Marathons: Beirut and Aqaba

The Beirut Marathon was an event that seemed destined to failure. Between the pending civil war, martial law, absence of tourism, Hezbollah bombings, and power outages this race had a lot going against it. Entering the marathon offices, I witnessed near religious fervor. The office was loud, crowded, chaotic and convinced that despite the odds the world would be a better place if the marathon happened. I talked with a documentary film maker, the general manager, and the secretary; they were all equally excited to make it happen and they signed me up.

The next day the Cornish (the sea wall pedestrian walk) was crowded with men and women in jogging suits out for an early morning walk or run. The fishermen were there too, with 15 foot long poles, angling for tiny fish off the rocks below. The feeling was optimistic despite the occaisional armored personel carrier and soldier on the sidewalk. We enjoyed the fine food and friendly people throughout our stay in Lebanon. The indifference to the military presence displayed on the Corniche that morning was similar to what we found over and over again as we talked to taxi drivers, shop keepers, and people on the street. Life goes on despite difficult political situations and stormy horizons.

The pre-race organization was superb; as I jogged away from the meeting place at 5 AM on race day I ran into the race founder and her cohorts who turned me around and drove me to the start. They were excited and energetic for the race. British, Lebanese, and Gulf states runners were milling around and sipping gatorade before the gun went off and the crowd, all 300 of us, surged forward. The start of the race looped around the Maazraa area of Beirut passed a marching band complete with baton twirlers twirling. On the next block coils of razor wire bound a very bombed out building. Contrasts. The race and the city and the country are filled them.

Running through Beirut entertained me greatly. I finished the race in about 3:15 and enjoyed the post race show that included 5 men doing their aerobics competition routine on stage. Very hip.

Pouty done up gals posing alongside hunks of hanging flesh, I can't get enough of this country!

After the race, back at the hostel I met a Japenese man about two-thirds of the way through his second bottle of Arak. He had the "post race glow" about him. He'd finished the marathon just a couple minutes before I did. As we talked he told me about his plan of running marathons around the world during his year of travel...who knew there'd be somebody else doing it too? He told me about the Aqaba Marathon and now we're here. Tomorrow's the race and I hear there are at least 30 people entered. This might be my big chance to place! And what better place to do it than a country that advertises that it has an Established Rule of Law?

We did a whirlwind tour of Jordan that we'll tell you about soon. Petra, Dana Nature Reserve, teh Dead Sea...so many beautiful places. We send hugs and love to all of you. There are pics of Jordan up on Flickr now.

Beirut a Study in Contrasts

After much nail biting and web news reading we left Damascus with excitement and anxiety to cross the border into Lebanon. Politics, always tenuous in this country, were relatively stable so far as Al Jazeerah and the International Herald Tribune could tell. The Lebanese family in Kab Elias was welcoming, and the marathon was Sunday--all systems were go--so we bought bus tickets and left town.

The bus ride and the border crossing offered their own challenges that found us hauling our bags out of the bus and returning to the Syrian border in an expensive old Mercedes taxi. Two hours later, when the taxi brought us through the Lebanese border unscathed and descended the twisting mountain pass onto a breathtaking, albeit hazy, sunset view over the concrete high rises and sprawling city of Beirut, I felt only excitement. As the sunset we gratefully threw our bags down in our hostel, amazed that after so much vacillation, we were finally in Beirut!!!

We kicked off our stay with what Mercy fondly termed the "5 antacid walk across the war zone". We've never seen a city in this state, honestly, we were pretty jumpy. Armed with Mercy’s trusty roll of TUMS we walked into the beautiful and eerily deserted Beirut city center. French Mandate buildings with wide sidewalks and brightly lit luxury stores selling everything from Porches to baby clothes lined perfect, but empty, pedestrian streets. The Beirut city center was the scene of the worst fighting of the civil war of the 70s and 80s. The neighborhood was destroyed. In a bid for a brighter future, it has been almost completely rebuilt and renovated. We walked the upscale and empty streets past armored personnel carriers parked nonchalantly at major intersections, alongside razor wire spooled around the buildings and through check points manned by soldiers wielding machine guns. The scene was surreal, like walking around Disney Land moments before the gates open but for Beirut no one knows if or when the gate will open.

As we walked and wondered what we'd gotten ourselves into, we started keying into the contradictions of this city; between the noise of un-muffled scooters, the constant honking, cars spewing exhaust and the emblems of an impending civil war, there are posh store fronts, women strutting in mini-skirts and high heels and slick Lebanese sporting Audis, Mercedes and BMWs. A forest of cranes work incessantly building luxury towers across the street from hulking bombed out concrete shells, yesterdays luxury towers, now relics of the last civil war.

