'Ello mates! Okay, so we're not in the UK anymore and I can't say that. But this is the London leg's entry, so we'll pretend. Hopefully I haven't forgotten too much of what we did, as we've been in the states for about three days now, but if I do than I admit fully the fault in not having written sooner. Let's give it a try, then.
So our first night in London is quite possibly the mostballs out adventure I've had while still suffering the effects of jetlag and a 3 am flight. but first I'd like to describe Cobham Park, where al and Lori rent a two story apartment in an 18th century home the size of Norris Hall for you Savannians, or one wing of the Thomas Center for you Gaines Villans. The had a lake in their backyard with swans. Fucking SWANS. And sheep. And cows. And did I mention swans? Anyways, for those curious for an immediate visual reference, http://andywebber.com/cobhampark/index.html. SWANS
Anyways, so as beautiful as Cobham park is, it's a bitch and a half getting into London from there, since it's a 45 minute walk to the train station and as walking into England is about the same as walking into a fucking mirror, neither Bud nor I even considered trying to drive (he managed to survive thirteen years without driving on the left, so we figured we could try one week). But this first night we were able to hitch a ride to the train station, get into London and meet up with some old high school friends of Bud's a a punk/goth/alternative club called Decadence (I know, I know). So, goes about normal, whiskey and pints et tout. I'm feeling a bit underdressed without any of my own "alternative" markings visible, but I sort of resigned to the fact that to these folk Bud might as well be dating Sandra D. Through the pure exhaustion I manage to have a few good conversations, but am mostly enjoying just listening to everyone TALK (accentsaccentaccents). But then, the dancing starts. I'm expecting some industrial, some punk music, maybe even some "indie" hipster shit, but what same rolling down from the DJ table was far, far more incredible...
Bon Jovi, Twisted Sister, Winger, Those guys that sang that Cherrie Pie song, "She's my Cherrie Pie!" the crowd of psuedo-gothic-hipster Brits scream. You see, The Darkness was NO JOKE. Our generation on the other side of the looking glass LOVE AMERICAN HAIR METAL. Motley Crue, Posion, Def Leopard, the works. I couldn't help but feel ridiculous dancing around with suspension pierced blue haired deadman'spants wearing groove-mokeys getting down to what may have been one of the darkest moments in American music history. Wasn't this the country that gave us the Buzzcocks? Siouxie Sioux? Kate Bush? The motherfucking Beatles? I kept studying their blacklit teeth expecting the rest of their forms to disapear, giggling about moamwraths and wagging their hollow striped tails...
But then I said fuck it and danced and sang along with them. Because, you know, we're only half way there, woah, oh, living on a prayer.
Anyways. The trains back to Cobham stop around midnight, so we spent the night at Ray's (about three hours from the homestead), ate eggs that morning and watched Beastmaster, and then hit the train station back into London. Since we had to go through the city in order to get back to Cobham anyways, we ended up sticking around, and as we smelled of sweat and booze and fried eggs, we decided Camden Town would be where we best fit at that point. Unfortunately I didn't have my camera in Camden, because it was AMAZING. You'd literally turn the corner and end up in a different world. I finally spent some money, buying a dress for 15 pounds and a faux leather jacket for ten (I love how whenever Bud and I go shopping together to find something for him, I find something within five minutes and he spends the next hour deciding he doesn't want anything). Then we take the train back to Cobham and promptly shower and eat before heading out with some of Bud's old Oxshott friends to a Pub for a couple drinks. I have to say that a night at a genuine English pub might be the most wonderfully relaxing experiences of the trip. I wish Americans could establish that atmosphere more accurately.
The next day we sleepsleepsleep in, and spend most of the day at the apartment before wondering back into Oxshott with the same crew from the night before. We eat at the Vic, which is the pub in Oxshott, where bud grew up. this is my first real experience with British food, and while it's not bad, it was definately a shock after coming from the Middle East. We wonder around Bud's old stomping grounds, which include mostly park benches and a giant old Heath (or country park) before heading back and ending the night with a couple more beers and a rather romantic moment on the balcony as the sun rose (which happens just before 4 am).
The next day would be Tuesday, and we get into London rather late, with just enough time to check out the Tate Modern, which was very interesting. Seeing a Dorothea Tanning painting in real life was quite an experience, as well as, of course, Duchamp, Dali, and Paul McCarthy. A high light was the amount of recording happenings they had, or as they are reffered to in Austria, actions. We then eat at a Polish restaurant, which while not British, is still something that so rarely is encountered in the States. Pierogis and Latkas galore! It was delicious, to say the least. We contemplate trying to hang out with Ray again, but opt to just catch the train back to Cobham and take the night easy.
The next day we go into London with Lori, and after some debate decide that while Arcadia or Hamlet would be fantastic plays to see, witnessing Ian Mckellen and Patrick Stewart (and Simon Collow) in Waiting for Godot would be most culturally profitable. Needless to say the play was AMAZING, a once in a lifetime experience. We didn't have the greatest seats, but just listening to Stewart and McKellen wax existential was enough for me. It didn't hurt that a good chunk of the production included Stewart dancing and singing a la "B is for Beautiful" (that was all you Trekkies out there). We also wandered into the National Gallery and National portrait Gallery, but not for too terribly long. We ate with an old friend of the family at a steamy Italian restaurant before heading in for the night, again cautious of the risk of that 11:45 pm train we'd have to make.
