Thank Allah it's Friday

Friday is to muslims what sunday is to Christians. They close their shops, school is out and most offices are closed. Rather than have to fight your wau through the crowd in the commercial alleys, you can stroll down them calmly without meeting anyone else. Rather than have to many shops to choose from (shops are arranged by products; all shoe sellers are next to each other, all underwear shops in the same corner, etc), you have to line-up to purchase basic goods sucg as bread. Rather than be assailed by the vivid colors and sparkles of the proposed merchandises you are rebuffed by iron gates on which "Alep: Islamic city 2006" is imprinted.

Nevertheless, despite all these signs of inactivity, the city is not asleep. Simply life has moved to greener spaces. Those with a car take their family to the nearby countryside but most invade one of the city's public parks. Suddenly the usual street animation finds you again. Sitting on a park bench, you'll find yourself surrounded by a host of groups of different composition. Men still dominate the landscape. Young ones, dressed to the nine, stroll down the shaded alley unafraid to hold hands (which does not mean they're homosexuals). Older ones sit down in circles, smoke the narguile (chicha) and sip small cups of coffee spiced with cardamon (delicious!). Many are accompanied by their wife (sometimes wives)and children. While the parents unwind, the children are free to run around and play. Given that most Syrian couples have at least four or five kids, it is not surprising to find some everywhere. Even more so when you realize how free kids are in this country. Most of the time they are left without surveillance and have to fend for themselves. It is nor rare to see an eight year-old flanked with two younger siblings get on the bus to travel between villages or within the city.

Despite some cries coming from a kid who just felt and hit himself on a barbel fence, everyone seems to be enjoying themselves as the sun beams through the trees' leaves. And so am I. I find myself smiling at everyone. Even at all the men that stare at me inquistively and without shame because I'm a western women without a veil.. but that is another story

Word of the Day: Homogeneity

Although the Syrians claim that historically Lebanon has been part of its territory and therefore should still be, accepting such logic would not account for how different both societies are nowadays. Whereas Lebanon strikes by its diversity, Syria, at first sights, shocks by its homogeneity.

There are few mountains right after the border but they quickly disappear to make way for a wide highly cultivated plain with only a couple of small hills in the background. From then on as you head further to the North of the country, you cross a repetitive succession of wheat fields and olive trees plantations. Here and there, a basic one-storey high rectangular house hosts a family of peasants. Unadorned, built with either cement bricks or beige rocksm they blend in with their surroundings. As you get closer to Aleppo, the land becomes a little more arid, loosing its intense chocolate brown color to become something looking more and more like sand. The city itself also surprises by its uniformity. Standing at the top of the Citadelle in the middle of the city, the panorama at your feet is composed of buildings of more or less the same height and in the same greyish color. The only thing that stands out is the decadent mosque that is currently under construction whose walls are still white and which is decorated with green domes. Even the clothes line on the sides or the rooftops seem to be the same from one home to the next, whether in the countryside or in the city. The same succession of sombre clothes with the occasional pink or orange shirt. Those clothes lines are revealing of the local fashion (if you may call it fashion). Men will either wear a colorless djellabah with a keffieh expertly tied around their head or a dress shirt tucked in kaki pants. Most of them sport a thick brown moustache. The women too conform to a simple dress code. Their silhouette, whether corpulent or thin, is hidden under a shapeless dresscoat. Their face made even rounder by their veil. Shockingly, many of them don a black veil that cover their eyes, like a Madonna mourning her son. This sight never fails to remind of the condition of inequality and submission most local women live in. They also bear a strange resemblance to the image of Death, like a scary omen. Their presence can bring uneasiness. You don't want to stare or be disrespectful but at the same time you don't want to ignore it and cast it as normal or to be expected.

