Category Archives: Travel

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Bambi Recommends: Los Angeles Spring 2018

I was sad to hear that the Museum of Broken Relationships has become the Museum of Illusions. There’s some symbolism there but an Instagram-trap-of-a-museum is probably more appropriate for Hollywood Blvd anyway.

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Petersen Automotive Museum
I’m not a car pro but I can appreciate the history and beauty of automobiles as far as design and legacy go. The Petersen is a curated collection of cars but the visit is nothing without adding the extra ticket to the Vault. There, you will get an in-depth walkthrough of their private collection in the basement plus all the juicy stories that go with them. Keep an eye out for the glorious Bugatti that was gifted to the Shah by the USA. If you don’t want to fork over the extra cash though, there’s a Porsche exhibit currently on display on the entire ground floor that will be on until early 2019.

And although I really wanted pizza, the burrata at the museum’s restaurant, Drago, is quite pretty and delicious. If you sit on the bar, you can watch the chefs make all the dishes and see each pizza as it’s pulled out of the brick oven while the cheese bubbles.

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Crumbs & Whiskers
A cat cafe located on Melrose Avenue, Crumbs & Whiskers welcomes walk-ins or you can book a 70 min session ahead of time. I say book a spot and go park early. Window shop through the vintage shops and check out the graffiti that litter the street until your appointment. Don’t drink at Starbucks. You can get a latte when with the kitties. All the proceeds go to saving them from euthanasia. There’s another C&W in DC too.

Wasteland isn’t your standard teeny vintage venue but it has got some good finds if you have the patience to dig. There are 3 other locations as well.

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Pasadena Antique Mall
Speaking of digging, this shop across from the city’s convention center is a treasure trove of reclaimed goodies. Another place that requires a keen eye and patience to inspect each vitrine, you will at least be entertained in the quest even if you’re not looking for anything in particular.

You can also have lunch at Le Grande Orange Cafe, an eatery housed in the restored Santa Fe railway station. I love trains.

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LA Conservancy: Union Station Walking Tour
Speaking of trains, I checked in with the LA Conservancy again to see what walking tours were left to do and found the one dedicated to Union Station. The structure that’s a Spanish Mission revival with Art Deco elements, the Union Station combined 3 main railways into one in order to be the hub of Los Angeles transportation. Acoustic cement tiles line the walls and the ceiling so no sound escapes and light pours into the main ticketing area through fogged glass panels. It’s a wondrous mix of marble, tiles, and geometric symmetry and there are art pieces in the newer half that are dedicated to the diversity of LA.

The Fred Harvey restaurant housed there is under renovation and will be converted into a brewpub. Our docent used it as an example of how the LA Conservancy is successful in preserving landmarks: giving them a new contemporary purpose while keeping their original design rather than just being saved and costing the city money on “wasted” real estate by being left empty without actual use.

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Egyptian Theatre Tour
The theatre on Hollywood Blvd is one of Sid Grauman’s film babies. They occasionally give guided tours of the property so you can hear what the eccentric man had originally planned for the space versus what came to fruition like how it was supposed to be a Spanish style but he shifted to Egyptian just a few weeks before Tutmania gripped SoCal thanks to the discovery of King Tut’s tomb.

Before seeing a TCM film there, try to align it with a lecture by Kimberly Truhler. She’ll deep dive into a decade as part of her Style Essentials series so you can appreciate the connection between film and the fashion world. It will usually correlate with the film being shown that day. We got to see Top Hat, a Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers classic.

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Anaheim Packing House
Similar to Napa Valley’s Oxbow Public Market, this is a food court/market. It’s also in a restored citrus packing warehouse. There’s fatty, fried goodness or the more healthy Aleppo kitchen where you can get some legit tawook with rice, tabbouli, and hummus. Sometimes there’s live entertainment too.