The next day, or last day, saw us at the Tate London, where we found no Aubrey Beardsley, and I was sad. but Rosetti, Burnes-Jones, and more Turner than you can shake a stick at made up for it. That night we met up with a very old friend of Bud's who treated us to free drinks at her work, then some delicious drunken Chinese food. She then took us to THE MOST AMAZING BAR EVER. It was under the London Bridge, and had video and assamblage installations set up under each archway, and was basically amazing. Since this was our last night and we had to catch our flight at 10 am the next morning, we had to make that dreaded 11:45 train, which was really a shame, since that bar was quite possibly the most amazing thing I'd seen club-wise outside of Berlin. But we just made our train, then a taxi back to the mansion, and then sleep. The next day consisted of tylenolpms and baggage claims and a VERY long bus ride back to Waretown, New Jersey, where we've set up in the meantime before heading back to Georgia.
And so ends the travel blog of mine, seeing as Jersey doesn't really warrant blogging. It's mostly just us relaxing and eating and familying. Thanks for reading. I wish I were a better writer and storyteller and all, then maybe this blog would be a bit more interesting, but seeing as I'm not, you'll all just have to wait for pictures verbal rambling and the like to really get things into perspective.
Closing remarks on London:
Hair Metal actually made a comeback somewhere in the world.
Bud used to be even crazier than he is now, can you believe it?
Sitting on the left without driving in a car is quite possibly the most surreal thing EVER.
Sometimes I can't help but feel fortunate to live in a world where jumping up and down naked spreading red oil make-up on your penis is art.
GODOT SHALL NOT PASS!
Monday, July 6, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Syria, part Two
Okay then. I'll quickly here wrap up Syria, and will then be pretty caught up on things, as we are now in England which will be a monotonous story of copious drinking and "cheerios" and may, in the end, take all of four lines to recount. Or maybe not. Anyways...
So, with Bud still bedridden, and myself quite depressed over Chris, I went with his folks into Old Demascus, where we toured the palace of Al Azam, which was beautiful. If I remember correctly, it was built in either the 17th or the 18th century, and it is very good condition, with full courtyards littered with fountains and tall tall ceilings, highly ornate. The only problem was the fifth-hand storefront dummies used to display the clothing and behavior of the men and women of the time, but I chose to forgive (I guess).
Then we went shopping for a birthday present for Bud (from me). We happened upon a very charismatic Armenian salesman who had a beautiful inlaid flask that wasn't too expensive, and pretty perfect for Bud. I got it, and figured we'd be out the door. Instead this very charming young man proceeded to fit Lori and I with about thirty different precious ston necklaces, practically complimenting our flatulents and announcing his severe honesty and salesmanship the entire time. We made it out with the flask, necklaceearingsearingsandfreescarves, and hobbled around for a while longer before heading back to the Shagourys, and ate at a surprisingly AMAZING Italian restaurant, and Al got lost trying to find a mountain, again.
The next day I'm woken up by Bud, who's unfortunately feeling better and dragging my poor old tired bones out of bed and off to Palmira. Now Palmira is an acient city, with some structures dating Before Common Era. It's GIGANTIC, far more expansive and perserved than most ruins, and far hotter than most (at least that I've been to). After many a camera click and column stared at and grave measured by the shoulders, I felt suddenly like I might faint. You see, the problem I've found with a dry heat as opposed to a humid heat is tha the dry heat doesn't feel all that hot, it just feels sick. At least in the swamp you know when it's reached 100 degrees, but in Palmira it was about 116 and I wouldn't have known but for the strawberry that had replaced Bud's head and the renegade jack-hammer that had replaced mine. We ate lunch, and started back to the house, but not before stopping at a Bedouin cafe, which was really interesting to see (and smell), and definately a bit of real Middle Eastern culture to chew on.
The next day we started the drive back to Beirut, which went much as the drive from. We stayed with Grant (hearing an australian reinact Steve Irwin segments may be the most ridiculously funny thing I've witnessed in a long time) and Laura, two family friends, at their apartment until Bud and I were driven to the airport around 1:30 am for our flight to England. Again with the almost missing our flight, again with it being serendipitously delayed an hour, etc etc. We get to PRague, and had originally planned to try and get into the cty during our six hour layover. But since the six hour layover had become now a five hour layover, and the tylenolpm hadn't worn off (not to mention I hadn't slept in who knows how long), and we knew no Czech and had no Czech tender, we just stayed int he airport and drank incredibly overpriced Pilsner Urquell for breakfast (Gotta love the Czech Republic, though, as we weren't the only ones drinking beer at 7 am by doubling). And now we're here, in Merry Ol'England. So far we've gone grocery shopping. And Bud''s taking a nap. Hopefully tonight I will get the full experience of Bud's adolescence (er, maybe I don't want it in FULL), and all these zits from constantly coating my face in sunscreen will miraculously disappear.
Closing remarks on Syria:
Monastaries are not meant to be comfortable, and that's OFFICIAL.
Grilled Aborigines!!
I must have been very smart to have finished college.
In a next life, I will have an Armenian shopowner for a necklace.
You know, there are snakes in Vermont.
Cheerio.
So, with Bud still bedridden, and myself quite depressed over Chris, I went with his folks into Old Demascus, where we toured the palace of Al Azam, which was beautiful. If I remember correctly, it was built in either the 17th or the 18th century, and it is very good condition, with full courtyards littered with fountains and tall tall ceilings, highly ornate. The only problem was the fifth-hand storefront dummies used to display the clothing and behavior of the men and women of the time, but I chose to forgive (I guess).
Then we went shopping for a birthday present for Bud (from me). We happened upon a very charismatic Armenian salesman who had a beautiful inlaid flask that wasn't too expensive, and pretty perfect for Bud. I got it, and figured we'd be out the door. Instead this very charming young man proceeded to fit Lori and I with about thirty different precious ston necklaces, practically complimenting our flatulents and announcing his severe honesty and salesmanship the entire time. We made it out with the flask, necklaceearingsearingsandfreescarves, and hobbled around for a while longer before heading back to the Shagourys, and ate at a surprisingly AMAZING Italian restaurant, and Al got lost trying to find a mountain, again.
