Five minutes of fame

The last time I flew to Lebanon, in December last year, I was seated next to two Southern Lebanese men who were living in Switzerland. As usual, to conversation went from what do you do in Lebanon to what do you think of Lebanon to wow, you’re almost Lebanese! When they discovered I had spent most of the July War in 2006 in Lebanon, one of them took a closer look and said: ‘I think I know you. Have you been on TV?’ I laughed. Yeah, of course, I’m a famous international TV-personality. Ehm, what? I said. I don’t think so. ‘Yes, I’m sure I’ve seen you on Manar, it was something with Imad Moghnieh.’ Then I remembered. Last year I visited an exhibition about Imad Moghnieh, organized by Hezbollah, and had been asked a couple of questions by a camera crew of Al Manar, the TV channel operated by Hezbollah. They said it was for a documentary about the exhibition, but apparently it had been on TV. And this man, all the way in Switzerland, had seen me and now recognized me. I was famous in South Lebanon and its Diaspora!

And it doesn’t stop there. My post about the helpful Zghartans has been picked up by local news site, and they are now wondering who is this woman?

It seems my Lebanese star is still rising… and all Zghartans are welcome for a cup of coffee!

How many Zghartans does it take...

Monday evening I was leisurely driving around on the small roads in Koura, an area in North Lebanon, when I noticed a sign that said ‘Zgharta 4km’. Zgharta is a Christian town with a colorful history, and it has the reputation to be rough but extremely hospitable, with a population that has a soft spot for weapons of all types and sizes. I have wanted to visit Zgharta since I first came to Lebanon, yet somehow it never happened, and it had taken on almost mythical proportions from all the stories I heard about it. So here was my chance – and even though the sun was setting, I decided to take the right turn rather than continue my way back. Full of anticipation I drove on. I saw another sign: ‘Zgharta 1500m’. Almost there! And just as I was getting excited seeing the first houses left and right of the road, I hit a speed-bump and heard a noise that no car is supposed to make. I parked on the side of the road and was immediately notified by a boy walking in my direction that the problem was with the left front tire: it was completely flat. There I was, just outside of Zgharta, with nothing left to do but to fix the wheel, then turn around and head back.

But how to change the tire if you don’t even know where the spare is? I asked the guy if he knew a garage close-by. Yes he did, he actually worked in one, but it was closed now – he was on his way home. However, he quickly spotted the spare tire underneath the car, and asked me for the car jack. While we were searching inside and outside, a girl passed by and upon seeing my situation, she immediately took my phone to call her father and brother who also happened to work in a garage. In no time, the brother arrived on his scooter. The girl kept asking me questions about where I was from and what I was doing in Lebanon, while the two boys searched in vain for the car jack.

Then a taxi-driver stopped to offer help. Fortunately, he had a car jack. Unfortunately, it needed a little iron stick to make it work, which he didn’t have. No worries, though, because soon another car pulled over, and that driver did have a screwdriver to make the jack work. It took all men present to lift up the car and put the jack underneath, while the girl was still trying to find out whether I was married and if I had any kids.

In no time, the broken wheel was taken off, replaced by the spare tire, and the car lowered to the road. Everything was fine (nothing like this!). Before I could even say thanks both cars drove off, and shortly after that the two boys disappeared on the scooter. The girl offered me coffee, then let me turn around and carefully find my way home. Zgharta will have to wait for another day, but I am glad to have met its people!

Bonus shot: the view from Balamand towards the sea; North Lebanon.

Souvenirs

In Paris it’s a miniature Eiffel Tower, in New York City a small version of the Statue of Liberty, and I don’t doubt one can find a tiny Big Ben on a keychain in London, or a little red double-decker bus. After all, it’s nice to bring something home that is ‘typical’ for the location, a little symbol to remind the traveler of the country that s/he just visited. In Lebanon, one can find plenty of Phoenician figurines to take home as a souvenir, or pictures of the Pigeon Rocks and the Temple of Baalbeck. Of course that is how the Ministry of Tourism would like everyone to think of Lebanon, but is that what people will remember most? Most people I know who come to Lebanon are more obsessed or amazed with the chaotic and almost incomprehensible politics than the country’s ancient history, and are far more interested in Hezbollah than in an extinct people who may or may not have invented the alphabet.

