Sunday, November 29, 2009
Jordan (by Neil)
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Lattakia (by Neil)
I swam in the Mediterranean today in Lattakia (that is ancient Laodicea) , and I am pleased to announce that it is lukewarm. Just as the apostle Paul complained about years ago. We are here for 2 days with a newly made friend and two of his children – staying at their vacation apartment on the sea. The end of November is nearing, so the tourists and summer vacationers are all gone and only a few weekend warriors such as ourselves were out on the terraced balconies.
This morning I sketched the sea and the adjacent villa, and painted it in the afternoon. In the interim we attended Friday prayers at the local mosque. I have asked a number of questions about Islam and now have a pending engagement with an English speaking Imam to talk with me as well as a Quran in English and a set of commentaries – about 10” worth of books I think.
Today was my first time to be in a mosque during the actual prayer time and to witness the collective prayer and worship service. The imam was impressive in his flowing beige robe and impeccable head wrap. He was articulate and expressive and told a number of stories to illustrate his points. I sat near the back which was lined with chairs for those too infirmed to be able to fully kneel down and bow their foreheads to the ground. They were full of character and the usual indiscretion of loud voices (thought perhaps to be a whisper) that comes with old age and hearing loss. One of my favorite scenes was of the room full of men, aligned and facing east, ready to communally pray. One small girl was there with her father and she was the only one I saw bobbing about with her head back and forth and twisting impatiently. I wish I could download the copy of my mental videotape to be able to share it with you.
After driving about in Lattakia, we came back home and I took a swim in the sea in my jeans as I hadn’t packed my swimming trunks (and it was a bit spontaneous after discovering mildly warm water)… We had a good conversation tonight about Syrian education, music and art in Islam, domestic violence and gender roles, and more personal goals for us and our families.
One of the dubious thoughts put forward was around the sin of a woman dressing overly sexually. Yvette asked if it is equally wrong for the man and the woman, and our host answered “no, it is worse for the woman.” Each man who looks and lusts has a mark against him, and she has a mark against her for each man that looks and lusts about her, so if her dress causes 100 men to look and lust after her, she may have 100 marks against her, whereas they each have 1.” Yvette felt this was dubious logic at best.
This morning I sketched the sea and the adjacent villa, and painted it in the afternoon. In the interim we attended Friday prayers at the local mosque. I have asked a number of questions about Islam and now have a pending engagement with an English speaking Imam to talk with me as well as a Quran in English and a set of commentaries – about 10” worth of books I think.
Today was my first time to be in a mosque during the actual prayer time and to witness the collective prayer and worship service. The imam was impressive in his flowing beige robe and impeccable head wrap. He was articulate and expressive and told a number of stories to illustrate his points. I sat near the back which was lined with chairs for those too infirmed to be able to fully kneel down and bow their foreheads to the ground. They were full of character and the usual indiscretion of loud voices (thought perhaps to be a whisper) that comes with old age and hearing loss. One of my favorite scenes was of the room full of men, aligned and facing east, ready to communally pray. One small girl was there with her father and she was the only one I saw bobbing about with her head back and forth and twisting impatiently. I wish I could download the copy of my mental videotape to be able to share it with you.
After driving about in Lattakia, we came back home and I took a swim in the sea in my jeans as I hadn’t packed my swimming trunks (and it was a bit spontaneous after discovering mildly warm water)… We had a good conversation tonight about Syrian education, music and art in Islam, domestic violence and gender roles, and more personal goals for us and our families.
One of the dubious thoughts put forward was around the sin of a woman dressing overly sexually. Yvette asked if it is equally wrong for the man and the woman, and our host answered “no, it is worse for the woman.” Each man who looks and lusts has a mark against him, and she has a mark against her for each man that looks and lusts about her, so if her dress causes 100 men to look and lust after her, she may have 100 marks against her, whereas they each have 1.” Yvette felt this was dubious logic at best.