The next day I'm woken up by Bud, who's unfortunately feeling better and dragging my poor old tired bones out of bed and off to Palmira. Now Palmira is an acient city, with some structures dating Before Common Era. It's GIGANTIC, far more expansive and perserved than most ruins, and far hotter than most (at least that I've been to). After many a camera click and column stared at and grave measured by the shoulders, I felt suddenly like I might faint. You see, the problem I've found with a dry heat as opposed to a humid heat is tha the dry heat doesn't feel all that hot, it just feels sick. At least in the swamp you know when it's reached 100 degrees, but in Palmira it was about 116 and I wouldn't have known but for the strawberry that had replaced Bud's head and the renegade jack-hammer that had replaced mine. We ate lunch, and started back to the house, but not before stopping at a Bedouin cafe, which was really interesting to see (and smell), and definately a bit of real Middle Eastern culture to chew on.
The next day we started the drive back to Beirut, which went much as the drive from. We stayed with Grant (hearing an australian reinact Steve Irwin segments may be the most ridiculously funny thing I've witnessed in a long time) and Laura, two family friends, at their apartment until Bud and I were driven to the airport around 1:30 am for our flight to England. Again with the almost missing our flight, again with it being serendipitously delayed an hour, etc etc. We get to PRague, and had originally planned to try and get into the cty during our six hour layover. But since the six hour layover had become now a five hour layover, and the tylenolpm hadn't worn off (not to mention I hadn't slept in who knows how long), and we knew no Czech and had no Czech tender, we just stayed int he airport and drank incredibly overpriced Pilsner Urquell for breakfast (Gotta love the Czech Republic, though, as we weren't the only ones drinking beer at 7 am by doubling). And now we're here, in Merry Ol'England. So far we've gone grocery shopping. And Bud''s taking a nap. Hopefully tonight I will get the full experience of Bud's adolescence (er, maybe I don't want it in FULL), and all these zits from constantly coating my face in sunscreen will miraculously disappear.
Closing remarks on Syria:
Monastaries are not meant to be comfortable, and that's OFFICIAL.
Grilled Aborigines!!
I must have been very smart to have finished college.
In a next life, I will have an Armenian shopowner for a necklace.
You know, there are snakes in Vermont.
Cheerio.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Syria
Well, we've been here in Syria for about six days now, so this will be a rather quick runthrough of the past week or so.
After a tumultuous drive across the Lebanese/Syrian border, we arive at the Shougory's (probably misspelled) house, which is the kind of house I usually cater in. Needless to say, it's beautiful. Nabil and Terry are good friends of the Kulpecz's, and have been so generous in having us as their guests this week. The afternoon continued in complete decadence (at least by my standards), with Bud and I sitting by the pool drinking tasty beer under the beautiful Syrian sun, accompaned by none other than a Greek Orthodox bishop (two, actually), as well as Nabil's family and friends. We ate a feast of a barbeque, and Bud and I snuck in a little bit of their Johnny Walker Black Label before retiring for the night. The next day we explored the Souk in Demascus, which is an experience in itself. Imagine a giant marketplace shielded from the sun by a roof and buildings that are over a thousand years old. We were accompanied by several of Al and Lori's friends at this point, one from Lebanon and the rest from the states (save for a Chinese couple, but I'm still not completely sure how they came about). Bud and I explored a very old and beautiful Mosque, and I had to wear a cloak that made me look strikingly like a Jawa. Then it was more walking, until we picked up the car Al hd rented and he proceded to initiate a week of scaring the shit out of us. We ate that night at a beautiful restaurant with delicious food (including carnivorous hommus!!), and Bud and I became entirely too full and slept like babies that night.
The next day we headed out early to Deir Mar Musa, an ancient but still functioning monastary bilt into a cliff face outside of Demascus. First we stopped at a church called Malula, which was dated to have been built before 300 AD. It had the oldest standng Christan alter in the world, whch was still modeled after pagan sacrificial alters, which was prety damn cool. We drank delicious wine there.Then we traipsed around the desert trying to find the trail that we were supposed to hike to Mar Musa. When we couldn't find it, we opted for the steps that climb to the monastary instead. This was a much shorter hike, but much harder. We made it up there, and I immediately began painting the glorious landscapes before me. Then the monastary held two hours of prayer and meditation, the second meant to be spent in complete silence. Bud and lay next to the dam next to the entrance and looked at the stars, and I'm pretty sure I spotted a UFO, which began a silent debate on how a UFO can be unidentified if one identifies it as a UFO. We made shadow puppets on the facade of the cliff across the dam. That night the men and women were separeted into different buildings, and while the guys had a jolly old time drinking more of the Malula wine and stargazing, us girls were stuck "sleeping" next to someone with sleep apnea on concrete mattresses. Needless to say we were all cranky in the morning. We hiked back down the steps and were supposed to head out to see the Krak des Chevaliers, an old crusader castle as oppsoed to a new crusader castle, Elaine?), but instead stopped at the ruins of Apamea, which is a long stretch of colonades that once functioned as a road in the time of Alexander the Great (I think). It was, needless to say, breathtaking. Bud and I climbed a tall stretch of rubble with some local kids, about five of them, who spoke no English, which was really fun. Once we climbed down they proceeded to slap my butt with their shirts in a locker-room towel fashion, but seeing as they were each about ten at the oldest, it ended up being kinda endearing.
