Ethan’s Journal

[ This post is dedicated to Jake, Dan, Addie, and all the others with whom I’ve spent some time and money at Belmont and the Aqueduct. ]

We almost didn’t make it to the racetrack on Sunday. Our journey began w/ the cab driver thinking that we said “matar” (airport) instead of “mathaf” (museum). Eventually, we expensively cleared up this misunderstanding. To be fair, I felt bad that the driver went so far out of his way and criminally over-tipped. This prompted a discussion between Amy and myself about foreign taxi culpability. If one states one’s destination in the three languages of the land and one is still taken to the wrong destination, wherein lies the blame?

Mathaf literally means museum, but in Beirut it also refers more generally to the National Museum and its surrounding neighborhood. If you want to go to the racetrack, the French Embassy, or the Military Tribunal, you (theoretically) tell the taxi driver to take you to mathaf. We had also told him “Hippodrome”, but we’ve discovered that that word has no meaning to pretty much anyone you ask. Unless, I suppose, you ask a horse-player.

Anyhow, we eventually made it to our destination, only to find the gates barred and the grounds deserted. Lonely Planet Lebanon had said that the first race was at 1pm and the last race was at 4pm, so we assumed this meant that our trip was in vain. However, Amy and I have both long gone on record stating the relative worthlessness of the Lonely Planet guidebooks, so it was a surprise to neither of us to learn that the first race didn’t begin till 4pm. Not being too familiar with the neighborhood (though our friend Joumana lives there), we wandered aimlessly for a few hours and, finding nothing open, ate lunch at McDonalds. It was about as expensive as it is in NYC. Amy had a McRoyale w/ cheese but didn’t remember the scene in the movie Pulp Fiction and didn’t see why I thought it was so funny.

When we finally were able to get into the racetrack, the staff seemed kind of bewildered by our presence. They wouldn’t let us pay to get in, but did require us to check our cellphone. This involved a soldier putting a yellow post-it with Amy’s name on it on the phone and sticking it in a big box. I was skeptical, to say the least. We should have insisted on buying tickets because there were no fewer than 7 layers of attendants between the gate and the bleachers that asked to see our tickets (and also, strangely, our passports). One of the attendants told us to sit in first class, and directed us to an area of the bleachers that had white plastic chairs set up. He pointed disparaging at the adjacent area, which was identical, minus the chairs. “Don’t go to second class.” It seemed also that along the way our ticketless presence was explained away by an attendant pointing us out to another attendant and designating us as “two english” (or possibly “too english”).

I have to confess that once we were seated, I had a little breakdown. I couldn’t figure out where to get a program, how to bet, or how to even read the tote-board. Like my internet woes, it was kind of symbolic of my larger Lebanon experience. I was in a situation that was totally familiar, but I completely lacked the basic tools to make it happen. It was frustrating and, as ridiculous as it sounds, it was making me question if I was even enjoying being in this country in general.

After sweating through 2 races in such a fashion, I found a discarded program on the ground (which was all in arabic and of little help) and (with substantial encouragement from Amy) decided to make a go of it. It was a little nerve-wracking, because all I had to go on were the odds and what the horse looked like. I know that a lot of people bet like this, but I generally like to pretend I know what I’m doing and figure in factors like lifetime speed vs. speed last course and things of that nature. I couldn’t even tell where the name of the horse was written on the program. Eventually, I picked what I guessed was the favorite (still wary of the foreign tote-board system) and approached the window and stumbled through my wager in arabic:

“Hkamsa ailef…uh…to win…on…uh…ithnayn”

To which the clerk replied, “I speak English, you know.”

Hot dog. One of the principle things people new to the horse-playing racket tend to mangle is the way you place your wager. In the States, you say how much you’re betting, the type of bet, and then the horse. Here, I quickly learned the order is a little different. What I should have said was:

“Gagnant, ithnayn, hkamsa ailef.”

…or…

To win (french), horse #2, 5000 pounds.

Over the course of losing that race and the next one, I was able to figure out a little bit more about how they do things on this side of the Mediterranean. There is the “gagnant” wager, which analogous to betting “to win” in the States. Also like in the States, there’s the “place” wager, or betting that your horse comes in first or second. There is apparently no “show” wager, or betting that you horse is first, second, or third. There are several other bets that I didn’t exactly understand. I am assuming that a “trio” is the same as a trifecta, or wagering which horses will come in first, second, and third. There is something called a “twin”, but I don’t think it is like an exacta (first and second horses in exact order) or quinella (first and second horses in any order), because the payout was less than for a “gagnant” wager. Also on the board were “C4” and “C5” wagers…of which I have no ideas.

