Lebanon's Friendliest, First Days & a Walk-About

Law & Order re-runs, dubbed in French and shown on Lebanese TV. My evening at the hotel room was rather entertaining. And it was only night two. 

When I arrived on Sunday, a driver was at the airport, waiting for me, ready to whisk me away to the hotel. A quaint place in downtown Beirut, international flags displayed outside and the front desk manager was kind and accommodating. I was set up for the next several days, and with that; I was also ready to get in and take a nap. I never sleep while traveling. My layover had been a rather pointless in Amman, but the flight was cheap because t was the middle of the Muslim holiday: known as Eid. 

The small room was cool and clean and contained everything I needed: a bed, a desk and a bathroom. I unloaded my belongings and sat down on the bed, though almost immediately, I laid down and went right to sleep. After a couple of hours, I decided I needed to explore the block. I would touch base with my friends later. Most places were closed both due to Eid and because it was Sunday, explained the afternoon hotel manager. But he gave me fine directions to a small market that *would* be open. 

Making my way down the street, I thought it might be good to have a little cash, in Lebanese pounds, rather than just my credit card. So walked a little further to see if I could find an ATM. I circled around one of the small streets and headed toward the port, thinking I would come up on a main road. I did. Turning to my right, I saw a security guard who caught my eye and asked if he could help - at least, I assumed that is what he was asking in Arabic. I asked him if he spoke English and he answered back that he knew some. He showed me to the ATM right inside the building he was watching. I didn't know the currency exchange at the time, so I made a guess and pulled out Lebanese pounds as well a dollars, just in case. 

Back around and to the market, I picked up a few snacks and headed back to the hotel. If I thought I was lost, I simply asked someone on the street. Everyone was kind and helpful. Later that night, looking for a restaurant or bar open, because a woman does have to eat, even on the holiday; I found a place that had lights on just down the street from the hotel, but of course when I walked up the stairs to the restaurant, I discovered it was a Chile's - ah, an American restaurant. Nevertheless, I was hungry, so it was - I ate and had a couple of deserved Margaritas. Of course, it didn't matter much. I sat at the bar and with only a few people in the venue watching the Manchester United-Chelsea football match (ManU won, sadly), the bartender and one of his *server* friends eagerly talked to me - what to do in Beirut, how to navigate around and then, you know, the conversation diverted to Lady Gaga and why she made for great Halloween costumes. 

Day two would be a bit like the first, walking to one of the shopping centers for a local phone and well...a hair-dryer (yes, truly an American girl). But without any trouble, I was able to ask for assistance and folks were able to help. Even if they didn't speak English well, or at all, they could understand and were more than willing to point and show me where to go. 

In all the hours of my work, research, writing and inquiries: the one thing I found in my first days here: people are attentive and willing to share what they know with someone who is obviously...not a local.

Photo Essay: (Turkey) Haiga Sophia

Notes: The Haiga Sophia, also known as the Saint Sophia was once an Orthodox Christian Church under Constantine who had it built and it was an important monument during the Byzantine Empire and later it became a Mosque after Ottoman Turks conquered the region. It was incredibly fascinating to see such exquisite design and the additions that were seamlessly made. I was often amused at the obvious influences by the Catholic on the Orthodox structure of the Church - but in all my observance during the self guided tour, I kept thinking, What actually happened here? Was there bloodshed? God, were you here? Perhaps strange to some, but it was an awe satisfying experience. Stained glass windows, Arabic script, alters and pathways - even burial sites. It was Holy ground that welcomed more than just one group of people. And though it is run as a tourist museum, it had an essence that reminded people - this was a place of worship and prayer, perserved for centuries. The European had been met with the Arabian - and the remnants  to me, were quite extraordinary. 

Istanbul Mornings: from Buyukdere to Taksim

There's something about the rain here. As night falls, so do the drops and they pour, and it doesn't stop. Just off the coast of the Black Sea, in a fishing village called Buyukdere, there's something peaceful - far from Istanbul. I can see why the legendary Margaret Moth kept her home here. 

The morning run was often peaceful, quiet and surreal. The fishing boats were in, the fisherman selling their catch from wooden carts and my walk down to the path often followed the smell of the poor dead fish waiting to be cooked up and consumed. But not matter, the bright sun over the Sea, the Mountains that rose above them and all the village roof tops made the mornings ever so picturesque. After good physical exertion and serenity, I enjoyed stopping by the market to pick up fruit and a pastry for breakfast before going back to the old house for a shower. 