ROADTRIP RECOMMENDATION
Daou Winery in Paso Robles

About a 3-hour drive from LA or SF, Paso Robles is the new up-and-coming wine region of California. Impressive cabernets are coming from the soils there but if you want Lebanese hospitality, food, and a full-bodied beauty, head to the Daou Vineyards tasting room. Having a seat out on the patio is enough to make you forget all about the drive.

Try the wagyu beef skewers with a glass of Mayote. Mom would say Eye of the Falcon but why pick one? If you can’t make it all the way out there, you can always stop by Wesley’s for a bottle of their Chardonnay. WINK WINK.

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Bambi Recommends: Los Angeles 2017

Disclaimer: This list does not mean to discredit any of the locations mentioned. On the contrary, if you have the time, do both. However, if you’re looking for the lesser known option, this line-up offers alternatives to the landmarks that get a lot of attention. I also focused more on activities since there are plenty of food recommendation lists online (links at the bottom).

Instead of the LACMA,
Museum of Broken Relationships
Started in Croatia, this museum collects tangible mementos that are attached to ephemeral memories of a relationship gone sour. Each item has a short blurb next to it explaining the story and the museum rotates new items in every few months. Not all relationships featured are the romantic kind but they’ve got their fair share of heartbreak.

They usually have an interactive part that visitors can add to as well, be it fill-in-the-blanks or an alter for moving on. I spent the most time at these.

Instead of the MoCA,
The Broad
One of the best museums I’ve been to as far as contemporary art goes. It’s much less WTF, more FTW. With Koons, Kruger, and Murakami pieces, it’s vibrant while still having a witty intellectual critique on society’s vices. Plus some of the stuff is just weird AF so you can have a lot of fun with your camera.

Entrance is FREE but you have to wait in line for a while especially now that Yayoi Kusama’s got a whole setup there. Tickets are sold out for that but you can go early and hope to snag a few same-day standby tickets if you’re lucky.

Instead of The Last Bookstore,
$5 or Less Bookstore
Don’t get me wrong, if you make a trip to DTLA, definitely head to The Last Bookstore and peruse the shelves of affordable books, get lost in the labyrinth, and stop by Liz Huston’s shop upstairs. But if you don’t feel like heading to the city, there is a chain of $5 or $10 or Less shops that also have substantial collections of second hand stuff for pennies.

The Last Bookstore is still worth a visit but it’s poorly ventilated and parking in downtown is a nightmare.

Instead of Netflixing your Saturday away,
UCLA’s The Hammer
Currently hosting an exhibit on Radical Women: Latin American Art as part of Pacific Standard Time until the end of December, The Hammer holds 20 exhibitions and 300 events every year. It’s also located in Westwood which has lots of shops, restaurants, and public parking that isn’t a total ripoff.

Entrance is also FREE and they’re open until 8pm during the week, closed on Mondays. Another option is the California African American Museum in Exposition Park. Entrance is also FREE but they’re only open until 5pm and closed on Mondays too.

 

Instead of walking the halls of the Getty Villa,
See the Venus Shrine outside the Getty Villa
It’s hidden at the end of the gardens beyond the pool to the left if your back is to the Villa. Here, visitors have tied love prayers to Venus in the traditional Roman fashion: addressing her, complementing her, and then scribbling down wishes for her to grant. You can spend hours flipping through them only to find that everyone wants the same thing in the end: a little love and a little happiness.

Getty Villa has FREE entrance, you just have to pay for parking which is $15 or $10 after 3pm.

Instead of the local Starbucks,
Stumptown Coffee Roasters
Starbucks is definitely the king of convenience since they’re everywhere but if you find yourself near the Arts District in DTLA, head to Stumptown for a real cup of coffee. And it’s right around the corner from Bestia. 

Instead of going straight to the bar,
Live Rude Girls at Second City
A lot of comedy legends emerged from this place but the 5-girl troupe that does Live Rude Girls every Friday have a knack for keeping it current, poking fun at today’s misogyny and political woes.

You can get tickets for $6 (50% off) on Goldstar. It’s not a very long show so head to Mama Shelter or Farida for drinks or food after.