Across the street from this, in the newly hip Gemmayzeh neighborhood, life goes on "normally." The bars and restaurants are full late at night, the city seems vibrant though the locals claim it is quiet. We've met with several ex-pats working here and are doing our best to decipher the politics of the current crisis.

The short story is the president's term is up on the 24th of November and the parliament must choose, by consensus vote, a new president before that date. Constitutionally the president must be a Maronite Christian. The other 15 religious sects in the government demand their interests be met and struggle to find common ground. The parliamentarians are further influenced by other international players: Syria, Hezbollah, Iran, France, and the US. No one is willing to hypothesize what happens on Sunday if they don't figure out a solution. The journalists in town all are waiting and wondering, the locals are carrying on but using the suffix "...if we're still here" after making plans. It's a strange time.

After a week here we are fascinated and feel suprisingly safe walking the streets. The political situation is chaotic but the biggest danger on the street is still the traffic. We're planning on leaving for Amman, Jordan on Friday but will leave sooner if the political situation changes.

Homecoming to Kab Elias

Visiting the family home in Kab Elias was the highlight of my travels. It seemed impossible to make connection with family we lost contact with, in a town tough to find even on Google Earth, in a language I am embarrassingly moronic with, but read on.
My, great, Great Aunt Patsy came to the rescue by tracking down the contact info through international emails, phone calls, and online family data bases to make the connection for me. But when Patsy (the Lebanese Patsy, named after the American Patsy) and David, her twelve year old English speaking nephew, swooped us up from the dusty roadside bus stop I was overwhelmed. We were linking a whole branch of the American family with the Lebanese family that stayed behind.
Patsy drove defensively but with haste through town provisioning at the "family bakery" and the mill store before delivering us to her home. Her one story two bedroom home was beautiful and welcoming. The marble tile warmed by area rugs, and the rooms colorfully painted and covered with kitsch like I remember from my grandmother's house. In the kitchen we met Patsy's 70 year old father...he was emphatic with his welcome and surprised me with many kisses as is his custom.

Patsy and her cousin Jony (Jony and her family live in another unit of the family compound) set the table with homemade Tahbouli, Kebbeh, and loads of pastries. Dinner lasted from about 3 until 6 with more family arriving every few minutes. Jony's husband, Nassr speaks perfect english and relieved translation duties from his son David. We played with the boys; David, 12, Souhail 9 and Danny, 5, for much of the evening before Nassr swept us up to go visit a nearby Christian town of Zahle.
We arrived after dark and strolled through the shopping district of the University town of 40,000. Nassr shared his plans and the news of his family migration to Canada. The more we discussed his perspectives on work and raising children in Lebanon the more lamentable the situation seemed. Such a beautiful country, the people are educated, adept with many languages, and struggling to find work that can keep the family in the country. He wants to stay in Kab Elias until his boys are all early teens, so they will remember they are Lebanese. Then he plans to follow his other brothers and take the family to Manitoba for more opportunity if, perhaps, less culture and beauty.
We went to sleep struggling with the choice that Nassr is faced with, frustrated that there isn’t a brighter future for the family right here in Lebanon. The day dawned bright and hopeful and we toured the town with David as our guide. The town sits in the eastern foothills of the Mt Lebanon Range in the center of the country. Their home perches on the steep hillside west of town overlooking many flat roofs, nestled in amongst the town’s many churches and looking out over the mosques and markets of Kab Elias below. The hazy Bekaa valley stretching out toward the Anti-Lebanon Range demarking the Syrian border in the distance. As we stretched our legs up, up, and up the narrow alleyways of very steep streets between whitewashed walls we greeted old women with shopping bags and stooped backs with the friendly Arabic hello, marhaba. The top of the hill supports the one remaining wall of a Roman lookout and provides views down into a beautiful deep canyon and river that supply the water to town.

