Beirut, an Education

I have never been a morning person. getting up before 8 am seemed I was losing precious time that should be reserved only for sleeping. Recently, I find myself rising at 6 am 5:30 or 7 awake and alert ready for the day. My circadian rhythm is changing and shifting in anticipation for our little boy’s arrival. I am beginning to cherish these early mornings. I rise, brew coffee in the french press and step out onto our balcony. Fresh cool air greets me and the chirping of birds surrounds me. Windows of the other apartments are still shut and very few people are on the street below. It is such a different time of day. Calm and giving to nature. Later the birds will rest in the cover of trees, as cars zip up and down the street honking, water melon sellers and scrap metal collectors will holler low pitched chants from the back of slow moving trucks, cats will howl, maids will beat carpets on opposing balconies, the air will become thick and hot, the sun shifting the shadows across our balcony.  I truly treasure this peaceful time of day tucked away in our balcony garden. Ficus, oleander, palms and succulents enliven the air,  and add green strokes to the otherwise beige landscape. My husband, channeling our love for the great green outdoors of the Pacific Northwest has carefully filled our outdoor space with a variety of plants, making a garden oasis five stories up.

garden oasis

Consistently I find myself in spaces and places I could never have predicted.  Today I stare out at the Beirut skyline. Trying to identify apartments, towers and hotels that I usually know only from street level. Beyond familiar and unfamiliar buildings I see the blue Mediterranean fading into a hazy humid morning sky. I watch construction workers on rooftops, maids hang sheets to dry from balconies and silhouettes of people moving about inside apartments and offices.  This city is not well planned and the buildings don’t coordinate in any fashion. Glass high-rises tower over heavy cement apartment blocks, antique houses are nestled between them, crumbling slowly, losing roof tiles and paint pigment, broken windows are doorways for the current squatters, rock doves and stray cats.

In this city I have lived for almost three years. My appreciation waxes and wanes by the day depending on my mood, current situations and personal level of resiliency.

Though I do not believe that Beirut will ever feel like home, there are many times I have found that it has become more of a home than many other places I have lived. While the city, itself can be tiresome, and chaotic the people here compensate ten-fold for the frustrating inadequacies.  I feel I have a very secure network of friends, colleagues and neighbors that have become a second family.  Lebanese people by nature are extremely social and chatty. “Good mornings” and “how are you’s” are mandatory anytime you pass someone you have seen once or twice before. Rumors and gossip travel rapidly and everyone can trace a connection to someone else via blood relation, professional encounters or proximity.  Invitations are warm, sincere and obliging to the invitee.

In addition to the common warmth of local lebanese. The expat community is equally tight-knit and caring. At our school there is a small number of expats, few enough to be accommodated collectively in one, seven story building. We work together, live together, play together and support each other. Though  people come and go with in a two or three year span, the connections in our micro community run deep. We are a group thrown together from different locations,  backgrounds, ages and beliefs.

I find  myself now, unexpectedly in the hospital for signs of preterm labor.  A busy work environment and a stressful level of self-motivated responsibility combined with my stubborn inability to ask for help have landed me here.  While I am fine and our baby boy safe and secure. I am forced to slow down and reach out to the wonderful community in which I live.

I am touched by colleagues stepping up to take charge of my work responsibilities. They don’t bat an eye at adding more burden to their load at the end of the school year.   The hospital staff is cheerful, caring and chatty. I am flooded with texts offering help and support. Visits from friends bearing flowers, cookies and funny stories bring tears to my eyes. I am so grateful for the love I feel, especially being so far from home.

Hearing the consistent quick thump of my baby boy’s heart over the monitor, I am comforted. As he wiggles and squirms in the warm cocoon of my belly he is safe and content. I am glad to know that while I can help him traverse the difficulties of new places and spaces. He is blessed to enter a world filled with compassionate, caring people. A global community where there is so much to learn from others and about one’s self.

As we approach three years living in Beirut I realized it marks a milestone. This is the longest I have ever lived in one place since graduating High school. Over the past 12 years I have bounced around city to city, house to house. The shortest residences lasted only a month the longest a year or two most averaging 9 months or so. I lived in a converted garage, tiny apartments cut from larger craftsman homes, quad community apartments, duplexes, studio apartment, a college house lovingly named “The Womb”, a farm house-over run with mice later condemned and torn down, a hostel in guatemala, one bedrooms that should have been closets, and urban apartments with wide park like lawns.   All of these places I was eager to lovingly call “home”.

