Striking at the Heart

It is surreal to hear a car bomb explode. Yesterday, unexpectedly, on a peaceful Friday afternoon, a big boom rings in my ears, vibrating windows rattle my teeth and I see a pillow of black smoke rising up above the suburban skyline a few kilometres from our home in Achrafieh.  My son Mateo is having his afternoon nap and sleeps through the blast. Phew, I don't have to hide my fear. I call my husband immediately, this is big, maybe he knows what happened.

The mind wanders “Achrafieh is the safest neighbourhood in Beirut” I recall our real-estate agent affirming us just 5months ago. Mikey has no word as yet, and I’m piecing scenarios together; maybe it’s an accident on a construction site, or God forbid, a fire in an apartment block. I am both numb and preoccupied with images of death and destruction. Twitter feeds are fast and furious “a car-bomb” is confirmed within minutes.

The lens through which we understand violence is how we make sense of our existence in the world. To put a distance between ‘us’ and ‘the explosion’ is necessary to make logic to the violence, and logic to our safety. I am used to mapping equations of violence hundreds of kilometres away from us – Afghanistan, Pakistan, Palestine, Iraq, Syria - not Lebanon, Beirut, Achrafieh, Sassine Square.

The distance gets narrower and narrower. Striking at the heart of Beirut. Our home.

Phone calls, emails, and texts begin. “We are fine,” I tell my family. "It was two kilometres away so don't worry.” But the reality hits home, a car bomb happened in my neighbourhood.

Thus, before it was announced that there was an actual target to this bombing, and that the target's name was Wissam al-Hassan, a high-ranking Internal Security Officer working against the Assad regime, the wounds of Lebanon’s past re-opened. Conspiracy theories between Muslim-Christian tensions, of Israeli plots, of Iranian terrorist groups, and of the Syrian civil-war spilling across boarders quickly seeps its way into paranoid Lebanese psyche. Mine included.

Now that we know the target, the violence seems easier to frame. It somehow becomes less terrifying that this was an assassination, and not just a car bomb in a dense civilian and commercial space whereby no one and every one is a target. However, most tragically, as people in urban warfare quickly find out, you never ever learn to forget the car bomb.

Paranoia is the inevitable by-product. You never know where it might be, in which car, what time will it go off, who is targeted, why, you never know anything except after it goes off, tearing everything in its vicinity to shreds. What many spectators watching the news safely from behind their screens don’t realize are the long-term effects that car bombs have on the population. Any car that looks suspicious starts resembling a potential bomb.

And now our family is torn. We want to stay in Lebanon and carry on as if nothing happened now but that is an impossibility, the event is lodged deep in our soul for the rest of our life. We need to know we are safe when we walk out on the street at any given day, place, and time.

Paranoia is a bodily experience. Every time you step out of your home, you feel the heart pounding, the pulse racing, the picking up in speed as you walk. Now imagine, if you will, the people in Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Palestine or any of the wretched countries where civilians have to endure the indescribable terror of car bombs for extended periods of time, just put yourself in their shoes and try to picture how your life would be affected.

In the five stages of grief, anger is number two, and although many of us remain in the fog of sadness and shock - many have now moved towards anger. Anger is all about retaliation and negativity. There is no good that can come from anger - it eats at us, it engulfs our thought process, it stops us from seeing clearly.

I've stayed away from the online forums because I knew people would feel the need to vent, to attack. I understand why they need to, but I also know that it won't bring me any peace. There needs to be discussion - we don't need finger pointing.

There is nothing more soothing in a time of grief than community coming together as one. Just as there is nothing more destructive than a community tearing each other apart.

In a time of grief and great tragedy we need to do what expats do best. Join together as a truly international community and show that it doesn't matter where you're from, or which God you pray to, we are all in this together. We all have the same wish. To come home to our families at the end of each day. To be safe.

My thoughts and prayers are with the affected families whose sorrow and suffering is too great for words.

Comings and Goings

The conversation always begins with:

"How long have you been here?"

“Four months, What about you? How long are you here for?"

"Our contract's up in December, but we're hoping to renew."

There’s a hesitation. What does that mean? Am I going to learn all about her, like her, laugh with her, adore her children, and then have to wave her goodbye in few months?

"We're pretty sure it will be renewed "

They both nervously smile.

And then the conversation moves to a comfortable place. They talk about the house, the kids, the adjustment. They are both in the same position, far from home and making their way through each day trying to work out what the new rules are.

They both laugh about the near death experience crossing the road that morning, or fume over the deep injustice when some stranger stops them dead in their track to remind them that they're a bad mother:

“Are YOU going to put a hat on THAT child? Haram!” arms flailing.
What they don’t know is the tug-of-war that goes on with that child to keep their hat on before leaving the house. Every. Single. Day!

They laugh and then they exchange numbers.

They both left the table realising that she laughed for the first time in a week. And often what was making her laugh were the same things that had made her cry earlier that day when she'd thought of going straight to the airport to head home.

She is going to be okay. She has a friend.

Making new friends is an essential part to expat survival. When you're new, your criteria of making new friends cannot be named, it comes in the form of a sign, a similarity, a possible connection. Eye contact and a smile can provide an immediate feeling that things will be okay, that this move will be fine. People are friendly here.

I'm now in that happy place that comes at the four-month mark. The apartment is becoming to feel more like our home, I have a few favourite haunts, and few friends to text when I need to escape with for a coffee or a weekend getaway.

But since last Friday, I am now also acutely aware of the sadness that arrives with news that a friend is moving on. Goodbye is hard and the idea of saying goodbye to new acquaintances here fills me with dread.

Being ‘the leaver’ is a lot easier than being the person left behind. When you're left behind you will find yourself constantly reminded of things you did with a friend, reminders that they are no longer here anymore. That brief flash of excitement when you think of that restaurant, that concert, that dinner party.

Losing a friend to another country means you are left with the option of going it alone, or putting yourself back out there in the world of introductions.

So, if you're new in town, I'm looking for you! And if you're not new here, but you're new somewhere else, don't worry, it'll get better, it will become easier. I promise.

Discover Beirut: A Guide for Parents with Baby-in-tow

Get on board our joyride through Beirut

Welcome to my urban guide of Beirut for parents with young kiddies. We all know (or will soon find out) there is a lack of green, baby-friendly, eco-food-friendly, cultural places around Beirut - but I am about the challenge this notion!

