Happy new year!

I know I'm a little late, but you'll have to forgive me. You see—Lebanese people are always late. But happy new year nonetheless and I hope that the first week of 2010 has brought you all good things. I haven't updated in a while because I haven't had internet access, but today I am officially connected (JOY TO THE WORLD!). So expect more frequent updates from your Arab-influenced friend.

A lot has happened to me and although I would like to take you on a detailed and thorough adventure through the past few weeks, I know that you, unlike me, may actually have a job and somewhere to be. Or you probably don't really care. So I'll give you a brief summary.

Mountain life, although filled with funny anecdotes about the electricity and the cold, quickly turned limiting as I realized I was seeing the same pair of 80-year-old women every day. Don't get me wrong, these women are feisty and fun, and I definitely put the jabal in the “horizon broadening experience” category, but when the heater stopped working in my room I quickly turned to my grandmother and said, “Please get me out of here.” She finally agreed to move into this apartment in Beirut a few days earlier than planned when she realized she was seeing the same 22-year-old every day and unlike herself, this 22-year-old was neither feisty nor fun.

As we were getting ready to move, we made a trip up to a nearby city to pick up a few things. In true mountain fashion, it started to pour. The road back was literally rocky and curvy, and with the rain it was even harder to navigate. But my grandma had been handing me the keys lately so that I could practice driving. I was so proud of myself, driving in Lebanon! If you can drive in Lebanon, you can drive anywhere!, they say. Well, I guess I can't drive anywhere, because I came around a bend and suddenly the wheels wouldn't turn, and the car wouldn't stop. I felt the car sliding in the water, towards the edge of the road. Naturally I did what any competent and adept driver would do and rammed into the monster tires of an 18-wheel truck. After the initial impact, I turned in shock to my grandmother in the passenger seat. I was blubbering, “Are you okay?” and she was blabbering “Are you okay?” so in short we were both okay. I turned around to check on my mother's sister-in-law and saw her sprawled across the backseat. I had a mini-heart attack, but when she sat up, her glasses diagonal on her face, and said “I bumped my toe”, I nearly passed out in relief. Everyone is fine, and we are really lucky. I know this kind of accident could happen anywhere, but I'm playing the newcomer card and just taking taxis from now on.

The new year was spent in my cousin's house turned nightclub where my mom's cousin kept serving me cranberry vodkas much to the displeasure of my grandmother who thought it was straight whiskey and kept feeding me bread-based foods. We waited for the countdown and then 5 minutes before midnight I guess all the old people got tired and said “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” and the hugging commenced, the confetti dropped, and then everyone left. I said, “What?”, shrugged, and sipped my cranberry vodka.

A few days later we moved to Downtown Beirut, which is an amazing location. There are remnant's of Beirut and Lebanon's past all over the city but there is a spirit of life here that I can't describe, tainted but positive, sectarian but helpful. Each neighborhood really deserves its own entry, so I'll keep this short and just say that it's phenomenal and I love Beirut already.

A few days ago, I interviewed with a great English publishing house here in Beirut for an editorial assistant position. If I get the job I would be helping them with a few projects and then pick up and develop projects on my own. I would also get the opportunity to travel with them to international book fairs as well as other Middle Eastern countries! Helping Lebanese and Arab authors get their words read and their voices heard is a very personal dream come true, so I was very excited when they called me yesterday for a second interview. Here's hoping! I'm also still looking to get involved in the film scene here but I think for now I'll see what opportunities present themselves in the field. There's really no industry here so to find an actual position is pretty difficult. And I'd rather work in publishing, which I also love, than work in television, which I don't plan to pursue and really don't have too high of an interest in at this point. So hopefully this progress will continue, but until then I've really been just trying to enjoy my time with my family and get to know the city, which is a person to get to know itself.

That's pretty much it from this side of the world. The news here keeps saying that Israel is planning to attack Lebanon in May, to which I respond by saying, “Crap.” Cool it Middle East, I'm here now. But other than that possibility I'm seeing a very bright and amazing 2010 up ahead.

For you that is. I'm just trying to stay out of war.

Hope you're all doing well! And again, happy new year!

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas everyone! I’m thinking of you all as I celebrate with my family here and I hope that the holiday season is bringing you all the wonderful things you deserve! This year Santa kindly brought me extra 8 pounds. And he got lazy because he put them all on my stomach. New Year's Resolution #1: Ease up on the pita bread?

