 |
| American University, Beirut |
What the heck -- I'm still not feeling original. Here's the final entry in my journal, from unedited longhand scribblings. As you'll see, the journal ends with my first day in Beirut -- with maybe the most interesting week of the trip still to come.
Maybe I ran out of authorial steam. Maybe I was just too busy staying fed, housed and out of jail. (Not a figure of speech -- I was arrested during a one-day sidetrip to Damascus, for taking photos that were unflattering to the proud people and nation of Syria.)
Leaving Beirut several days later, I took the bus to Istanbul -- a wonderful city that, after my visit to Syria and Lebanon, seemed quite European. I spent several days there before flying to Rome and continuing by train to Amsterdam, where my charter flight back to Seattle awaited me.
Thursday, August 13, 1970
Events happened quickly. Arriving in Limassol involved an enormous amount of hassle at immigration -- the formalities taking place before we were allowed to disembark. Everyone complained, even the usually unflappable British. You're aware that Cyprus isn't really prepared for mass tourism in any way similar to Greece. Almost everyone on the ship was either Greek or Cypriot, or a Britisher on vacation or visiting friends -- and the British were a very small minority.
Found a travel agent -- Scottish girl, six years in Cyprus -- and discovered that there would be no ship to Beirut for six days. So on the spur of the moment, decided on a flight. She got me my reservation -- cost about £9½ -- and put me in a shared taxi to Nicosia, after buying me a Coke.
Interesting ride -- very hot, even the wind. Same Mediterranean type surroundings, but a bit lusher near the coast. Amazed at how many road signs were in English -- especially the "dining and dancing" variety. Could see that the British had been entertaining themselves on Cyprus for a long time. Passed several armed U.N. checkpoints, but no one seemed to pay them any heed.
Arrived at Nicosia Airport with about a half-hour to spare -- actually, though, we left late -- and went quickly through customs again and filled out a couple of postcards. I needed some proof I'd actually been there. Then, before I knew it, we were off -- sat next to a Jordanian teenager on an M.E.A. flight -- many English. Just had time to eat some very sugary -- but surprisingly good -- candies and drink a glass of orange juice -- i.e., 35 minutes -- and we were landing in Beirut.
Met a couple girls at the airport -- American -- whose fathers worked at the American University. They filled me in, as we waited in lines, on various tips for survival in Lebanon. Took a cab directly to the YMCA -- LL.7 [seven Lebanese pounds, or "lire"] -- and here I am.
Well -- it's something else, all right. I'm not sure yet quite what generalizations I could make. In many ways, it's the most Americanized place I've been, not excluding Amsterdam -- especially here in the university district. Bookstores carrying many of the same texts as at home, hamburger stands with milk shakes, banana splits, pizza -- the whole all-American bit. Uncle Sam's Restaurant is practically an inexpensive Denny's. Had fried eggs this morning, believe it or not. Why live European when I'm no longer in Europe?
On the other hand, the Eastern influence is very marked. Downtown, you run into men in fezes, in Arab head dresses, in whole Arab gowns, in Turkish type clothes, stocking caps. Women often in mid-calf peasant dresses with shawls over their heads. One woman I've seen in complete veil -- couldn't even see her eyes. Most, of course, are in Western dress -- very like Italy and Greece. But in the downtown market area, this majority becomes rather slim, if it exists.
Just about every sign that you'd be interested in is in Arabic and English, or sometimes French. Even the license plates are biliteral.
The markets are fantastic. Everything imaginable for sale. Meat carcasses hanging like skeletons, partially de-fleshed. Fruit juice stands, packed with all kinds of fruits, and especially carrots. Beirut must be the home of the Waring blender. Passed one café and found it filled with grizzled old men smoking their water pipes -- tobacco I trust.
One of the guys in the dorm room is French, but speaks good English. He motored all over the Middle East, including Iran and Iraq. He is very down on Beirut -- thinks it is completely uninteresting. And doesn't care for the allegedly money-hungry attitude of the natives. I mentioned, "There seem to be a lot of TV antennas around here." "Yeah, but it's not like in Europe or America. The Lebanese would rather sip coffee and talk." "Well, that's good." "Yes, that's good -- but what do they talk about? I don't know any Arabic, but when I listen to their conversations, all I hear is 'lire, lire, lire'!"
--------------------------------------
Ok, I promise no more self-quotations. My next post, whenever it arrives, will be an original essay.
No comments:
Post a Comment