In my early days living in Beirut I blogged about our dicey experience walking around town with our son, who was only 9 months old at the time [you can read it here]. Since then, I learnt a few tips and tricks about how to navigate this city on foot and would like to share these with my fellow disgruntled parents who don’t have the confidence to tour Beirut with young babies and toddlers.

 My mission is a genuine need to fill-the-gap with our online expat and tourist community planning to come to Beirut with small children wanting to delve deeper into the city’s many cultural and historic attractions. Whether it’s architecture, outdoor space, creative arts, or healthy eco-food your after, than this guide is for you.

Don’t be stuck in a mall! My hope is to empower parents to get out and discover Beirut on foot, or if you’re not so daring, hop into a service taxi for a few Lebanese Pounds (haggle, haggle, haggle!).

TOP TIPS: Walking around Beirut with a child is not an easy task and is recommended as a two-person job. Avoid walking in the middle of the day during the summer months. And don’t rush it take baby-steps till you get more confident navigating the roads.

All you need is your wits, a light-weight stroller or sling (I can’t stress this enough, your back will be ever so grateful) a smart-phone with GPS (essential - maps are useless here), water, camera, bathers, and a healthy appetite!

View all of the listings mentioned below (and more) on this GoogleMap  
Enjoy!
Mum at Large.

ACHRAFIEH

St-Nicolas Garden Achrafieh

Achrafieh is one of the oldest, historically Christian neighborhoods in east Beirut with a distinct French flavor. Neo-Ottoman styled homes, elegant mansions & towering modern residences line the narrow, winding streets that house a multitude of shops*, restaurants, cafés and many old churches like the St. Nicholas Cathedral, built in 1876.

*If you are looking for eco-products and organic produce A New Earth Organic Store is in Achrafieh, 65 Zahret el Ihsan Street (very close to ABC Mall) open Monday to Saturday 10am – 7pm.

Walking Tour A

There are some architectural treasures that survived bombings during the civil war, including the grand Sursock Palace and Gardens once the private home of the landowning Sursock family and now a modern art museum; the government office of Palais de Bustros; and Barakat House, currently being redesigned as an urban art and cultural centre called Beit Beirut.

Walking Tour B

Just west of St George Hospital in Getawi District you can wind your way through the undiscovered, narrow residential streets where you will find retired French-speaking ladies, gentlemen and housemaids going about their daily business at a very s.l.o.w pace. On Sundays' the streets are an eerie ghost-town.

If you can ignore the many construction sites, it’s almost believable that time has stood still here. There are several small bakeries serving traditional pizzas, as well as, fruit shops, and novelty brick-a-brack stores in the surrounding streets of Jesuit Garden; a lovely, quiet park to pull-up under a shady tree to eat your delicious goodies.

Jesuit Garden: a hidden gem in Achrafieh

Jesuit Garden is a well-maintained park with an excellent children’s playground (one of very few in Beirut which I also listed on google maps). Opposite the playground are archeological remains from the Ancient Roman period. I’ve found great photographic material here taking snaps of local characters occupying their usual spots.

Walking Tour C

When winding your way down from Achrafieh to Armenia Street towards the neighbourhood of Mar Mikhael (alternative route is to head to Gemmayzeh and Downtown) check out the colourful staircases nestled between shops and apartment, exploding in wonderful mosaic colours. Painting Up Beirut is a community initiative to liven up dull concrete spaces, making your walk experience all the more joyful!

One of many colourful stairways in Achrafieh

MAR MIKHAEL

Mar Mikhael is the new alternative hotspot spilling over from Gemmayzeh’s restaurant & bar area. Traditionally known as a more industrial hub for hardware shops, car parts and furniture, it is fast becoming a culturally and gastronomically diversified hub of eco-friendly restaurants, as well as, bars and galleries showcasing new and established local artists.

The neighbourhood of Mar Mikhael begins at the end of Gemmayzeh Street (aka Gouraud St) near Électricité Du Liban, which becomes Armenia Street (aka Mar Michael Street) and runs down to Nahr Street, which separates it from the Bourj Hammoud neighborhood.

Unforgettable Eco-Dining Experiences

Tawlet: serving up mouth-watering Lebanese specialty dishes

For lunch head to Tawlet. An outstanding Lebanese eco-food dining experience to tickle your tastebuds, presented by Souk el Tayeb Kamal Mouzaeak (see Downtown section for further detail on the farmer’s market). The chef-of-the-day cooks her/his personal and regional specialties with organic produce in an airy surroundings of white tiles, wooden shelves, clever recycled lighting and fresh flowers. Tawlet has an open buffet with authentic salads, mezze, plates and desserts. Wine lovers won’t be disappointed with Tawlet’s wine list and Beer 961.

*Book ahead on weekends call 01 448129 Mon-Fri 1pm- 6pm; Sat 12pm-4pm

For an early dinner delight head to The Junkyard, an underground “pop-up” concept restaurant off Armenia Street, tucked in an old car park facing the old bus graveyard. The recycled-furniture design and layout makes it the perfect wonderland for my son. After a long day’s walk this is the best outdoor place to kick-back in the early evening and have fun with friends.

The Junkyard: a backyard hangout space with style

The Junkyard is owned by Chef Tomas Reger, executive chef of Le Sushi bar in Achrafieh, and Mario Jr. Haddad. Integrating their slow-food movement ‘Food For Thought’, the menu changes daily depending on the fresh produce and other ingredients available at the market.

Having had the chance to talk to Chef Reger a few times, it’s nice to be remembered and welcomed! It’s a delight to sit in the garden area with friends and taste the day’s simple and trendy creations accompanied by calm music for our child to fall asleep to. Bliss.

* Book ahead call 03945961; Mon-Sat from 6pm. Don't hesitate, open till Oct 31 2012.

Local Artistic & Musical Talent

On your way to or from the restaurants in Mar Mikhael stop off at Plan Bey Gallery a small boutique gallery and bookshop, more inclined towards supporting local artists without the mass gallery hype. The friendly staff will give you an insightful background of their artists and works.

I am a music buff and always on the lookout for fresh new sounds and talent. Radio Beirut café-bar hosts live music and artistic performances from emerging and established artists around Beirut and beyond. You’re probably wondering why I’ve included it in my baby-friendly guide? Alas! If going out to see a gig is not an option, don’t fret, this club comes to you! The music is broadcast online live via their digital radio portal. Dance around at home with a glass of your choice in hand while baby’s fast asleep - music to your ears wouldn’t you say?

