Tastes of Life

Welcome Easter egg couriers!

Like mother like daughter. Sacha is off experiencing life on another continent; getting in touch with her British roots. However, she was the express courier for the Easter eggs from England. She had to bring Elie along with her to help carry them all... It's been interesting to hear life from her point of view. So many things she talks about missing revolve around food. And that got me thinking about the things I have missed from the three capital cities I've lived in...

I think that all those people out in "Blogland" who have lived for some time in more than one country will be able to relate to this. I have had the, sometime, pleasure of living in 3 capital cities during my lifetime. I was born and grew up in and around London, lived for 5 years in Paris, then moved to Beirut in the mid 80s. So, three quite different capital cities with their very own customs and cultures.

Never did I imagine the internal confusion these unique living experiences would cause in my life! When I went to live in Paris I missed speaking English, eating good bacon, and drinking a decent cup of tea (the milk was terrible and made the tea taste really bad). Once in Beirut, I still missed all those things, but could add to the list pain au chocolat, cafe creme, walking along the Seine and visiting the pet shops, and drinking good champagne for a very reasonable price! Having been a resident of Beirut for over 20 years there are many things I miss when I travel for any period of time. It seems that wherever I am, I will be blighted with longing for many things from those places I no longer frequent...

When East meets West at Easter

What has this got to do with Easter eggs, I hear you cry? Well, the picture above is a great visual representation of what I mean. How different could you get than the two types of treat pictured? One of them is a traditional chocolate Easter egg, known and loved across the UK and in many other "Western" countries. Underneath is a selection of maamoule, delivered fresh to the door by our neighbour just as she finished baking them. In Lebanon, this is the traditional Easter treat; stuffed with either nuts or pureed dates. Yum - to both!

When in Lebanon I bemoan the lack of decent tasting Easter eggs; if you've ever visited the supermarkets in England on the run-in to Easter and seen the massive selection there you will understand exactly what I mean. If in England, I know I would get nostalgic for the sweet and crumbly maamoule, especially the home-made ones delivered by Amale.

It seems that one side-effect of experiencing varied cultures and continents is that you will forever be yearning for something that you no longer have. Perhaps a small price to pay...

Cafe Younes in Hamra

Cafe Younes in Hamra. Providing the Lebanese public

with quality coffee since 1935

Charles and I performed one of our Saturday morning rituals; we popped into Cafe Younes to get some ground coffee and also enjoy drinking a coffee while watching the world go by. We bought 3 packets of 200 grams of coffee - House Blend - and two filter coffees to sip slowly in the spring sunshine. All that and we paid the same as we would have for 2 coffees and a piece of cake in a well-known international coffee place decked out in green just a 5 minute walk away. To anyone who knows Cafe Younes, we sat outside on the rickety stools being careful not to lean on the bar tables, which would have certainly resulted in our coffee ending up in our laps!

Saturday morning was warm and sunny. The Khamsine wind had been blowing in the night making the temperatures rise accordingly. For the first time this year I was out with a long-sleeved t-shirt but no jumper. It was such a peaceful scene. We could hear the beeping of the cars and taxis on the nearby Hamra Street in the background. However, our part of Hamra was calm, the most noise coming from the other coffee drinkers as they discussed "things" - mostly politics and the "situation." Conversations were going on in Arabic, French and English; frequently in a mixture of all three. That's Lebanon.

The new Younes - more upmarket but keeping the tradition alive

As I glanced across I could see the "new" Cafe Younes. Finally, in 2008, they have branched out. Not too far, mind you. They have bought the shop just down from their original place and made it into a posh version of the Younes we know and love. No more tottering on shaky bar stools while balancing your coffee on a table that seems intent on not performing the duty it was made for. Oh no! The new Younes has real tables and chairs. There are even sun shades ready for the inevitable summer heat.

Congratulations Younes! Let's hope you're here for many year to come.

Village People Lebanese Style

I took my class skiing at the beginning of this week. We went to Faqra (sounds quite rude when you say this in English) and spent two days up there. The snow was OK, by next week I think it will be well past its best. Going to Faqra is a tradition at my school. The kids all look forward to reaching 3rd grade because that's the grade when you spend your first night sleeping up in the lodge. I'm not sure some of the parents feel the same way; it's not easy letting your kids out of your sight when things are still so unpredictable politically.

Beginners group is tough work

Many of them spent the first day just learning how to stand up on their skis. It's really the toughest for those who have never tried it before. They have to use muscles they didn't know they even possessed, it's cold, it's tiring, etc.