The local Taxi manager knew my face every morning, and that I needed a quick ride to the Metro. He always smiled as he waved down one of his drivers for me. He could say hello in English and understood me when I'd bow slightly and say one of the few Turkish words I know, "Sal" - which is actually, "Sag Olun" and and is often used in gratitude. 

Taxi, Metro and Taksim Square, it was a daily ritual for my two week stay in Istanbul. Constant views of the Mosques all over the city, cafes for Turkish tea in the morning...oh and in the afternoon and at night with colleagues, new friends and strangers. Lunch lasted a few hours, and there was always room to drink more tea in a cafe open to the outside with an adopted cat that sat in the doorway. 

In spite of the Mob moving through the city (nearly 16 million people mind you), Istanbul had it's own ora, rhythm and movement that made it unique to any other place I have been. But simultaneously, it's modern jive that Turks never fail to call attention to - though, I would recommend if you're in a department store, ask the manager to communicate with you on Google Translate, be prepared to dry your clothes on a line, if you take a Taxi: don't watch the drive and if you walk, make sure to watch OUT for the drivers...and oh, don't forget to try the Simit with your Turkish tea. 

Moments of the Sacred: Part I

The Call to Prayer, it happens 5-times a day in the Muslim world. And at least that many times, on each and every day is a call to acknowledge the Sacred. 

I have often woken up in the morning to the sound of the Mu'adhin calling out - it's the noon call, the Mosque in Buyukdere is only a few blocks from where I stayed. They call out on intercoms that are attached to the Minuets. There have been days where the gentleman sounds like he has something stuck in his throat and has to clear it before continuing. Though amusing, in it's own form, he is dedicated to a call for Prayer, Holiness, reflection,...at this, many Muslims will drop to their knees - facing the most holy place they know and seek Heaven. 

I remember the first time I heard it, a cup of coffee in hand, waking up, standing in a garden in my favorite sweats, the cool morning air and the Call itself beckoned my own prayer, my own thankful surrender to God. The moment demanded my attention, compelled my mind to hold still - just for a moment. And so on I went. 

I imagine, like any other human, the Muslim believers ask for help, they ask for blessings, they pray away their sins, they ask for direction, they look find what else they can do live a better life. Are they so far from anyone else? No. Five times a day, they pause for a moment, they look to Reverence and ask for better.

How often, in the Christian world is this done? On Sundays? During a Bible study once a week or a holiday? How often is it done anywhere else - among those with or without any kind of faith? Yes, it begins to sound like a ritual, a regulation of the Religion. But I have found, watching, in only 2-weeks, that this call is precious. The ground they stand on, for so many Muslims, immediately becomes an alter. There is nothing else that matters or makes more sense than that moment. This, truly, is fascinating. It is so because it is necessary. 

How often do we each focus what is truly important? Those from the West and more specifically, the US are always in such a rush to be satisfied and right and right now, ahead of the game and above all else, there is no surrender, God is not *really* factored into the equation, only human worthiness and who is in or who is out of the "Club." Religion is on a fast track, it has become a self-righteous *political* statement and the practice of cleansing isn't even a recognized. There is no meditation or focus on the pause that needs its moment, the quietness of Soul and Spirit. 

This is the beauty in the Call to Prayer. It is, like the word "Islam" itself, a call...to genuine surrender. 

Sunday Protests: Animal Activists & The Turkish Gov't

It was the day for protests in Istanbul. 3 different groups organized and chanting.

But it was the animal rights activists who were the loudest. Whistles and bazookas, they marched down Istaklal to Taksim square with one angry message: "5199 No More. " 

The Turkish government is currently considering legislation that would clean the streets of its stray animals in exchange for what they say would be better conditions for the animals by potentially putting them in parks, and it may encourage citizens to adopt strays. 

But many Turks argue the government is looking to sweep the strays from the street only to leave them to starve in enclosed locations. Seemingly, as a cultural practice many restaurant owners and store vendors often feed cats and dogs in the streets, adopting them in the neighborhood, thought they don't take them home. 

A local professor, I met the other night, comes out every evening with mixed food and bowls for local neighborhood kitties. Rumor has it that another woman keeps a separate apartment for the cats she collects and a local tea vendor I watch the other night played peace maker with two stray dogs that wanted to bicker over a bone. 