As for the races themselves, the horses seem smaller, though they’re supposed to be Arabians as opposed to thoroughbreds. This isn’t idle chauvism, but to my inexpert eye, the jockeys seem less experienced as well. More than once they tended to fall apart right before the end of the stretch and used more crop than I’m used to. You could hear it hitting the horse’s side from the bleachers. But again, these are amateur observations.

10000LL or about $6.50 later, we decided that my education could be continued at a later date. My arabic tutor from NYC is in Lebanon right now and if we ever manage to meet up, I’m definitely taking my racing program along.

Unlucky #2, all alone. He broke too early and ended up #4 of 8.

The wager in question.

Amy w/ some losers in first class.

The winners in second class.

Down the stretch, using that crop.

Sometimes SlashDot reads more like Weekly World News:

Space Ring Could Combat Global Warming
U.S. Scientists Create Zombie Dogs

Our friend Michael H just turned us on to the fact that the satellite feature on maps.google.com is now world-wide. Unfortunately, they don’t have enough resolution of our area to actually see our apartment, but I’ve included a (very approximate) screenshot and link anyhow.

link to Beirut on Google maps

We went to the Fete de la Musique on Saturday night. I was hoping against hope to have my mind blown at least at little bit by one of the acts performing. While that didn’t happen, it was great to hang out with friends and see some free music in some interesting outdoor locales.

One of the venues had soldiers posted in front of the stage. We left right before a hip-hop act dressed in fatigues took the stage (a la 80s Public Enemy S1Ws). In a way I wish we’d stuck around…fashion fatigues jumping around behind real soldiers.

Sound bite of the night: “Yeah, boyeeez! Are y’all ready for some pure arabic hip-hop?!?”

Unfortunately, none of our photos came out.

Amy generally does a much better job of the travelogery, but I thought I’d give my own account of the weekend.

Friday I did a long work day. It is definitely an indication that I’m getting soft that 10 hours constitutes a heavy day. We attempted to grill steak for dinner, but something about our meat just wasn’t right, so we abandoned ship. After a dinner of greenbeans and potatoes, we watched Grey Gardens. It was a doc about the eccentric aunt and cousin of Jackie O and the life they lead in a decrepit E. Hampton mansion. By way of review, I would say that the directors thought that their film could be carried by the intimacy of their material alone, as opposed to an over-arching story or statement. The result was a 1.5-hour plus patchwork of the Edie Beales arguing; the charm of which is lost after the first 30 minutes or so. Don’t get me wrong, their material is great, but there’s just so much of it….

Saturday morning we were picked up at 6:45am by our friend Joumana and, after meeting up w/ our friends Matthew and Mary Ann (as well as their two darling daughters), we made the trek to Baalbek, convoy-style. We were there in 2002 right after a blizzard, so the town and the ruins took on a considerably different dimension than that which we remembered. Under any circumstances, however, the ruins are a wildly impressive site. We have many visitors coming from the States in the late summer/early fall and we’ve vowed that this should be the last historical site they see. Anything else by comparison is just a pile of rocks with some acanthus leaves carved in them.

It’s commonly accepted that the the ruins are of Roman origin, but Joumana had a lot of interesting information about an alternate theory suggesting that they are actually of Lebanese origin, borrowing heavily from Roman and other styles.

Photos don’t really do it justice, but I’ve borrowed two of Amy’s.

After leaving the ruins, we more or less successfully dodged the post card and “antique Roman coin” merchants and visited the Amawi Mosque, which was really quite beautiful in a simple and elegant way. Also, Amy had to dress like a Jawa to go inside.

It should be noted that Baalbek is also something of a Hezbollah stronghold and Hez’B merchandise is available everywhere. One of our party–who shall remain anonymous–bought 4 tshirts for his/her Bush-lovin’, conservative relatives back home. The fact that the merch was more than happily sold to an American just ads another layer to the irony.

Before leaving Baalbek, we paid the obligatory visit to the Palmyra Hotel. The Palmyra is over 125 years old and is Lebanon’s first Western-style hotel. It boasts a prestigious guestlist, including Charles de Gaulle, Kaiser Wilhelm, Amy Campbell, and Ethan Holda. I have to mention that when we stayed there in Dec. ’02, we were plenty steamed that they refused to turn on the heat. I believe I remarked at the time (in a blog we were keeping similar to this one) that Charles de Gaulle would never have stood for that shit.

We winged it home in the early afternoon and upon being dropped at our apartment, promptly lapsed into naps. We’d been up since 6am and still had a music festival to attend.