We then searched and searched for the Krak, but couldn't find it. At ths point Bud began to feel ill, and we all just thought it was from the driving and the heat and whatnot. Finally, at about 8 pm we make it back to the Shagoury's, and immediately SHOWERED. We go out to eat, but Bud is still not feeling much better.
And sure enough, he wakes up on Tuesday, his birthday, with an impressive fever. He stays in all day while his parents and I have lunch in Bludan, but for the most part it's a lazy day all around. We buy him a beach ball and some snacks that seem akin to the ones he used to like as a kid, but he spends most of the day in sour spirits. We eat some burgers that Nabil quite masterfully prepared, and it really is true that you can put anythng on a hamburger and it wll taste good (includng grilled eggplant!).
It was also this night that I frst got wind of Chris Hale's death. I wasn't able to confirm it until today, and had to do it through the obituaries since Syria doesn't allow Facebook access. If anyone from 6380 happens to be reading this, please let the Hale's know how deeply sorry I am for their loss, and how I wish I could be there. Chris was an AMAZING man, and while I haven't seen him in over a year, I will miss him terribly.
So today is day six, and again we're takng it easy, as Bud has yet to recover. I think we're heading into old Demascus to do this and that, and tonight we're going to try and give Bud a nice birthday dinner.
Rushed, I know, but you get the picture. More later.
After a tumultuous drive across the Lebanese/Syrian border, we arive at the Shougory's (probably misspelled) house, which is the kind of house I usually cater in. Needless to say, it's beautiful. Nabil and Terry are good friends of the Kulpecz's, and have been so generous in having us as their guests this week. The afternoon continued in complete decadence (at least by my standards), with Bud and I sitting by the pool drinking tasty beer under the beautiful Syrian sun, accompaned by none other than a Greek Orthodox bishop (two, actually), as well as Nabil's family and friends. We ate a feast of a barbeque, and Bud and I snuck in a little bit of their Johnny Walker Black Label before retiring for the night. The next day we explored the Souk in Demascus, which is an experience in itself. Imagine a giant marketplace shielded from the sun by a roof and buildings that are over a thousand years old. We were accompanied by several of Al and Lori's friends at this point, one from Lebanon and the rest from the states (save for a Chinese couple, but I'm still not completely sure how they came about). Bud and I explored a very old and beautiful Mosque, and I had to wear a cloak that made me look strikingly like a Jawa. Then it was more walking, until we picked up the car Al hd rented and he proceded to initiate a week of scaring the shit out of us. We ate that night at a beautiful restaurant with delicious food (including carnivorous hommus!!), and Bud and I became entirely too full and slept like babies that night.
The next day we headed out early to Deir Mar Musa, an ancient but still functioning monastary bilt into a cliff face outside of Demascus. First we stopped at a church called Malula, which was dated to have been built before 300 AD. It had the oldest standng Christan alter in the world, whch was still modeled after pagan sacrificial alters, which was prety damn cool. We drank delicious wine there.Then we traipsed around the desert trying to find the trail that we were supposed to hike to Mar Musa. When we couldn't find it, we opted for the steps that climb to the monastary instead. This was a much shorter hike, but much harder. We made it up there, and I immediately began painting the glorious landscapes before me. Then the monastary held two hours of prayer and meditation, the second meant to be spent in complete silence. Bud and lay next to the dam next to the entrance and looked at the stars, and I'm pretty sure I spotted a UFO, which began a silent debate on how a UFO can be unidentified if one identifies it as a UFO. We made shadow puppets on the facade of the cliff across the dam. That night the men and women were separeted into different buildings, and while the guys had a jolly old time drinking more of the Malula wine and stargazing, us girls were stuck "sleeping" next to someone with sleep apnea on concrete mattresses. Needless to say we were all cranky in the morning. We hiked back down the steps and were supposed to head out to see the Krak des Chevaliers, an old crusader castle as oppsoed to a new crusader castle, Elaine?), but instead stopped at the ruins of Apamea, which is a long stretch of colonades that once functioned as a road in the time of Alexander the Great (I think). It was, needless to say, breathtaking. Bud and I climbed a tall stretch of rubble with some local kids, about five of them, who spoke no English, which was really fun. Once we climbed down they proceeded to slap my butt with their shirts in a locker-room towel fashion, but seeing as they were each about ten at the oldest, it ended up being kinda endearing.
We then searched and searched for the Krak, but couldn't find it. At ths point Bud began to feel ill, and we all just thought it was from the driving and the heat and whatnot. Finally, at about 8 pm we make it back to the Shagoury's, and immediately SHOWERED. We go out to eat, but Bud is still not feeling much better.
And sure enough, he wakes up on Tuesday, his birthday, with an impressive fever. He stays in all day while his parents and I have lunch in Bludan, but for the most part it's a lazy day all around. We buy him a beach ball and some snacks that seem akin to the ones he used to like as a kid, but he spends most of the day in sour spirits. We eat some burgers that Nabil quite masterfully prepared, and it really is true that you can put anythng on a hamburger and it wll taste good (includng grilled eggplant!).
It was also this night that I frst got wind of Chris Hale's death. I wasn't able to confirm it until today, and had to do it through the obituaries since Syria doesn't allow Facebook access. If anyone from 6380 happens to be reading this, please let the Hale's know how deeply sorry I am for their loss, and how I wish I could be there. Chris was an AMAZING man, and while I haven't seen him in over a year, I will miss him terribly.
So today is day six, and again we're takng it easy, as Bud has yet to recover. I think we're heading into old Demascus to do this and that, and tonight we're going to try and give Bud a nice birthday dinner.
Rushed, I know, but you get the picture. More later.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Beirut, Part Two
FINALLY. Now hopefully I will have enough time to actually sit and blog. Seems like this entre house is set against me doing it, the way the hog and push around the computer!
