souvenirs

It's winter once more and as I walk past blue-gray skies and feel the bite of wind on my face, I can't help but think of where I was, what my life was like, this time last year. Memories surprise me everywhere.






My black coat and gloves were first worn in France and when I wear them I remember their necessity on days when I simply wanted to blend in, to be as French as possible.





I suppose it's only natural that with an uncertain future looming ahead I retreat to a past that was so perfect. That's why I've decided to revive this old thing to do a series of photo posts revisiting the places I was exploring a year ago. I intend to let the photos speak for themselves for the most part, but we'll see. Perhaps that will change once I arrive at the places I never wrote about the first time around.





A bientôt!

in transit

At the moment, I am sitting in my cousin's apartment in Copenhagen, watching the violent wind shake the trees out the window and listening to the sound of a football game being narrated in Danish.

I left Dijon almost a week ago, and since then I have began my whirlwind European summer adventure. So far, I've stopped in Paris, Barcelona and now Copenhagen. It's fantastic of course, but also remarkably surreal. Here I am, living out my dream of moving across the continent with nothing but a (albiet, very large) backback on my back, looking for my own stories to tell. I've been looking forward to this part of the trip all semester, but now that it's here I can't believe how quickly it's come and that my time in France is over.

My last few weeks in Dijon were either somber or hectic. We made the most of the time and the newly arrived summer weather by having drinks at Place de la Liberation (beer with peach syrop -- very refreshing), walking around the neighborhood on warm nights, spending time in the park, drinking kir by Lac Kir and climbing the tower at the center of town. From the latter, we could see all of Dijon and were able to say goodbye to our little city. On the other hand, I could feel the group getting quieter and more relective in our together time. We were thinking about our imminent departure and simply wanting to spend time together. For our last dinner, we ordered pizza and reminisced about the past four months with pictures and stories. The wine flowed and so did the tears.

It took a long time to sink in for me. I don't think I really started to comprehend the fact of the end until the last night. We spent it in Lisa's backyard, drinking kir and talking with the few of us that remained as well as some of the English students from our program that we'd only just begun to know. The night was warm and it felt like summer. I prolonged my stay later than I should have, not wanting to say my final goodbyes. The time came eventually, however, and mere hours later I was on a train.

What an amazing experience it's been. And now I'm having amazing experiences of a different sort. I miss France, but I'm glad to be discovering new places. I still have amazing experiences ahead of me, though if the past few months are any indication it will all go by incredibly quickly. So I guess I have to live it up while I can.

As for the failure of this travel blog -- well, it is what it is. The travel part simply got in the way of the blog part, and I'm honestly alright with that. (Places I haven't written about, for the record, include Paris, Provence, Prague and Amsterdam.) Perhaps when I'm home for the summer, with the time and the recources, and feeling nostalic and culture-shocked, I will take the time to backtrack. For now, I 'll do my best to find more stories to tell.

volcano break

Almost immediately after returning from Syria, we found out about the volcano. We were getting ready to go out for a night in a gay club (mere hours after our return) when Mathieu casually asked me whether I’d be able to return to France. Having been out of contact with the news and so having no idea that a threat was looming, literally, above Europe, I was shocked. I thought that it couldn’t really be that big of a deal so I brushed it aside and went out to dance. No volcano all the way in Iceland was going to ruin my fun!

The events of the next twenty-four hours or so are a bit hazy as I became incredibly ill the next day, and not hangover ill. Hannah and I never figured out the culprit, but the suspects included Syria (in general), Acid (the night club we went to, again, just in general) or cucumbers (kindly given to us by her friend Gregor in whose mountain town we stopped for a visit, but sadly washed in a tap). In any case, it was not pretty and by the time my intended flight time rolled around I was thankful for the volcano so that I wouldn’t have to get up and attempt to get to the airport.

My original plan was to leave early Sunday morning, after a week in Lebanon. I ended up staying an extra week and not returning to France until the next Tuesday morning. The first few days of this experience were simply frustrating. I knew nothing and I was inconveniencing Hannah, who had classes and a life of her own. All I wanted was to return to France and everything about where I was started to irritate me – the car exhaust, the language barrier, the lack of free water. But I got over it. Once we talked to my airline (the horribly incompetent Cyprus Airways – I warn you against them!) and it became clear that I wouldn’t be leaving for another week, I resigned myself to have a good time.

