Tripoli in Lebanon

Lebanon's second largest city, Tripoli offers an entirely different set of sights, smells and impressions to its larger, more cosmopolitan counterpart to the south. The seething, winding alleyways and souqs provide an authentically oriental atmosphere. Predominantly Sunni Muslim, the majority of the women wear headscarves. Flags of the Syrian opposition, currently at war with Assad's government, are on show in many places around town, along with posters proclaiming 'Syria, Tripoli stands with you'. Local people generally did not speak English. Many greeted us enthusiastically, others stared at the girls in our group, or at Mads' light blonde hair.

We visited the Crusader Castle at the top of a hill, giving great views down towards the coast and stretching back to the mountains in the opposite direction. We also went inside two mosques. Near one, we were followed by an increasingly large group of children who shouted the only two expressions they knew in English: "How are you?... Fuck you!". Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, we continued to the Taylan Mosque, where it was prayer time. Mads and I went through the gate and across a wide patio to the 700-year-old building and asked the mu'azzin whether we could visit. He told us we would be welcome once prayers were done. We then asked if he had any of the shawls which are often available for female visitors to borrow. "You have women?" was his slightly amusing way of checking that he had understood our request.

When we returned with the rest of the group after prayer time he showed us around. With a large physical presence, long beard and disarming smile, he was a memorable character and incredibly welcoming. He told us about the age of the mosque, its inscriptions and the narrow, winding staircase to the top of the minaret, where his grandfather would once go to deliver the call to prayer. These days it's done by microphone and a PA system. The mu'azzin was also very keen to emphasise similarities between Islam and Christianity (having assumed we were Christians), often pointing out the things the two religions have in common, such as belief in Jesus Christ (in Islam he is one of a number of God's prophets, subordinate to the prophet Mohammed who received the definitive final message from God). The mu'azzin was a builder of bridges and an ambassador for his mosque and religion.

The return journey to Beirut took place in a ruined minibus imported from the former West Germany, driven by a pair of clowns who stopped constantly to buy cans of energy drink (which we later discovered contains vodka), weaved erratically in and out of the hard shoulder, hassled the girls sitting on the front passenger row and turned up the radio when we attempted to talk amongst ourselves. They also spent more time looking at the radio and their mobile phone than the road. Their behaviour only improved when other Lebanese people got on the bus. Luckily, the heavy traffic meant we were travelling too slowly for the situation to get risky. They then tried to charge us four times the going rate for the journey. We refused and in fact they didn't deserve even the standard fare we gave them. I should say that I've taken other buses on the same route and have otherwise always encountered professional and safe drivers (according to local norms).

Tripoli is a timely reminder that Lebanon is an Arab country with a sizeable Muslim population, something easy to lose sight of in the hard-partying, wealthy districts of Beirut. The different populations seem to keep themselves to themselves - for example taxi drivers from West Beirut often need to be given directions in order to find places in East Beirut, and vice versa (like a tragic version of London's "don't go south of the water" cabbies). Although as I have mentioned before, there does not seem to be any open animosity between people. Perhaps this is a way of keeping the precarious peace intact.
Another aspect of Lebanese society less than obvious to many visitors is the poverty present in outer districts of Beirut, the Palestinian camps, amongst migrant workers and even amongst Bedouin people - this according to an NGO researcher I recently had the opportunity to speak to about the subject. I have still not really experienced much poverty myself, apart from noticing that all refuse collectors are South Asians, and that maids and other household staff are generally African. As the researcher I spoke to said, even the road to Beirut airport has been diverted so that it avoids passing close to the poverty-stricken districts of the city.

Pictures of Byblos

Photos from visit to Byblos on 20th February.

First Month: My Boots Weren't Made for Walking

I've now been here a month, enough time to give me an impression of life in Beirut. This is of course different to any impression Lebanese people have of their city as my different background gives me an altered perception. Furthermore I've spent the majority of my time in the central districts of Beirut where people are well-off and live comfortably - although brief meetings with the poorer Palestinians in and around the Cola Junction bus station, who are more curious and relatively poorly educated, have not changed my opinion.

Beirut is an incredibly easy city to exist in. I have never been singled out for being a foreigner. On the other hand, anytime I have approached someone to ask for help they have gone out of their way to assist me; for example the grocery store owner, who, when asked for directions to the art museum, immediately got his car and drove me and my friends there directly. Or the assistant in the shawarma shop in Baalbek who, when he didn't have change for a $100 note, ran off up the street with it to his mate in the Western Union shop who was able to break it up.

I have never heard anyone badmouthing or complaining about other nationalities, ethnic groups or religions which, given the brutal history of sectarian violence and outside interference in the country, is quite remarkable. Again I should add the disclaimer that I've not been in contact with all the various social groups, but I have been lucky enough to communicate in broken Arabic and English with taxi drivers of various religions (in cars in various states of disrepair) who have also given me this impression.