Well, I just woke up, so I'm sorry for any inarticulations that may occur through this entry, but let's give it a try, shall we?
Now, where did I leave off? Okay, our second full day in Beirut started quite leisurely (thankfully, what with that little thing called jet lag) at noon. We were trucked over to downtown where we met up with some American kids who were there helping Heart for Lebanon at HoL's storage and thrift space. Here, we all packed up boxes full of kitchen supplies to give to Iraqi refugees who were coming to Lebanon with nothing. It was a bit chaotic and disorganized, and we had to stop when the boxes ran out, not the supplies, but it was a good days work. A lot of the other kids were driven around to bring supplies to the refugees, but Bud and I just stayed in the store room, which, when I think about it, may have been for the best, given the circumstances. Bud and I also learned what strait-edge kids who don't beat the shit out of eachother at shows do for kicks: "broom tripping". You spin arond really fast and try and jump over a broom. Honestly, I think this looked far more silly and dangerous than sitting in one place and drinking the room into spinning around you, but eh, we all need something.
After this, Bud and I were left to our own devices. We got dropped off with the other kids by the American University of Beirut on Bliss Street. Before exploring the campus, which we had been advised to do, we ate at a Lebanese upscale chain called Kababji, which was excellent, and had the most attentive server I've ever encountered. Then we snuck into AUB, and good lord, it is the most beautiful campus I've seen next to Yale. It used to be the premier university of the Middle East before Saudi Arabia began developing their own schools. But it is a genuine ivy covered, old as shit, begardened and bebricked unversity, and has managed to survive civil wars and rude wars and all the rest in tact. There were banyan trees that must have been ancient, they were so big and viney and spindely. There were rooftop gardens, and a great view onto the water from the top of some of the newer buildings.
Well, we walked around AUB for quite some time, pooped in the Chemistry building toilets, then exited from a gate that we couldn't sneak back into. Then more yadda yadda with Sky Taxi, and we made it home and went to sleep.
The next day was completely ours. So we started in the Achrofiye, wandered around, stopped at a really neat cafe, wandered around to the Mohammad al-Amin Mosque, which was big and beautiful but we didn't go in, saw some very strange demolished buildings (only pictures can describe those), and then wandered into some VERY resotred and rtzy neghborhoods. We checked out some ruins, too, although Beirut doesn't have many. Then a mission came to fruition. The night before had been our first beer since we left the states, and now we were hankering for some whiskey. We had passed a bar called Che, and since I'm such a communist, of course I was intriqued. The only thing is that bars don't open in Beirut until 9 or 10 pm. We didn't know this, but luckily the accountant was there, and he let us in. We sat and drank with him for a minute, which was AMAZING since he wasn't a bartender and we were able to swindle about six ounces each of Maker's Mark from him for FREE (I love you Spring!). He then dropped us off at the ABC Mall (he said we'd find good places to eat around there, which we didn't), and after the car ride I all of the sudden became incredibly morose. It seems that the desire and need to completely understand everything around me at all times, the need and desire that I had been trying so hard to supress on this particular trip, became uncontrollable due to the whiskey. In an attempt to arrest my unrest, Bud and I got a taxi back to familiar ground, back to AUB. The taxi ride was beginning to relax me, and I slowly came back to reality, until we exited the taxi to four cackling Lebanese college students who pissed at Bud's hair and tried ther damnest to kiss me on the lips as I greeted them. The whiskey + the need to understand everything + the fact that I couldn't see Bud + the fact that there were four of them and one of me = me booking it down the street with Bud followng closely behind. We quickly stepped into the first restaurant that wasn't a McDonalds or KFC to gather our bearings. At this point I can't control my anxiety, and I promptly develope a nosebleed. As the menus come into view, though, we discover that this restaurant is actually American food by Lebanese people. Not only that, but Lebanese versions of American versions of Mexican food. Montrey Chicken or Quesadias anyone? I was able to relax a bit here, smoke some shisha and drink some coffee, but we didn't really eat any food. At this time we found out we'd actually be leaving Beirut the next day, which disappointed us both greatly. But we were so exhausted that we just wondered back into Kababji and drank and ate there until we had a decent buzz going, not before stopping in an internet cafe where I wrote that first entry.
Our taxi driver back to the dorms as the best yet, being pretty young and very excited by the fact that we weren't married but still travelling with eachother. We went to bed and the next morning we left Beirut for Syria.
Beirut was one of the most amazng cities I've ever been in. I don't think most people in America realize such a place exists int he Middle East, where different religions coexist as peacefully as possible, and those that don't areare being slowly assisted in an attempt in complete cohabitation (though obvously current politics make this very difficult. But in some ways they're getting better at it than Americans are). It's amazing that a city so shat upon can still have such kind people as we met, and I hope to go back there in a couple of years when (optimistically) there is peace and the city has rebuilt itself completely, culture and all.
Sorry, but this entry may be disjonted, and I feel like I've forgotten things. It's taken me like, three days to write it since access to this computer seems to come at a high price of waiting around and fiddling with the wireless card. But I tried.
Closing notes on Beirut:
"Art" in Lebanese colloquial language means "fucking". We stopped saying we had studied art at University after learning this.
Hijab + labret piercing + nose stud = hott.
There is no well whiskey in the Middle East
Everything is Forbidden!!! (Picture needed for understanding)
Well, I just woke up, so I'm sorry for any inarticulations that may occur through this entry, but let's give it a try, shall we?
