Greetings from Shawarmaland!

I arrived safely and in one piece, although that one piece is slowly doubling in size. All I do is eat here. I'm sure I'm going to gain 50 pounds. Or should I say 50 kilos. Although that's 110 pounds, and that's no joking matter.

I'm sitting in an internet cafe right now. I feel like I'm in 1990. There are three kids here playing Counterstike. They have headphones on so it's quiet but then every once in a while one of them will scream and scare the hummus out of me. And one of them is smoking. Pure class, the joints I hang out in.

Anyway, between my family in Beirut and my family in the mountains, I'm really feeling the love. I didn't even understand what that phrase meant until coming here. I am so spoiled! My relatives have more than gone out of their way to help us find an apartment in Beirut or help me find a job. Not that they would take it, but I don't even know how to begin to repay everyone for the hospitality they've shown me just in the past week. My grandma and I haven't had much luck in the apartment department, but I'm on my way to making connections in the Lebanese entertainment industry and will definitely keep you all updated.

As far as the rest of Lebanon is concerned, I'm still trying to figure it out. One thing I know for sure and noticed immediately is that the driving is insane. I can't decide i Lebanese people are such horrible drivers that they completely disregard the rules or if they're such amazing drivers that they don't even need the rules. They drive around each other, through each other, if they could I'm sure they'd go over each other. Between the incessant honking and the brake screeches, I am white-knuckling it the entire time. A couple of days ago there was traffic on the highway and my great-uncle just pulled over towards the on-ramp and backed out. Exited the highway by reversing down the on-ramp. And everyone else in the car just continued the conversation, gossiping about a woman's apartment and how messy it was. The beds weren't even made! I was just about to roll down the window and scream, "HELP ME!" when I saw that he had started a trend and the entire highway was reversing down the entrance. That's when i realized no one would help me. Later when he drove over a curb my great-aunt said, "Be careful." Yeah, watch the curb now, we wouldn't want to be reckless.

I also know that everyone has a Filipino maid. Well, not everyone I'm sure. Some have maids from Bangladesh or Sri Lanka or Libya. Kidding, but it seems like a lot of households do have help. Aside from the task of cooking, which the matriarch proudly keeps for herself, the maid does the other household duties. My cousin said that when you have children or a job, it's hard to keep your house up to the social standards here. Especially if you're older or widowed, you need help. I can see that, you don't want people gossiping about how messy your house is while they're reversing off the freeway on.

Also: Lebanese people have magic metabolisms. I'm not sure I can divide the food I've eaten here into meals, since the word "meal" really describes a distinct eating event that happens a few times a day. Here, we just keep eating. There aren't meals necessarily, just certain times a day when you eat more. And one "meal' doesn't just mean the food on your plate. No, no, the entire table fills up with food that the host and hostess will force you to eat. I use the word "force" loosely, because usually I'm enthusiastically helping myself. After this we switch locations, maybe from the table to the couch. Then they bring out desserts, then the baked desserts, then they pour coffee or tea with cookies, then there's the fruit, then the dried fruit, then out come the nuts and that's when you know the cycle's about to start over. It's wonderful, really, but a few times a day I think, "This time I've really done it. I've really eaten myself to death." But somehow when the next smell wafts into the room I get over it.

Anyway, I've already spoken to a number of relatives about what it's like to live here and what it was like to be here during the wars. I've gotten unforgettable stories, but I'll save those for later. I sense a lot of frustration from my relatives, especially my younger friends and cousins. There seems to be a lack of structure and regulation here when it comes to things that are systematic in other places, like driving or housing, and my relatives complain about unreliable institutions that we take for granted in the U.S. It was a bit shocking to have my excitement about being here be met with my cousins' excitement for leaving. I haven't been here long at all so I can't even begin to figure this out but I can already tell this is going to be a very interesting trip.

Regarding marriage: my grandmother and her sisters, my aunts and older cousins, any neighbor that's even heard the mention of a single girl, are busily making plans. I told them I didn't want to get married until I was at least 26 and these were some of the responses:
"What if he wants to get married before that?"
"Lord, God, Heavenly Father, why would you wait that long?'
"No."

It was hinted that my second cousin would be a match. He was certainly nice. Mom and Dad: help me. Please.

Regarding shawarma: it's delicious. And one wrap costs 2,000 liras. Which is a $1.67. It makes being set up with your cousin worth it.

Anyway, I'm off to eat. Until next time, I miss you all and every delicious stuffed grape leaf is shared with you.