We are at the end of our trip. Ellen Beth and I enjoyed our travels together, we had some interesting experiences and many stimulating conversations, and Sasha made an engaging threesome for our travels in Syria. I have been thinking about my observations on the long journey home.
The Middle East continues to be place of mystery, confusion, and disorganization, at least in the western sense. Generalizations are dangerous, particularly as our visit to Lebanon and Syria was very short. Also, there are distinct differences between Lebanon and Syria; for that matter, every country in the Middle East is unique culturally and linguistically, notwithstanding commonalities of history, language, and tradition.
Lebanon seems chaotic and a bit paranoid, though it is more developed than Syria and has a higher socioeconomic level in general. Syria is an authoritarian regime; the border crossing, though with some administrative steps to follow, seemed rationale. The government imposes order; the iron fist has been wrapped in gauze but it is still clenched to create social order and control. Returning to Lebanon at the land border, we went to one clerk, then another, until we stood in what we hoped would be the correct line (though it was labeled for holders of Arab passports). Until our passports were stamped, we did not know whether we were in the correct line to get the passports stamped, or would be required to obtain re-entry visas in a different long line. It took us almost an hour to get back into Lebanon; it took 15 minutes to get into Syria two days earlier.
At the Beirut airport, both upon arrival and departure, our passports were inspected many times by various officials looking for an Israeli stamp. The final inspection was at the ramp as we were entering the plane leaving Beirut. Ellen Beth and I chuckled at the ridiculous and wasteful inspections—notwithstanding, what would they do with us if they found a stamp, as we were departing? At passport control, the young woman was confused by the stamp from “Guadeloupe” – one of my exits or entries to St. Maarten. She showed it to another officer, asking if it had anything to do with Israel. We concluded that the Lebanese should have more to worry about than these repeated reviews of a visitor’s passport.
The people we met were varied and interesting. Our Syrian “service” driver turned out to be great—he brought us where we wanted to go, did not overcharge or argue about the agreed upon price, met with us as arranged, and got us back to Lebanon in one piece. He was a big burly character, but congenial in the end. In Beirut, he could not drop us at our hotel as Syrian drivers can only drop off or pick up at the one location for trips to Damascus. A local “service” driver stopped to pick us up, the Syrian waited until Sasha had attempted to negotiate a price to the hotel. When the Lebanese insisted on much more than was appropriate, the Syrian rebuked him, saying: “This guy (i.e. Sasha) lives here. Why are you ______ with him?” So the Syrian turned out to be a mensch!
Other characters and our interactions were equally interesting. There were the Kurdish people from Iraq on our Lebanese guided tours. They were genuinely friendly, and told us that Kurdish Iraq is the only part of that country safe for Americans. It made us think about the possibility (or rather impossibility) of an independent Kurdistan. There were a variety of Lebanese young people on our walking tour, who have come to live and work in Lebanon, to return to their roots. There was Sarah, Rob’s friend, studying political factionalism amongst the Palestinians in Lebanon.
In terms of language, I found my ability to speak hampered by the long time since I was in an Arabic speaking environment and the different accent and vocabulary of Lebanese Arabic. However, when I was able to communicate, my Egyptian came back easily. I do think that I could re-learn spoken Arabic, at least with the help of a tutor or a class. Sasha’s observation that there is a divide between foreigners learning Levantine and Egyptian dialects as the major language programs are in Egypt or Beirut (and soon, Damascus). The dialect one learns shapes ones cultural orientation and research interests. If I were to ever go back to language learning, it would probably make the most sense for me to brush up the Egyptian dialect as that is what pops out of my mouth when I try to speak Arabic, and leave the Levantine dialects to others.
We have had many wonderful mezzas on this trip, from baba to muhammara, hummus to labny. I hope you have enjoyed reading these memoirs as much as I have enjoyed the mezzas! I will post my photos on Photobucket so you can enjoy some of the visual images of my trip.
Ma’a salamma!
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