GEMMAYZEH

Charm behind every door.

A fairly short walk from Downtown city center are Gemmayzeh & Monot, which is technically in Achrafieh. Gemmayzeh Street contains a large portion of Beirut’s clubs, cafes and restaurants. During the day it’s relatively quiet so it’s easy to walk around the neighborhood to photograph the beautiful historic buildings or rummage through antique stores, homeware and souvenir shops. The best equipped souvenir shop is L’Artisanat Libanai and sales support Lebanese craftsmen in need.

A Cool Collective Eating Experience 

Located on the calmer side of Gemmayzeh on Pasteur Street is The Gathering, this new concept of collective dining will charm you. Sustainably re-designed around three traditional Lebanese houses, renovated in a tasteful way, each house is devoted to a different service: a pub, a steak house and an Italian kitchen, all connected by one open courtyard. It's great for kids to run around while parents enjoy delectable dishes under the olive tree (don’t forget your camera).

* Open for lunch or dinner. Call 961-156-6196

HAMRA

Breeze along The Corniche

On the west side of Beirut, Hamra Street is often considered the intellectual and business hub of Beirut, thanks to its secular history and proximity to many of Beirut’s most important universities, including the American University of Beirut (AUB). Historically, the abundance of cafés and theatres made Hamra a gathering spot for many Arab thinkers, writers, and artists and was Beirut’s trendiest neighborhood in Lebanon’s 1960–1970s heyday.

The ‘authentic’ appeal of Hamra, in addition to the number of hotels, bars, Western chains like Starbucks, and shops, make the area very appealing to tourists and expats.

Walking Tour A

The Corniche is a baby-stroller breeze! The 5kms stretch of boardwalk begins at St. George Bay and ends at the intersection of Avenue Général de Gaulle and Avenue Rafic Hariri. This palm tree-lined seaside promenade is popular with joggers, cyclists, and families out for a stroll enjoying beautiful views of the Mediterranean.

Pigeons' Rock: Beirut's famous landmark

The two huge rock formations at Raouché, known as Pigeons’ Rock, jut out of the sea next to the Corniche. There are plenty of cafés with a view of Pigeons’ Rock — try timing your visit with the sunset or sunrise for a great photo op.

Walking Tour B

The American University of Beirut (AUB) is one of the oldest and most-respected higher education institutions in Lebanon. Established in 1866, this urban college has a beautiful 61-acre campus overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Pack a picnic, take a stroll around the campus and explore the excellent collection of artifacts at The AUB Archaeological Museum.

Lush green grounds of AUB

For an alternative tour of AUB walk around the parameter walls; it serves as canvas with all graffiti styles on display. And if you are searching for a healthy food alternative among all the fast-food joints along Bliss Street opposite AUB, head straight to Food 101. They serve up sandwiches and salad and hot western food.

The Best Coffee House and Bake House in Beirut

There is only one café in Beiut in my opinion that takes their coffee as seriously as I do Café Younes. Since 1935 barristers continue serve up high quality coffee that is freshly roasted and ground on the premises. Café Younes is a smoke-free coffee house that you could consider as your second home - I do!

You can smell the nostalgia in the air; imagining artists, poets, and journalists working away on their coffee-stained pages. Thankfully, Café Younes has survived and thrived as a local cultural hub hosting regular cultural activities such as exhibitions, music, and poetry reading.

Bread Republic is an artisan bakery and eatery serving healthy, yeast-free bread, pies, tarts and all things delicious. All-day breakfast and lunch menu is available, including salads, pastas, risottos and sandwiches all made with speciality bread. Bread Republic hosts Souq El Tayab’s farmer’s market every Tuesday.

Photographic Studio,  Bistro & Bookshop in One

Located in the heart of Hamra is Dar Bistro on Roma Street, an oasis from the hustle and bustle of Hamra Steet. The peaceful, green-lined courtyard is a lovely place to retreat and eat great food, fine drinks in a friendly atmosphere. Inside the premise is smoke-free and there is a boutique bookshop to browse through a hand-picked selection of titles.

The top floor is taken up by the Dar al Mussawir, a photographic community space hosting workshops and organises a monthly exhibition in the bistro.

*Call 01 37 33 48 or 01 76 15 84 29

DOWNTOWN

Love it or loath it, the shiny new heart of Beirut has risen from the rubble. For many years during and after the war this was a no-man’s land until it was rebuild largely by one developer, Solidere. Many of the buildings left standing have been caught in a demolish-or-renovate battle, resulting in a mix of old and new, and Eastern and Western architecture styles.

The Heart of Downtown

I will not go into detail here about this well covered tourist spot but I will suggest visiting Ottsworld blog-post WalkBeirut . This is the best, comprehensive explanation of Sherry’s experience with Walking Tour of Beirut. You may not be aware that children under 12, babies in strollers or straps, are not permitted on the Walking Tour, but don’t let that spoil your fun! Why not load Sherry’s post on your smart phone, and use it as your guide of Downtown and many of the locations I have listed above? (If you enjoyed her tour, send her warm ‘thank you’ because she has done us parents a huge favour.)

Organic Farmer's Market Lebanese Style

Souk el Tayeb, food from the farm straight to you.

My suggestion is go early Saturday morning for a tour around Downtown to catch the morning light for best photographic op, and once your done, head to Souk El Tayeb for brunch at Beirut Souqs a real farmers’ markets where the actual producers come in from the countryside with fresh vegetables, preserves, fruits and natural remedies.

Laze By The Pool, Common You Deserve It!

Once you have well and truly done with walking around town, it’s time to relax by a pool and pat yourself on the back! There are many swimming clubs along the Corniche. Closest to Downtown is St George Yacht Club. For a modest fee (take this with a grain of salt) St George is a family friendly swimming club recently renovated with three pools, green grass to laze on, children’s playground and restaurant. The club has a marina linking to the upmarket promenade of Zaytouna Bay.

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Goodluck! Let us know how you went with your own discovery of Beirut. And feel free to add further suggestions in the comments box to share with our fabulous expat family community.

