Eid Mubarak

Eid Mubarak to all the Muslims out there!

I'm proud to say that Greek sista and I finally made it into the big, blue-domed mosque in Downtown after two previous failed attempts. One involved us being chased away before setting foot on the first outdoor step leading up to the mosque, with hand gestures indicating that our clothing was too revealing and that we should come back the following day. Because I'd entered the mosque before (where I was provided with an abaya to cover up), I'd assumed we'd follow the same protocol this time, and figured our chase-off was due to it being a Friday during Ramadan.

So we returned the next day; me in a skirt covering the knees, Greek sista wrapped in a sarong to hide her short shorts, and we made it to the top of the staircase and right up to the entrance. There we were greeted by a different man to the previous day's hand gestures, who was just about to explain something to us when the previous day's man arrived.

'Were you two not here yesterday?' he asked indignantly. Yes. 'And did I not tell you to come back last night?' No, he'd indicated for us to come back the following day. 'No, my hand gesture was showing that you should return in the evening after prayers.' Oops. Round two failed.

Our third attempt involved a little more clever, pre-emptive thinking. We forgot about the heat and squeezed into jeans, covered up with long-sleeve jerseys and tops and wrapped our heads in scarves. We were mosque-ready and marched up the steps with the greatest we're-so-Muslim confidence.

Even that fashion statement didn't gain us entry through the front door! Seems the women's entrance is through the back. Much less fancy but far more welcoming. The ladies welcomed us with great smiles and open arms - arms outstretched to offer us black abayas (the white ones are for those coming to pray). Covered up and barefoot, we made our way up the lift to the ladies' section of the mosque - where children play while their mothers pray - and caught the last of the evening prayers, following the women's movements as they stood and kneeled and bowed on the beautifully carpeted floor overlooking the men doing the same below, under elaborately sparkling chandeliers.

Greek sista and I walked out with an incredible feeling of peace and unity. Eid definitely is mubarak.

After the failure of round one, Greek sista performed a quick sarong transformation to cover up.

While trying to figure out how best to cover up for round three, Greek sista tried the total cover-up, but then she passed out from lack of oxygen and we went back to the drawing board.

The final product. Round three saw us completely transformed into mosque-ready women, complete with long-sleeved jerseys and jeans underneath our abayas.

The moral of this story is that you have to sweat in the clothes of someone else if you really wish to know how they find their peace.

Pepe and his ladies

Pepe Abed, a man who even has a port-side street named after him, was quite the ladies' man - and he has the pictures to prove it! They're all lining the walls of his outdoor restaurant in Jbeil, overlooking the ancient Phoenician water entrance to the city. Like my grandmother's family, he and his close ones found themselves in Mexico after the First World War, where he spent 20 years before returning to Lebanon in 1948. The ladies must have been running to welcome him back, as he appears to have been quite the casanova. Which girl wouldn't fall in love with a jeweller/ restauranteur/ decorator/ nightclub owner/ diver/ archeology-lover/ beach resort and hotel owner and actor?!

Pepe's Fishing Club restaurant, started in 1962, is the only survivor of his dynasty that included six touristic establishments in his heyday. Pepe has now passed away, and his son Roger has taken over the famous restaurant. When Mom told him that she was her Mexican-born uncles' niece, Roger's face lit up, recalling the times his father used to welcome the uncles to the restaurant, happy to have Spanish-speaking friends eat with him.

After having our fill of deep-fried fish (with skin and head still on) with fried bread and tahini on the colourful balcony overlooking old fishing and tourist boats, I'm not sure whether the uncles used to come to converse with Pepe in their home language or to indulge in the fresh fish. Oh, I know - they probably came for the ladies!

A wall dedicated solely to much-loved Pepe Abed.

One of the many walls dedicated to Pepe and the celebrities who have visited his restaurant.

View from our table onto the ancient Phoenician harbour.

With Pepe Adeb's son Roger.

Ruining the ruins

In the words of Greek sista: 'We have ruined the ruins!'

Walking - nay, performing - through the ruins of Byblos this week (said to be the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world, with proof of life dating back to 5 000BC!), we managed to entertain ourselves so much that the other tourists must have thought we were paid performers, re-enacting scenes from days long past, and that it was part of the Byblos experience they had paid for. Next time we'll leave a hat on the ground for tips.