Truth be told, I was lucky. I was in a wonderful city and I had a great friend with me (who has friends of her own kind enough to take us in). Hannah and I gathered our things and moved out of Mathieu’s, not wanting to inconvenience him anymore. Instead, we updated, setting up camp in the new swanky and fully-furnished apartment of Hannah’s freelance journalist friend, Nathanael. There was even food in the cupboards because the previous owner had been deported and had to leave in a hurry. We ate her pasta!


the view from the second place we stayed

Our first volcano break outing was a trip to the beach with Mathieu. Well, sort of the beach. Apparently, private beaches are a big thing in Lebanon, but it wasn’t quite the right season. We drove out along the coast for awhile, past fields of banana trees, looking for something suitable until we found ourselves walking through an unopened beach-resort. The pools were empty and the beach umbrellas were lying on the sand, but we settled down on a dock by the water and enjoyed the sun. It was around this time that I decided to enjoy the extra time that I was given here.



One of the nice things about having an extra week was that we were able to do all of the things that had failed miserably in the first week. The next day, for instance, we made finally made it to Shatila, the Palestinian refugee camp. There is a learning center there where Hannah and her friends often go to help kids learn English. In fact, it wasn’t long before the workbooks were set aside and chaos had descended. The center is equipped with little more than a ping-pong table for the kids to play with, but they managed to amuse themselves nonetheless, as kids do.



I felt awkward and helpless, not really knowing what to do with kids in general and unable to speak to them. So I took pictures. That is, until one tenacious little girl decided that she wanted to play photographer and I nervously handed my camera to her, aware that it probably weighed about half as much as her. The kids took turns passing around my camera and I spent the afternoon being silly and playing ping pong.


photo taken by a refugee child

When it was about time for the kids to go home, the director of the center sat us down in his office that has no lights and – in the dark, with his daughters translating – told us about his struggle, not only to effectively run the center but to simply live as someone without a country. We sat and listened and asked questions until the girls offered to show us around the rest of the camp before we went back to Beirut.



The camp unsurprisingly seems to be deteriorating before our eyes – everything seems a little too high and a little too close, held together with tin roofs and connected by wires hanging just overhead. One destroyed building was inhabited by goats and filled with trash. And within it all people still live their lives.



With the week’s good deed done, the next day was time to make our second attempt to visit Baalbek, site of the Roman ruins, or Hezbollah country! We took a bus (by which I mean a van, stopping whenever the driver sees someone on the street so that it will always be full of customers) through a less mountainous route this time. We were able to calculate our distance from the city by how strange the animals being sold on the side of the road were – goldfish, little white bunny rabbits and finally a baboon. Once we reached the city and stepped out of the van we knew we’d arrived because we were presented with our choice of Hezbollah merchandise (including some t-shirts which, I must admit, I’m sad I didn’t buy) and soon after passed some teenage boys carrying large guns and laughing. (“I just wanted to see some old stuff!”)



The old stuff itself was pretty neat. Aside from being old and impressive and covered in graffiti hundreds of years old, we got to climb on it! Unlike boring Europe, Lebanon doesn’t seem to particularly care what happens to their ruins and so we were able to climb on anything we could reach. We walked around, listened in on a French tour that was being given (it had been three weeks since I’d really spoken French and I missed it) and climbed. I can now say I’ve visited a thousand year old playground.

Our next outing was probably one of the stranger experiences I had on the trip. Hannah’s university planned a trip up into the mountains, the point of which I believe was to see some palaces, and she decided to take me along. Up again we went into the mountains and this time the drive was strangely reminiscent of the hilly forests of California – it was certainly one of the most familiar sites I’d seen in a long while. This feeling, however, didn’t last. Our first stop was an underwhelming palace that we couldn’t enter and hardly bares mentioning, mostly because if there is any historical significance to any of the places we visited, I missed that part. (Sorry, Dad!) Anyway, we moved on to… something else.