The amazingly talented and multi-lingual coaches

Andre was there organising it all. He had the"3 Nos" - no nagging, no complaining, no whining. We added a 4th, no moaning. He liked that one, being francophone it was a new word for him. Now's the part that inspired my title. I was thinking about the ski coaches, the "monitors." Basically they're all men, young and old, from the villages nearby. What amazes me is that they conduct their ski lessons in either Arabic (OK, that's easy), English, or French. I wouldn't be surprised if they could also manage in Italian and Greek! It made me wonder, would anything comparable happen in my home country, England? The recollection of my grandmother's take on language flashed back to me. She was a real Victorian, born in 1890. She reckoned that anyone could understand English, you just had to speak loudly enough!

You'd have thought the kids would have had enough snow after all that skiing on the first day, but no. They were still full of energy (where do they get it from?) so we went out and had a snowman making competition.

Seven snowmen soon took shape, I wonder if they're still there

It was such a peaceful two days. Really, it's hard to get a grip on reality and remember that we are going through such turmoil. We seem to be heading closer and closer to some kind of disastrous outcome, either in the region or, more specifically, in Lebanon. I once heard someone say, "If they give birth in Palestine we have the labour pains in Lebanon." They said that was true for everything that takes place among our nearest neighbours. So, I just want to focus on the scene below that shows the mountains just before sunset; and try to continue my pledge, "Be optimistic!"

The Lebanese mountains at their best, covered in snow

Lady - A Special Companion

What a beauty! Lady at the ripe old age of 14.

Lady has been a member of our family since she was a very young cat; that was way back in the spring of 1994. Friends often refer to her as “the phantom cat” due to the fact that they never get to see her, except in photos. Some of them have known us for more than 10 years and never set eyes on her. One friend who suffers from severe cat allergies visited our house for three years before discovering we have a cat. She has always been that way, extremely nervous. We think she was mistreated when she was a kitten, and that she probably comes from mixed birth with some feral cat in there somewhere.

When it comes to us, family, she is very affectionate. She practically lives in our bed, only coming out for the necessities of life. However, she simply adores the time of day when we go into the bedroom and spend some time with her. She lies on the bed purring and “talking” to us in muted tones. Everything Lady does in kind of low key, almost “undercover” – she would have made an exceptional spy cat!

Lady wakes up under Thomas' watchful eye.

Lady is not well. She has already had two rounds of surgery for cancerous tumours; the most recent being last June. After that one we did a biopsy and discovered that she has the worst kind of malignant tumour possible. The whole process of surgery is extra stressful for Lady. Bearing in mind that she likes to spend her entire life in our bed, imagine how she feels about being put into a cat box and taken to the vet. She hates it and demonstrates her displeasure with real “belly howls” all the way down to Beirut in the car, all the way to the vet’s from the car park, all the time we are waiting in the waiting room – you get the picture.

Now the dilemma. Should we have Lady’s now huge tumour operated again? There is no way she is going to get better. The next tumour will most likely grow even more quickly than this one, and that has reached tennis ball size in eight months. The stress of what she has to go through is like torture for her. On the other hand, operating may give her a few more months in the family bed. She doesn’t seem to be suffering at all and is still eating and doing all the normal things a cat does – as normal as Lady will ever be, that is! It will mean we can put off having to say goodbye to her now. Sacha will be able to see her again when she visits at Easter.

Hum, not an easy one and at the time of writing the jury is still out. Somehow I think that a verdict of “operate” will probably be pronounced as none of us have the heart to take any other decision.

Imagine, here we are in Lebanon where a pizza delivery guy was recently just shot and killed as he delivered a couple of medium marguerites and a bottle of Coke near to a demonstration. Most Lebanese would tell us, “Get your priorities right” they’re not renowned for being a very animal friendly race. I have university educated friends, professional people, who consider getting their kids a kitten to play with in their summer house and then just abandoning it when they leave back to Beirut in September is “normal.” I know a science teacher no less, who thinks that keeping a duckling in a tiny cage and letting the kids bring it to school where it cries pitifully all day long is “fine.”

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by the lack of animal ethics displayed even by the educated elite of our society. In the present situation with our current preoccupations what to do with a 14 year old cat would, understandably, come at the bottom of most people’s list of priorities.

Matt's 18th Birthday

Matt turned 18 this month. A real milestone! Last year at school, last year (for a while) in Lebanon, last few months living at home… The list could go on but as a mum I get a bit depressed!

Matt and I during his birthday lunch at his grandparent's

So, celebrating in Lebanon always means lots of food and the family around. Birthdays are no exception.

We have to begin with the "drink" complete wth kabbis, a lemon freshly picked from the tree is the garden, olives (of course), carrot sticks, stuffed and pickled eggplant, etc. Notice the obligatory glasses of arak!

