Here and There

Going away often allows us to better perceive the place we’ve just left. Coming to Lebanon made me realize how acutely unaware we are if our good fortune. Most flagrant are the material matters we take for granted. Being at the mercy of electricity cuts, enduring cold showers and having no drinking water available directly from the tap showed me that those seemingly basic needs are not accessible to everyone, and that it is possible to do without them. For instance, rather than having an electrical stove, people opt for a gas one. You avoid elevators when possible out of fear of being stuck in one during a cut. You convince yourself of the many benefits of having a cold shower, including better circulation, healthier hair and skin, faster waking up. As you walk up 4 flights of stairs with a 2 bottles of water of 10 litres, you remind yourself of how many calories you are currently loosing. You go to the university’s library, across town, to check your emails. In fact, you plan your entire day around it. Yet, do not be mislead by this description. As I realized when I move apartment, the situation depicted above is not lived by everyone in Lebanon. It is quite possible to find the same comfort here as we enjoy in the West, albeit at a higher price. Apparently, as long as you can pay, Lebanon can offer you all the services you might desire, from central heating to valet parking at a mid-range restaurant or home delivered dry cleaning. Now that I have moved in such a place, I’m slowly starting to go back to my old ways, not thinking twice about where my water comes from nor dreading the next time I’ll have to shower. I have to keep on reliving my first impressions and experiences in the country to remind myself of the luck I have.

Going away does not simply help you appreciate material matters more; it also increases your understanding of other cultures, as well as your own. When I left for Lebanon, I was expecting to find a drastically different lifestyle than the one I grew up in, even after hearing the tales of others who lived or visited the country. Yet, as soon as I got over the initial hump, I started to notice how alike Beirut was of other capitals of this world. A meal at a restaurant amongst friends or a night at a club is as common as it is in the West. You can watch “the Office”, listen to Feist or go see the latest blockbuster. And then, an event, such as the short yet controversial censure of the movie Persepolis, reminds you of the differences between Lebanon and some of its Western counterparts. Given the criticism the movie makes of the Iranian regime, many believe the call for censure emanated out of Iran and carried through Hezbollah to the government. The international attention this story got helped raise the restriction. Even if the film is being played, its success is jeopardized. Some Lebanese have mentioned that they will forego seeing it at the movies because they fear an attack from the disgruntled group. Yet, it is not the first time such a measure is taken. A few years back, “The DaVinci Code” was banned from the country after the church had put considerable pressure on the government to do so. In day-to-day life, scenes of shows or movies broadcasted on tv are cut and expression such as “oh my god” are bleeped out.

Going away is also quite relative. What is here and there? As I left Canada a month ago, it was rather clear; here was Montreal, there was Lebanon, the Middle East the unknown. After having stayed in Beirut for over a month, the line is getting blurrier. As the days go by, I slowly tamed Beirut as the strange becomes familiar. I was made aware of this last weekend, after my trip to Tripoli. My daytrip there was like a second journey. Once again I was shocked by the density, the chaos, the filthiness, the gloom of the city and the misery its people live in. Once again I was amazed by some of the cultural traits of the town. The most impressive of which was the souks. I had already experienced a souk before in Saida, yet nothing equated that of Tripoli. Its maze-like endless crowded pathways, its mixed smells of food, perfumes and human sweat, its sounds added to my fascination. So did the people I encountered in those alleys. Most women wore the headscarf, some men sported the beard, very few spoke a foreign language. For the first time, I felt like I was in the Middle East, the one I had imagined during the past years. I came back to Beirut exhausted. My senses had been assaulted all day, my head constantly processing new information coming from everywhere. Beirut suddenly felt so familiar when compared to the novelty of Tripoli. Here is Montreal, and Beirut. There is Tripoli, and all those cities where I can only spend a few days, not months.