There was once a man who dreamed of castles. He loved castles so much that he decided he would build one on the side of a mountain in Lebanon so that one day castle loving tourists might flock to it. So he did, and so we did. I’m not really sure what the educational significance of this place was supposed to be, but it sure was bizarre. Each stone was carved in a different manner (some with little pictures or phrases, like “rien n’est impossible”) and all the rooms were filled with historical memorabilia (mostly guns) as well as scenes of creepy wax figures meant to depict life in Lebanon.



One strange figure was living and breathing though – an old man who sat in the dungeon, made us coffee and sang for us while some danced. We took our coffee, sat down for a little while and marveled at the oddity of it all.



We did finally get to see a real palace and it was lovely – beautiful courtyards and gardens, and even beautiful baths with the perfect light for a small photo shoot.





We even got to see some more cedars. This time we were able to take a small walk through the famous woods and hug the trees to our hearts content. It was nice to be in nature, especially in a forest, after such a long time and after being in such a big city. Driving back down this time, through the evergreen trees, felt like Washington.



My last day and my last adventure was another strange one. The Hash – a gathering of middle-aged e-patriots that involves tromping through the wilderness, drinking large amounts of beer and as much general humiliation as possible – is a necessary experience according to Hannah. Thus I found myself, one Sunday afternoon, in an over-filled car being driven by an English man with a beer in his hands as all of us searched for signs and clues to get us to our destination. The hike itself was beautiful – a forest at the bottom of a valley, the likes of which I’d never seen before. We walked past dramatic cliffs and towering trees and rippling feels. At one point we even passed a herd of goats, calmly being watched-over by their herder. All the while, we were strictly required to stay on the path for fear that we may encounter a stray landmine. How exciting! No matter, the strong combination of vodka and kiwi juice kept us strong and focused.

At the end of the trail, the fun, or rather the humiliation really begins. A circle is formed and one way or another nearly everyone in the group is called to the middle for some offense and made to down a cup of beer. The goal, I believe, is simply to get as many people as possible as full of beer as possible. And then there is dinner and more beer.

It was a fittingly odd end to my time in Lebanon. Though my break had lasted an extra week, I was surprisingly sad to go. I had a wonderful time, not just during my big adventures but in all the smaller in between moments too – finding kittens in the back of a bar, drunkenly riding a ferris wheel in an empty amusement park, cooking in Nathanael’s swanky kitchen, watching the Daily Show for the first time in months, bad decisions, brilliant decisions, and large amounts of alcohol.

At four in the morning, one week too late, I finally got into a taxi and said goodbye to Hannah. As I was taken to the airport the song that was playing on the radio was a certain far-too-catchy Black Eyed Peas number that had followed me throughout the trip, and I couldn’t help but smile at the perfection of it.

Unfortunately, after that I was forced to endure another six hours of uncertainty in the Athens airport when my flight was inexplicably landed due to complications. However, let’s just pretend that didn’t happen.

a tale of syrian poetry

In planning how to entertain me during my visit, Hannah had decided that I should have a real "Arab experience," as she told me, and so we were to visit Damascus, Syria for a few days. This is a city I'd heard about in my classes, but never particularly imaged visiting any time soon. I had an image in my head, but no realistic expectations. To make matters even more uncertain, we would be going on our own. Hannah had enlisted the company of two guy friends as added security, but they both backed out. A little nervous but confident in ourselves as strong, independent women, we did not let this stop us.

So we headed off, ready to take a peek at a new world and, while we were at it, get our passports stamped. We arrived at the border crossing, with our American passports in hand, prepared to wait anywhere between twenty minutes and twelve hours. I'd been told plenty of stories before we left, none of them consistent with each other, but none of them particularly encouraging. While travelers of other nationalities have little trouble getting through (we saw some Canadian backpackers pass by while we sat reading) Americans are made to wait while they send our passports to the city to be checked for something. Who knows what? In fact, we were only there for about two hours before our passports were handed back to us.

We were walking across the border, content with our fortuitous start, when a pleasant-looking gentleman pulled up beside us in his car and offered us a free ride to the city. Hannah turned to me and we thought about it for a moment before deciding that this was just a little too suspicious for our liking. We told him no thank you and he drove away, leaving us thinking that he was probably just a kind man but that it was better to be safe than sorry.

