Our Ponytails
I see us in the children here.
My sisters and me, ages one, four, five
Onion tops, or front of head “goat horn” dos.
Pale, thin skin, large impish eyes
Sun-drenched against backdrops of rooftops, desert, haze.
Why did they come? And how did they feel, my young parents?
Learning new names, new faces, new foods I learn now—menaeesh, beitenjan, labneh, benadura.
Navigating playmates, home repair, pastoral visits, emergencies, impish children, nosy neighbors,
With fondness undimmed by foreign-ness.
The accents, customs, and foods of Syria feel like an old aunt.
Safety, comfort, with occasional self-consciousness, funny clothes, or bad breath,
Learned and felt mostly second-hand through my parents.
Finger-bunched motion of “stanna swaya” held out the windows of impatient taxis.
“Ya habibi!!” to the child who runs in front of a cart on a cobble-stoned street.
“Hemar!!” to the other stupid driver.
Plentiful sweet orange juice and creamy labneh.
And the generosity of the Armenian lady who put down her groceries and took us half-a-mile away to the best foul medemas shop, just because we asked where to get some for breakfast—all along jabbering in Arabic and apologizing that her own house was too small.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Learnings and Jordan observations - by Yvette
When one takes a “midlife crises pre-children” kind of round-the-world trip, it seems that there are deep, meaningful, abstract lessons one should learn. My original dreaming about this trip included words like “spontaneity,” “aesthetic,” “art,” “creativity,” “self-expansion.” And yes, in their own messy way, those ideas are being explored. But there are some more immediate lessons I’ve learned recently which I’d like to share:
1) Chinese suction cups suck—or, rather, they don’t suck enough. Our potholders keep falling from their suction-cupped-to-the-tile vantage point. Much more significantly, our $2 tub-bottom anti-slip mat has a similar effect as a slimy banana peel. As I sat in the bottom of the tub with the shower raining down on me, trying to secure the suction cups yet again and rubbing my bruised shoulder, it took no imagination to ponder what it must be like to be elderly and afraid of falling in the tub. (The mat has now been demoted to use as a rug on the dry floor.)
2) Building codes rock. Okay, so we’ve violated them before. However, now that we’ve a) melted our heater plug twice; b) blown a hole in the side of a lightbulb we were trying to screw in (even worse, this didn’t throw the breaker); c) melted the plug our mostly-gas stove is plugged into (the broiler is electric, go figure); d) enjoyed a show of sparks any time we plug anything in, we’ve decided that housing codes are good things. We’re still going through light bulbs at a rapid rate, but that may relate to item #1 above—made in China.
3) Peeled garlic stinks. Initially, the only garlic we could find came pre-peeled, by the kilo. Now, I like garlic, but even so. . . The plastic bag did little to contain the smell, and soon everything in our fridge (yoghurt, milk, left-over pudding from the night before) smelled like garlic. We attempted a rubber-gasket glass jar, the garlic still escaped. We ate it in everything we could, by the handful. We’ve now found unpeeled garlic—who knew that those peels were so much more effective than modern plastic or glass, in keeping the smell in until one really wants to include garlic in what one is eating.
4) Hot and cold proportions are surprising. When bathing from water one has heated on the stove, the appropriate proportions of hot and cold are surprising. For example, one might think one should fill the bucket with half ice cold water from the tap, and half hot water from the steaming pan one has just carefully carried up the stairs to the bathroom. One would be wrong, painfully wrong.