This uniformity in the dresscode, the repetitiveness of the landscape, the anonymity in which many women remain gives the impression of a very homogeneous country. One in which most people belong to the same socioeconomic class. There must be some important social cleavages but they are well dissimulated. Men wearing suits, expensive cars and other signs of wealth are few and far between. Either people don't exhibit their wealth as in Lebanon, or I have yet to visit their neighborhoods. One thing is for sure a few days in Aleppo and two weeks in Syria will not be enough to break through Syria's shell.

Things to do while in Lebanon

Eat an ice cream cone in Bcharre while admiring the Qadisha Valley below

Walk aimlessly around Beirut, enter small boutiques, be overjoyed when you find a terrace, order a lemonade or a fresh juice and smile as you watch the city live.

Go house hunting: pay attention to the architecture of the old houses, pick your favourite and daydream about buying it and restoring it.

Collect pictures of the graffitis, tags, and stencils that adorn the city’s walls

Indulge in a chocolate chips cookie from Kitsch

Choose a pleasant, small bar in Gemmayzeh. Enjoy an Almaza (the local beer) while eating the fresh carrot sticks they serve along with drinks. Go there regularly. Quickly you’ll know everyone and feel a little more at home in Beirut. Suggestions of bars: Kayan, Torino or Godot.

Have mezze and seafood at Bab Al-Mina on a sunny Sunday afternoon. The view of the port of Jbeil is unmatched and the clamour of the family meeting for their weekly Sunday get together would bring a grin to anyone’s face.

Take a book to Sanayeh public garden or to the Corniche and pretend to read. When really you’re people watching.

Savour the delicious local fresh fruits and vegetables you just bought at the small corner store.

Have a waffle with maple syrup at Tribeca (in Monot) after a late night out.

Find a group with whom to explore the mountains. The hikes are great, the fresh air a delight and the views always superb.

Stand at the foot of the fence marking the border with Israel.

Read every event poster you might come across. There are a lot of cultural activities, exhibitions and festivals happening each week. It would be a shame to miss one of them.

Explore the entire country. Don’t leave a single region unvisited. Each area is different from the next and deserves to be seen.

Always accept an invitation for tea, who knows which hidden treasure you might stumble upon.

Encounter with the "enemy"

Travelers go to Baalbeck for its impressive ruins – which I am the first to admit, having spent four hours admiring them, are well worth the detour – but few will venture out of the tourist quarters. I must confess, I was a little anxious at the thought of exploring the city. Afterall, the first thing that greets you when you enter it, is a giant billboard honouring Imad Mughniyeh, which doesn’t fail to remind you that Baalbeck is one of the most important Hezbollah area. In fact, the Lebanese army will avoid entering certain sectors of the town and of its surroundings, allowing for illegal activity such as pot growing to flourish. It is with these information in mind that I stepped out of the ruins site and headed for the heart of the city.

Yes, most women were wearing headscarves. Yes, I received a lot of attention and inquisitive looks. Yes, there were a lot of posters of martyrs, and of Nasrallah. But, I never felt unwelcome, hated or out of place. Like anywhere, women pay a lot of attention to their appearance. Their clothes although covering most of their skin revealed their nice silhouette and exuded their feminity. Their eyes, expertly outlined could hypnotize anyone. Few men sported the beard and none held inappropriate comments towards me. Afterall, I was far from being the most alluring women in town. Not only were the local women sexier, but there also was a young Asian tourist sporting a white strapless mini-dress, apparently unaware of the local convention. People were very responsive to my desire to take their pictures and rarely shied away from the camera. Photographing them often lead to an invitation to have tea or narguile with them. I spent an hour amidst a family on the outskirts of the town, wishing I was part of them. They seemed so happy to be with each other and were so genuine in their interest for me. They even begged me to stay the night. It was only upon leaving that I noticed that each girl was wearing a Hezbollah bracelet. Never during our hour-long conversation had I felt that they disregarded me for where I came from. People weren’t shaking their heads when they saw us approaching. Quite the contrary, they always greeted us with a big smile. An ice cream vendor, upon hearing that I was from Canada asked me who the President of my country was. When I answered Stephen Harper, he looked puzzled and said, with the utmost serious: “Well, if I haven’t heard from him, he mustn’t be too bad”. I did not want to correct him.