Thus I found myself, a few minutes later, questioning my judgment as we then climbed into the car of two Syrian soldiers who also offered us a free ride after we had taken only a few more steps. They arranged themselves so that each one was sitting next to us, Hannah in the front and me in the back. Of course they didn't speak any English so Hannah gallantly spoke to them, telling them about our big, strong boyfriends in Lebanon. All the while, the one sitting next to me only watched me, smiling and occasionally saying a few words in Arabic to which I could only shrug and smile. It was a very long car ride and not just because they were driving far below the speed limit. We were relieved to see finally see the city in the distance.

They dropped us off on the side of the road, paid a taxi to take us where we wanted and bade us farewell. Laughing and relieved, we got into the taxi and told ourselves that, as bizarre and unwise as they may have been, we would never have gotten a free ride had the boys been with us. It was the first of many perks that would come our way as two girls alone in Syria.



We had the taxi take us to the souk, where people were as plentiful as the goods of varying quality being thrust at us and where light spilled in from bullet holes in the ceiling, making it look like a star-filled sky. It was here that I began to understand what it was that Hannah had wanted to show me.



We strolled around the market, which escaped the starry metal sky and wound itself around the mosque. The noises of deals being made mingled with laughter and drifted over the roofs of the many shops containing an innumerable amount of merchandise. I felt like Harry Potter the first time he visited Diagon Alley, dazed and wishing I had more eyes look at each colorful scarf and silver bracelet and at once admire the mosque I had read about in books.





Hannah was on a mission to find perfume so we found our way around some side streets until we came to a shop whose walls were lined with glass bottles of richly colored liquid. Upon finding no one behind the counter, Hannah called out and we found, to our embarrassment, that we were interrupting his prayers, but he was very gracious and tended to our odor-related needs. He mixed our preferred scents through a complicated system of syringes and bottles, spraying us occasionally to assure our satisfaction. We came away, still un-showered but smelling like a garden’s worth of flowers.



I suggested that we visit the mosque, as I had studied it in an Islamic art history class and had never entered a mosque before. We donned the required tourist robes, removed our shoes and stepped into the scared space.



Though it’s as ancient as any cathedral, there was so much more life in the mosque than in any religious space I’d seen before. Children played in the courtyard and groups of family and friends sat in the shade and socialized. It was so unlike most historical sites in that it wasn’t filled with tourists (though we were there, evidently) but with people living their lives. Of course, the mosque is beautiful in itself, especially the intricate mosaics that cover the walls of the courtyard.



Finally, the real adventure of the trip began as we entered a quiet corner shop near the mosque. The owners were two mustachioed gentlemen who offered us tea and showed us their impressive collection of jewelry and coins. The more interest we showed the more they trusted us, showing us items that, well, weren’t for sale exactly. After we had been in there for quite some time (and after Hannah had purchased something), one of them told us he was going to show us his private collection. He took us to a gated passageway across from the mosque and up several flights of stairs. At the top was a rooftop apartment of sorts, the likes of which I had only seen in Aladdin. After this point, I wasn’t allowed to take pictures as he led us into the room where they keep their very impressive collection of items-that-are-not-for-sale-exactly. Trust me when I say that this was one of the most surreal situations I have ever been in.



When we returned they declared that they were going to take us out to dinner. We ate that night with two Syrian men in a smoke filled restaurant lit by multi-colored Christmas lights and crowded with large Syrian families. The table was constantly filled with more food than the four of us could possibly ever have consumed.



As the men smoked their cigarettes and ordered us shisha (hookah), Hannah and I looked at each other and we knew that this too would never have happened had her friends been here to protect us from such encounters. It was a brilliant night. Our entertainment was a modern twist on a whirling dervish, as well as several Syrian musicians, of course, the people around us who were loud and celebratory and made funny faces when they smoked their shisha.



After dinner we walked with them around the streets of Damascus as they told us of their exciting lives and less than legal business ventures. We found ourselves entering a nice-looking hotel, under which there turned out to be a night club they frequented. There we met and danced with American ex-pats closer to our age until late into the night.