Once we get to the table it has to be the tabboule and hommus that take centre stage. Anyone who knows anything about eating in Lebanon would know that each "Teta" (grandmother) takes great pride in her tabboule. All sons vow that, "Nobody's tabboule tastes as good as mum's!" And I know they're all right... As it happens, Matt's teta also makes her own hommus. This photo doesn't do it justice, it is a much richer colour than this; but you get the idea.

We were treated to a meal of fried fish and kibbe bi sanniyeh (a meat cake with an onion filling in the centre). There was easily enough food for at least ten, needless to say we were just five.

That's about right as far as meals in Lebanon go. You show the value of your guests (even if it's all in the family) by the amount of food piled high on the tables. But don't worry, none if it is wasted as leftovers are common fare on Mondays.

The plate next to the fish is filled with fried Arabic bread. It's the yummiest thing and we always come and steal pieces from the table before it's time to eat. The bowl on the right contains "tarratole" which is a sauce to accompany the fish made from PLENTY of garlic and sesame paste.

No birthday is complete without a cake. In this case it was a juicy strawberry tart. A good choice for such an important occasion.

Charles then poured the champagne to accompany the strawberry tart and to wish Matt a happy birthday. I know it's the old cliche, "It only seems like yesterday..." but it's true. I just don't know where these 18 years have gone. All those people who told me to, "Enjoy" those sleepless nights and teething rashes; perhaps they had a point. Of course, you can't see it at the time. Like most words of wisdom, they only make sense with hindsight.

Well, getting up from the table isn't always easy, but the smell of the coffee helps.

Well, Sacha! I hope you enjoy this because it's taken me more than an hour to fiddle with the darn photos and the uploading and the positioning, etc, etc.

Mundane? Yes, Please!

Cars covered by blue sheets and the white forensic tent on the bomb site.

Sometimes we want to run from the mundane. Boredom is the enemy, we need excitement! Well, living in Lebanon I have to say I rarely feel that. Even in “peaceful” times life seldom gets boring. Just driving can give you an adrenalin rush a minute…

The other morning, the day after the most recent bombing that killed a highly ranked member of the ISF, we left to drive down from our home in Mansourieh to school in Manara. At that time, 6:45, it’s usually a 20 minute journey. So, just like every day, we take the short-cut through the factory; the road that Gebran Tueini was assassinated on. Getting to the bottom of the valley our regular road is barred by large concrete blocks. Apparently, the torrential rain of the previous 24 hours had dislodged some boulders and they were now precariously balanced, ready to flatten an unsuspecting car at any moment. OK, no problem. We go to the highway that leads to Hazmieh. We want to take the road that goes down to Furn el Chebbak. NO. Not today. That road is closed because it is part of the bomb site. No problem! Next choice, go further up into Hazmieh and join the highway. At last, we get onto the highway we should have been happily motoring along about 10 minutes ago.

What’s that? Just up ahead the road is practically blocked by a large white sheet flapping angrily in the strong wind. That “sheet” was actually the forensic tent that had been set up over the bomb area and had been blown away itself by the continuing storm.

At this point I turn to Charles and remark, “Well, that’s enough excitement for one morning, can we just get to school now?” You see, in Lebanon we ache for the mundane. So, next time you’re wishing life just had that extra something, don’t be too ready to overlook the beauty of the ordinary!

Beautiful Autumn

Well, we woke up to a beautiful weekend. Clear blue skies, warmth, and the roads full of cars. Now, that’s always a good sign in Lebanon. So, I went out onto the balcony – the one giving the view over Beirut. I wanted to compare what I was seeing and my mood to that of Friday late afternoon. It was the brightness that struck me the most. When the sun is shining over Beirut in the autumn there is a kind of clarity and freshness that you don’t get during the summer. Perhaps that’s why I wait for the “between seasons” of autumn and spring – my favorites. Seems I wasn’t the only one enjoying the weather, one of my colleagues was out and about doing something similar.

I couldn’t do much but stay at home; but I’m not complaining about that, I enjoy having to stay at home! With reports to write and a son vomiting all night long (he's better now) the prospect of doing anything else but stay in was not even on the cards. I took my coffee outside and couldn’t help but enjoy the way the light played on the different colours of the leaves on some of my balcony pots (faithfully watered by Charles).

Inspired I went out the back balcony to check on the “workers.” Our neighbours have plots of land that they dig and plant in just behind out house. You’d be amazed by the noise of the digging that goes on out there on a Sunday morning! Today was no exception. They were all there, busy. Working, chatting, then stopping to have the inevitable coffee brought down by one of their wives.

Living 20 minutes out of Beirut does have its up side…