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Selected writings credit:
Design Sponge: Lebanon City GuideTimeOut Beirut
Beirut.com

Lucky Month of August

Click here for: Mateo's 1st Birthday Photo Album

August is a special month for our family because all three of us were born within 8 days of each other. We are a pack of Leo's watch out! When we're not competing for each other's attention we get along just fine. There's always harmless teasing mixed with playful tussling in our family, it's all fun and games...till someone gets hurt. 

I am fortunate to share my birthday with the WHOLE of Switzerland, Swiss National Day falls on Aug 1, but the real lucky ones are Mikey and Mateo - father and son share the same birthday on Aug 8. 

One year ago, on 8/8 at 8am we were wishing Mikey a happy birthday at our local beach cafe with our dear friends and my midwife (hello beautiful Maxine, Lancie, Susie Q, and Hazel). And at 8.18pm Mateo Kahlil slipped into the world. That boy was in a hurry! Little did I realise that this would soon become a regular occurrence in our life. 

8 months later we packed the apartment and were on a plane. A further 3 months and 3 passport stamps later Mateo was walking (more like running-walking). Mamma's intuition tells me he will fly the coop early to set off on his own great adventure. I already feel time is slipping by, I must treasure every moment. 

Leading up to the boys' first joint birthday I wasn't sure where and how we should spend the special day. Mikey & I were cheerful enough about staying in Beirut, it seemed a practical decision to stay put at home - extreme hot weather makes such decisions easy. 

It wasn't until I was asked by Mikey's Mum on Skype "what are you doing for Mateo's first birthday?" that I had to admit I was feeling at a loss. "I think we will stay home" I replied but my excitement wasn't all there as it had been a week ago. My shaky voice quivered "I wish we could be in Switzerland to celebrate with family". Special times like these you just need to be with your kin. 

When Jurg & Mikey got wind of our wish, not a moment too soon, they booked the flights. Nothing like a last minute decision! We couldn't have been more excited. A few sleepless nights later we touched down in cool, sunny, green Switzerland. The rolling mountainous landscape never looked so spectacular. 

Lebanon Mountains in August

Swiss Mountains in August

The boys'  birthday party was celebrated with a traditional bratwurscht braetlae - a swiss sausage sizzle! Mateo spent the day running between the legs of parents, grandparents, uncles and great aunts. Seeing everyone so happy, revelling in Mateo's joy was truly one of those treasured moments. 

I thought to myself, how lucky is Mateo to have such a wonderful family. I only wished my family back in OZ were with us. That's the problem with travelling, the gap of time and distance away from those you love. But as I watched Mateo snuggle up to his Grandfather I marvelled how love can just happen automatically, how it just picks up where it left off. 

Like Grandpa, Like Grandson.

I think back why we chose the name Mateo Kahlil. It makes perfect sense: Mateo means 'gift' and Kahlil means 'friend'. His gift to us, and to the world, is his warm, open heart. He is pure light that brings great joy. His gaping smile and belly laugh comes from deep within, its not just a giggle, sometimes it's an explosion and every time we hear it, we laugh in his delight. 

He has that effect on people. You get the feeling with Mateo that no-one will push him around, at the same time, he has a deep emotional sensitivity and is considerate of those around him. 

My wish for you dear Mateo Kahlil is that you continue to laugh from that deep beautiful place that is your soul. 

I wish for you to shine and be an inspiration for others. 

I wish for you to always be by my side whether it's physical or in my heart. 

And I wish for you to treasure every day and celebrate your luck, for that is how we feel when we are with you. Lucky.

 XXX

To Jurg and Margit "Merci viu mau fuer aues" you are wonderful Grandparents! And to Christoph and Michelle, thank you for the beautiful lunch on your terrace and for Mateo to spend precious time with his Uncle and Aunty. 

To My Mikey, thank you for the chaos, the cheerfulness, and the great care you bring to our family. Mateo is a lucky boy to have such an awesome dad. We love you. Happy Happy Birthday to Leo No.1 

Buckle Up, You're In For A Ride

How can I come to Lebanon and not blog about the traffic? It's the Achilles in every driver's heel!

There are two types of traffic conditions in Lebanon, the first being "gridlock". If you are in a car during rush hour in Beirut, you can sympathise with those Lebanese who say in despair that the country is going nowhere. The other is "kamikaze". Lebanon has it's own traffic rules and people's desperate means  to get from A to B is not for the fainthearted.

To be fair on Mikey, he is an excellent driver and I don't have a problem getting in the car with him. But for long distances, I'm a nervous passenger and he usually gives me a pep talk to help calm my nerves before driving off "Just remember to breathe okay, breathe in-out-in-out. Relaaaax just go with the flow...that's why I don't use the mirrors I'm only concerned about what's in front of me."

"yea, on-coming traffic HELLO!" I heckle back like a proper backseat driver.

Breathe in-out-in-out. 

To create a calm, yet joyful atmosphere in the car Mikey usually pops on a nursery-rhyme CD "for Mateo" he insists.  Heading down the highway, Mateo is safely strapped in his restraint in the backseat, blissfully clapping along to the music while I'm in the front seat intermitting between singing and screaming "if you're happy and you know it COVER YOUR EYES!" 

It's true, being the driver is better than being the unfortunate passenger who has to sit quiet and take in the 'scenery'. And from my observations of Mikey's new driving habits, and the habits of those sharing the road, it made me consider the 10 worst. Any of these sound familiar? 

1. Overtaking in to on-coming traffic around a bend: Oh C'mon, everyone has 20/20 vision, besides, there's enough room for everyone! 

2. Speeding: It's hard to keep up with the Porsche, Lamborghinis or Ferraris, that's behind you beeping it's horn and flashing it lights to move you along. 

3. Tailgating: If flashing the lights and beeping the horn just isn't enough, try dodging between cars - relax I promise to miss you by a millimetre. 

4. Not indicating: I'm sorry, what's indicating? if I just swerve towards people they'll move out of the way. 

5. Crossing solid white lines: What are these lines of which you speak? Maybe they're underneath the rubble. 

6. Not knowing which lane you should be in: Oh that's easy, the fastest one. 

7. Roundabouts: Make sure you never, ever give way. Sticking your arm out of the window to direct traffic is the best way to cut across as you're about to miss your exit. 

8. Queue jumping: Who said desert safari is only for the desert? Why have a 4 wheel drive if you can't mount the curb and push that little Asian car out of the way? 