Our night did not end there, however. When we returned to our hostel, we found the three guys who worked there awake and talking at the reception. They sat us down and we joined their conversation. Well, Hannah did, but I was incredibly tired and mostly observed the conversation that wound around various topics of love and politics. The one guy who was about our age began to regale us with his romantic woes – the American girl who had returned home and left him broken hearted, with nothing but his sad poetry. He and Hannah got along well. As we were going to bed in the early hours of the morning we said farewell and the poet told us he would meet us the next day.
He did not disappoint. As we were leaving the hostel he ran up to us and informed us that he would be spending the afternoon with us. We walked around the old town and through the souk. (We even initiated a tense introduction with a mustachioed man.) We had lunch in a quite park populated by old men where he and Hannah read each other their sad poetry.



As we meandered through the crooked alleys throughout the afternoon, he went back and forth from lamenting his lost love and expressing his affection for Hannah. This being not the first time I’d been Hannah’s third wheel, I could only be amused and entertain myself with my camera. However, apparently keen to show off his artistic abilities in as many areas as possible, the poet asked to borrow my camera. I reluctantly obliged. With him clicking away and me nervously watching him, we continued to wander through the streets, now much more quiet as it was a Friday.


picture taken by a Syrian poet



By the time we reached the Christian quarter it was nearing time to leave. (The love declarations were beginning to try me.) He very kindly helped us find our bus back to the border, said his soulful goodbuys, told Hannah that he loved her and walked away.
We crossed the border on foot as a thunderstorm raged in the nearby hills. It was a rather perfect background to the reflective thoughts I’m sure we were both thinking. The twenty four hours we had just lived through were like something from a dream, or rather, like a story – some parent’s story from their youth.

This is my impossible story of adventure in Syria. And none of it would have been possible if the boys had been there.




Next: What exactly is that volcano doing over there? UH OH.

(read Hannah’s more succinct and slightly feminist account of this story)

you're welcome to lebanon

I arrived in Beirut at nearly 11 at night and, feeling gross and mentally exhausted from a four-hour layover, I met Hannah who looked very cool in her leather jacket and with a giant gold thing in her nose. She led me outside and waded through a mass of screaming taxi drivers, saying a few phrases in Arabic and finding a ride for us with ease. At this point, in my already overwhelmed brain, the thought came to me that her coolness came not from her clothes but from her familiarity with this place that was so different from anything I'd known before. As the taxi drove us toward the lights of the city, with techno music playing on the radio, I could tell already that this was going to be a good week.

Because it was too hard to get permission for me to stay in her dorm, Hannah was kind enough to be homeless with me for a week, moving from one friend's house to another. We were to stay mostly at the appartment of her (as she described him) gay Belgian friend Mathieu, which is where we headed after leaving the airport. Of course, being the gay stud that he was, Mathieu was not alone when we arrived and a few awkward moments passed before we were ushered in by a very nice Lebanese guy named Ryan.

It was a Saturday night in Beirut and, despite the fact that I'd spent the entire day traveling and really only wanted to sleep, before I knew it I was putting on makeup and changing into going out clothes. I told Hannah that I wasn't really up for a big night out, but she laughed it aside. We went out to a bar where we meet some of her friends from school, and very little time seemed to pass before found ourselves stumbling out of into the streets in search of food just before the sun came up. The bar had been playing loud American music and after a few drinks we'd started dancing (this was not really a dancing kind of place, mind). We'd spent the rest of the night that way, moving to one familiar hit after another from the previous century. For some reason they kept the bar open after closing time and so there was nothing to stop us until the boys got a bit too handsy. By the end of the night, I was stunned that I was still standing, let alone awake.

After sleeping through the morning, I was woken up the next afternoon by the melodic sound of the call to prayer emanating from the nearby mosque, something that I would only begin to become accostomed to during my stay in Lebanon. I laid in bed, looked at the sea out the window and thought of what a surreal experience this had been already. Looking back on it, I think it was a prefect introduction to Beirut, a city that sometimes seems confused, that is loud, unpredictable and not particularly beautiful but is always punctuated by moments of poignancy or elegance.


