Partially disguised by a collection of photocopies and a slim grey Apple laptop, the friendly smile appeared again. Karen was a journalist from London, heading to Beirut for Business. I spent the four hour plane journey discussing Middle Eastern politics with someone that had experienced it firsthand.
“So why exactly has Israel captured and even killed some of the aid workers on the aid ship?” I asked. The flotilla raid was just hot news and I was eager to find out more on the crisis. The mainstream media outlets had far from provided me with a firm understanding of what exactly was happening.
“Well, the Israeli’s claimed that their actions had been in self defence” she began, “that they had performed their actions in Israeli waters”. She carefully chose her words, pausing now and then, attempting to maintain a level of objectivity and balance that respected all sides of the argument.
“But the humanitarian situation in Gaza is a desperate one, and the Israeli blockade and actions are simply unjustified”. She went on explaining the situation, every once in a while interrupted by my questions. About her own job she kept fairly distant, maintaining a certain degree of secrecy, as if sworn by her journalistic instincts not to reveal any details of the mission she was on.
As the automatic doors slid open, I was surprisingly not confronted with a wave of humid thick air I had expected from the Middle East. Beirut stood in front of me, invitingly fresh and hillier than I had anticipated.
I caught sight of a relatively large man, somewhat bald and holding a cardboard sign with my surname on it. I introduced myself and stuck out my hand.
“Only you?” The man looked surprised. This would be the first of many stunned locals at the sight of an eighteen year old tourist wandering the streets of Lebanon by himself. It seemed my friends weren’t the only ones taken back by my holiday choice.
“Where is my car?” He asked. “I’ve lost my car. She’s hiding”. The driver had a funny sense of humour. We spent the next ten minutes searching the car park where his car must have been ‘hiding’... Playing hide and seek with an inanimate object, I could already see this holiday was going to be interesting.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Saturday, August 28, 2010
The Dip
“You’ve got four months of holiday this summer. Do something, go somewhere, travel. You’ll never get an opportunity like this again in your life.”
These were the words my father told me, April 2010, Thailand. Four months, 120 days...I thought. A boundless pool of freedom.
I felt a rush of excitement, a distinctive sort of happiness, a mood I only recall feeling as a little boy, opening presents on Christmas day. I’m standing at the gate as a queue slowly starts to form, the plane is boarding. A friendly middle aged white woman smiles at me from the corner of the room. I wonder, is she as eager as I am, what is her reason for boarding this plane, what is her story? I’m curious.
Middle Eastern Airways Flight: ME202
departing to Beirut 13:00 June 2 2010
“What? You’re going to Lebanon? Why?”
“Alone?!”
This was probably the reaction I most frequently faced from friends and family. But who could blame them. It was both random and spontaneous; completely out of the blue.
It was in April that I had decided to go to Lebanon, a place that to me seemed the perfect introduction to the Middle East. The capital, a place full of contradictions, would be the base for my travels. An inviting city with a mix of Western and Eastern cultures and a lively night scene, but also a place with a dark past that could still be seen along the bullet torn buildings scattered around the city. The consoling familiarity of Beirut’s liberal values acted as a portal through which I carefully dipped my toes into an ocean of alien cultures and customs, skimming the surface of a historic yet by no means static civilisation.
Thus it would be from Beirut that I would head north to trek in the Bekaa valley, south to dip in the Mediterranean Sea, and east to explore the archaeological ruins of Baalbek. This was not to say I wouldn’t pit stop at Jeitta Grotto, Byblos and Tripoli, all places I consider major highlights of my trip.
These were the words my father told me, April 2010, Thailand. Four months, 120 days...I thought. A boundless pool of freedom.
I felt a rush of excitement, a distinctive sort of happiness, a mood I only recall feeling as a little boy, opening presents on Christmas day. I’m standing at the gate as a queue slowly starts to form, the plane is boarding. A friendly middle aged white woman smiles at me from the corner of the room. I wonder, is she as eager as I am, what is her reason for boarding this plane, what is her story? I’m curious.
Middle Eastern Airways Flight: ME202
departing to Beirut 13:00 June 2 2010
“What? You’re going to Lebanon? Why?”
“Alone?!”
This was probably the reaction I most frequently faced from friends and family. But who could blame them. It was both random and spontaneous; completely out of the blue.
It was in April that I had decided to go to Lebanon, a place that to me seemed the perfect introduction to the Middle East. The capital, a place full of contradictions, would be the base for my travels. An inviting city with a mix of Western and Eastern cultures and a lively night scene, but also a place with a dark past that could still be seen along the bullet torn buildings scattered around the city. The consoling familiarity of Beirut’s liberal values acted as a portal through which I carefully dipped my toes into an ocean of alien cultures and customs, skimming the surface of a historic yet by no means static civilisation.
Thus it would be from Beirut that I would head north to trek in the Bekaa valley, south to dip in the Mediterranean Sea, and east to explore the archaeological ruins of Baalbek. This was not to say I wouldn’t pit stop at Jeitta Grotto, Byblos and Tripoli, all places I consider major highlights of my trip.
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