Most surprising remained the vendors we met upon entering the ruins. Rather than offer us ancient coins like they apparently did a few years ago, most of them approached us brandishing Hezbollah t-shirts, scarves, lighters and then would offer us to look at their coin collection. Apparently, Hezbollah paraphernalia has became one of the most sought after items by tourists becoming something like the Che Guevara frenzy. I wondered how the party heads took this new trend, and whether members of the party appreciated having tourists eagerly look for the latest Hezbollah gadget. When asked, a journalist friend working precisely on a piece about this told me most are quite content with this new twist. Not only does it provide funds but it also helps improve the “branding” of the party.

As I left the town after having gone back to the ruins to watch the sunset, I reflected on what I had learnt: Hezbollah partisans (at least not all of them) are no fanatics, staring at every foreigner with knives in their eyes. They can be stylish and welcoming. And they have great business sense.

The Border

There are two kinds of borders. First there are the fluid ones. You can cross these simply by showing your passport and answering a few questions. They serve merely as established demarcation lines between two neighbouring countries. They are often taken for granted. Like the 49th parallel. Then, there are the impenetrable ones. Heavily reinforced and surveyed, they are meant to separate, isolate and antagonize. I have always imagine the latter as a wide strip of bare land flanked by high fences (and sometimes walls), watchtowers and soldiers constantly patrolling it. The border between Lebanon and Israel defies that image.

It is not bare, but splendidly green. Olive trees, cultivated fields, untouched meadows create a magnificent patchwork when seen from atop. The rich brown tint of the earth reveals its fertility. These lush shades of green brutally clash with the parched mountains in the background and serve as a frontier between Lebanon and Syria. Whereas the Middle East is mostly arid, this border region is an oasis, a pot of gold. You are forced to recognize why it has been fought over for decades; some trying to retain while others try to conquer it. Yet it does not justify the massacres that have been committed with those goals in mind.

The countries are not distant from each other, but provocatively close. From the ramparts of Beaufort castle, you can distinguish South Lebanon, the Golan Heights, the Chebaa Farms and the Israeli “golden finger”. When you look towards the latter, you easily discern a small hill circled by seemingly similar houses. It is the Jewish settlement of Metulla. Once you manage to tear yourself away from Beaufort and head to the small town of Kafr Kila, you realize that what separates those two enemies are a fence, a dirt road and another fence. From the foot of the Lebanese barrier, you can spot the Israeli military positions while right behind you a group of locals are discussing. Lebanese and Israelis are within insults reach.

Visiting the “liberated territories” – a reference to the fact that they were occupied by the Israeli army from 1982 to 2000 – and its important sites: Beaufort Castle (mostly known as Chkif Arnoun in Lebanon), the Khiam prison (where the Israeli forces interned and tortured Lebaneses and which they heavily bombed during the summer 2006 to erase the evidence), the Fatima gate (in the border village of Kafr Kila) is poignant. After such a tour the news stories and the textbooks analysis will no longer be abstract. Each time the area is evoked it will be associated with a landscape, people and moments. The silent, capable and patient cab driver which drove us around. Michel, the army guard dressed as a civilian which helped us ease through the permission process and offered us some of the delicious fruits that grow in the military base courtyard named Akidene. The guide at the Khiam prison who told us of the horrors he lived and witnessed while interned there through mimes and who offered me a rose from the bush that grew amidst the rumbles. The Hezbollah flags and posters that adorn every lamppost. The crowd in Kafr Kila surrounding two dead sheep while a man mounted a decorated horse on the other side of the road (we unfortunately could not understand what it all meant). The group of school children running through the underground labyrinths of Beaufort. But mostly, I will remember the luxurious splendour of the border area and the proximity of the enemies. Two reasons why peace may take a while to prevail.