The view from Mathieu's balcony

That day Hannah and I went on a walking tour of Beirut, lead by a Lebanese man who looks strikingly like Zach Lieberman. We walked all around the city, seeing a strange mixture of old, new and destroyed. It seems that so much of the city is in some sort of strange in-between state, with so many buildings still bullet-ridden and standing as a relic of destruction from the civil war and others in the process of being built or reconstructed. Though the tour lasted five hours, it went by quickly and I felt that I barely seen or learned enought to really understand the city. Thus I really can't acurately give the context behind many of these images; I can only show you what struck me and tell you what I remember.


Hamra is Hannah's neighborhood and one of the most lively parts of the city. Note the French writing and the Parisian-style street sign.

Though French is written everywhere and is in fact an official language, the French influence is not as prevalent as one might think. I had very few chances to practice my speaking skills, even including the one conversation in French with Mathieu. Almost everyone spoke English and in sitations where they spoke neither, I had to rely on Hannah, as I had to for so many other things.


This is one of the few buildings like this left in the city and aside from being beautiful, it's interesting in that it shows the influence of the aesthetics of the many cultures that have held control of Lebanon.


The infamous war-torn Holiday Inn


Evidence of the construction that is a constant throughout the city and the country


The remains of a Roman bath

Roman ruins are buried under the entire city but only a few of them have been uncovered like this.



This is the only part of the city that was restored exactly as it was before the war and thus still has the sort of Parisian cafe atmosphere. While we were there the street was filled with families and their children. It was pleasant, but as, Hannah remarked, felt fake in contrast with the rest of the city which is very, very real.


Martyr's Square, where people flock to stage protests

This square was once a lush and expansive park, but one would barely recognize it now from what it was in the 70's. Today, it's a concrete plateau, with only this statue standing still as a symbol of sacrifice and pride.


An old theater that was literally split in half due to a disagrement on the part of the owners as to what to do with the property.


More war-torn buildings

At one point, he took us inside one of the abandoned war ruins and showed us some of the graffiti that still remains, as far as anyone knows, from the war. That moment was very strange to me -- standing as a group of tourists and students inside a place that had recently seen such death and passionate destruction was unnerving, to say the least.


The mosque at night

We were also shown areas where we weren't allowed to take pictures because important politicians worked or lived there. Most notable was the Jewish quarter, where the Prime Minister lives. Police patrolled around every corner, but the neighborhood was completely silent and empty. The only Jewish person still living there is an older woman who sits on her porch and will speak proudly with anyone who passes about her Jewish heritage. Unfortunately, she wasn't there when we went by. We also saw the synogogue, which was adorned in Hebrew writing (rare in Lebanon) and is being reconstructed. When told to leave the area, the Jews asked only for the synogogue to be saved in exchange, though when it's finished it will serve more as a relic than as a place of worship.

We saw countless other fascinating sights, some I didn't feel comfortable photographing, some I simply couldn't do justice or couldn't comprehend the significance. After the day was done, I felt exhausted, having been bombarded with so many sights and ideas and facts, but even though I knew there was still more to see, I felt satisfied with my beginning.

Of course, when adventuring around the Middle East not everything can go quite according to plan. On my second day in Beirut, Hannah, Mathieu and I were going to visit a refugee camp, but our plans were thwarted when Mathieu's rental car quite suddenly broke down in the middle of the road from Beirut. Fortunately, we were next to a mechanic shop, the workers of which kindly helped us and took us in, offering us coffee and a place to sit for a few hours. We were there for the entire afternoon, able to only speculate as to what was happening to the car from Hannah's broken echanged in Lebanese with the smiley owner. They finally decided they couldn't fix it and called tow truck which arrived five Lebanese minutes (much, much longer) later to take us to the dealer. We got in the car which was then, to our great surprise, mounted on top of the truck and, with us still inside the car, driven away on the freeway.


Welcome to the Middle East!

Amused and in shock, we looked out at the world which was a few more feet below us than normal. Lebanon, I decided at that moment, is a weird place and this was going to be a weird trip. Bizarre experiences like this became a regular occurance and each time I could do nothing but take it in, laugh and hope that Hannah knew enough Lebanese to get us out of whatever mess in which we'd found ourselves.

