in my two and a half weeks here in Cairo. To say his life has been hard would be the understatement of the decade; one look at his face and you see years of accumulated worry and struggle that many in America and elsewhere in the West could not begin to fathom. Despite his relatively small stature, the man stands tall and proud, having spent the last fifteen years off the streets, working two jobs in Dahab to pay for private lessons for his two daughters. He is still a man of meager means and even so, he refused to let Stefan and I reimburse him for the numerous coffees, teas, and shishas he has purchased for us. To accept something like this would be an act of charity in his eyes, and it is this pride in being honest, he would contend, that sets him apart from the everyday impoverished beggar. I would say in addition it is his firm belief in moral absolutism, his notion of right and wrong, that distinguishes him from people in many cultures. Albeit, he is a bit rough and sometimes crude, these are simply byproducts of having spent the majority of his life fighting for each meal. His soul is kind and his magnanimous actions reflect his truly genuine character. He treats us as friends. He treats us as Egyptians. And he makes us feel at home...
Unfortunately it is past my bedtime. Tomorrow, insha'allah (God willing), I will write about the horse ride in the desert, riding frantically from the cops, and tell of more fascinating people I have met along the way.

ya'allah

to placate the massive number of people who have been clamoring for my blogging on my end, here are a few pictures of the absolutely surreal horse ride through the desert by the pyramids. hopefully this will you all off until i have some more time tomorrow (and better internet connection) to add a couple of posts.
best,
~e

Apartment living...in Egypt

We moved into our apartment today, around 1pm and Hunter mused, "this is the first apartment we've ever rented and it's in Egypt."
The past few days have been punctuated by a number of 'firsts': first time to be in a country where my command of the language is less than stunning; first time to order food using more hand gestures than words; first time to see the garbage collected by mule-drawn carriage; first time to take a shower and not be able to allow the water into your mouth; first time to buy groceries using only Arabic. Needless to say living here presents some very unexpected obstacles and challenges. But the people here are so hospitable you cannot be but smitten with the place. By 2pm the desert sun bares down on you with unbelievable intensity but luckily that is the generally accepted nap time. Cairenes, or in Arabic, miSreen, retire to an air conditioned or shady spot for a few hours until the worst has passed. Admittedly I believe I do stand out a bit more than Hunter--I don't think strawberry blond hair is a norm here. But the attention we receive from looking like obvious foreigners is not negative at all. Consider the seven times young teen school girls have giggled amongst their friends only to shout some welcoming phrase to us in English, followed by more giggling chatter with their companions. If you have a smile on your face people treat you accordingly and I believe that is pretty universal. But here people will go out of their way to return your greeting, smile, or nod, a practice many Americans could afford to learn.

Off the record, on the QT, and very, khush khush
~E

Day One

Well, traveling was everything I could ever hope it to be—a couple of beers and a glass of wine on the plane to keep me placid amidst the chorus of crying children. We had our beer and brauts in the Frankfurt aiport, a staple of any good German diet. After landing in Cairo and nearly losing Hunter in a crowd of Egyptians eager to greet relatives exiting the airport, we were driven by a college student from Ayn Shams University to our hotel, El-Nil. A friendly, non-English speaking attendant helped us with ours bags to the room on the second floor. Satisfied with our small hotel room with two twin beds, I reached into my pocket and handed the bellman a bill, not realizing this was a five dollar note I received in change after buying my visa stamps. Customarily it is appropriate to give perhaps 5EP for a tip, maximum. I had, without meaning to, given him 5 times that amount. He stared incredulously for a moment at the bill in his hand and then thanked me profusely. After Hunter pointed out what I had done, I rebuked myself, until, that is, we received a call from the front desk about five minutes later asking if we would like to change rooms. I agreed on the condition that we see the room first. After just a moment the same bellman knocked on our door and led us to what would be our new room. The ghorfa or room itself was very similar to the previous one yet, when he opened the curtains, I understood what prompted the change. The window had a pristine view of the moonlit Nile River and both Hunter and I were momentarily breath-taken. My so-called blunder in the excessive tip ended up not so bad after all!

After a night of good sleep, we were off to explore Cairo, specifically the area near our hotel, called Zamalek, an island on the Nile. And here I sit on my bed, listening to the sounds of a city of 20 million, a cool Nile breeze blowing our curtains gently. Alhamdulileh, God be praised indeed.