Here we are in Beirut with a great spacious apartment that we have inhabited for going on three years.  We plan to stay a full four years. Yet, I am just now coming to terms that this is my home, not only that, it is more of a home than any of the prior mentioned homes.  Why has the concept of “home” been so hard to apply to our current residence?

A question continues to emerge again and again. How far should I push myself ?And how much is enough?

I have set too many  official and unofficial goals for myself in the last year:

• One goal being to take a photo every day for 365 days, post these photos and blog about them. Needless to say this did not actualize.  365 photos, didn’t happen, in fact that lasted about 2 weeks before I realize how time consuming it was to transfer the photos and upload them.
• I  purchased a ukulele last summer with the intention of mastering it during the rainy days of winter.  Currently I can play a rendition of  twinkle twinkle little star that is recognizable to some.
• I set goals to train and run the Beirut 10k for the last three years. But then, I don’t train enough and I end up speed walking.
• I decided I would menu plan each week. Using new recipes and unfamiliar ingredients.  This has lead to a vast pintrest board and some interesting culinary experiments.
• I committed to meeting new people, getting out more, finding new hobbies and seeking moments of beauty in life.

My head spins with the good intentions I had for myself. I feel crushed, guilty even, that I have not mastered each and every goal. Should I? Should  each bulleted item  be accomplished or a more broad spectrum of change and growth?

An experience  this summer helps be put this into better perspective.

I awoke in the morning with a few days left in the Pacific Northwest. I decided, I must make the most of my time in Oregon. I researched hiking trails and set off heading East out Highway 84.  58 Minutes later I was at a rest stop called Starvation Creek park. I laced up my walking shoes and asked myself one last time:  Am I crazy for doing this alone? Then started out on the trail.  The trails were not well marked and I was relying on my memory of the hiking website’s  description   to stay on the appropriate path. But frankly I didn’t know if I was headed in the right direction.

I hiked UP and DOWN then UP and DOWN the ridges. I stopped at this point to enjoy the view.

After another 15 minutes UP I arrived here.

Lovely! I thought A nice pleasent hike to get the blood flowing and add color to the cheeks. I must be nearing the trail head again soon. 

I looked down to the highway below. I felt proud of the steep incline I had mastered.

I continued to hike DOWN then UP the UP and UP. I was sweating at this point. I’d procured a walking stick to help pull myself up the steep grade. But later gave up and resorted to pushing on the tops of my knees to propel myself up.  At each turn I thought. Okay, the next switchback will be the one that starts back down.  Then I arrived here.

I could see the place I had hiked from way down below. I turned to see where I was headed.

Wiping the sweat from my brow I decided enough was enough. What was I trying to prove?

I set out for a solo hike in the beautiful Pacific Northwest. Hadn’t I already accomplished my goal.

So I turned and headed down the mountain  back the way I’d come. (skidding most the way on my butt, it was so steep!).

After this experience I found myself re assessing my personal goals. Is the very end what I am striving for? Do I need follow an unclear path to a ideal destination? Or do I need to listen closely to my true intentions for myself  and adjust as necessary?

Living and working in Beirut is quite a feat in of itself. I have been forced to grow, change and learn at a rapid pace to keep up. Also I have navigated  my first two years teaching. That has had a tremendously steep learning curve that has not yet begun to level out.  None of these things have been in my regimen of personal goals.  However the majority of my energy, time and strength have been devoted to the experience of teaching and living in Beirut.   The path I have been on, is not the one I set my intentions upon. However I am growing and changing in ways I never would have expected.

I haven’t mastered my official goals, I have made progress with all of them. Perhaps my time-lines  need to be extended.  Maybe a new goal should be added to the list.

• Have more  patience with myself.

Shortly after arriving back in the states we drove  up to Vashon Island, Washington to visit family.

Their home rests off a small one lane road, tucked among tall pine and fir trees.  We we instantly taken aback by the quiet and seclusion, it was truly restful after the noise and bustle of Beirut.   Long walks on the local beaches during low tide revealed an abundance of wildlife. 

A pair of Bald Eagles watched us from branches above.

I was captivated but the diversity in color and texture of the life on the beach.