When the protest began a few weeks ago, the government issued a statement stating that the law would provide protection against animal cruelty and it was to ensure the safety and welfare of the animals.

But the people's protest continues. They are afraid the government will repeat an incident which occurred in 1910, where officials shipped off dogs to an island, clearing streets in attempts to "modernize" the country - the dogs were ultimately starved to death. And it was said that citizens could hear the dogs howling. Activists are insistant the new legislation violates animal rights and their right to care for them. 

Ironically, though, one thing I noticed on Sunday - of each of the protest groups that came through; more people crowded the streets to fight for animal rights than to protest against a war with Syria. 

They Bought The Farm, all of it...

They “bought the farm,” Ray laughed. He and his wife, Dhara, friends of my host, invited us, literally, to check out the farm they had put money on – in the mountains that rise above the Black Sea. When we arrived, we jumped the fence, gained permission from the residents living behind the house and wandered the property. Apples from apple trees, Grapes, from vines, Persimmons from persimmon trees - the fruit was plentiful and incredibly delicious. The children ran the field and through the garden, climbing trees and picking ripe peppers. It was amazing.

Ray, a yoga instructor and artist, mentioned that he wanted to make the place his weekend getaway and perhaps, eventually a permanent residence for the family. He hopes to renovate a run down gazebo in the back for a Yoga, Asian-style studio. They want to be able to grow their own vegetables and to be honest, it was the most peaceful place I have been yet in the past few days. 

The villager neighbors came out to talk with us and while I didn’t necessarily understand all of the conversation, which was mostly Turkish, I enjoyed listening, watching and finding the small ways to communicate.

An elderly gentleman, who I picked up was about in his 60s – stopped me at one point, while I was sitting on the swing to ask me to take a picture, of course, I obliged. The small boy who lived there led Ray and Dhara's children around, showing them the field, playing games and participated in the apple picking. He was so young, maybe 5 or so and had the most stunning features. He often stopped to stare at me, and even tell me something, he would peer at my camera and finally even, sat still enough, for me to capture his beautiful young face. Ray & Dhara's children are already trilingual - speaking Turkish, French and English - knew to speak to the boy in Turkish and the three kids played endlessly around the land. 

The land was so beautiful and the warm afternoon sun, the high view and cool breeze made the visit truly worthwhile. It was a day that turned out just...Perfect.

Istanbul or Constantinople?

At 2-a.m., driving through Istanbul, I couldn't really see more than what the city lights had to offer. But my "Taksi" driver talked me through some of the landmarks anyway. His English was broken but he knew right where to go, as he often drives my host around the city as well as the CNN staff. He is married, has a son (15) and a daughter (10), loves football too much and visits the Mosque regularly. We arrived and I was exhausted, but glad I had finally made my destination. Frankly, I was just looking forward to a bed I could stretch out on and sleep. 

This morning I woke up in an old house in Buyukdere, near the Black Sea. The sounds of Istanbul were quietly calling me to get up. It was already 11a.m. I woke up to my friend making coffee and graciously accepted a cup. He and the cleaning maid commented about how cold I must be because I was bare foot walking through the kitchen. They offered me slippers to cover my toes and I denied. I told them, I'm perfectly comfortable, not cold at all. The morning was perfect, a slight breeze in the air, slithering in the old house, and the warm sun peeking it's way through.

From a Mosque just a few blocks away, I heard the Call to Prayer. Standing in the Garden behind the house, I closed my eyes for a moment and sent heaven my own. It was a moment of Sacred ritual, an appreciation for blessings, a moment of peaceful reflection, even surrender.

After the morning settled in, we showered, dressed and headed out for breakfast. We went to a small cafe near the CNN bureau space and enjoyed tea and potatoes and other such things. Unlike the City, the neighborhoods and villages make Istanbul what it is, the culture is thick and everyone is looking out for someone and trying to get where they're going. The Views are magnificent and while many apartments and houses sit on top of one another, there's always a community buzzing in its own rhythm. 

Ironically, the global chaos that seems to exist in every major city - are bad drivers. But here, they rarely pay attention to lanes, turn signals are used rarely, if ever and people move in and out of traffic like they were all heading to the hospital in labor. Even still, the city of Istanbul has it's own tune and right now, I look forward to navigating my way for a few weeks.