And as exciting as all of this was, it is was nice as well to be able to punctuate my time in Beirut with an occational sense of normalcy, even familiarity. That night, for instance, after the insanity of the afternoon, we went to an Italian restaurant for dinner and I had pesto pasta for the first time in months, which was surprisingly comforting and lovely. I felt something similar each time I walked through Hannah's campus. American University of Beirut seemed to me to be is a secret little slice of tranquil paradise in a comparatively dirty, loud and concrete city void of public parks. Though it's scenery and architecture aren't familiar in themselves, it has that college campus atmosphere of youthful and eager togetherness that is definitely missing in Dijon. I spent one entire afternoon wandering around the campus while Hannah was in class.


A secret garden behind the tennis courts, where I spent some time reading


There were also cats all over the place and they hung out in groups of the same color


I really loved this shady courtyard




Banyan tree



This feeling, of course, could not last. The next day, the three of us again set out on an adventure in Mathieu's new rental car, this time with the goal of getting far out of Beirut and seeing more of Lebanon.



Our first stop was Tripoli, a more conservative city where foreigners are rare. As we walked through the busy streets, men shouted at us, welcoming us to Lebanon with smirks on their faces. ("I live here!" Matthieu shouted back.) In the market Hannah and I bought fresh squeezed orange juice and I tried not to be too overwhelmed by all the shouting and sights and the feeling of otherness.





We made our way out of the market and up the hill, towards the citadel that looks over the city.



It's still being used by the military today. For what, I don't know, but there were soldiers walking around amongst the few tourists and tanks parked outside. I didn't want to risk attempting to take a photo. We sat there, on top of the city and watched life pass, our legs dangling over the edge of the citadel.


The rooftops of Tripoli


The river (lined with piles of trash) and the mountains in the background



We left and drove down to the water, where we briefly stuck our feet in the clear blue Mediterranean before continuing on our journey. As with so much of my time in Lebanon, I really had no idea where we were going and I didn't ask questions. I simply sat in the backseat and and watched the scenery pass, eventually noticing that we were climbing higher and higher, on winding moutnain roads and pass increasingly smaller villages. The mountain peaks that we had seen from such a distance in Tripoli were now right outside our windows. When I finally asked what exactly we were doing all the way up here, my comrads informed me that we were driving over the mountains to get to Baalbeck, on the other side, where we'd see Roman ruins.



The mountains of Lebanon are magnificent, with dramatic clifs diving into the valley below, tiny villages with red-roofed buildings, and above it all the snow-capped mountain tops. It's hard to imagine a life in this epic landscape but life there was, as evidenced by the construction that was taking place even out here. Once we reached the Christian area, we saw other evidence of life in a solitary church at the edge of a cliff. Here we found Jesus -- residing over the valley and the country below.



We made our second stop at the Ceders, a forest of the famous ceder trees of Lebanon, but didn't want to pay the requested donation for what Hannah says is an underwhelming experience.


"Take a picture. They're famous."

As we drove higher up the mountain we saw more and more snow, until it lined the road around us and we had to make one more stop. We exited of the car and, in contrast to the Mediterranean water in which we'd placed our feet only a few hours ago, stepped into the snow only to realize how ridiculous this was get quickly back in the car.



It wasn't long before we were forced to stop, however. We were on the very top of the moutnain, able to look down and see both sides, including Baalbeck, our intended destination, when we reached a very literal road block. Snow covered the road in front of us for a significant strech and we appeared to be stuck. We just couldn't take accept this though, the idea that we'd driven all the way up here only to be stopped by a few inches of snow when we were so close. So we decided to risk it and drive through the snow in Mathieu's little white rental. Needless to say, we got stuck in the snow. Again, all I could was laugh, especially since I was wearing sandals and so was particularly useless in the snow. Fortunately, Mathieu's inner strength erupted from him and, with the help of a passing hiker, he managed to push the car out of the snow. Disappointed but relieved not to be stranded and starving on the mountain, we retreadted back to Beirut after another semi-successful adventure, ready as ever to see what else this country to throw at us.





Next: I see what another country can throw at me. Syria! BE EXCITED!