Monday, November 16, 2009
The Back (by Neil)
Flowers, flirtations, jealousy
The last two exist in the mind perhaps as much as reality
The last two exist in the mind perhaps as much as reality
The border of decorum is explored by the young and old
The raucous group in the back is peppered with a few staid ones
Perhaps wishing their inhibitions gone as they witness the comingling -
The head covered flirtations of the Middle East
The drum is brought out and beat into a rhythm
Singing brings old men to their feet and drives others to wince
We are two busses – a front and a back
The front consists of quiet couplets talking of the day, cracking open pumpkin seeds, trying to sleep or reflect or converse
While the back escalates in exuberance –
The after-party that began with chit-chat and charades and jokes and riddles now nears its climax
The after-party that began with chit-chat and charades and jokes and riddles now nears its climax
Our busload camaraderie is birthed from 16 hours of shared experience:
An ancient grape pressing center from the Roman with stone channels now laced with cracks from earthquakes and erosion yet smoothed by the bygone harvests’ acidic sluices
A shopping stop for the large yellow pomegranates and orchard fresh persimmons
A hike from Darkoosh below the cliffs of the river through the orchards, past the cave tombs from antiquity, past the goats with their growling guard-dog and smoking shepherds, stopping for a stolen piece of fruit from the tree to relish the joy of plucking and sucking out the sweetness or tartness, a borrowed table from an empty home becomes a rest stop for 4 or 5 of us
At the end of the hike for the young and those who wish to be a scramble up, up, up. We slip our way to caves and shelters and goat pens hewn from the rock to provide a place to weather a passing storm or cold night. Our German and English and Syrian and American whistles and whoops and yodels echo back to us across the fertile valley.
The church atop the hill painted creamy on the backdrop of the olive groves and orchards in the setting sun
And betwixt all – the bus ride.
The stop for supper.
The stop to smoke.
The stop for coffee.
The hours of sitting and the musical chairs seating that brings the familiarity and the exuberance of the songs and the drum and the voices and the glances that say we are happy and we are family and we are friends
We slowly subdue and merge back into whispered gossip
or philosophical discussions laced with smiled affections
Numbers and emails are exchanged
Invitations extended and postulated
The outskirts of the city are lifted as we return to the womb that birthed us
We are home and tired
Another bus trip completed
Numbers and emails are exchanged
Invitations extended and postulated
The outskirts of the city are lifted as we return to the womb that birthed us
We are home and tired
Another bus trip completed
Friday, November 6, 2009
Krak de Chevaliers (by Neil)
The sky toyed with us all day and showed us many moods. The skies raced about changing from cloudy to blue and back again. We drove the serpentine roads beneath them from church to viewpoint to castle. At length we arrived at the crusader stronghold. It sits in the Homs gap that provides a way from the Mediterranean to the East…. One of the key and therefore fought over trade routes of antiquity. Bedia – who is pushing 75 – wasn’t quite up to the wet slippery citadel steps, and the up and down that it entailed, but still acted as tour guide and went with us up to the entrance before bidding us to continue on.
The scale of the undertaking to build something of this scale and complexity always amazes me. Lots of levels and layers of massive stones. The steps turned into a waterfall when the rain was at its peak and it was fascinating to see some of the ancient drainage systems hard at work funneling and diverting water . I was looking over the outer wall towards an aqueduct that must have supplied additional water to the castle. Just then a shepherd appeared beneath the structure with 30 wet sheep walking in two files trailing behind him. I wasn’t quick enough with the camera to capture the scene, but still it imprinted in my memory as something that seemed fitting with the setting – in contrast to the tour busses and the French and British tourist groups.
We traipsed about photographing one another and eavesdropping on occasional tidbits of history from passing tour groups. I understand that once this mountain fortress was one of a series signal towers that could be used to quickly send warnings of danger across the countryside.
Upon our return we had a light lunch: greenbeans slow cooked with oil and garlic and onions; baked cauliflower with onions with a tahini garlic lemon sauce; homemade pizza dough with corn, mushrooms, olives, tomatoes, and peppers; bulghar mujedrah; cabbage and tomato salad dressed with lemon and olive oil; pomegranates; tea; sweets; homemade yogurt. Six hours later and lunch was just wrapping up for some visiting and a few more treats and sweets for the road. The hospitality is really wonderful.
The scale of the undertaking to build something of this scale and complexity always amazes me. Lots of levels and layers of massive stones. The steps turned into a waterfall when the rain was at its peak and it was fascinating to see some of the ancient drainage systems hard at work funneling and diverting water . I was looking over the outer wall towards an aqueduct that must have supplied additional water to the castle. Just then a shepherd appeared beneath the structure with 30 wet sheep walking in two files trailing behind him. I wasn’t quick enough with the camera to capture the scene, but still it imprinted in my memory as something that seemed fitting with the setting – in contrast to the tour busses and the French and British tourist groups.