Now, a tourist can find paraphernalia of the different political parties by going to the area where most supporters live, and buy a lighter which lights up with the face of Nabih Berri, a sticker of a rosary in the form of Lebanon, a keychain with Hassan Nasrallah or a Holy Card with Geagea on it, just to name a few. Or, one can do the political shopping all at once in the Chinese dollar-store on the Corniche, and get a mug of each one of them:

This guy has everyone! Nabih Berri, Rafiq Hariri, Hassan Nasrallah, Amine Gemayel, Saad Hariri, Walid Jumblatt, Samir Geagea, and Michel Aoun (not in the picture). No mug of the president though...

Wonder what the last time was they had a cuppa together...

So there you have it, souvenirs to remind you of the ‘real’ Lebanon… unless what you remember is slightly more violent, in which case a small souvenir-shop in Jezzine might just have the souvenir you are looking for:

A penholder with a Phoenician ship next to it? A beer bottle opener with the Lebanese flag? Or something slightly bigger? Apparently not every souvenir needs a cedar on it to be a good reminder of Lebanon...

Elk nadeel...

Ok, laten we wel wezen: Libanon mag zich dan laten voorstaan op een glamoureus nachtleven, een reputatie als ‘het Parijs van het Midden Oosten’, en een overdaad aan dure auto’s and nog duurdere feesten en partijen, in het dagelijks leven blijft het een ontwikkelingsland, en dat betekent dat heel veel dingen heel vaak niet werken. Soms is dat vermoeiend, en dan moet ik de grote Nederlandse voetbalfilosoof aanhalen om niet in vloeken uit te barsten: • Het mobiele telefoonnetwerk is gammel en werkt alleen als het daar zelf zin in heeft, net als de internetverbinding (attachments van meer dan 0.5Mb? Vergeet het maar). Altijd een perfect excuus bij de hand dus, als je een belangrijk telefoontje of email vergeten bent. Ja ik probeerde je dat rapport te mailen, maar hij verstuurde ‘m niet... • Elke dag een paar uur geen electriciteit, dus geen lift naar de 8e verdieping. Geeft niet, traplopen is goed voor de gezondheid! • Vanwege datzelfde gebrek aan electriciteit zitten we regelmatig een avond in het donker. Goed voor onze relatie; kaarslicht is romantisch, toch? • Openbaar vervoer is niet geregeld door de overheid, maar door elkaar beconcurrerende buschauffeurs, die bij te weinig passagiers de route naar eigen inzicht aanpassen. Is ook leuk, kom ik weer eens in een andere buurt. En dat laatste stuk naar huis lopen betekent dat ik vandaag weer niet naar de sportschool hoef. • Als je wel een auto hebt en bij ons in de buurt moet parkeren, moet je elke twee uur naar beneden om geld in de parkeerautomaat te gooien – dagkaarten en parkeervergunningen voor buurtbewoners bestaan niet. Dat geeft je elke twee uur de gelegendheid om dankbaar te zijn voor het feit dat Libanon opstoot in de vaart der volkeren... al was het maar alleen met dit parkeerbeleid. • Als het regent zuigen de muren van het huis zich vol, en als we ze aanraken stroomt het water aan de binnenkant naar beneden. Lekker avontuurlijk, toch, net als in een tent... leuk, elke dag kamperen! • Isolatie van huizen is onbekend, dus in de winter is het KOUD en in de zomer is het BLOED HEET. Ben een echt natuurmens geworden, helemaal in touch with the seasons.

Eigenlijk niks te klagen dus!

It's the 14th of February

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I always thought Valentine’s Day was the day to send the person you had a crush on an anonymous card, and to receive just such a card without the name of the sender, so you could spend the whole day hoping the card you got was sent by exactly that person you sent one to. Which of course was never the case. Here it seems like Valentine’s Day is all about red candles and pink teddy bears and heart-shaped chocolates, and if you can afford it, a five-course meal in an expensive restaurant. Which kind of defeats the point, because you can’t really go out for dinner anonymously.

Anyway, happy Valentine’s Day, with or without secret love.

(Picture taken in the sea-castle in Saida, South Lebanon, summer 2008)