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Ale and me had our very first trip this weekend, something we were planning to do every other week. There are so many fanstastic places to go in the region that we really have to push on if we want to cover a bit and get to know the country. So we went up to Tripolis and then further into the Quadisha Valley.

On the way to Tripolis we stopped just outside town at a little beach club. They actually had a sandy beach, different from the ususal rough rock cliffs and even waves. To my total delight there was a guy with a body board who lent it to me. So I got my fisrt try at body boarding and it went real well. Not that I can do any manouvers but I can catch waves and ride them home. It is a real kick every time and makes you want to run straight back out to catch the next big one. Unfortunately with the waves some jellfish came in and a few got me. They’re not really mean, a bee is a lot worse, nevertheless it’s unpleasant and you wouldn’t want one to lash you in the face. They say putting piss on the burns helps. Well, have you ever tried to pee on the back of your own shoulder? And that’s just the technical concerns. In any case, I will get a body board at the next possible occasion, that’s the future.

Tripolis is beautiful, at least what’s left of the old town and we went straight to the soap souq. Soap-making has a long tradition there and they produce really nicely scented soaps based on olive oil. You can watch them cook it up and pour it into forms right there in front of you.

On Sunday morning, after an insufferably hot night, we made for the famous Quadisha Valley. There’s a cave from which springs the river that runs in the valley bottom below. There are also the last remnants of the cedar forests that once covered all of Lebanon – one tree is said to be 6000 years old (yes, three zeros!). Walking among the age old trees there is a scent, not unlike in a pine forests but much more subtle and at the same time much more charged with heat and more engulfing, that gives the place a very special atmosphere. Nothing airy but simply peaceful. The valley is also full of monasteries and little hermitages that are cut right into the face of the cliffs on either side. We climbed into one of those retreats, balancing delicately on a slim ledge while sqeezing through little doorways chiseled out of the rock. Hard to imagin that anyone could have lived there, completely exposed to the elements – beautiful nevertheless and with a view to kill for.

The valley was also the scene of some of the more nasty infighting between the Maronite Christian militias during the civil war. There is an age old family feud between the Franjies of Ehden, who once gave the country a president and Geagea’s family who are from the neighbouring town, Becharré. Long ago, in retaliation for the killing of an old woman the inhabitants from Becharré burned Ehden to the ground and killed many of its inhabitants. During the civil war Samir Geagea was the leader of the Christian Phalange militia who masacred hundreds of Palestinian civilians in the refugee camps of Sabra and Chatila, an area then controlled by the Israeli army who at the time took its orders from Ariel Sharon. He is said to have killed Toni Franjieh and his family in their own house while they were asleep. Geagea was the only warlord who was imprisoned and he spent 11 years in an underground cell untill his release two weeks ago. He is back as a Christian politician like the other warlords who are busy sharing out the power among each other now that the Syrians have left the country. The whole of Becharré is plastered with religious-looking, larger-than-life posterwalls showing Geagea in heroic poses.

What this country needs is a reconciliation programme. Not a truth and reconciliation commission like in South Africa, that never gave any justice to anyone. No, but some bridging the divides. The Chrsitians now are not really together but they cooperate. The real rift is between Christians and Muslims and that gulf is wide. I haven’t met many Muslims yet but a lot of Christians I’ve come across are fascists, full-on. If it was for them, they’d cleanse the country of everyone who is not carrying a rosary in their pocket. Often the young guys, who were too young to really experience the war are the most hardline. And everybody says they are ready in case something should happen again. It is in nobody’s interest other than the Israeli’s and to some extent the Syrians if the country slides back into civil war. The political leaders of the respective factions have actively discouraged their followers from taking any retaliatory action for the attacks in July but a few more bombs could probably be enough. At least that’s everyone’s concern. But since this is Lebanon a little political tension is not going to stop anyone from going out and having a good time. Rock on!