We traipsed about photographing one another and eavesdropping on occasional tidbits of history from passing tour groups. I understand that once this mountain fortress was one of a series signal towers that could be used to quickly send warnings of danger across the countryside.
Upon our return we had a light lunch: greenbeans slow cooked with oil and garlic and onions; baked cauliflower with onions with a tahini garlic lemon sauce; homemade pizza dough with corn, mushrooms, olives, tomatoes, and peppers; bulghar mujedrah; cabbage and tomato salad dressed with lemon and olive oil; pomegranates; tea; sweets; homemade yogurt. Six hours later and lunch was just wrapping up for some visiting and a few more treats and sweets for the road. The hospitality is really wonderful.
Kafroon - Syria (by Neil)
Kafroon… We have left Aleppo for the countryside. The terrain and weather and religious backdrop has changed dramatically. The valleys have become wooded, water is seen flowing in the valleys, and the hills are wooded and green with olive groves, apricots, apples, walnuts, pomegranate, and other fruit trees. The day was threatening rain as we left around 7 a.m., and as we moved toward the coast and up into the mountains it strengthened its resolve and dumped buckets.
We are visiting Auntie Bedia in Kafroon a Christian community just north of Lebanon and off the Eastern Mediterranean. Bedia is an honorary relation who has helped in the rearing of some of Yvette’s sisters, been with her family in Libya, and is now a neighbor to them in California. Bedia is in Syria for 2 months with her sisters and brothers and the extended family that is her home village. On our bus ride from Aleppo we met Dr. Bassem who grew up next to the home where we will be staying. He answered our grammar questions, shared with us his knowledge of the Bedouin people, helped with our pronunciation, filled us in on the medical education in Syria, and discussed with us the current system of military service in Syria: families with only one boy don’t have to send their son, some medical conditions exempt one from service, immigrants who stay abroad – for example a Syrian doctor who does his residence in the states and then starts to work there can pay a fee in lieu of service.
Kafroon welcomed us with armies of olive trees standing sentinel on the terraced hills. The bus took us up and around a few hairpins before halting on one and honking - the driver motioning us to enter the house on the corner. We were the last passengers receiving this door to door service and he stayed to chat with our host family. There were 8 – 10 people visiting in the room –people with 40 – 70 years of shared history and stories who know each other well and welcome us into their midst with English and Arabic and food and gestures and smiles. By the end of the day we will have visited 5 more families in their spaces, held twin babies, bounced balls on our heads, drawn pictures and letters , stretched out our Arabic vocabularies, and eaten walnut and pistachio laden sweets and oranges and carrots and cake and drunk numerous cups of tea and coffee. Neil will also have been lectured repeatedly about the merits of babies and why he should have one soon – “don’t be selfish”, “God has said to be fruitful and multiply”, “it isn’t the same”, “this area is very romantic”, “if you don’t want baby – why married.”
After lunch we are whisked away to see the sites. The Syrian equivalent of my sister (and Lisa I mean that in all the good ways) acts as tour guide and has a very efficient agenda mapped out to optimize our viewing pleasures: An old church in a cave – “look the ceiling – very beautiful”, “take a picture – very old”, “ok, we go” ; a cave on another hilltop, a church that people make pilgrimages to pray for babies. The hilltop views are expansive and show the sprouting condominium developments of the last 10 years marching up the ridges. We manage to finish this itinerary before the skies really let loose and knock the power out leading to a candle-lit supper of smoky baba-ghanouj, benijan (eggplant, onion and tomato), cheese, bread, salad, and the ultimate comfort food for a cold stormy night – warm lentil soup with freshly squeezed lemon.
I am now experiencing the ineptitudes of hosting by the most well meaning of hosts. Assuming that we are devout kiddos and missing Christian sermons, our host has tuned to the English 3ABN channel (Three Angels Broadcasting Network – a conservative Seventh Day Adventist channel, the religion of our parents) - spouting out information about baptism and converts and the devil and how your best friend may turn on you in the end of time and how much worse it will be when those inside the church will turn on us – much worse than when the infidels or the agnostics turn against us, and how we must be strong…. Because English is harder to understand, our host has cranked the volume to an ear piercing level…. There is almost nothing else I wouldn’t rather have blaring in my ear, but I am enjoying the family scene of wrinkled grandmother (Bedia’s sister) having her blood pressure checked and picking her nose and grinning from ear to ear and gesturing with great animation. She is wearing 5 visible layers and sitting right in front of the small central heater: black tights underneath with knee-high white stockings with runs in them ; over this are calf-high grey socks; padded slippers and a grey polyester skirt complete the ensemble - along with a greenish tee-shirt and a navy cardigan. Wonderfully Monty-Pythonesque.