Now, where did I leave off? Okay, our second full day in Beirut started quite leisurely (thankfully, what with that little thing called jet lag) at noon. We were trucked over to downtown where we met up with some American kids who were there helping Heart for Lebanon at HoL's storage and thrift space. Here, we all packed up boxes full of kitchen supplies to give to Iraqi refugees who were coming to Lebanon with nothing. It was a bit chaotic and disorganized, and we had to stop when the boxes ran out, not the supplies, but it was a good days work. A lot of the other kids were driven around to bring supplies to the refugees, but Bud and I just stayed in the store room, which, when I think about it, may have been for the best, given the circumstances. Bud and I also learned what strait-edge kids who don't beat the shit out of eachother at shows do for kicks: "broom tripping". You spin arond really fast and try and jump over a broom. Honestly, I think this looked far more silly and dangerous than sitting in one place and drinking the room into spinning around you, but eh, we all need something.
After this, Bud and I were left to our own devices. We got dropped off with the other kids by the American University of Beirut on Bliss Street. Before exploring the campus, which we had been advised to do, we ate at a Lebanese upscale chain called Kababji, which was excellent, and had the most attentive server I've ever encountered. Then we snuck into AUB, and good lord, it is the most beautiful campus I've seen next to Yale. It used to be the premier university of the Middle East before Saudi Arabia began developing their own schools. But it is a genuine ivy covered, old as shit, begardened and bebricked unversity, and has managed to survive civil wars and rude wars and all the rest in tact. There were banyan trees that must have been ancient, they were so big and viney and spindely. There were rooftop gardens, and a great view onto the water from the top of some of the newer buildings.
Well, we walked around AUB for quite some time, pooped in the Chemistry building toilets, then exited from a gate that we couldn't sneak back into. Then more yadda yadda with Sky Taxi, and we made it home and went to sleep.
The next day was completely ours. So we started in the Achrofiye, wandered around, stopped at a really neat cafe, wandered around to the Mohammad al-Amin Mosque, which was big and beautiful but we didn't go in, saw some very strange demolished buildings (only pictures can describe those), and then wandered into some VERY resotred and rtzy neghborhoods. We checked out some ruins, too, although Beirut doesn't have many. Then a mission came to fruition. The night before had been our first beer since we left the states, and now we were hankering for some whiskey. We had passed a bar called Che, and since I'm such a communist, of course I was intriqued. The only thing is that bars don't open in Beirut until 9 or 10 pm. We didn't know this, but luckily the accountant was there, and he let us in. We sat and drank with him for a minute, which was AMAZING since he wasn't a bartender and we were able to swindle about six ounces each of Maker's Mark from him for FREE (I love you Spring!). He then dropped us off at the ABC Mall (he said we'd find good places to eat around there, which we didn't), and after the car ride I all of the sudden became incredibly morose. It seems that the desire and need to completely understand everything around me at all times, the need and desire that I had been trying so hard to supress on this particular trip, became uncontrollable due to the whiskey. In an attempt to arrest my unrest, Bud and I got a taxi back to familiar ground, back to AUB. The taxi ride was beginning to relax me, and I slowly came back to reality, until we exited the taxi to four cackling Lebanese college students who pissed at Bud's hair and tried ther damnest to kiss me on the lips as I greeted them. The whiskey + the need to understand everything + the fact that I couldn't see Bud + the fact that there were four of them and one of me = me booking it down the street with Bud followng closely behind. We quickly stepped into the first restaurant that wasn't a McDonalds or KFC to gather our bearings. At this point I can't control my anxiety, and I promptly develope a nosebleed. As the menus come into view, though, we discover that this restaurant is actually American food by Lebanese people. Not only that, but Lebanese versions of American versions of Mexican food. Montrey Chicken or Quesadias anyone? I was able to relax a bit here, smoke some shisha and drink some coffee, but we didn't really eat any food. At this time we found out we'd actually be leaving Beirut the next day, which disappointed us both greatly. But we were so exhausted that we just wondered back into Kababji and drank and ate there until we had a decent buzz going, not before stopping in an internet cafe where I wrote that first entry.
Our taxi driver back to the dorms as the best yet, being pretty young and very excited by the fact that we weren't married but still travelling with eachother. We went to bed and the next morning we left Beirut for Syria.
Beirut was one of the most amazng cities I've ever been in. I don't think most people in America realize such a place exists int he Middle East, where different religions coexist as peacefully as possible, and those that don't areare being slowly assisted in an attempt in complete cohabitation (though obvously current politics make this very difficult. But in some ways they're getting better at it than Americans are). It's amazing that a city so shat upon can still have such kind people as we met, and I hope to go back there in a couple of years when (optimistically) there is peace and the city has rebuilt itself completely, culture and all.
Sorry, but this entry may be disjonted, and I feel like I've forgotten things. It's taken me like, three days to write it since access to this computer seems to come at a high price of waiting around and fiddling with the wireless card. But I tried.
Closing notes on Beirut:
"Art" in Lebanese colloquial language means "fucking". We stopped saying we had studied art at University after learning this.
Hijab + labret piercing + nose stud = hott.
There is no well whiskey in the Middle East
Everything is Forbidden!!! (Picture needed for understanding)
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Beirut
Well, here we go.
So, to begin my recount of our short time in the city of Beirut, I'll start with the trip here, which in itself is a story.