Back at Patsy’s house we breakfasted on yogurt soup with chunks of kebbeh and torn pita to give us power. Then we headed to the childhood home of my grandmother, Josefina, and her sisters. A trio of J's first cousins still live together in the house and were eager for our visit.
The house is one of the oldest in town as Josafine's father was born there (late 19th C). Solid stone walls give way to three 10 foot tall Gothic windows looking out over the Bekaa valley. There is a porch that runs the length of the house and provides the same fantastic view and would be the place to avoid the heat of summer. Beyond the porch rail peach, olive, and apple trees cling to the steep yard. In the front entry a thick grape vine shades the stone patio. There is a cave cellar dug out of the hillside next to the house. Inside the house the 18 foot ceilings gave a castle like feel. Over the door of the living room hangs a framed sepia portrait of Josafine's grandparents. The room was heated by an oil stove with a snaking chimney in the middle of the room.
The sisters were gracious hosts; after lots of hugging and kisses Nassr, Mercy, Danny and I were all arranged around the living room couches and served two bananas each, coffee and chocolates. Nassr translated the sisters stories for us; we learned they were all born in Senegal, never married, and came to the Kab Elias family home 35 years ago. They remembered Josafine from pictures and letters and knew of some of the family from Dallas. The sisters would not let us leave without promises to return with more family and to stay with them next time.
The family was ready with engines idling when we left grandma’s and we were off to the number one tourist sight in Lebanon, the ancient Roman ruins of Baalbek. The drive north through the Bekaa valley showed red earth and hard working people. The ruins, impressive in their scale, dwarfed anything else we'd seen in Lebanon and to visit them with the boys was a special treat.
Leaving the family in the evening was hard. Our visit was short but was an opportunity for me to begin to understand what it means to Lebanese. Experiencing the culture first hand was an incredible gift. I look forward to trying to convince the rest of the family to come back with me for a visit… start thinking ‘bout it.

More Pics available at Flickr

Syria- Rogue nation or tourist destination du jour?

Hello to all from Damascus. As we planned our trip, we had a tough time explaining to people why we were heading to Syria at all. We wanted to travel overland from Turkey to Lebanon, to "thread" our travel from Europe to the Middle East but we had little else to justify our stay in Syria. We planned six or seven days to cruise through Syria; it's now been twelve days in Syria and we've barely scratched the surface.

Though we have not had the Servas contacts to draw us past the tourist sights and into the lives of the people, the sights of Syria flood our heads with Roman and Persian history and max out our camera with beautiful desert ruins. Head coverings are common on women and men here. The hijab is worn on nearly all of the women in Northern Syria and a bit less here in Damascus. The streets are crowded with people and litter, the roads swarming with honking yellow taxis.

Honking in Syria deserves a digression. The horn in the US is reserved for emergencies or at least urgency, but in the Middle East it is used liberally. The honk is a blinker when passing another vehicle on the left, it can be used in place of the brakes at a stop sign, or as a greeting to a friend on the street. Honks at a pedestrian could be a warning to stay back, or as an encouragement to cross in front of the giant goat truck. A taxi's honk at a tourist is encouragement to get in and take a ride. Honking in gridlock seems to signal solidarity or perhaps love for the president. A bike might try to live up to the others on the road with a siren/horn combo of Chinese origin or at least a bicyclist whistling his heart out, but inevitably it'll be overwhelmed by the onslaught of car horns.

The food of Syria deserves its own posting but I hope these pictures and words cover for now. After Turkey, which had some incredible culinary moments in a sea of less than exciting grilled chicken shish kebap and greasy cheese borek, the freshness and spice of Syrian food keeps us smiling. Fresh juice smoothies of orange, persimmon, mandarin, pomegranate, banana, honey, and plum are a breakfast staple. Fresh hot falafel wraps are about 30 cents and available on every corner. Tea in Syria is served sweetened and plentifully--coffee is roasted with cardamom and served Turkish style. Dinners are our favorite--Mezze are the mostly cold appetizers we associate with Middle Eastern food. Dishes like hummus, moutabal (what we call babaganoush state side), babaganoush (a chunky medley of roasted eggplant diced roasted tomatoes and peppers), tabbouleh, mouhmara (a new favorite of roasted red pepper blended with walnuts), stuffed grape leaves, and fatoush salad drizzled with pomegranate syrup and speckled with perfectly crisped pita. A selection of these mezze are served with piles of pita bread (often still steaming from the oven) and shared from common dishes. Mercy and I often barely finish the spread and leave the table groaning but so happy!

The "pudding shop" is another uniquely Syrian experience that I hope could spread to the rest of the world. Shops are the size of a Starbucks but dedicated to the perfection of pudding instead of coffee. They have only three or maybe four options for sweet milky snacks but they are plentiful and cheap in the stainless steel, fluorescent lit cafes. You can sit down and enjoy pistachio covered creaminess or take one for the road complete with a little plastic spoon. I make a point of trying the offerings of as many of these establishments as possible.

