Lebanon: Rum and Shadows (cont.)

In the morning, just at the cobalt blue breaking of dawn, a buzzing, crackling PA system comes on from the mosque. The slow chanting spreads in the acoustically framed valley leaving haunting echoes as the crimson fingers of a new morning arise, stretch, marking the way for a new day.

***

Still earlier we were in the capital of Lebanon, and the center of some of its greatest achievements. There are burgeoning business districts within twenty minutes drive of Beirut. The capital itself is a hotspot for everything from teems of rich Saudis to European tourists and the local nightlife. Huge pounding clubs with all the trademarks, bouncers, over-priced drinks, ecstasy dealers and huge roidheads litter the intricate web of downtown streets.

Beirut is a city of shadows.

For the most part, Beirut is a very safe and well-managed city. Right in the middle of the city there’s no traffic permitted except for two small feeder streets that only lead to the city center and then back out of the center. This leads to a safe, well-lit atmosphere, reminiscent of Denver or other well-managed middle-sized American cities.

But there are still many signs of its other character. Lebanon has its own distinct personality (originated in a thousand-year old Phoenician legacy). Even the local graffiti occasionally features Phoenician figures.

But like all cities, Lebanon still faces many challenges. There are still many poverty-ridden districts. There are beggars and child beggars. There are also children selling flowers on the street. Overall, though, it’s a decent atmosphere, people are friendly and the citizens even seem to plead a general and willful ignorance of the armed military personnel marking every few blocks.

As we drive into many cities we often see outlying areas in terrible shambles. Broken down and abandoned residential and industrial sections. The observant viewer will see the occasional shell hole in the sides of a building (some the size of a soccer ball). There is no denying the very recent violence here.

Even two days before our return home we had a reminder of the shadows that Lebanon both casts and lays under. As the evening fog swept up the side of the mountain downing visibility to under 20 feet, huge Army Personnel Carriers screech by in the thick white night—strange metal military banshees. Apparently a situation with the Syrians had started up. People looked up from their coffees, their smokes, and their soccer matches. Then they looked right back.

“You hit him!”

A fruit bat, maybe fifty yards away, comes crashing down.

“Help. Hey.” I hear something fading behind me, deaf ears ringing--sweat caking my dry salty eyes. My companion’s disappeared. We turn and we see skid marks on the dry turf. Down below he’s fallen into a river bank. Miraculously in the ink blue night he’s only twisted his ankle. With some tugging, root pulling and three languages of profanity, he is pulled up to safety.

“That was intense”

That was an understatement. We were in a car with five people we barely knew off to shoot guns in the remote mountainscape of a Middle Eastern country while our country is off to war against another Middle Eastern country.

Relieved, we drink and shoot some guns. We push the truck back down the mountain than run on it while it’s still moving. The back tires spit tremendous clouds of Martian dust behind us.

Our car skids away, only five hours left in this the raging face-first reality of this military fertile crescent. Bags packed, bitter memories of long, scorching endless days quickly fading, we sit in the car. (The cab ride before this we sat in a smoky European model while our cabby told us about his musical career, which had once taken him to Romania—this humble author’s place of origin)

The mountains roll away to one side while the sky-climbing Mediterranean twinkled bleach blue in the strong embrace of the late summer sun.

It’s not even a hassle anymore when we’re stopped by the military police, machine guns pointed at our innocent sitting selves, while they examine our paperwork.

Lebanon is a land of many things. Khalil Gibran found visions that transformed his literature past language in these mountains. There is wisdom in the quiet love of daily life, the burgeoning urban idealism and even the radical questioning. This is Lebanon. This is life here. Cedar trees and assassinations; military over-reactions and juicy two foot draping grapes; rum and shadows.

Page 2 of 2   Previous Page

All contents copyright ©2005 Pology Magazine. Unauthorized use of any content is strictly prohibited.