Instead of Blue Star,
Primo’s Donuts
I read about how one foodie judges ice cream brands based on their vanilla flavor because it’s a fundamental flavor that will show you what a brand is really made of. I use the same logic when I judge a doughnut joint based on their glazed buttermilk. If you can’t get this basic staple right, you’re not on my radar. It also happens to be my favorite. I’m not a fan of the maple bacon cereal covered crap, just make me a classic old fashioned.

Primo’s is a family-run spot. I popped in with my little sister and met the owner who told us the whole spiel about how he took over from his dad. He then loaded a box of freebies so we could try all their greats. They also serve Stumptown coffee.

Fun fact: After first opening in 1956, they’re opening another branch in Venice soon.

Instead of Perch Rooftop,
Bacari PDR
This wine bar is out in Playa Del Rey across from Cantalini’s Salerno Beach Resto (which is a family-run Italian joint that’s on my food list). If it were closer, I’d be a regular here. It’s low-key, casual, and GOOD like a wine bar should be. Sit on the patio and enjoy the breeze around sunset. They have great wine, $14 sangria pitchers on Sundays, and yummy nibbles to share.

Instead of Hollywood Forever Cemetery, 
Rooftop Cinema Club
I never made it to the Hollywood Forever screenings but a woman I gave my extra drink token to told me that she preferred Rooftop because it’s “bougie in the best way possible”  because you get seats, blankets, and decent sound quality. It’s operational in LA, NYC, and London. Only downside is the headphones can get uncomfortable after a few hours – stick to shorter films.

Honorable mentions in this category are Street Food Cinema and Eat|See|Hear. I also watched two of my favorites (Edward Scissorhands and Goodfellas, respectively) at those so my opinion is a little swayed. Whatever you choose, make sure to bring a blanket because LA gets cold when the sunshine is gone.

Instead of Abbott Kinney Blvd,
Camarillo Premium Outlets
These are not near each other whatsoever but Camarillo will offer you much more for your money as far as luxury shopping goes. Abbott Kinney is hipster heaven but I get the gross feeling that I’m being ripped off by businesses that pushed out the real artists of Venice so if paying to dress like a hobo isn’t your thing, drive out to Camarillo and pop into the outlets there – they’ve got all the big names too.

Instead of Seeing LA from the 405 for 3 hours,
LA Conservancy Walking Tours
I can’t recommend this enough. I’m a huge fan of walking tours so these were my mission for the summer. I went on all three offered: Art Deco, Historic Downtown, and Broadway. The docents are extremely passionate about what they do and, after attending each one, you will look at DTLA as more than just the seedy place it can seem to be at times. The buildings have stories and details that you overlook when you’re walking through the atrium to get to Guisados. You learn things like the fact that Broadway was once home to 32 theaters or that Biddy Mason, who was born a slave and was one of the first African Americans to purchase land in the city, had a huge impact on the development of Los Angeles.

Instead of Chick-Fil-A,
Howlin’ Ray’s
ORDER THE FRIED PICKLES. The trick to experiencing this is showing up extremely early, waiting in line for 1.15hr, and eating at 11am. Or having your cousin wait early while you’re stuck on the freeway getting there only to arrive and have your anger dissipated with fried pickles and spicy Nashville fried chicken. No but really, get the fried pickles.

They’re open 11am-4pm and you will wait in line forever if you don’t get there at around 9am. It’s worth it. Make it a Bumble date and get to know each other in line. Worst case, you’re bored to death but, in the end, you still get fried chicken.

Instead of a Broadway show that’ll break the bank,
Rockwell Table & Stage
I saw an unofficial parody of Hocus Pocus at this spot in Los Feliz (pronounced “Fee-liz” because LA) and it was phenomenal. The talent is strong – you’ll recognize some Tony winners and supporting actors – and the jokes are stronger. It was a 90s throwback for a solid hour and a half and they’ll be doing one of Home Alone during the upcoming Christmas season. 

Check out the upcoming shows here. Book ahead because they sell out. You can also go down the street to Jon’s International and stock up on Almaza, labneh, and markouk bread because that’s how you perfect an evening.