5) Shopping for jeans is hard. On the Southeast Asia tourist route, most women are dressed in very cool Capri pants and short-sleeved, v-necked t-shirts. Not so true in Syria. Capri pants turn every head in our neighborhood (well, the women try to be discreetly in following you with their eyes, but fail, even from behind a veil)—wow, they scream, there’s ankles here!!! Similarly so with a v-neck. I think people try to be respectful, but it’s hard to gawk respectfully, and, well, I’m foreign enough already (note the uncovered hair), that dressing this way just makes me an easy target to stare at. So, I decide that a second pair of jeans would be a good plan. Okay, so shopping for jeans is hard in the US as well. But here, the challenging factors include that almost all the shopkeepers are men who either try to be helpful or just scrutinize you while you shop—both of these are end up feeling like an ambush anytime one walks into a store. Further, Syrian thighs—not to mention current fashion trends—seem to suggest that all legs are bird-like. My grandfather was a Swiss dairy farmer and thus my thighs are not bird-like. Most of the jeans are very bling-ey, with silver thread and sequins all over the hips and pickets, some more attractive than others. And then there’s the whole price issue. Prices are negotiable in almost every shop. My 13-year-old neighbor assures me I shouldn’t pay more than SP 500 (about $10), but the prices seem to range from there to $80 jeans in the local fancy mall. Ergh. So the shopping sagas I’ve not talked about? A) peanut butter; B) camel meat, this the shop keeper’s idea and not our own; C) parts for our broken toilet; D) bikini line waxing.
Jordan . . .
Our five-day trip to Jordan was really great. We’d gotten a rough translation of the itinerary, but each new day was largely a mystery. Much more spontaneous that way. . . .
Favorites . . . we saw a lot in our 5 days, but I’ll not list everything. Here are a few faves from the trip: 1) Mt. Nebo, from which Moses saw the Promised Land and was then taken to heaven. Beautiful, peaceful, mountain with a lovely breeze and sweeping views. I hope it was a less-hazy day for Moses than it was for us, but even so we were able to see the Dead Sea, the Golan Heights, the suburbs of Amman from here. 2) Wadi Rum – beautiful desert protected area where we rode jeeps (the sun was setting, it was cold!), played football with the Bedouin kids, tried to pet protesting camels, and succeeded in petting baby goats. 3) Madaba -- mosaic of the world’s earliest / largest map, mosaics everywhere were very cool, but this one especially. 4) Jarash – ancient Roman city, a lot of it still intact. Two large theaters (love that), long colonnaded streets and circular plazas, temples to Zeus or Artemis. 5) Petra – of course, fascinating. The site is amazing. Favorite things there beyond the obvious, were the handsomely-decked-out Bedouin policeman we got our picture with, the camels we rode on (first time), and the music being played / sung out from one of the lookout towers, by the church that we hiked to on the far end of Petra. (Petra is where we were the “late ones” back to the bus—sorry, Mary!) 6) Aqaba – A very touristy, somewhat glitzy, party city. I believe 90% of people there are foreigners, it’s a duty-free zone within Jordan, situated on the beautiful blue of the Red Sea (go figure) just across from Israel. We went on glass bottom boats, didn’t see too many fish, but nice to be out on the blue water in the sunshine and the breeze.
Differences with Syria . . . I like that, during this trip, we’re learning about the nuanced differences between places by experience and exposure. Jordan has more friendly relations with the west – evidenced in the Burger King, Pizza Hut, McDonald’s and Starbucks that we saw there. There are some quite fancy malls (also one in Aleppo, but smaller). The roads seem a bit better, and the infrastructure in general a bit better / cleaner / well-repaired. Some have told us that Jordan’s put their bet on education—such as, the taxi driver may have a university degree and speak English. However, he’s working as a taxi driver. Being one of the smallest Middle Eastern countries by population, I wonder if it can “afford” to invest in things other than defense, etc. It also has been blessed, it seems, with relatively good governance by the royal family. That said, it’s also the country with the longest border to Israel—and it does have a very visible military / police presence. We visited the Jordan River, site where Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist, and just 20 feet across the river there is Israel—with a large flag and visitor’s center. I watched another tourist on the Jordanian side as she realized that was Israel, responding with a sniff and, it seemed, “well, I don’t need to go any closer, then.” There seemed a combined fascination, fear, and irritation among our group as various tour guides pointed out which lights were Israel, beyond which set of trees, etc. Syria is still formally at war with Israel, and Syrians cannot go to Israel even if they wanted to.