Today I went to Beirut to interview a lady on WTO and other issues. Amazing conspiracy theories I heard. People here seem to be very fond of these kind of stories. Like there is some secret world government, the Israelis are all behind it, the Americans are controlling everything, etc. It is a celebration of one’s own victimhood in the guise of a courageous realism and it displeases me. The world is simply too complex for a handfull of people to be in charge. It is also not a healthy attitude. In fact it is kind of religious to believe in conspiracies – finally there is some meaning in all the randomness, finally someone to pin the responsibility on, someone to blame. As my former head of departmetn Oliver used to say: “There are always to big theories: the conspiracy theory and the cock-up theory. I tend to go with the cock-up.” I think he was right.

In the afternoon Ale and me were checking out the American University of Beirut, one of the Middle East’s most prestigeous schools. The’ve got a nice campus that’s full of cats and their own beach. There are also a lot of nice bookshops in the area and we found some good stuff. Accidentally we also ran into the American Language Center and since they had started a course of Arabic only yesterday we joined the beginners class. The course is affordable and there are only three other people in class, so it is not too bad. It’s just that it is four times a week in the afternoon. I would have to take time off from work and then travel back and forth all the time and that would mean going out of Beirut in the rush-hour, a real pain in the back.

Then in the evening we attended a talk by an environmental NGO on Free Trade Agreements and Agriculture. Looks like Lebanon is set to join the WTO and it might just wipe out their local farmers. They just can’t compete with the European farmers receiving all those subsidies. It will also bring GMOs into the country. Not good news, seems Lebanon’s food sovereignty is going out of the window. According to my conspiracy theorist the next things to be sold off are the health system, electricity and finally water. She might have a point there. We need a trade campaign, clear as water.

On the way home in the car, while I was driving up the mountain and all the oncoming cars where shining me right in the eyes with their brights in spite of my furious efforts to blink at them with mine, eventually raising a very explicit middle finger out of the driver’s window in the night – so while I was blindly winding my way up the serpentines, Ale performed another one of her monologues. This time about why all machines, especially flying things like UFOs, spaceships and aeroplanes in cartoons always have a self-destruct button. You know those things that someone presses accidently and then a female voice calmly tells everyone that they have 30 seconds to leave the ship before it will explode. And of course it is impossible to turn off the countdown. So now it’s only 20 seconds. The point being that all those cartoons are coming from Japan, and as we know, the Japanese are also the masters of Kamikaze – or suicide attacks. So this is where all this shit with suicide bombing is coming from and we should get the Japanese for it. Right on.

This makes me think of a Japanese poem for children that I am trying to tell myself when getting up:
Every morning when I open my gate
I enter the death battle zone
And I will encounter seven dreadful enemies
Jolly, no?

I think it is this very poem that Frederique Beigbeder, or was it the other French dude?, stole for his book ‘The extension of the battle zone’. In it he argues that under capitalism the principle of competition is being extended to ever more areas of life. For example in the olden days everybody got to have sex. You may have had an ugly hag you had to marry and stick with but at least you got some action. Then, in the 60s, emerged the cult of the body beuatiful. The result of it is that now a few good looking and/or rich people get all the sex and the others get nothing. Having seen pictures of the author on the back of his book I really hope for him that he made a lot of money with it.

I feel I owe this one to the few Japanese I know: Imagine you believe you come from nothing and you go to nothing. This life is all you have. Now you can do the existentialist a la Camus and say god is dead but instead of committing suicide I will source the meaning of my life within myself. This is not about simple hedonism and just enjoying every minute of your life to the max. This is about leading an ethical life in the midst of meaningless, random existence, according to your own rules without relying on anyone else. That’s hard enough. But now add to that the idea that your self is an illusion and that you want to respect your ancestors and that you owe it to them to fullfill your duty. And if you don’t do that you were socialised to feel such intense shame that you will want to kill yourself rather than to live as a failure. Respect to all who found a way to live with that pressure.