Tomorrow we will visit Krak de Chevaliers – one of the great Crusader castles just north of Lebanon.
We are visiting Auntie Bedia in Kafroon a Christian community just north of Lebanon and off the Eastern Mediterranean. Bedia is an honorary relation who has helped in the rearing of some of Yvette’s sisters, been with her family in Libya, and is now a neighbor to them in California. Bedia is in Syria for 2 months with her sisters and brothers and the extended family that is her home village. On our bus ride from Aleppo we met Dr. Bassem who grew up next to the home where we will be staying. He answered our grammar questions, shared with us his knowledge of the Bedouin people, helped with our pronunciation, filled us in on the medical education in Syria, and discussed with us the current system of military service in Syria: families with only one boy don’t have to send their son, some medical conditions exempt one from service, immigrants who stay abroad – for example a Syrian doctor who does his residence in the states and then starts to work there can pay a fee in lieu of service.
Kafroon welcomed us with armies of olive trees standing sentinel on the terraced hills. The bus took us up and around a few hairpins before halting on one and honking - the driver motioning us to enter the house on the corner. We were the last passengers receiving this door to door service and he stayed to chat with our host family. There were 8 – 10 people visiting in the room –people with 40 – 70 years of shared history and stories who know each other well and welcome us into their midst with English and Arabic and food and gestures and smiles. By the end of the day we will have visited 5 more families in their spaces, held twin babies, bounced balls on our heads, drawn pictures and letters , stretched out our Arabic vocabularies, and eaten walnut and pistachio laden sweets and oranges and carrots and cake and drunk numerous cups of tea and coffee. Neil will also have been lectured repeatedly about the merits of babies and why he should have one soon – “don’t be selfish”, “God has said to be fruitful and multiply”, “it isn’t the same”, “this area is very romantic”, “if you don’t want baby – why married.”
After lunch we are whisked away to see the sites. The Syrian equivalent of my sister (and Lisa I mean that in all the good ways) acts as tour guide and has a very efficient agenda mapped out to optimize our viewing pleasures: An old church in a cave – “look the ceiling – very beautiful”, “take a picture – very old”, “ok, we go” ; a cave on another hilltop, a church that people make pilgrimages to pray for babies. The hilltop views are expansive and show the sprouting condominium developments of the last 10 years marching up the ridges. We manage to finish this itinerary before the skies really let loose and knock the power out leading to a candle-lit supper of smoky baba-ghanouj, benijan (eggplant, onion and tomato), cheese, bread, salad, and the ultimate comfort food for a cold stormy night – warm lentil soup with freshly squeezed lemon.
I am now experiencing the ineptitudes of hosting by the most well meaning of hosts. Assuming that we are devout kiddos and missing Christian sermons, our host has tuned to the English 3ABN channel (Three Angels Broadcasting Network – a conservative Seventh Day Adventist channel, the religion of our parents) - spouting out information about baptism and converts and the devil and how your best friend may turn on you in the end of time and how much worse it will be when those inside the church will turn on us – much worse than when the infidels or the agnostics turn against us, and how we must be strong…. Because English is harder to understand, our host has cranked the volume to an ear piercing level…. There is almost nothing else I wouldn’t rather have blaring in my ear, but I am enjoying the family scene of wrinkled grandmother (Bedia’s sister) having her blood pressure checked and picking her nose and grinning from ear to ear and gesturing with great animation. She is wearing 5 visible layers and sitting right in front of the small central heater: black tights underneath with knee-high white stockings with runs in them ; over this are calf-high grey socks; padded slippers and a grey polyester skirt complete the ensemble - along with a greenish tee-shirt and a navy cardigan. Wonderfully Monty-Pythonesque.
Tomorrow we will visit Krak de Chevaliers – one of the great Crusader castles just north of Lebanon.
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