In order to save space in my backpack I only brought one pair of everyday shoes, a pair of light-coloured Hummel trainers. Long walks up and down the Corniche and weaving in and out of traffic in the road and parked on the broken pavement, as well as an unexpectedly high amount of rain and cold weather, have all taken their toll on these, and they have now been replaced with a sturdy pair of brown shoes which set me back around £15 from a bustling marketplace under the flyover of one of the city's main highways (I also picked up a warm jumper for £1 here).

On a personal note, the first weeks have been a headrush of new impressions, studying, sightseeing and new people which, while keeping life exciting every second of every day, can be hard to keep up with. I have discovered that I can survive on an average of 5 hours' sleep a night, on the other hand I have taken up drinking coffee. I also eat meat a couple of times a week only and could easily become a vegetarian if shawarma didn't taste so good - I have cooked meat at home once since I've been here.

One element of being a backpacker is that you often make fast-burning friendships with people whom you briefly share a hostel or some other space with before moving on. The same thing applies as an exchange student, but over a longer term, so that, at least to some extent, you make friends in a more real-life context - though a temporary one nonetheless. Three of the closest friends I have here all left on the 1st of March and two of my best friends from Aarhus arrived on the same day, as if to draw some kind of unwanted neat line under the first month. I am happy to be staying for the next three.


One of my Aarhusianske friends, Emily, who arrived in Beirut during the last week, has a blog with a different take and far better photos than I can hope to offer. See it here:
http://emilykatemerrick.tumblr.com/

Ruins and Religion

Baalbek, a small city with a population of around 80,000, lies in the northeast of Lebanon, roughly halfway between Beirut and Damascus on a plateau of just under 1000 metres in altitude. It is home to an archaeological site of jawdropping scale - a Roman temple complex originally known as Heliopolis, later converted to Christianity by the Romans themselves and finally passing into Arab and Ottoman hands and researched by German archaeologists during the 19th century.

A sunny and warm Sunday in late February provided a good opportunity to see this ancient wonder. I took an early bus which headed up into the mountains where small patches of snow still littered the hills and a fine panorama of Beirut came into view just before the pass. Entering the city along the highroad provided two 'wow' moments - the 20 metre tall Roman columns coming into view behind the roadside bulidings, and a colourful and lavishly decorated mosque (not part of the archaeological site).

The group I joined for the day trip was shown around by a gentle man of around 70 who frequently referred to the 'crazy Romans'. He had excellent knowledge and impressed upon us the sheer scale of the site - for example, the 18x3x4 metre foundation stones at one end of the complex are the largest of their type ever built.

After seeing the ruins there was time to take a look around the city. The ubiquitous Lebanese ahlan or 'welcome' was heard often.We bought a falafel for 1000 Lebanese pounds (around 30p) and looked around the market. Here, I realised that I had left my backpack (which contained my passport) in the falafel shop. I hurried back there to find the shop owner and his assistant watching over my bag, grinning cheerfully as they returned it.



Following this we visited the remarkable looking Blue Mosque. The Blue Mosque is a Shi'a mosque, as Baalbek is situated within a part of religiously heterogeneous Lebanon which is predominantly Shi'a Islam in denomination. This gives it a noticeably different feel to the (very) roughly half-Sunni, half-Christian Beirut. For those who are not familiar with the distribution of the two main branches of Islam (which for contextualisation can be very loosely compared to Catholic and Protestant Christianity in terms of how far apart they are ideologically), Sunnism is the one most prevalent in the Arabian peninsula, North Africa and Turkey as well as in Pakistan and India; while Shi'ism dominates Iran. The populations of Lebanon, Syria and Iraq are divided to varying extents between the two.

Going back to Baalbek, its Shi'a population has one particular significance in the Lebanese context - support for Hezbollah, the controversial, staunchly anti-Israel resistance organisation. I don't know nearly enough to be able to give a balanced description of Hezbollah's complex military and political history and present, but it has both supporters and opponents within Lebanon and, as its religion is Shi'ism, it is widely supported in Baalbek. This becomes obvious on the highway into the city where the characteristic yellow and green flag of Hezbollah flies from lamp posts beside posters of leader Hassan Nasrallah. Outside the relatively heavily-touristed ruins, touts hawk Hezbollah t-shirts and Palestinian neckerchiefs, in similar spirit to the Che Guevara t-shirts sold in Cuba (and everywhere else in the world), but somewhat more controversial to be seen wearing - it would be a naive or brave tourist indeed who would walk around Beirut displaying the Hezbollah logo.


There is far more to Shi'ism in Baalbek though than support for Hezbollah. We were allowed to visit the mosque and look inside which was a fascinating experience. We walked among people praying and were able to observe the glittering and beautiful interior and a number of interesting differences from Sunni mosques, such as use of a prayer stone, said to come from the Battle of Karbala, and pictures of the prophet Mohammad, banned in Sunni Islam.