We took many walks on beaches and through the woods. At night we  strolled  admiring the stars and absolute stillness of the island.  As always, before returning to the states, I crave nature and being surrounded by tall green trees and bushy underbrush. I felt I could absorb the peacefulness and green of Vashon Island.

We happened to be on the Island during the annual Strawberry festival. So, we headed to downtown to watch the parade. The parade truly displayed the local color and political leanings of the island inhabitants. The themes of the floats and participants were such perfect example of a progressive Pacific Northwest rural community.

Antique tractors driven by ladies in evening gowns.

Girls living out pioneer fantasies with pony’s

Local ukulele band.

Boys looking confused about their role as clowns in shopping baskets.

 A Sheep running for the Mayors office.

Giant chicken?

I became a bit emotional while watching these characters promenade past.   I wondered where these emotions were coming from.  On one hand, I was truly charmed by the silly playfulness as well as the true sense of community. I continued snapping pictures with the intention of showing to  friends in Beirut. They would find this whole ordeal bizarre and incomprehensible.   I realized that explaining the culture behind the parade would be next to impossible. Similar to how difficult it is to explain Beiruty culture to my Pacific Northwest friends.  This contrast  makes me feel sad  and isolated. Living in two very different worlds is difficult.  Trying to merge them even harder.

When living ten months of the year in out of the country, I have found a lifestyle, routines and  new communities.   However,  I know our residence  in Beirut is not permanent.  My attachment  to the life we have established there is limited and I always find myself holding tightly on to ties to our prior life in the Pacific Northwest.   The longer I am away from the place I consider home the harder it is to hold claim those ties.  I find myself adrift between where I live currently and where I want to be in the future.  Which feels like a mixture of culture shock, homesickness and just plain confusion.

The past few weeks in Beirut have been more tense and dramatic than we have seen during our two years living here.   In Tripoli a Syrian religious leader was shot at a boarder crossing, resulting in roadblocks, burning tires in protest.  Protest erupted in southern Beirut late Sunday night.  People were cautious Monday and less than half of the students came to class. Then there was nothing until Wednesday night when things got close to home.

Wednesday night our building was shaken with the sounds of gunshots.  The inhabitants of our building, all teachers and all foreigners, gathered in the stairwell to try to make some sense of what was happening.  We got word that a gun battle was taking place two buildings down.  We closed dust shutters over the windows and tried to wait it out in the stairwell. The army had been brought in and the firefight slowed about 2 and half hours after it began. Most of us headed for a sleepless night in our beds. Only to be woken to more gunfire at 4:30 am which continued until 6:30 am.  Twenty-five minutes later we were given word it was over and school was open. Outside on the street school busses rambled by and people began walking to work.   Sleep deprived but happy it was over we all headed to school.

I appreciated the way life got right back to normal. Immediately after the event people were going about their business. At school on Thursday colleagues greeted me with some sympathy and said “Welcome to Lebanon, that’s just the way it is.”

Throughout the next two days multiple conflicting explanations were given for the gun battle. No bystanders were harmed only the gunmen and one army personnel.  I doubt we’ll really ever have a true understanding of what happened. It seems to have been an isolated event, that once quelled, didn’t result in more conflict.

Everyone has moved on. The incident has been left firmly in the past by most Lebanese citizens. However, three days later I find myself still thinking about it and wondering. What does this mean?  I keep scouring news articles for some indication as to whether I too should forget it or be concerned.  The news is of no help. Speculation is all anyone can provide. There are just too many players and too many tensions, many of which are linked to the conflict in Syria.

With so many unknowns, I have to focus on the known for some comfort. I know foreigners are not targets.  I am confident that our school has our best interests and procedures to keep us safe.   Things have quieted down and it very well could stay that way.

I took a walk today. I passed the building where the shooting had been a few nights earlier. No evidence of the gun battle remain. Shopkeepers sit in plastic chairs smoking and laughing. Kids play soccer in the street and old ladies hang their laundry on the balconies. Down on the cornich this is the most common scene, just like any other day.

During spring break this year I wanted a travel experience that would be active, outdoors and relaxed in pace. The past few breaks were spent in urban areas of India and Egypt. The trips in turn were fast paced, crowded and busy.   In planning for this spring break I followed the recommendation of my friend Mary. When I first met her she mentioned her recent trip hiking the Lycian way. It sounded beautiful and accessible. She helped me plan my route  and boosted my confidence that I could do the trip without a guided tour. (for that I am so thankful).