[ PS: I found a dog or sheep skull in the grass, but much like the ruins, pictures don’t really do it justice. ]

There was another car-bomb this morning. George el Hawi an anti-Syrian politician and former head of the Lebanese Communist Party.

This is all the english-language news we have as of 10:47am:

http://dailystar.com.lb/article.asp?edition_id=10&categ_id=2&article_id=16111

Our journalist friend Carrie is over right now getting sounds for her file off the television. Our tv might be on NPR.

Well, 5:30pm rolled around and I got the signal that my workday was over. Unlike Fred Flintstone, my signal was my VPN connection going down.

The elections were closing today so Amy and I wanted to go downtown and see if there was any hubbub. I suppose, not surprisingly, there wasn’t.

We ate at a Chinese restaurant called Chopsticks. I think that you can go to a place called Chopsticks anywhere in the world and expect pretty much the same thing. I would say this rule can be more broadly applied to Hunan Garden, Tasty Wok, or pretty much any joint with “garden” or “wok” in the name. Afterwards we had icecream and walked through a relatively deserted Martyr’s Square. A family was walking near the Hariri gravesite and one of the children pointed at a big poster of Rafik Hariri and asked his father, “Why are there so many pictures of this guy everywhere?”

We went grocery shopping today and in the spirit of stepping up to the plate, I bought some pineapple Tang. Add ice and vodka and you have my prototype for the Tropical Astronaut. A little bit further along in my research, I discovered that real pineapple juice is vastly superior to pineapple Tang (novel, though the latter may be).

For optimal effect, enjoy this drink while listening to Pee Wee King. I suppose Tex Williams or Willie Nelson may be substituted in a pinch.

[UPDATE: I just learned that a vodka/pineapple juice cocktail is actually called a Jack Hammer, but I like my name better.]

So, we’re about a month into our stay here. I know this for certain because our cellphone suddenly stopped working yesterday, meaning that we need to recharge our Clic card. Anyhow, I thought I’d post a list of some observations I’ve made and the varying degrees to which they came as a surprise. I apologize in advance if any of the following seems arrogant or chauvinistic.

Things That Shouldn’t Have Surprised Me, But Did

• As previously (and frequently) mentioned, the abyssmal state of telecom in this country. I knew before coming that internet was slow and unreliable and that cellphone service was nearly unaffordable yet entirely necessary because getting a landline is even more unreasonable. Still, I’m surprised at how this detail has kicked my ass repeatedly.
• Voter apathy in Beirut. After all the protests and the posters and the hubbub, the voter turnout was under 25%. For the first Syria-free election in 30 years, I wouldn’t have thought that. The reason why it shouldn’t have surprised me, however, is that this could also be seen as a 30-year period of erosion of “consumer confidence” in the election process.
• How easy it was to break the habit of flushing toilet paper. Due to skinny pipes, low water pressure, and numerous other factors, flushing toilet paper or any other detritus down the toilet is a death-sentence for your plumbing. I wouldn’t have thought this would be a hard habit to break, because I tend to be closed-minded and intellectually the idea of throwing soiled TP in the wastebasket seems gross. However, I was surprised with how much ease I adapted (and I shouldn’t have been…I guess because I’m adaptable?).
• Racism. I’ve been kind of bowled over by how much racism there is in Lebanon. There’s an entirely condoned class system based on race. Some friends of ours have told of having difficulties with certain people visiting their home because the visitors happen to be Asian and therefore aren’t let in the building. The Lebanese have a famous love of children. It is not uncommon for someone to come up to a stranger’s child and tousle their hair or kiss them on the face. However, this affectionate treatment is not applied to the ethnic Palestinian children who panhandle in the street. When I’ve been working at Starbucks (on their wifi, not wrangling lattes), I have repeatedly seen such children shoved, hit, and have garbage thrown at them. On the one hand, I in no way mean to say that every Lebanese I’ve met is a racist or anything of the sort. On the other hand, these are just two among a great many examples. Given oft-heard statements of a new Lebanon in which everybody gets along and is treated equally, I find this particularly surprising. But I suppose I shouldn’t, because unfortunately the Lebanese seem to be able to polarize themselves on any issue, even ones far less subtle than race.

Things That Should Have Surprised Me, But Didn’t

• Car bomb in Achrafieh. This event happened a couple of weeks into our stay. I do not want to seem callous or to belittle the tragic nature of this event, but on a strictly personal level, I was neither surprised nor distressed by it.

And this concludes my 30-day analysis.