Swimming. . . we got to swim in the Dead Sea (more a matter of “bobbing” than swimming), the Red Sea (I waded, Neil swam and saw some nice fish while holding to his face a child’s snorkel set which was too small to fit), and thermal hot springs. How does this work in a Muslim culture, we were eager to know. Well, all the women say they’ll swim but nearly all end up wading. Those who do swim generally wear covering (depending on the sophistication of their swimming gear, could be lycra swim suits, or just pants and a shirt) from ankle to wrist to neck). At the thermal springs, there was a “women only” area with high walls, in which the women still wore at least a swim suit with skirty-thing and biker-type shorts beneath, but there they uncovered their hair. My questions were graciously answered by many female friends.
New friends . . . Several wonderful new friends looked out for us: Moona (who shared much better food than we shared with her, loaned us sweaters when we were cold, laughed a lot, tolerated and even tried to understand our bad Arabic, practiced reading with us (she’s a grandma so I think this came naturally), argued with the bathroom guy who charged me 5 times what others were paying and got my money back. Rami (grad student in archeological restoration and conservation, good photographer, co-leader of the trip; he always made sure we knew when / where to go, ensured we were back on the bus, shared pictures and photo tips back-and-forth with Neil, told us how mosaics were preserved, and laughed at our bad jokes); Anita (young business-woman, hip-ster, fashionista, shopper, bathroom groupie); Myrna (young French teacher, photographer and picture-poser ad infinitum, sub-group organizer (dinner together back in Aleppo one week from tonight, okay?), who brought smiles, humor, beauty, grace, enthusiasm), Julie and Joaquim (Canadian and German couple working in Aleppo on water infrastructure, we shared expat stories, a distaste for high-volume Arabic music and yet another shopping mall stop, and together navigated the Jordan visa lines for foreigners). Others on the bus became less shy over the days, and were very helpful in translating a few facts about what we were seeing, or telling us when we were to be at breakfast, how many hours we had at Petra, whether to bring our swimsuits and/or a jacket, when to be back at the bus when we stopped at the mall, etc. Great group of people.
1) Chinese suction cups suck—or, rather, they don’t suck enough. Our potholders keep falling from their suction-cupped-to-the-tile vantage point. Much more significantly, our $2 tub-bottom anti-slip mat has a similar effect as a slimy banana peel. As I sat in the bottom of the tub with the shower raining down on me, trying to secure the suction cups yet again and rubbing my bruised shoulder, it took no imagination to ponder what it must be like to be elderly and afraid of falling in the tub. (The mat has now been demoted to use as a rug on the dry floor.)
2) Building codes rock. Okay, so we’ve violated them before. However, now that we’ve a) melted our heater plug twice; b) blown a hole in the side of a lightbulb we were trying to screw in (even worse, this didn’t throw the breaker); c) melted the plug our mostly-gas stove is plugged into (the broiler is electric, go figure); d) enjoyed a show of sparks any time we plug anything in, we’ve decided that housing codes are good things. We’re still going through light bulbs at a rapid rate, but that may relate to item #1 above—made in China.
3) Peeled garlic stinks. Initially, the only garlic we could find came pre-peeled, by the kilo. Now, I like garlic, but even so. . . The plastic bag did little to contain the smell, and soon everything in our fridge (yoghurt, milk, left-over pudding from the night before) smelled like garlic. We attempted a rubber-gasket glass jar, the garlic still escaped. We ate it in everything we could, by the handful. We’ve now found unpeeled garlic—who knew that those peels were so much more effective than modern plastic or glass, in keeping the smell in until one really wants to include garlic in what one is eating.
4) Hot and cold proportions are surprising. When bathing from water one has heated on the stove, the appropriate proportions of hot and cold are surprising. For example, one might think one should fill the bucket with half ice cold water from the tap, and half hot water from the steaming pan one has just carefully carried up the stairs to the bathroom. One would be wrong, painfully wrong.