Or do what every other Lebanese woman has done and eat to my heart’s content, wait until I gain more weight, and get liposuction! Also botox, a nose job, and breast implants. Yes, yes, much better.

Anyway, I’ve been doing very well since the last time we updated. We recently moved into my uncle’s empty apartment in Beirut. I walk to the beautiful downtown shopping and restaurant area, I can walk to the water, and of course we all know that this is the best part, I can walk to all the best Beirut bars and night clubs. Now all I need to do is make friends to go out with and I’m set. (How do I do that again?)

I’m in the mountains right now, which at first I really found to be a challenge. But as of last week I am an official jabal (mountain) girl. Well I would argue I’m really a Beirut girl, but what I mean to say is that I am also a cardholding member of the jabal club.

I suppose I should tell you what happened last week to initiate me into said club, but before I begin, let me explain that when I say I am staying in the mountains, I don't mean the Himalayas or the Rockies. Mount Lebanon is mild in comparison and the villages are relatively developed. Let me also explain that when I say developed, I don't mean buildings and malls, I mean two gas stations, a grocery store, a hair salon run by a middle-aged man, and sixty-three toy shops.

I'm sorry to ruin the romantic image of me rolled up in a sleeping bag counting the Lebanese stars, exhausted from my daytime hike to fetch water, but aside from freezing temperatures and the lack of anything remotely fun to do other than watching horrible Christina Ricci movies on the two English TV channels, my grandmother's house is probably pretty similar to your grandmother's house. Unless your grandmother lives in a small village in, I don't know, Alaska, and likes to stuff you with various baked goods, and doesn't have the internet, in which case it is exactly like your grandmother's house.

A note on the freezing temperature: it's not. It's actually no colder than 45ºF. But it will get colder and actually snow, at which point I am hoping to either be in Beirut or have jumped off a Lebanese cliff. At times I can see my breath in my bedroom. In the movies (half of the basis of all my knowledge), when you see a character's breath, you're supposed to say, “Whoa, it must be damn cold.” So by this logic, it must be damn cold here. But not to worry, my grandmother has provided me with a gastank-powered behemoth of a heater that instantly warms the entire room with the strength of a raging fire. It's not my fault I need this, it's really evolution that has adapted me to a land of sunshine and warmth. It's debatable science, people, look it up. Also, please look up what happens when you inhale too much gas.

Anyway, the way I became an official jabal girl is based on my own misconceptions of my parents' childhood. My mother and father both grew up on this very mountain, in this very village of Btekhnay. Actually, if we're going to be technical, my father grew up in Btekhnay and my mother grew up on the border of Btekhnay and Hamana, but their houses are about four minutes apart, so in my head they were neighbors who grew up unaware of each other and years later fell in love and produced one of the most amazing women to ever live. And also my sister.

My parents have told me stories of how, during the actual freezing winters, they would sit in a small living room and study by candlelight. Thus making them contemporaries with Abraham Lincoln, who I believe also did the same. Mom, Dad, and Abe I'm sure, would sit in these rooms which, translated into English, are called “winter rooms”, or “only room in the house with a heater.” My mother would pour coffee for Abe, much at the displeasure of my grandfather who was of course trying to hook her up with my dad. But then Abe said, “I'm sorry, I must travel to the colonies and one day free the slaves.” She of course understood and let him go. But even to this day there isn't a $5 bill that passes through her hands without a tear dropping on it.

Now, although Lebanon is trying to enter modern times with its highway billboards and shopping malls, much like Abe himself it still has yet to escape the past. A good example of this is that homes, whether in the city or the mountains, still do not receive electricity 24 hours a day. If you can afford it, you can subscribe to a company which will provide backup power while the electricity is rationed to some other part of the village or city. This is of course a separate bill, but it's automatic and you usually only have to wait about 30 seconds or so for the power to kick in.

So this hasn't been too big of an inconvenience for me, except for a moment or two. Our water heater, for instance, can't run on the backup power. So if you want to take a shower and the water wasn't heated on the electricity, you're out of luck. And just because it was heated doesn't mean it will stay that way. In about 2 seconds, you can go from singing in a steaming shower to screaming in water so cold that you fully understand the Titanic finale. Whether you're Jack or Rose really depends on if you can slosh out of the shower fast enough to survive.