9. Not wearing a seatbelt: But kids love the seatbelt to swing from like Tarzan, and jumping on mum's lap is so much fun while protruding their little heads out of the window. 

10. Driving on the phone: How else am I meant to have a conversation with the lady in the car next to me, check my facebook AND tweet my road-rage: #traffic #SUX :( 

So, have I missed any driving habits you'd like to share? Feel free to add to the comments box 

Byblos

I've heard from the locals that it get "really" hot until July, and in August you just stop looking at the temperature as it all becomes irrelevant, it's just hot. The heat and humidity is so overpowering that walking outside feels like an outdoor sauna. And when the sun sinks, the temperature stubbornly refused to follow suit. 

Lessons already learnt. Do not attempt to walk in the middle of the day unless you plan to get heat stroke. Do not tell a local "it's really starting to get hot" unless you wish to be ridiculed. HOT?! Ha! This isn't hot?! 

Either stay indoors in air-conditioned rooms or ditch Beirut for somewhere cooler as many locals seem to do. For our first weekend escaped we head to the coastal town of Byblos (aka Jbeil). On a good run, Byblos is a 40min drive north of Beirut and it's a beautiful town that has it all: history, sea, souq, and seafood. 

Byblos has experienced a kind of rebirth since it's prewar heyday, a popular beach holiday destination and emerged as a stage for big bands - this month BB King, Slash and Snow Patrol graced it's shores. 

To the south of the ancient port is the glitzy playground of luxury beach resorts packed with bikini-clad, gold aviator shade partygoers; and to the north is more laid-back, family friendly Byblos. Unable to fit our 'wealth' and 'glamour' into our oversized bags stuffed with baby paraphernalia, we chose the north side. 

One of few beachfront budget hotels is Ahiram Hotel. True, the rooms are not like those of the Four Seasons, but it's rustic, friendly, well maintained, every room has an ocean-view balcony and access to the FREE public beach below. Best of all, 70's posters of Lebanon's landmarks hanging on nearly every wall in the hotel blissfully puts me in a relaxed, nostalgic state-of-mind. 

Waiting for the heat of the day to pass, the three of us lay on our bed enjoying a lazy slumber. The breeze carries the sound of the waves and children playing down below crash, squeal, crash, squeal. The sound transported me back to my childhood of summer holidays spent at sleepy seaside towns. 

In the early evening, we catch up with friends and take a brief history tour through the old town. It's an ancient port framed by pre-Roman ruins. The earliest record of Byblos dates back 5000 BC and believed to be the oldest continuously inhabited city. The small Neolithic fishing community developed into a major commercial port for ancient Egyptian seafarers buying cedar and is also the birthplace of our modern alphabet.

Following the winding road within the old port, we meander our way through a warren of cobbled streets, passing an old stone school and church. 

You can catch sight of a blue-domed mosque before walking through a stone archway which brings you to the beautifully restored old souq selling Phoenician-themed knickknacks and Lebanese kitsch. 

The striking brown stone walls of the Crusader citadel, Phoenicain ramparts, and Bronze Age ruins seem to want to talk about battles lost and won long, long ago. 

Dinner at Byblos-Sur-Mer is a must. The restaurant has an open terrace right on the port offering an exceptional view and a welcomed cool breeze. We feasted on mezze and mouth-watering catch of the day. Sipping on chilled wine, watching a spectacular sunset and enjoying great company is the perfect combination for a chilled evening. 

We look forward to more trips to Byblos for weekend escapes, especially when opposing August temperatures expect to hit new highs.

Expat Woman: is it in the Blood?

Two women talking at Muqattam, 1948 http://vintageegypt.tumblr.com/

Mateo and I were in the elevator this morning and a neighbour came on board. She asked where we are from and my immediate response was “Australia”. She smiled but seemed unsatisfied with my answer, my accent wasn’t enough. She’s was right, in addition I should have said “my roots are from Egypt hence our dark skin and oriental features, oh and, Mateo’s father is Swiss and…(stay with me now). But we reached ground floor before I could give her a true description of our intercultural family: quasi-Australian-Egyptian-Swiss, hold on there’s a nation missing - British.

You see I’m not the first expat woman in my family. My British Grandmother was a pioneer of the “modern international woman” in the first half of the 20th Century.

In her late 20’s Grandma was lured by Egypt’s magnetic attraction. An allure that was distinctly exotic but an attraction no doubt that began when she was a little girl when her mother used to take her to the British Museum to see the magnificent relics of Ancient Egypt. While growing up she was overwhelmed with an insatiable appetite to travel to Egypt.

Like the thousands of privileged tourists who flocked to Egypt during British occupation, Grandma was stirred by the city’s physical beauty, its jewel of the Nile, its grand temples, its fine restaurants and sidewalk cafes, its seductive music, and its lively and sometimes even decadent nightlife.

The Golden Age of Egypt in late 1940’s was glamorous, and so was she. I imagine her as a leading lady in Agatha Christy murder mystery novel Death on the Nile: a beautiful, confident, intelligent, slightly wicked, Gin swilling, carefree woman.

What I admire most about her is that she chose to use her freedoms in search for her own identity - a relatively new concept for women’s rights in her day. She was a self-exile who chose to leave a homeland, a depressing Post War London that she may have considered intellectually, politically, racially, or sexually limiting or even oppressive.

Unlike more casual visitors, Grandma worked, married a dapper, el macho Egyptian man and settled down with two children in Cairo for nearly 20 years. And when British occupation was ousted from Egypt, she did not return to England with the family, instead they migrated to Australia where my Mum met my Dad (a fellow expat Egyptian) and they say the rest is history.

This year my Grandmother celebrated her 90th birthday but sadly lost her husband - they were married for 60 years. Even though she’s quite mysterious about her past, it’s her entanglement with Egyptian culture that has the strongest impression and is of most interest to me. In her cockney English accent she can ramble off perfect fluent Arabic. She never speaks of her experience of The Blitz during WWII but loves talking about Kingdoms of Ancient Egypt like a true historian. I can’t remember her ever baking an English pie but she made a mean Molokhia!

And now that I am an expat mum in the Middle East, I have so many questions to ask her: How did she blend into her new world? Was it easy? I suspect not! Did Grandad’s family welcome her with open arms? How quickly did she learn to speak Arabic? How comfortable was she in her second-skin as a Cairean? Did she feel alienated from family and friends back in England? How did she cope with tough times?