5) Shopping for jeans is hard. On the Southeast Asia tourist route, most women are dressed in very cool Capri pants and short-sleeved, v-necked t-shirts. Not so true in Syria. Capri pants turn every head in our neighborhood (well, the women try to be discreetly in following you with their eyes, but fail, even from behind a veil)—wow, they scream, there’s ankles here!!! Similarly so with a v-neck. I think people try to be respectful, but it’s hard to gawk respectfully, and, well, I’m foreign enough already (note the uncovered hair), that dressing this way just makes me an easy target to stare at. So, I decide that a second pair of jeans would be a good plan. Okay, so shopping for jeans is hard in the US as well. But here, the challenging factors include that almost all the shopkeepers are men who either try to be helpful or just scrutinize you while you shop—both of these are end up feeling like an ambush anytime one walks into a store. Further, Syrian thighs—not to mention current fashion trends—seem to suggest that all legs are bird-like. My grandfather was a Swiss dairy farmer and thus my thighs are not bird-like. Most of the jeans are very bling-ey, with silver thread and sequins all over the hips and pickets, some more attractive than others. And then there’s the whole price issue. Prices are negotiable in almost every shop. My 13-year-old neighbor assures me I shouldn’t pay more than SP 500 (about $10), but the prices seem to range from there to $80 jeans in the local fancy mall. Ergh. So the shopping sagas I’ve not talked about? A) peanut butter; B) camel meat, this the shop keeper’s idea and not our own; C) parts for our broken toilet; D) bikini line waxing.
Jordan . . .
Our five-day trip to Jordan was really great. We’d gotten a rough translation of the itinerary, but each new day was largely a mystery. Much more spontaneous that way. . . .
Favorites . . . we saw a lot in our 5 days, but I’ll not list everything. Here are a few faves from the trip: 1) Mt. Nebo, from which Moses saw the Promised Land and was then taken to heaven. Beautiful, peaceful, mountain with a lovely breeze and sweeping views. I hope it was a less-hazy day for Moses than it was for us, but even so we were able to see the Dead Sea, the Golan Heights, the suburbs of Amman from here. 2) Wadi Rum – beautiful desert protected area where we rode jeeps (the sun was setting, it was cold!), played football with the Bedouin kids, tried to pet protesting camels, and succeeded in petting baby goats. 3) Madaba -- mosaic of the world’s earliest / largest map, mosaics everywhere were very cool, but this one especially. 4) Jarash – ancient Roman city, a lot of it still intact. Two large theaters (love that), long colonnaded streets and circular plazas, temples to Zeus or Artemis. 5) Petra – of course, fascinating. The site is amazing. Favorite things there beyond the obvious, were the handsomely-decked-out Bedouin policeman we got our picture with, the camels we rode on (first time), and the music being played / sung out from one of the lookout towers, by the church that we hiked to on the far end of Petra. (Petra is where we were the “late ones” back to the bus—sorry, Mary!) 6) Aqaba – A very touristy, somewhat glitzy, party city. I believe 90% of people there are foreigners, it’s a duty-free zone within Jordan, situated on the beautiful blue of the Red Sea (go figure) just across from Israel. We went on glass bottom boats, didn’t see too many fish, but nice to be out on the blue water in the sunshine and the breeze.
Differences with Syria . . . I like that, during this trip, we’re learning about the nuanced differences between places by experience and exposure. Jordan has more friendly relations with the west – evidenced in the Burger King, Pizza Hut, McDonald’s and Starbucks that we saw there. There are some quite fancy malls (also one in Aleppo, but smaller). The roads seem a bit better, and the infrastructure in general a bit better / cleaner / well-repaired. Some have told us that Jordan’s put their bet on education—such as, the taxi driver may have a university degree and speak English. However, he’s working as a taxi driver. Being one of the smallest Middle Eastern countries by population, I wonder if it can “afford” to invest in things other than defense, etc. It also has been blessed, it seems, with relatively good governance by the royal family. That said, it’s also the country with the longest border to Israel—and it does have a very visible military / police presence. We visited the Jordan River, site where Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist, and just 20 feet across the river there is Israel—with a large flag and visitor’s center. I watched another tourist on the Jordanian side as she realized that was Israel, responding with a sniff and, it seemed, “well, I don’t need to go any closer, then.” There seemed a combined fascination, fear, and irritation among our group as various tour guides pointed out which lights were Israel, beyond which set of trees, etc. Syria is still formally at war with Israel, and Syrians cannot go to Israel even if they wanted to.