And the second moment was yesterday, when I felt a connection with my parents for a few hours. It was about 8pm or so, which in mountain time is about midnight because it gets dark around 4 and there is literally nothing to do except change into your pajamas and read until you fall asleep. Which is what I was doing when the electricity went out. “Hardy har, Lebanon you rascal,” I thought as I sat in the dark waiting for the backup power to kick in so I can continue The Ridiculous Race. If you like hilarious travel literature, which you obviously do because you're reading the over-the-top hilarity that is this blog, then you'll love this book by Steve Hely and Vali Chandrasekaran. (Dear Henry Holt and Co.: you may email me regarding my payment, thank you.)

A dark minute went by and I thought, “Hm. Weird. Usually I'd be reading again by now.” But, as usual, I got distracted. “Wow, it's pitch black in here. Really, I have never been in a room this dark.”

Then I got to thinking about how in cartoons (the second half of the basis of all my knowledge), when a character is in a dark room and blinks, his eyes are white circles on the black screen. Well, what if this wasn't just a characteristic of drawn rabbits or ducks but really a natural trait of all human beings? How would we know otherwise? We obviously need to be in a pitch black room to see if, like cartoon characters, our eyes appeared in the dark. But has anyone put themselves in this situation? And because we cannot see our eyes, we do not actually know if they indeed glow. Were cartoonists actually scientists ahead of their time and forced into the underground where they could only serve progress by their Looney Tunes? Was I, Nasrin Aboulhosn, many-a-time-scoffed-at literature and writing major, on the brink of a revolutionary biological discovery?

Clearly.

I turned to where I thought the mirror stood and began to open and close my eyes slowly. Nothing. Maybe I'm not doing it fast enough. Yeah, a quick spot of white may catch my attention. Hmm, nope. Maybe that's not actually where the mirror is; let me try a bit to the right. Hm, to the left?

Then I saw a flicker of light and thought, “My God, I was half joking.” Not entirely joking, though, because there is still some part of me that wishes that I lived in a cartoon, and this part still plays a very active role in how I see the world. I excitedly began to blink rapidly, trying to think about what I should say when I accept my Nobel Prize (it's really easy to get it nowadays). That’s when my grandmother said, “What's wrong with you?” and I realized the flicker of light was a candle and she was holding it.

A note on my grandmother: she is literally the most selfless person alive. Also: she likes to make dirty jokes, calculate how long it takes to get from Point A to Point B, and thoroughly explain how each passerby is related to the other as well as to me. She is famous for remembering birthdays and phone numbers. She has no formal education but speaks five languages and knows more than I will ever learn. She is quite possibly the coolest person in my life and if all I get out of this trip is a closer relationship with her then it was more than worth it.

The soft candlelight instantly transported me into a different room, nay, a different time. It lit up but a small corner of the room but it was beautiful in a days of yore sort of way. I said, “I thank thee for thy gift, grandmamma. I bid you goodnight.” But she pretended not to hear me.

The candle was indeed beautiful. For about ten seconds. Then it was boring. What was I supposed to do now? That's when I remembered my parents crowding around the heater and the candle practicing their letters. Okay, fine, for all I know, they could have sat under fluorescent sky lights learning about 20th century technology as it relates to contemporary history, but for the sake of my story, get over it.

I think on those simpler days fondly, so I decided to join my parents and Abe in their ye olde tyme memories. I curled up near the candle and continued to read about Steve and Vali's adventures. I tried to ignore that I had to angle the book nearly parallel to the floor to read it and that every ten minutes I had to change positions to follow the light. I tried not to notice that both my legs were asleep because of my curl in the corner. I was even successful in not caring about the small hint of gas still wafting around the room. I was trying to appreciate the romance of a world not powered by technology.

For about ten seconds. “Screw this,” I thought, blew out the candle, and practiced glowing in the dark again.

Thus the life of the jabal girl. I’m glad we moved to Beirut because I've run out of mountain jokes. I can't keep saying, “Is she coming round the mountain when she comes?” every time my grandma says someone is coming to visit. It's simply not funny.

No job yet, but I'm glad I got this time to spend with my family and explore both the city and the mountains a bit. Not to say that I'm not desperate for something productive to fill my time other than pretending to be able to read Harry Botter and writing in my blog. I have a few ideas brewing, I'm working on it.

Again, Merry Christmas and I’ll hopefully update before then but I’m wishing you all a Happy New Year!

Proof of how delicious Lebanon truly is.

You can find pictures here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2464916&id=3314693&l=07380bc319

Hey, this isn't like Lonely Blanet.