No matter the answers, one thing is for certain she lived her dream with full gusto, regardless of her hardships. I am sure she nostalgically looks back at her life in Egypt and can fondly laugh at her language disasters, power cuts for days, cold showers, blocked pipes, and recollect silly wives-tales for treating mysterious illness’ (which also doubled for warding off the ‘evil eye’).

There she was, in one of the most ancient cities of the world creating not just a new history, but her future – and my future. As Elanor Roosevelt said “ the future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams”. My Grandmother taught me to live my dreams. It’s her part of my heritage that loves being an international nomad. This inherited “itchy feet” feeling is a bit like a virus, which lives on in the blood regardless of place or circumstance.

I’ve followed in her footsteps in many ways. I began travelling solo in my 20s, finding my independence was extremely important and liberating. When Grandma graduated from university at the age of 70, she gave me the drive to pursue my academic interests. However I got one up on her, I got my driver's license (hehehe).

When I met Mikey, I knew he also had the travel bug in his blood and we amicably agreed that travelling would be factored into our future together. When the opportunity in Beirut came up, we were both incredibly excided about hitting the road; a piece of family nostalgia for me to return to the Middle East and new exciting experience for us as family, although I never imagined we would travel before Mateo’s first birthday.

But our world is a lot smaller than in my Grandmother’s day with the internet, skype, facebook, email, blogging etc. I feel I am in constant communication with friends and family back home.  Yet, it hasn’t been all smooth sailing and I haven’t been shielded from the stresses of adapting to life in a foreign culture.

Daily tasks can feel one hundred times more difficult to accomplish than back home and sometimes life feels anything but easy and carefree. I regularly wonder what on earth possessed me to give up my identity, support network, career! And as I sat at home sick for weeks on end (another virus hit me hard after my chicken pox) I felt incredibly lonely and helpless not being able to meet other women.

It crossed my mind, should we pack up and go home? This is not the expat life I had imagined! What would Grandma have done? But as I watched Mikey and Mateo adapt to their new lifestyle like a fish takes to water I just had to accept things for what they were and ride it out. And after several quiet weeks, finally I met up with a fellow expat mum and all of a sudden, I feel normal again (hello Daniela).

It all has to do with connectivity. Even though we are from different parts of the world, I met a woman who didn’t gasp when I told her about our reason for moving to Beirut, who didn’t think it was strange to live in a different country for a few years, and who had common stories of trials, tribulations and joys of bringing up a child in new surroundings.

I’ve come to realise that I belong to a tribe, a common throng of women who travel the world, many working or trailing behind their spouses, offering support and encouragement, bringing up children, finding their own way through the newness of each location.

Will I belong to this tribe forever? Maybe, possibly, hopefully. As long as my Grandmother’s adventurous spirit lives on inside of me.
 

Grandma, thankyou for leading the way. love you xxx

Laughter is the Best Medicine

I remember when I was young I desperately wanted to get chickenpox, I wanted those days off school real bad. I was jealous of every kid lucky enough to have the “varicella vacation” in the middle of school term. As the years went on, one by one, they bragged about it in the schoolyard “calamine lotion, oatmeal baths, lollypops, Atari” I cursed under my breath, why-oh-why not me?

Not in million-gazillion years could I imagine my time would finally come three decades later in blistering hot Beirut. Cheers. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry! I’m spotty, itchy, and bitchy. My suitable misery is however the source of good humour, I’m actually the last casualty in a line of infirmity which has plagued our household. They say bad luck comes in threes…

It all began when I started searching for a local pediatrician for “just-in-case”. Being an expat mum requires a bit of forward thinking, if a problem should strike you don’t want to be without one, right? When I went to ask at the local clinic for the name of a children’s doctor I was promptly given a phone number on a piece of paper. “Let’s hope you don’t need to call him inshalla” the receptionist thoughtfully wishes.

That afternoon little Mateo comes home from the nursery feverish and cranky. I’m thinking it’s nothing more than signs of teething but then he develops a rash overnight. "That’s odd, you’ve never had heat rash before" I inspect. Of course being a mum means you’re instantly an expert in skin diseases.

By end of the day his spots turn to blisters. I do a Google search and realise his symptoms are beginning to look more like chickenpox. I go to ask a pharmacist but he thinks it’s a heat rash “common this time of year” he says loading me up with lotions - just in case.

I’m now breaking a sweat feeling nervous about my own fate “what if it is chickenpox? Mikey is immune but what will happen to me?” My sudden bout of itching seems to jump all over my body.

Not taking any chances, I call the doctor. My voice is quivering, suffuse with panic. In 30 seconds I made my own diagnoses starting with a benign case of chickenpox and ending in leprosy. The doctor whispers in calm voice “it’s probably a heat rash but come to my clinic tomorrow - just in case. I’m currently supervising my student’s last medical exam for the year.”

WHAT? red with embarrassment I apologise profusely for calling him on his private mobile (I later learned calling doctors on their mobile is normal custom here how brilliant!). To relieve my anxiety I read up on people’s experiences of chickenpox on forums. Bad move. For young children it’s considered a rite of passage, they even throw parties for the occasion, but no one on this ENTIRE planet has a good thing to say about adult chickenpox. Period.

Surely I was vaccinated? I call mum to confirm but she has no record. Going back to Google, again it brings me no luck - vaccination in Australia wasn’t introduced till 2001. Now I’m having heart palpitations “search HEART ATTACK”.

At the doctor's clinic, I’m hearing the words “highly contagious”, “isolation for a week”, “no nursery for Mateo” and “pray you don’t get it”. I'm nervously thinking about our impending lock-down at home with a hyperactive child. It’s not looking good.

Sure enough, the following week at home was insane. Cooped up in the house, Mateo was like a bull in a china shop. Mikey would return from work to an unrecognisable home. Bewildered he assess’ the damage, collecting debris along the way: child intact ‘good’, mother seething ‘bad’.

Day 1. Mateo sorting the laundry "now you see it, now you don't"

Thankfully Mateo’s virus was very mild and after one week his few spots healed over. To celebrate his speedy recovery we eat out for Sunday brunch along the Corniche. Feasting on a banquet of different BBQ meats, salads and raw kibbeh (raw mince), everything was well again.