Swimming. . . we got to swim in the Dead Sea (more a matter of “bobbing” than swimming), the Red Sea (I waded, Neil swam and saw some nice fish while holding to his face a child’s snorkel set which was too small to fit), and thermal hot springs. How does this work in a Muslim culture, we were eager to know. Well, all the women say they’ll swim but nearly all end up wading. Those who do swim generally wear covering (depending on the sophistication of their swimming gear, could be lycra swim suits, or just pants and a shirt) from ankle to wrist to neck). At the thermal springs, there was a “women only” area with high walls, in which the women still wore at least a swim suit with skirty-thing and biker-type shorts beneath, but there they uncovered their hair. My questions were graciously answered by many female friends.
New friends . . . Several wonderful new friends looked out for us: Moona (who shared much better food than we shared with her, loaned us sweaters when we were cold, laughed a lot, tolerated and even tried to understand our bad Arabic, practiced reading with us (she’s a grandma so I think this came naturally), argued with the bathroom guy who charged me 5 times what others were paying and got my money back. Rami (grad student in archeological restoration and conservation, good photographer, co-leader of the trip; he always made sure we knew when / where to go, ensured we were back on the bus, shared pictures and photo tips back-and-forth with Neil, told us how mosaics were preserved, and laughed at our bad jokes); Anita (young business-woman, hip-ster, fashionista, shopper, bathroom groupie); Myrna (young French teacher, photographer and picture-poser ad infinitum, sub-group organizer (dinner together back in Aleppo one week from tonight, okay?), who brought smiles, humor, beauty, grace, enthusiasm), Julie and Joaquim (Canadian and German couple working in Aleppo on water infrastructure, we shared expat stories, a distaste for high-volume Arabic music and yet another shopping mall stop, and together navigated the Jordan visa lines for foreigners). Others on the bus became less shy over the days, and were very helpful in translating a few facts about what we were seeing, or telling us when we were to be at breakfast, how many hours we had at Petra, whether to bring our swimsuits and/or a jacket, when to be back at the bus when we stopped at the mall, etc. Great group of people.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Jordan (by Neil)
We are now half-way into our whirlwind Jordan tour. We stayed last night in Aqaba and after failing to find the seashore last night we were greeted by a great view of the bay this morning with tankers in floating in the gulf and the sun striking the water. After typical hotel breakfast chaos – no clean glasses, running out of orange juice, trying to find a place to sit, we headed out to the Red Sea for a glass bottom boat ride – I saw a fish or two, but the people watching was better than the fish. The Israel-Jordan border and checkpoints were clearly visible, and it was interesting to watch our Syrian friends’ reactions to the proximity to a country they consider to be an enemy and occupier of their territory.
After the boat ride we visited a small aquarium and got to see a few more creatures up close and personal. A small sea turtle making the rounds in his tank, a very dashing looking octopus flashing different colors and putting on quite a display, along with a downright dapperly dressed green fish with radiating orangish-pink lines from his eye and a showy tail fin like that of a beta. As tours often do we were packing it in, and the next thing on the agenda was a stop at a beach - for an hour. I took the chance to swim and buy a cheap snorkel. The snorkel band was kid’s sized and wouldn’t fit over my head, so I just had to hold it onto my face and hope that my mouth could hold the breathing tube upright… I ingested too much sea water, but the fish that I saw were really beautiful and I like seeing them in the open water better than the aquarium. 
From the beach we headed for Wadi Rum – a truly impressive desert valley. The monoliths are huge and rise out of the sandy valley. The sun was painting them in golden hues as we arrived and soon it brought out its red brush and shadow tools for a desert sunset. We jeeped out to some Bedouin tents and a place to walk about a bit. I ended up playing soccer with some runny-nosed kids who were all toting plastic guns and asking me for a dollar to take a picture. I ignored the latter request, and they soon were posing for me and getting in the way of the camel pictures I was hoping to take against the landscape. Yvette, Julie and Joachim came over and we all went over by the fold that held the cute little goat kids – about 30 of them or so with the youngest being 5 days old or so. They were springy-legged little things, and the one I picked up decided to snack a bit on my shirt. 
As dusk gave way to night we have headed back to Aqaba and are now at the mall. We will go shopping for the next 2 hours or so, but I would rather be looking at the stars in the desert.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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