Heute schon der zweite Morgen hintereinander ohne Strom. Wir sind vom Netz unabhängig und die Solaranlage hat einen Patschen, bzw im Lebanon gibt’s nicht genug Sonne. Ich muss also als erstes in den Kelller und mich im Kabelwahnsinn zurechtfinden und den Inverter wieder hochstarten. Wär hätte das gedacht, hab ich doch einige Tage und einiges Geld aufgwendet in Italien um mich für erdrückendes Hitzewetter einzukleiden. Hitze hats schon hier, unten am Strand, bei uns aber ist Wolkenland angesagt, oft genug hängen wir so richtig drin dass die Wäsche im Haus kaum trocken wird. Aber Wäsche waschen ist eh grad nicht angesagt, da müsste ich ja den Generator anwerfen. Wir haben sozusagen eine Waschmaschine mit Dieselmotor. Was als grünes Projekt anfängt muss also nicht unbedingt vernünftig enden.

Hab heute wichtiges Planungsmeeting abgehalten mit meinen Chaoten. Ist wirklich gut gegangen und alle sind so richtig energiegeladen rausmaschiert. Hab durch geschicktes Manövrieren meinen sonst eher arbeitsscheuen Kollegen ganz erstaunliche Versprechen abpressen können. Bei der nächsten Sitzung werd ich mich dann selber als Facilitator absetzen und das Ruder scheinbar aus der Hand geben. Somit werd ich meinen Ruf als basisdemokratisches Urgestein auf ewig zementieren 😉

Gestern Abend am Strand waren richtig heftige Wellen, fast zu viel zum Schwimmen. Genial allerdings zum im Liegestuhl abhängen und zuschauen wie die Gischt um die Felsen sprüht.

Am Samstag waren wir auf unserer ersten Libanesischen Hochzeit. Da geht’s ganz schön hoch her, 500 Gäste, Life Musik und DJ dass die Ohrwascheln noch am Morgen danach dröhnen. Ale und ich haben, trotz Flitze mit gutem Appetit, elegantem Outfit, und einer gekonnten Tanzeinlage zu YMCA beeindrucken können. Die Hochzeitstorte war siebenstöckig und das junge Glück hat sie mit einem Säbel angeschnitten. Man isst wirklich vorzüglich auf libanesisch und zum Schmausen gabs, neben den üblichen 10 verschiedenen Mezze (Vorspeisen), auch Schmankerl wie rohe Leber und eine Art Beef Tartar. Du weißt dass du willkommen bist wenn du von der Oma am Tisch die Happen bisfertig hergerichtet bekommst – das sich gegenseitig Füttern ist hier noch Ausdruck starker Bande.

Wie sich die Ale und ich so für den Abend hergerichtet haben, ist mir ein etwas beunruhigender Gedanke gekommen. Ich bin es ja gewöhnt dass mir Leute sagen ich sei dem Heinz sehr ähnlich. Das fängt damit an dass wir eigentlich Sockenhalter tragen sollten, weil wir haben beide keine Wadeln und so rutschen uns die Socken immer runter. Mit zunehmendem Alter spitzt sich der Trend dann auch noch zu, jetzt haben wir den gleichen Haaransatz, den gleichen Manierismus und beinah auch noch die gleiche Handschrift. Natürlich bin ich auch zum ausgemachten Zeitpunkt fertig angezogen, und warte dann eine halbe Stunde bis die Ale fertig ist, ganz genau wie der Heinz und die Cilli. Aber was mich am meisten fertig macht ist dass ich mir bald alle zwei Wochen einen Nagelzwicker kauf, ein unablässiger Ausrüstungsgegenstand des zivilisierten Mannes, und wenn ich dann einen brauch nie einer zu finden ist! Ganz wie mein Vater.

i’ve had some nice feedback about this blog from several people. thanks for the support, it’s nice to know you read it. for more pictures check out ale’s blog