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If you’re outdoorsy, hiking is big in LA and there are so many trails worthy of exploring. Instead of sticking to Runyon Canyon and hoping to see a celeb in Ivy Park, download the All Trails app and find something suited for you based on your level and location.

Temporary shows and exhibitions are aplenty in Los Angeles . Kerry Marshall’s Mastry at the MoCA is just an example of a fantastic show that came and went while I was here. There was also Barnsdall Friday Wine Nights which are only during the summer season but worth it. To stay on top of what’s currently going on while visiting, check out these references for LA activities:

– Discover LA
– Studio DIY
– PF Candles
– We Like LA
– LA Conservancy
– Infatuation LA
– Thrillist LA
– TimeOut’s Summer in LA list
– LA Mag’s Best of LA or their lists
– SoCal Pulse Weekend Lists

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Mistakes Made in LA

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Just like my NYC list from a few years ago, here’s a West Coast version:

  • Park in DTLA Convention Center at 4:34 pm only to read the fine print that says the $11 flat rate kicks in “AFTER 5PM.” Pay $39.19 and convince yourself that it’s a parking lesson and at least this happened on a Thursday so you didn’t pay the MoCA Grand entrance fee (which is $15) on top of that punch. Cry on the 405.
  • Take the Express Lane because you have quarters for the toll. Get slapped with a $26 fee instead for not having a transponder installed because you were expecting a tollbooth to appear like back in 1999 when you still lived here. You also get charged $10 by the rental company for committing a dumb violation thanks to a phantom tollbooth that didn’t take you to Rhyme or Reason. Cry on the 405.
  • Leave the house without water bottles. Dehydrate on the trek into civilization. Cry on the 405.
  • Leave your house at anytime between 7-9am or 3-6pm. CRY ON THE 405.
  • Experiment with being on a plant-based diet (don’t say the V word) because everything has kale in it anyway and, after 3 years of living with your born-again vegan sister, the over-sensationalized What The Health had you thinking WTF. Start reading Campbell’s The China Study while dreaming (literally dreaming while unconscious) of multicolored balls of sharp cheddar and In-n-Out Double Doubles.
  • Start asking “Do you have any dietary restrictions?” as a standard question when inviting someone out or over. Spend lots of money and time cooking 3 different entrees because you’re feeding a carnivore, a no-carb, and someone who can’t eat tomatoes. You never host again.
  • Go to a SoulCycle class. Realize that it’s a SoulCult that uses endorphins to hook you into paying $30/class which is the same amount as ONE MONTH at the gym. Their empowering mantras convince you that this is good pain for the wallet…and the crotch. It’s the same expense as a few drinks at a bar that looks exactly like the dark-lit steamy Soul studio except you’re a cascading waterfall in a sports bra. Go all-in and attend a Beyonce-themed SURVIVOR class on her Monday morning birthday in Calabasas.
  • Once again, use your “I’m from Beirut” face whenever you feel remotely uneasy about your surroundings. Unlike in NY, this doesn’t fit in well with the overtly pseudo-friendly SoCal residents and you just seem like an asshole.
  • Discover bottomless mimosa brunches everywhere. Start living by the great words of Drake: Champagne with breakfast while I’m yawning but also don’t drink all day by starting in the morning because like Ali from Soul says, the energy you put out into the world today will come back to you and you gotta Take Care of yourself. Treat yoself, whispers Aziz.
  • Contemplate how many tacos is too many when you see that all events revolve around taco trucks (bless you, California). A friend suggests, “anything below double your age,” you trust his formula, and remind yourself that you’re practically 30.
  • Learn where you are on the snob-scale after shopping in DTLA Fashion District. Sure, you didn’t know what a Patek Philippe was before Leo Burnett and Ye taught you who Margiela is, but True Cost taught you about fast fashion. All of these lessons in luxury go out the window when you see sunnies for $5 a piece.
  • Bond with +40 year olds at Barnsdall Wine Night at 7pm on a Friday. “You know you’re old when you’re like THAT’S MY JAM when they play Phil Collins and Toto while drinking wine in the park this early,” they say with a chuckle. Grasp that you completely relate to this statement and thus find out that you are old.
  • Get caught in traffic near the coastline. Pack a beach bag to keep in the trunk for impromptu detours when you decide to wait out the gridlock on the sand.
  • Spot fellow Arabs within 6 seconds of crossing paths based on choice of footwear, level of arm hair, traces of Lacoste, or the I know you glance. When in grocery stores, the jar of Bulgarian yogurt is the dead giveaway.
  • Foster a cat so you have a companion in your office/home. Fall in love, consider adoption, and solidify cat-lady status. Watch Godfather again and notice Vito Corleone’s black tabby. If the Godfather can be a cat lady, so can you.
  • Reminisce about a time when walking to your destination was doable and uber was just an adjective that only dorks like you used. Wonder how you ended up in another city with shitty public transportation.
  • Watch HBO’s Insecure as another form of research since Issa Rae presents the backdrop of South LA as a character who is more interesting than the actual cast or storylines. Live vicariously through the ladies of Inglewood until you spend hours googling the wine bar in season 1, episode 2. Someone please help me find it so I leave the house this week.
  • Develop a playlist with tracks that correspond to household chores. TLC’s Creep for sweeping, MJ’s Thriller for mopping, Black Keys/JCole for dishes & folding clothes, and the Black Album for writing the afikra newsletter. Please subscribe here, thanks.
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The Thirst for Solitude