Scoffing down the kibbeh Mikey makes an insightful remark “Imagine getting food poisoning from raw mince, I recon it would be horrible, like really H O R R I B L E” licking his fingers.

The next day he comes home from work complaining of a migraine. I seem to remember hearing words like “hot”, “dizzy” and “cold sweat”. And then I hear horrible barfing noises coming from the loo, honestly it sounded like he was murdering a donkey. Acute food poisoning smacks Mikey flat for the rest of the week. Great. Another week in the house nursing casualty No.2.

Few days go by and just when I thought I got away with my fatal illness, I feel an itch in the back of my neck. Thinking it’s a mosquito bite I ignore it until the hot itch had spread to my chest. Looking in the bathroom mirror I cried in slow motion “NOOOO” seeing those dreaded pink spots.

Racing over to Michael still sprawled on the sofa moaning, “you’re going to the doctor with me, like, now.”

“Okay, I’m, coming…” he musters a slow vocal death as he’s peeling himself off the sofa.

By the time I actually made it to the medical clinic I was riddled with spots. The doctor makes a joke at my expense for being no “spring chicken” to be getting the pox (you can laugh too, haha). But when we were done with the small talk he moved onto serious words like “pneumonia”, “swelling of the brain” and even “death”. Yikes adult chickenpox is no laughing matter.

The good news is, because I acted quickly in getting a diagnosis (with 24hours of the spots appearing) antiviral medication will substantially lessen the shelf-life of the virus (yay) however there’s no consolation for another week of isolation (booo).

On our way out of the doctor’s office, the doc turns to Mikey and asks if he’s okay “you’re looking a little pale” he observes. Mikey manages to fumble a few words together “food, poisoning”. Doctor is laughing again, realising there’s good fodder for another joke “Can’t handle Lebanese food hey?! Maalesh it’s common for new comers - I recommend you stay away from kebbeh for example, raw meat - terrible!” Jovially slapping Mikey on the back.

So there you have it, three illnesses in three weeks, although it’s too easy to say it’s been a “poxy” start to summer. In time the queasy stomach will subside, the itch will recede and the spots will fade, however in years to come our tribulations will be remembered as another one of those funny travel stories.

Thank goodness I’m now at the end of my infection and came through remarkably unscathed. At least I can now say loud and proud “I got chickenpox and I survived!” Plus it’s never to late to feel you’ve made that ‘rite of passage.’  Best of all I want to say “thank you” universe for making everything happen EXACTLY as it’s meant to. If the three of us never got sick and laid up at home together Mikey and I may have missed a momentous milestone - seeing Mateo take his first steps. What could be a sweeter memory?!

Remember to turn 'This Switch' Off!

As a newcomer to Beirut everything is still a novelty: daily 3-hour electricity cuts, the sound of diesel generators kicking in, buying gallons of drinking water worried if I have to haul it up 8 flights of stairs if the elevator is out of order.  

I’m getting used to constantly asking someone where something is, or how it works, and relying on them to point me in the right direction. At least I can feel rest assured in the wee small things like flushing a toilet with a simple press of a button and hot water 24/7 – or so we thought.

About a week after moving into our apartment, home-life starts to take on a new rhythm, a new normality. Mikey is the first to wake, has playful wrestle with Mateo, shaves and showers, bids us farewell, and off to work he goes. All normal. One morning Mateo and I go to shower and out of the blue there’s no hot water. NOT normal.

Lifting a shivering Mateo out of the tub, I’m searching for a logical explanation, debating whether Mikey just took the mickey for not stating the bleeding obvious before leaving the house - plausible - or if he really has superhuman cold-water resistant qualities…hmmm. 

Searching for the cause to no avail, I probe Mikey “How was your shower this morning dear?” From the long pause at the end of the line I can tell he’s wondering if it’s a trick question, a trap! Then he comes clean “Oh yeahh, there was no hot water. I forgot to tell you...sorrry’. 

 
But no matter, I also dropped the white elephant in the “too hard” basket suspecting that this little inconvenience is going to take some energy to work out. Perhaps if I take no notice it just might miraculously come good by end of the day fingers crossed. 

So instead I turn my attention to a far more pressing “meltdown” unfolding outside our apartment window: a major protest at the state-run Electricite du Liban. Workers have hijacked the company’s headquarter setting tires alight and reportedly threatened to set the building ablaze if their employment demands aren’t met (they don’t do things by half measure here).

Thankfully the building is still intact but the national electricity isn’t. The Daily Star reports electricity supply has been deteriorating across the country due to maintenance works at major power plants, suspension of power imports from Egypt and Syria, ongoing strikes, and of course the real reason behind it all is political power play. 

The protests may be drastic but electricity, diesel, food and water are high priced commodities and a constant source of antagonism - as I’m just about to learn for myself.

As my afternoon presses on hope for hot water has well and truly dried up. It’s time to knock on my neighbour’s door (again). Our good Samaritan starts fishing around the apartment in search of our boiler, and to no surprise, he reports it’s stone cold. We then proceed to the kitchen and inspect the electricity unit above our fridge.

  

My good neighbour enquires ‘How long has ‘zis switch been on?’ Like a little kid who is about to get in trouble but doesn’t know the reason, I reply hesitantly “Since we moved in of course." Shaking his head frowning, "Zis is your diezel generator switch, you’re supposed to turn it on ONCE a day for 20 minutes to heat your water, THEN YOU TURN IT OFF!’ 

Yep, there's not a drop left in the diesel tank. Zero, Zilch. We’ve gone through enough diesel to last the WHOLE summer!! Four months worth fizzled up in 10 days. OUCH. My neighbour makes light of the situation “Never mind, it is a mizz-understanding, you’re not used to our way, yani ‘zis is Lebanon” he sighs apologetically.

Maybe when our landlady gave us a rundown of all the switches to the apartment (both inside and out) between our broken Arabic, French and English that vital piece of information got lost in translation. Malesh.

That evening Mikey and I cool off our $400 refueling woes over a beer looking out across buildings entangled in an incredible amount of switches, cables, and dishes strangling building facades, weaving down walls and interconnecting rooftops like jungle weed.

I turn to Mikey paranoid in mid thought “Have you turned the the switch off?”