We head to Lebanon tomorrow (November 13) and I plan to run the Beirut marathon on Sunday November 18. The food is supposed to be the best in the M.E. I can't wait to be the judge of that! We've made contacts with a number of locals in Beirut to meet up with while we're there and I'm armed with great information about family still living in Kab Elias. The adventure continues.

The connections here in Damascus are not so good so we can't get pictures in here, but all of our Syria pictures are labeled and in flickr, check them out here

Ode to the People of Turkey

Although we left Turkey 10 days ago we can't stop talking about the wonderful people that we met there. Turks, Kurds, and a Kiwi transplant all made us feel like family coming home to Turkey. In Istanbul we had the good fortune to stay with two sets of great Servas hosts and hang out with new friends who we'd met earlier in our travels. It was a cool experience to get to know these great locals. Our hosts in Istanbul encouraged us to visit southeastern Turkey to see a completely different slice of Turkish life, despite the news of PKK activity in that region we flew from Istanbul to Mardin to see how Kurdish Turkey felt. In Mardin and two neighboring towns we were taken care of in the most complete way by two other Servas hosts and their friends and family.

Over and over again we were dumbfounded by how warm people were and how much people went out of their way to help us and smooth the traveling path for us. When we asked people on the street to help locate ourselves on the map or direct us from here to there they inevitably started by saying "no english" and then they'd dive right in to pantomiming with us to get us squared away. We stopped one guy in the middle of Istanbul while we were searching for the marathon office and he grabbed our map and went around to a few taxi drivers to get their input on where we needed to go. It was striking how people went way out of their way to help us.

Even when the language barrier seemed impenetrable, folks had creative ways of getting around it. Our host in Mardin, Resat, collected us "virtually" from the airport via the command center of his cell phone. For about an hour, we checked in with each other and he had us hand our cell phone to various strangers so that he could explain to them what bus he wanted us to get on and where he wanted us to get off, then these strangers would shepherd us along to the next point of hand off where we'd call Resat again and find another helpful stranger. When we finally reached Resat he told us that he could not host us at his house because he had family in town, but he had found a special place for us to stay in a government hotel that was not open to the public. We were absolutely drop-jawed, Resat could have so easily just said "no, I'm too busy to host you," (his sister was in the hospital having a baby and he was hosting all the out of town family) but instead he gave us royal treatment and introduced us to so many wonderful people. Our visit to Mardin was one of our richest cultural experiences and it was all because of Resat and his friend's hospitality.

Our next host, Selcuk, gave stiff competition to Resat's hospitality. We had an almost complete language barrier, so our pre-meeting communication was all through text messages. We texted our bus arrival time to him and he texted that he would pick us up. A bus station pick up? What a treat! We had no idea how special it was. After our bus arrived 20 minutes late, Selcuk and his friend hurried us into his friend's car, and sped off through the dark Gaziantep streets. Through a halting conversation we discovered that Selcuk is a DJ and he was on the air at that very moment. Before leaving the station to fetch us he started a set of music to bridge the time but the set was almost up. We pulled up to the station and Selcuk ran the 6 flights to the broadcasting room, he took the helm just in time to switch from music to the live guest he had in the sound booth!!!! What? It was absolutely crazy. Before this trip I could never have imagined anyone going out of their way so completely for absolute strangers. But that wasn't all. After the live guest was done and after a good bit of sitting around smiling at each other through the glass wall of language barrier, in walked a super hip friend of Selcuk's. He spoke beautiful english and whisked us off to dine at a posh restaurant and later to a coffee shop for a nightcap espresso. Such a treat!

Through our friends in Turkey we were able to experience so many sides of the life there, the work-a-day world in Istanbul (or at least the commute to and from work), family life, conversations about religion, politics and history, an amazing 14 person family dinner / folk music jam session with everyone, including us, wielding an instrument, a great lunch and shopping exploration through our friend's quiet Istanbul neighborhood, participating in an English class for 9 year-olds in the school where Resat was principal, seeing a Christian Monastery in the fabulous care of a couple of young Kurdish guys who spoke no english but were some of the warmest people we met, being treated to dinner at a lovely restaurant in Gaziantep with some of the world's best baklava... the experiences go on and on, so I will leave you with that sample.

The bottom line is that the people we met in Turkey set a new standard for hospitality and kindness. We were inspired by the active conscientious Servas hosts we stayed with, we adored the engaging friends we met and we fell completely in love with the warm laughter filled Kurds that enveloped us into their lives. Turkey taught us to release our sense of control for the course of our days and instead give ourselves over completely to the kindness of the people around us and the bends in the stream of our journey. We learned fast and were well rewarded with incredible friendship and care. Thank you Turkey!


More pics here