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El Matador State Beach, Aug 2017

After dropping off the family at LAX and a quick grocery trip, Destiny’s Child Independent Women, Pt.1 popped up on the radio. Sure, I didn’t buy my house or my car but it did feel like America was telling me, OKAY, LET’S DO THIS YOU INDEPENDENT HONEY MAKING MONEY.

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Having the family in town, while comforting, served as a reminder as to what pushed me to come out to the West Coast: a desire to detach and dive into the deep end. Them being here was like being back home save for the lack of decent tabbouli. Mom sticks to tacos and 7-layer dip when in Cali-mode. Strangely, it took over 2 months to real-feel like I left Beirut because Beirut left me in the form of my family departing.

I was laying down in the dark listening to Moonlight Sonata – what a depressing image, I know – in an attempt to map out the next two months. The hypochondriac in me was saying I had caught Lyme disease but, in reality, the stagnation was due to the overdose of screen-time and self-inflicted pressure to cross out as many lines on my overambitious to-do lists of the limited window that was now all mine. Instead of staring at my screen to type this out or manage to write in the dark, I voice-noted my thoughts and I’m now transcribing my neurotic moonlight monologue into something that’s coherent.

I have been itching to write but couldn’t filter out the impurities that contaminated my clouded noggin. They coagulated into a mental block which does not result in stringing words together. Not ones you want to read at least. However, the silence is back now and it’s so marvelously deafening. My brain is hyperactive which is why it takes Beethoven to decompress. Solitude is not a roommate I avoid since I’m not skilled at being sedentary. Being in Barcelona was proof that, even if I didn’t have company for the weekend, I was perfectly fine climbing up to the Carmel Bunkers to set-up a picnic for one. It could be due to being constantly surrounded in my Beirut life (lhamdella) but, when away, I’m good on my own.

The issue with being at ease with solitude is the ability to slip into hermit mode. I’m still in my shell remembering how to breathe in the oxygen now that I’m coming up for air. In suburbia, all necessities are readily available within a 3-mile radius so working from home can equal never leaving your safety forcefield. Going outside of that solo will barely take a soft push – after all, I love to explore – but being social will take a shove. Without an office or classroom to present like-minded people on a platter, making friends in a major city where everyone lives in their car is a challenge. Granted, I will not have the cushion of love that I cultivated after 17 years in Beirut after a mere few months in LA. I am aware you cannot find a new BFF after a 10-second encounter about green smoothies in line at a vegan eatery in Santa Monica. That shouldn’t be an excuse not to try though.