Today I became an official Beirut girl. I was honked at by taxis, cursed at by angry drivers, and my wallet is now empty. But I'm very proud of myself because I explored a huge part of Beirut alone and without any help. I had a map and my Lonely Planet guide, so I knew where I wanted to go. But a map doesn't really help you when there aren't any street names or signs posted anywhere. And as far as senses go, direction isn't exactly my best.

Listen, guys, I'm not going to lie to you. This blog is an open area, a thick line of communication based on complete honesty. Well, I may lie to make myself look better. But in this case I'm not going to lie, I was nervous this morning when my cousin dropped me off in front of her college and said, “You'll know you're at Rue Hamra when you see stones.”

What? What stones? Where? Are the buildings made out of stone? Are the streets—where are you going?? Wait! Help me!

But then I thought to myself, “Nasrin, you're smart. You're educated. You're an adult. You must depend on yourself and believe you can do this.” I must not have looked so convincing, because that's when an older gentleman asked if I was lost and I nearly cried, “YES! Can you please point me in the direction of Rue Hamra?”

He literally said, “Blah blah blah blah right. Blah blah blah blah left.” I swear he wasn't speaking Arabic. So I smiled, said, “Shukran”, and walked in one of the directions he mentioned, all the while freaking out more and more. I wasn't sure of where I was going. Not at all. But I wasn't going to call anyone, I needed to learn for myself. I kept checking Lonely Planet, which was so structured and organized, it didn't match Beirut at all. A lonely planet it truly was.

Finally I decided I needed to figure out what street I was on so that I could get to Rue Hamra, and from there my map could help me. I walked into a dress store and up to the nice-looking owner. I said in the best Arabic I could muster, “Excuse me, do you mind telling me what street we're on?” Then she said, in the rudest Arabic she thought I could handle, “How am I supposed to know what street we're on?”

…wow, someone didn't drink their mete this morning. You don't know the address of your own store? Where the hell am I? But I bit my tongue, which I've quickly learned to do, said “Shukran”, and left.

I walked out of the store, and that's when it started to rain. Literally. Oh great, thanks God, thanks. That's exactly what I need. Needless to say, I was down in the dumps. At least I would have been if I could find them.

I started to question all of my choices. Why had I come here? Not just to Beirut, but to Lebanon? I wasn't even capable of shopping? How was I going to survive in a country that was supposed to be familiar but with every step was becoming more and more foreign?

I looked up, wiping away a tear. Or a raindrop, whatever. That's when I saw them. Stones! The street was paved with stones! The most beautiful stones. I had found Rue Hamra. All by myself.

With this renewed confidence I found the places Lonely Planet recommended. Through these points of reference I stopped by shops, book stores, the American University of Beirut. I sat in a cafe and read the newspaper. I even went to a museum. (Nerd alert: I bought Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone in Arabic! But because the letter "p" doesn't technically exist in Arabic and is replaced by the letter "b", I actually bought Harry Botter and the Philosopher's Stone.)

I ended my day in Akil, an apparel store in the style of Ross. The only reason it's worth mentioning is because the music was so strange, I pretended to be browsing Abercrombie knockoffs when I really was just listening in shock. First there was an Elvis-style cover of Hot and Cold by Katy Pary, which was so weird. And by weird I mean amazing. Then there was Material Girl done in folk. I kept looking around to see if anybody else was reacting, but the only people in the store were middle-aged silicone ladies looking for trendy clothes. And when I say trendy I mean flashy, flashy, flashy. Makeup and flash, that's how to be stylish here. Which is why I came into the store in the first place. But I left as soon as a lounge version of Hey There Delilah began. Too flashy for me.

Overall, it was a wonderful day. Hamra, which was the area I was exploring, is a fun area where artists, hipsters, and students all hang out. I was able to see everything I wanted to see and best of all I did it all by myself.

I didn't make a mistake coming here! I'll be okay!

I hurried to my aunt's house excited to share the news of my accomplishment. But when I got there grandma told me there's a rumor that my parents sent me here because they were afraid I was dating an American guy and they didn't want me to marry him.

...I didn't make a mistake coming here, I didn't make a mistake coming here, I didn't make a mistake coming here, I didn't make a mistake coming here...

Anyway, pictures are coming as soon as I have a steady source of internet. Not having the internet is interesting. And by interesting I mean boring. Although, do you know how to play Spider Solitaire? I do. It's interesting. And by interesting I mean boring.

Your comments make me happy, thank you for your support! The Blanet doesn't feel so Lonely when I remember you're all on it, too! Hope you're all enjoying your holiday season!

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.