Living A Fairytale

We have been at our serviced apartment/hotel for over a week and we're all getting very comfortable with the ‘service’ part of the deal. The room is cleaned daily and my heart skips with joy when the housekeeper delivers our package of pressed laundry. I'm all excited like a princess twirling in my heavenly-scented snow whites.  The thought of loading and (reloading) the washing machine is now a distant memory.

Even Mateo is happy with his digs. I caught His Highness waving from our balcony to a group of children playing at a nursery opposite our building. Seizing the opportunity, I hand him over to the nursery to play with the kids. Waltzing away I kiss my little prince goodbye “See you at 4. Ta ta!”.

What a difference a week makes. Everyone is LOVING their new found freedom! But our self-eviction had arrived all too soon and the ‘suite’ life had to come to an end. It was time to find our own apartment to call ‘home’- washing machine and all. 

After a disappointing week of apartment hunting around Hamra we realise we’re out of our league. Two factors are against us: (1) there’s a rental squeeze gripping Beirut, especially Hamra, and (2) high season is upon us which means an influx of foreigners moving in for summer. Unless you’re willing to pay a princely sum of $2000US per month (and over) the area is not worth a look. Anything under that amount apartments are either the size of a shoebox or plain shabby.

The DIY approach to renting in Beirut is time consuming and having no success on our own we opted for an agent to help us. Thankfully, he was a real find. He let it slip that he lived in Switzerland for over a decade and Mikey’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. The two hit it off instantly. “Don’t worry I’m going to help you find just what you’re looking for. Have you thought about moving to Achrafieh? It’s a family neighbourhood, safe, less expensive” he explains.

He was right. The second apartment we inspected was The One. We actually saw it advertised online however looking in awe at pictures of its grand views, big rooms and large kitchen we thought it was way out of our budget.  Thanks to Mateo, he sealed the deal for us. Laying his charm on thick with the landlady, she made us a deal we couldn’t refuse and the next day we had the keys to our very own palace.

View from apartment looking out to Journieh Bay

Like a happy fairytale ending we bid our farewells to the hotel staff and housekeeper. Life is bliss until...

When it came to settling the bill I almost dropped dead from shock. The laundry fee came to (gulp) $200US. I nervously handed back the statement “Oh no, no, no there’s a mistake, see there’s one too many ‘0’s, it should read $20”. The concierge - now turning into The Joker from Dark Night sneers “No mistake Madam, that’s how much your laundry cost”. For FIVE lousy loads of laundry!?!  Frozen in disbelief I felt the tiara slip off my head. Silly me for not asking the price for a bag of washing at a 3 Star hotel in Beirut. Oops lesson learned. “OK...” I regretfully respond throwing crisp $20 dollar bills down the gurgler “...its back to the washing machine I go heigh-ho, heigh-ho”.

Taking Our First Steps

"The best way to see colourful Beirut is on foot" I repeatedly read in travel blogs. What no one tells you is "...if you use a kiddy stroller you may as well have one foot in the grave."

On our first walking expedition, we get off on the wrong foot. At 10am it’s already a scorcher outside, Mateo is having his morning sleep in the stroller while Mikey and I struggle to dodge potholes and fleeting cars. Ploughing through jagged pathways and absent mined pedestrians, we’re working up a sweat just trying to refrain Mateo from catapulting across the pavement. We make our first 50 metres in 50 minutes. Lovely. Both in a stitch, wet from head to toe, we’re ready to call it a day. Bystanders gawking at us say nothing but their faces said it all: “Ha! a stroller in Beirut?!?! Goodluck!”

Our map is useless because street names don’t correlate to street signs (a mind boggling topic for another post) so we vaguely make our own way to The Corniche. The waterfront esplanade is a popular destination where people stroll, strut their stuff, and socialize. We see ageing, overweight men jog and stop for cigarette breaks; teenage boys throwing fishing lines into the rocky waters below; young men smoking nargileh on their car hoods, combing their hair to catch the attention of speed-walking women wearing Ray-Bans and visors. 

 I soon realise The Corniche is the only pram-friendly pathway in Beirut but as our week rolls on the more stroller-savvy we become. 

Venturing further afield we cross the Green Line that divided the city between Christian East and Muslim West during the civil war. We weave and wind our way from Ras Beirut past St Georges Yacht Club to the flashy new Beirut Souk (mall) in Downtown. We take a pit stop at Place de l’Etoile and refuel on sickly-sweet lemonade. We leg it across Place des Martyrs and lunch in Gemmayzeh Street at Le Chef (no-frills kitchen serving the best Molokhia in town). In the blazing afternoon sun, we drag our feet to the air conditioned ABC (mall) in Achrafiyeh...ahhh.

To the untrained eye, one half of the city is rubble the other half is a mall. On closer observation you can pick up on the distinct architectural renderings of the urbanscape. Between the dilapidated buildings peppered with bullet holes you will discover the remains of Roman temples; marvel at centuries-old Mosques & Churches standing side-by-side; admire refurbished French-style mansions, and gaze up at multi-story apartments towering above. 

It’s a city under continual re-construction and I can't help but admire the Lebanese people not only for what they’ve been through but what they always seem to do after a crisis: they dig themselves out, dust themselves off, and start building once again. 

At the end of each field-trip we'd return to our apartment tired but feeling enriched from our expedition. The three of us would huddle around the bidet to wash  our tired, blistered feet (previous post explains the bidet story). Watching the sunset from our balcony, the sky paints a pretty picture with hues of pink and orange. The call to prayer from the mosque drifts through the air. The muezzin sounds melodically peaceful, offering time to reflect.

Getting around Beirut is definitely no walk in the park but well worth the experience. Together with discovering new sights, sounds and smells of the city we learnt about Lebanese hospitality which transcends age, class and religion. Pedestrians and shopkeepers alike would stop us on our tracks to wish Mateo the warmest of welcomes. Accompanying  handshakes, high-fives and pinched cheeks people would shout “MARHABA!” “KAFAK!” “AHLAN YA HABIBI!” It’s a wonderful Middle Eastern gesture that universally means ‘hello fellow friend!’ 

Being on the receiving end of so much kindness Mateo never failed to warmly respond. Although he is yet to speak a coherent word of any language he is still able to return the greeting with great joy: a big grin from ear-to-ear, uttering ‘eh! eh!’ eh!’ and a tentative twist of his little wrist. A gesture that would make anyone fall head over heels.