We fly out of the Savannah airport, no problem. The flight is short to Jersey, and we are both in high spirits, anticipating the adventure ahead. The layover in Newark is as layovers are, boring and long. Then we begin the longest of the three flights, the one to Paris. I promptly order a whiskey strait up, and am able to withstand the flight with little irritation (little, not none). Then we land in Charles De Gaulle, and hit the ground running for our two-three hour layover, and we were not given boarding passes in the States, and were told to pick them up in Paris. On the shuddle clear across the airport to our terminal, Bud suddenly realized that he does not have his wallet. We search and search, and sure enough, it isn't there. You see, we had kinda found this awkward sleeping position on the plane, with myself as stretched out as possible, and Bud curled around me with his legs on mine, trying to find a supportive arrangement for both of our many aching limbs. His wallet must have fallen out there. So we take the shuddle back to the terminal we flew in to, and the gentleman at the helpdesk calls in the wallet and it is found (eventually) still on the plane. The catch is, all Bud's money is missing. Just the money - a good chunk of it - but still, liscence, credit cards, etc. are there. I'm ready to cut the losses and head back to the terminal, but the French police were having none of it. Somewhere in the translation (neither Bud nor I remember shit from French), it was decided that Bud was picked, and so they run us to the main police desk in the airport to file a report. We don't realize this until about 40 min before our flight DEPARTS, at which point I become hysterical. We are clean across the airport from where we're supposed to be, no boarding passes, and the Parisian police could give fuck all (they're all bacon, it's a global affectation). We finally tell them to go fuck themselves, run like fools to the next shuddle (which will forever make me rethink mentally giggling and goofy jetsetters running with their rollybags across airport floors), and then... no Middle Eastern Airlines check-in desk. Fuck. So, we are directed to their office downstairs where we found a (thankfully) helpful young woman who arranged our tickets and had them printed upstairs at the Air France desk. More running like idiots, but as we approach the gate we see that not all is lost, and our flight, which we should have missed, was delayed. We promptly board, and immediately fall asleep. I have never slept so well on a plane in my life.
We arrive in Beirut, go through customs, find we don't need visas (which is why we were carrying exorbitant amounts of money in the first place), and find our driver no sweat. Now, Al, Bud's father, has left us completely in the dark about where we were staying, who we were staying with, at nauseum (we are now pretty convinced he never new himself). So when we jump in the car with our young American driver, I am at least a little curious to see where this is all leading.
Then, the driving starts.
Lonely Planet calls Lebanese driving suicidal, our 19yearoldlivedhereforonemonthAmerican driver called it a video game, and Al calls it fun. If you were to ask me about it, I'd call it sittinginthebackseatclosingmyeyespretendingI'msomewhereelse.
It's now night as we dodge cars through laneless, trafficlightless, seemingly (though really not) mindless roads, I begin to take in Beirut. At first it seems like any other big city; billboards, neon lights, trash, car horns. Then I begin to notice the giant bullet holes riddling the sides of building and the demolished, skeletal structures that still have curtains and lights on in the wallless rooms, and I realize that yes, this is just another big city, just one that has been to hell and back like a suburban commuter with a six-figure job in the fifth ring. We reach our destination, which in the Mediterranean Bible College, headquarters for Heart for Lebanon relief project. Now, being an atheist, I became mildly nervous, but the dorms were comfortable and everyone there very amiable, so, after being informed that we would start the next day at 6:30 am (i.e. 11:30 pm Stateside) I shut down for the night.
The next day we begin the near three hour trek out to a garden North of Beirut (the name of which I have forgotten, assuming I was told it to begin with). Here we were having a picnic with Iraqi refugee women, sort of a day out and about for them, organized by our hosts, Heart for Lebanon. The garden was part of a Catholic organization, and was decorated with plaster sculptures depicting different parts of Jesus' life. As a mere godless illustrator, yet former Catholic, I found the depiction of the Crucification to be a very unique, showing Jesus being brought off the cross and two gruesomely accurate sculptures of the secondary and tertiary crucified, as opposed to the traditional stillonthecross imagery I had grown up with. I was quite found of it. We ended up not talking much with the refugees, as most of the discussion of their experiences was organized among themselves, in Arabic, and though we could have had the conversations translated, it seemed intrusive for us to interrupt. What was amazing to see was how happy they all seemed. What high spirits they were in as they joyfully collected grape leaves from the latices above our heads and giggled over Bud's dreadlocks. I couldn't help but wonder if I myself would be capable of such elation over anything after being driven out of my home. I have the utmost regard and admiration for these Women.
Later that night, Al escaped to a dinner engagement, and Lori (mom), Bud and I had dinner by the beach in the Corniche, which ended up being a smorgeshborg of tasty Arabic foods. Then we had our first real experience in the love hate relationship that we have developed with skye Taxi. After waiting for a good 45 minutes, the taxi arrived, and took us back to the college, where the day ended.
Alright, times up, must pay out, be back soon to recount Wednesday and Thursday of our Beirut adventures when I can.
Au Revoir.
So, to begin my recount of our short time in the city of Beirut, I'll start with the trip here, which in itself is a story.
We fly out of the Savannah airport, no problem. The flight is short to Jersey, and we are both in high spirits, anticipating the adventure ahead. The layover in Newark is as layovers are, boring and long. Then we begin the longest of the three flights, the one to Paris. I promptly order a whiskey strait up, and am able to withstand the flight with little irritation (little, not none). Then we land in Charles De Gaulle, and hit the ground running for our two-three hour layover, and we were not given boarding passes in the States, and were told to pick them up in Paris. On the shuddle clear across the airport to our terminal, Bud suddenly realized that he does not have his wallet. We search and search, and sure enough, it isn't there. You see, we had kinda found this awkward sleeping position on the plane, with myself as stretched out as possible, and Bud curled around me with his legs on mine, trying to find a supportive arrangement for both of our many aching limbs. His wallet must have fallen out there. So we take the shuddle back to the terminal we flew in to, and the gentleman at the helpdesk calls in the wallet and it is found (eventually) still on the plane. The catch is, all Bud's money is missing. Just the money - a good chunk of it - but still, liscence, credit cards, etc. are there. I'm ready to cut the losses and head back to the terminal, but the French police were having none of it. Somewhere in the translation (neither Bud nor I remember shit from French), it was decided that Bud was picked, and so they run us to the main police desk in the airport to file a report. We don't realize this until about 40 min before our flight DEPARTS, at which point I become hysterical. We are clean across the airport from where we're supposed to be, no boarding passes, and the Parisian police could give fuck all (they're all bacon, it's a global affectation). We finally tell them to go fuck themselves, run like fools to the next shuddle (which will forever make me rethink mentally giggling and goofy jetsetters running with their rollybags across airport floors), and then... no Middle Eastern Airlines check-in desk. Fuck. So, we are directed to their office downstairs where we found a (thankfully) helpful young woman who arranged our tickets and had them printed upstairs at the Air France desk. More running like idiots, but as we approach the gate we see that not all is lost, and our flight, which we should have missed, was delayed. We promptly board, and immediately fall asleep. I have never slept so well on a plane in my life.