Natural Wonder

I was a child again, kneeling on the seat at the end of the bus and staring outside the back window wide-eyed. I put off blinking, afraid that I would miss something. I wanted to fix every single detail of the scenery in my mind forever. I knew my words would not do it justice, and that my pictures would only show the setting but not the feeling.

With a simple left-turn off the highway from Beirut to Tripoli, you find yourself driving up a beautiful road, your eyes set on the green hills in front of you. The hills quickly become cliffs of all shades of yellow, oranges and beige. They’re adorned by monasteries, caves and spectacular waterfalls. Below is a luxuriant valley, so deep you cannot even see the bottom of it, you can only dream it. In the background are striking snow-capped mountains with small stone houses and orange tile rooftops villages at their feet. It never occurs to you to wonder what is behind those mountains, since what is in front of it is so breathtaking.

I just could not wait to get off the bus, stand atop the cliff and loose myself in the panorama. I did, in Bcharre, one of the main towns of the Valley, home of the famed Lebanese author and artist Khalil Gibran.

The village breeds peacefulness. It makes you want to sit down, savour ice cream cones and fresh strawberries. It makes you smile at everyone you cross paths with and engage in seemingly futile conversations. It makes you laugh at the charming ridicule of the fifties car carcasses locals drive around. With now windows, no mirrors, no roof, and a whole lot of rust it is amazing that they’re still functioning.

Standing on the edge of the cliff trying to count the number of cascades, you are driven to start hiking down, trying to find the bottom of the valley and discover what it hides. I unfortunately could not follow that impulse, my obligations dragging me back to Beirut. I probably won’t have time to go revisit the Qadisha Valley before I have to leave the country. But it’ll be one of my many excuses to come back.

People Watching

Many have mentioned it before me, but I feel the need to emphasize it, strolling down the Corniche in Beirut is like crossing the entire country. Within a few miles, you’ll encounter people of all walks of life: conservative and liberals, Christians and Muslims, young and old, rich and poor. Here is a list of what you may see on a nice and mild late afternoon, as the sun is setting down:

1. Small groups of young men dressed in tight t-shirts and jeans, their hair combed back with a little too much gel in it. Rather than facing the sea, they turn their back to it determined to whistle at every attractive lady that passes by them.

2. Women walking in pairs, exchanging the latest gossips. Sometimes it’ll be two friends, others it’ll be a mother with her 30 year old daughter.

3. Modern couples holding hands, stealing a few kisses from each other.

4. Women dressed in their veils (of all lengths), a man by their side. It is always hard to tell whether he is a cousin, a brother or a husband since few gestures can reveal the nature of their relationship.

5. AUB students, carrying their books, making plans for the night.

6. Bikers most likely discussing the latest trends in motorbikes or telling the story of their latest prouesse.

7. Courageous bathers who’ll jump from the edge of the Corniche into the sea to entertain the many passersby cheering them on.

8. Upper-class women preceded by their maid who is in charge of tending to the needs of their children.

9. Middle-aged men and women who are convinced that mild speed walking can help you shed the few extra pounds

10. More devoted runners, with their top-of-the-line Adidas outfit, their I-Pods and their defined muscles, training.

11. Teenagers rollerblading. There’s even a small permanent jump at one end of the Corniche. So far I’ve seen no one do any trick on it more than just jump.

12. Families who bring their own camping chair (there’s a definite lack of benches along the seawalk; I’ve counted only 4 of them) and sit in a semi-circle to smoke the narguile

13. Street vendors, blackened by the sun and missing a few teeths, offering tea, coffee, fresh juice or corn on the cob.

14. Men in suits, unwinding after a hard day in the office.

15. Old men playing Tric-Trac undisturbed by the surrounding traffic

16. Parked cars, their door open and with people choosing to stay in it rather than go close to the sea.

17. And the odd tourist, marveling at the diversity and liveliness of the Corniche…