The Lycian way is a trail that follows the southern coast of Turkey. The trail itself is over 500 km long. Parts of the trail utilize  old road way/trail that was used by the  ancient Lycian people for trade routes or travel.  We took a very relaxed approach to hiking and was delayed a few days by rain. So, in the end I think we hiked only about 40 km over 5 days.

Our  hiking began with this:

We hiked from the town of Fetiye, where we were staying. We hiked over a ridge and into the most bucolic valley. On the far side of the valley was a Greek ghost town. We explored the ruined buildings and enjoyed a thunderstorm rolling across the valley.

The next day we returned to Karakoy buy mini bus to continue the hike onto the town of Oludenis. There were stunning views and many goats staring at us from the brush.

 The Following day we hiked on from Oludenis to Faralya and witnessed even more stunning views.

The ancient road is still visible.

View of a more secluded valley and beach resort.

We arrived in Faralya in time for a beautiful sunset, glass of wine and delicious meal cooked by local housewives.

The next day we hiked on to Kabak Beach. The spent a couple of days lazing about in this secluded  hippy haven. It was pre-season for tourist and we almost had the place to ourselves.

We hiked back up and took a microbus back to Fethiye, where we were met with rain and thunderstorms. I had planned to do this.  However, weather was not permitting so we hopped on a bus back to Istanbul.

In Istanbul we spend the day wandering in the Taksim square area. Here are a few photos of that fun day.

The next day I flew back to Beirut. I have begun planing my next vacation when I’ll come back to Turkey and go here. Then continue to hike other sections of the Lycian way.

 A boat most likely washed ashore during one of our epic winter thunderstorms. Now is prominently obstructs the view of an old fortress.

Fortress on the sea.

The juxtaposition of ancient with the new never ceases to amaze me.  I try to imagine even this castle is “new” compared to the history of civilizations in this area.

The pet pelican, who happily feasts on fish all day.

Narrow Alley that leads into the souks of old town Saida.

Such an enchanting area with covered streets and tangled wires, sweet shops and soap factories, chinese trinkets and carpenters.

Olive oil soap in the soap factory.

This was so quintessentially Lebanese I had to take a picture. Blue skies framed by old masonry, orange tree and olive tree branches.

Snack cart squeezes through the tight covered streets.

View of the Corniche from the hill. Skyscrapers, ferris wheel and sea.

Sweet friendly old man. Who, I have seen napping in this very place on more than one occasion.

One of my favorite times to walk on the Corniche is the day after a heavy storm. The waves are always incredible to watch.

Vender of sesame seed bread, Kaak bread, using a baby stroller as his wheels.

A family set up a picnic with at sunset along the corniche.

Perhaps the cool weather and the constant rain, was wearing on my spirit a bit. Because when the sun finally came out allowing for a walk on the Corniche, I found myself full of energy and enthusiasm for Beirut.  I may even admit I am beginning to fall in love with this city.

This realization caused me to ask: What changed?  Last year, I tolerated Beirut.  I barely dodged cars on the street, scooters on the sidewalk. I was passed up again and again as I waited in what seemed like “a line”.  The grocery store was always a hassle between grinning cheese counter boys and the baggers a the check-out-line fighting over who would carry my bags. I felt choked by pollution, overcrowded and cramped,  and disturbed by the constant noise… Now, I may be falling in love?

What is different? I think it could be three main things.

1.) I am happy at my job this year, whereas last year I was more than miserable.

2.) I feel a growing sense of community, as I have an expanding network of friends and I live and work in the same neighborhood. commuting on foot lends itself to casual “good-mornings”  or “marhabon” to the people  and cats I see regularly in passing. Also, I notice the subleties of the neighboorhood, the slight changes that only an occupant could notice.

3.)  I’ve grown accustomed to Beirut life both through familiarity and through comparison to other places. I can navigate daily life with ease and comfort, for the most part. Cab rides are less stressful, The boys at the cheese counter no longer take interest in misguided flirtations. One trusted bagger always helps me with my bags. I’ve learned the subtle ways to say “no thank you” to taxi drivers as they honk by. I know generally how to get around.  That familiarity paired with my experiences in Cairo and New Delhi make daily life seem easy and content.

Then I must ask myself: What hasn’t changed? What did I not notice before about this love-able city because I was not ready to love?