Greek sista 'carries' a sarcophagus of one of the Phoenician city's important dead men. (Note that our performances did not come with any historical information. Maybe that's why the tourists returned to their guide.)

Showing a modern-day Lebanese woman's collagen lips while the olden-day Lebanese woman's 12th-century Crusader castle demonstrates how au naturel is much longer-lasting.

Romeo and Juliet fall in love once again in the Roman amphitheatre. This time they'll kill themselves by drowning in the Mediterranean. Tragedy with a splash!

Unfortunately our onlookers (which actually only turned out to be one young chap from Osaka, Japan) were not giving us a standing ovation, so Greek sista quickly assumed the role of rooting audience.

Trying to imagine what the pillar standing on this post could have looked like in who knows when... The old house in the background is apparently a World Heritage Site, but more than that we do not know - except that it has a great view of the Edde Sands beach resort from its top step.

From Neolithic cavemen to the first city of the Phoenicians and then home to the Crusaders, Byblos (which used to be known for its papyrus trade that resulted in the Bible being named after the city, and also as the birthplace of the first alphabetic phonetic script), is a good place to find an excellent rock to perch on and shim el hawa.

Village show

Sunday was the first time I've taken a friend to the village. And boy did the village put on a sterling performance. It was on a high, ready to welcome Greek sista with the most spectacular, clear view all the way to Beirut (a rare afternoon sight - a scene it usually only acts out first thing in the morning before a haze of mist and pollution covers it up). It went on to end the day with a sunset finale worthy of a standing ovation, before the lights came on and everyone went home with smiley, happy hearts.

Photos courtesy of Greek sista. Shukran!

How not to make friends

I ask a 30-something guy waiting for the same bus as me about a certain location in Beirut today. Big mistake.

Him: What do you want to do there?

Me: Just go there.

Him: Where are you from?

Me: South Africa.

Him: South Africa, as in the country?

Me: Yes.

Him: The place where they had the World Cup?

Me: Yes.

Him: What are you doing here?

Me: Hum shim el hawa (thanks for that, Greek sista!).

Him: How long are you staying?

Me: A month.

Him: When did you arrive?

Me: Last month.

Him: So you're here for the summer?

Me: Yes.

Him: You've been going to the beach?

Me: Yes.

Him: Are you here alone?

Me: No.

Him: So you're here with family?

Me: Yes.

Him: With your children?

Me: No (I hide my empty wedding-ring finger).

Him: Where are you staying?

Me: Beirut.

Him: Do you have Lebanese origins?

Me: No.

Him: So who's Lebanese in your family?

Me: My aunt.

Him: What's your name?

Me: Alice.

Him: I'm Hisham. Tsharafna (he extends his hand to shake mine). Alice, do you have a contact number.

Me: Yes, but I don't give it out.

Him: Oh, okay. So are you on Facebook?

Me: Yes, but I don't give it out.

Him: That doesn't matter. I'll just look up Alice.

The bus finally arrives and there's no avoiding sitting next to him, thanks to the strategic empty seats. He hands me his business card and I jump off at the next stop. I'd rather walk in the midday heat than make this new friend.

Teleporting

Sunday equals family day up in the village. A mountain-top village that I had forgotten was connected to the coast by a cable car. Greek sista and I had become so accustomed to our fun bus rides that we weren't too sure about taking the teleferique up to Harissa to meet the fandam. Would it provide sufficient entertainment? There'd be no old men playing with her hair from the seat behind; no greasy La Pebras hairdos offering us Pepsi; no drivers in shirts that match their seat covers; no music that could be turned up...

But step into the teleferique in Jounieh (for only 5 500LL one way) and the need for entertainment slowly disappears as you are transported uphill, via a series of mountainside cables, over magnificent pine trees, looking over a spectacular Mediterranean scene. And then, upon arrival, you're greeted by Mother Mary stretching her arms out to welcome you.

Ahla wa sahla!

Behind the Green Door

There's a place in Mar Mikhael where I love to dance. It's got a green door. Behind this green door are some fun, fun people, friendly barmen, a pole, and a lot and lot of carpeting. But more than that I cannot tell you... You'll have to knock and go Behind the Green Door to see it for yourself. Pity Greek sista won't be there to welcome you with her signature move.