We arrive in Beirut, go through customs, find we don't need visas (which is why we were carrying exorbitant amounts of money in the first place), and find our driver no sweat. Now, Al, Bud's father, has left us completely in the dark about where we were staying, who we were staying with, at nauseum (we are now pretty convinced he never new himself). So when we jump in the car with our young American driver, I am at least a little curious to see where this is all leading.
Then, the driving starts.
Lonely Planet calls Lebanese driving suicidal, our 19yearoldlivedhereforonemonthAmerican driver called it a video game, and Al calls it fun. If you were to ask me about it, I'd call it sittinginthebackseatclosingmyeyespretendingI'msomewhereelse.
It's now night as we dodge cars through laneless, trafficlightless, seemingly (though really not) mindless roads, I begin to take in Beirut. At first it seems like any other big city; billboards, neon lights, trash, car horns. Then I begin to notice the giant bullet holes riddling the sides of building and the demolished, skeletal structures that still have curtains and lights on in the wallless rooms, and I realize that yes, this is just another big city, just one that has been to hell and back like a suburban commuter with a six-figure job in the fifth ring. We reach our destination, which in the Mediterranean Bible College, headquarters for Heart for Lebanon relief project. Now, being an atheist, I became mildly nervous, but the dorms were comfortable and everyone there very amiable, so, after being informed that we would start the next day at 6:30 am (i.e. 11:30 pm Stateside) I shut down for the night.
The next day we begin the near three hour trek out to a garden North of Beirut (the name of which I have forgotten, assuming I was told it to begin with). Here we were having a picnic with Iraqi refugee women, sort of a day out and about for them, organized by our hosts, Heart for Lebanon. The garden was part of a Catholic organization, and was decorated with plaster sculptures depicting different parts of Jesus' life. As a mere godless illustrator, yet former Catholic, I found the depiction of the Crucification to be a very unique, showing Jesus being brought off the cross and two gruesomely accurate sculptures of the secondary and tertiary crucified, as opposed to the traditional stillonthecross imagery I had grown up with. I was quite found of it. We ended up not talking much with the refugees, as most of the discussion of their experiences was organized among themselves, in Arabic, and though we could have had the conversations translated, it seemed intrusive for us to interrupt. What was amazing to see was how happy they all seemed. What high spirits they were in as they joyfully collected grape leaves from the latices above our heads and giggled over Bud's dreadlocks. I couldn't help but wonder if I myself would be capable of such elation over anything after being driven out of my home. I have the utmost regard and admiration for these Women.
Later that night, Al escaped to a dinner engagement, and Lori (mom), Bud and I had dinner by the beach in the Corniche, which ended up being a smorgeshborg of tasty Arabic foods. Then we had our first real experience in the love hate relationship that we have developed with skye Taxi. After waiting for a good 45 minutes, the taxi arrived, and took us back to the college, where the day ended.
Alright, times up, must pay out, be back soon to recount Wednesday and Thursday of our Beirut adventures when I can.
Au Revoir.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Before we Leave...
So, this is the blog that will (hopefully) chronicle the adventures of Bud and myself as we travel for the next month. We leave tomorrow at around 1 pm to the airport, and then off to some of the furthest places I have ever been.
For an introduction, here's a rough outline of our trip:
We leave Savannah, and fly into New Jersey, from which we take a flight to Paris and then Beirut. Here we will be doing relief work in refugee camps, and will stay for six days. Then to Damascus, Syria, where Bud lived for about three years as a youngin'. Again, about six days there, and then off to England, where Bud lived most of his life (about thirteen years, if I recall), and then back to Jersey, and back to Savannah.
We're both really excited to be taking this trip, and I'm sure that when we get the chance to write in this blog we will have some very interesting stories. It's a strange and important time to be in the areas we'll be in. The recent elections have made us both excited and impassioned about our time in the Middle East. I can only hope to gain a better understanding of these very complex cultures and my own relationship to them, both personally and politically.
So please! Stay tuned! It should be good.
Elaine
For an introduction, here's a rough outline of our trip:
We leave Savannah, and fly into New Jersey, from which we take a flight to Paris and then Beirut. Here we will be doing relief work in refugee camps, and will stay for six days. Then to Damascus, Syria, where Bud lived for about three years as a youngin'. Again, about six days there, and then off to England, where Bud lived most of his life (about thirteen years, if I recall), and then back to Jersey, and back to Savannah.
We're both really excited to be taking this trip, and I'm sure that when we get the chance to write in this blog we will have some very interesting stories. It's a strange and important time to be in the areas we'll be in. The recent elections have made us both excited and impassioned about our time in the Middle East. I can only hope to gain a better understanding of these very complex cultures and my own relationship to them, both personally and politically.
So please! Stay tuned! It should be good.
Elaine
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