The US (California, really) is my motherland as Lebanon is my fatherland but it’s like a blossoming romance. You miss the familiarity of your former flame but there’s so much to discover with this new beau – perhaps even, discovering that they’re a better fit for you after you’ve grown up a little, shed the baby fat, and figured out that you were in love with a memory, not an actuality.

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I’m not afraid of forming roots here, I’m afraid that I want to. Being a hybrid means I’ve always had a foot in both worlds while being anchored in Beirut. But does that change?

If you don’t want to be underwater anymore, it could.

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Maybe You Don’t Want Me Back

 

IMG_6399For being a coastal state that believes so strongly in flip flops, not enough Californians believe in pedicures. I’ve yet to figure out the 405’s mood swings or how to properly hydrate for an expedition across the traffic of the freeways without needing to find a Starbucks restroom. I’m getting excited over finding a $12 tub of laundry detergent that can do 205 loads, checking the physical mailbox every morning, receiving the orange-wrapped LA Times Sunday paper (with coupons!), and making trips to the grocery stores. That last one could be an occupational hazard; what can I say, I was born to discover food.

As a kid, I could not grasp why we had to spend all day in the kitchen sections of department stores. My parents would peruse the shelves of pans and pressure cookers with awe (another clue to our future in retail). After spending 35 minutes in Target looking for a food processor because I got tired of washing garbanzo beans out of the Vitamix blender whenever I make hummus, I understand the obsession. Maybe it’s genetic but apparently, I have an affinity for small cast-iron skillets.

Without noticing, I’ve been away in LA for a month.

I feel like Aziz Ansari’s Master of None character, Dev, who went to Modena, a small town in Italy, to learn how to make pasta except I’m in Simi, a suburb of Los Angeles, learning how to make kibbeh. And then, I read the stories coming out of little Beirut: Roy Hamouche’s death, the Nader Saab scandal, female protesters being beaten by the army, the new electoral law, talks of enforcing the death penalty, the death of the environment.

 

In all that darkness, the light that emerges comes in the form of Cannes wins for a Leo Burnett campaign that was fighting Article 522. The irony that the only positive I see is that of raising awareness of our own country’s shortcomings is not lost on me. This is the point though: the pushbacks are the only positives. Even Facebook pictures of the latest night at Decks on the Beach don’t evoke any FOMO but rather, an eye roll. The positives are not the parties, the Jounieh fireworks, or the wineries, they’re the baby steps made to pull us out of the drudgery.

I don’t want to be an expat that takes a figurative shit on Beirut just because I’ve left it. However, in the last few years, I’ve seen even the hardcore believers in a better Lebanon start to buckle under the weight of the place that doesn’t want to climb out of the sewage-ridden gutter. I’d like to think that getting older has a lot to do with that because time becomes a main concern. The time you’ve invested in trying to wade through the trash-infested waters and the time you’ve got ahead that seems more fragile than when you were a fresh AUB grad. Priorities shift to the concrete: making a stable living, creating a safe home for your parents and future family, and, at the simplest level, being happy with what that home can give you. The more time you put into Beirut as you mature into a somewhat stunted adult due to a comfortably sheltered existence, the more you are drained and left to question: can I build my life, one like the one my parents provided for me, here? More importantly, should I?

 

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 Netflix – Master of None Season 2, Episode 9

Marie-Rose Osta’s short film, Status Quo, made it into the LA Film Festival. Considering what a moment that is to a young, aspiring Lebanese filmmaker, the US embassy felt it was not necessary for her to attend and rejected her visa. Her short was a vignette focusing on the absurdity of the Lebanese and their surroundings. While the TV is reporting ISIS border incidents and actual threats, her oblivious characters focus on the trivial worries of typical Lebanese daily life like a cockroach in the bathroom that is lit by a flashlight because the power is out. Pointless arguments between the lovers are illuminated by the TV screen’s light as the audio continues to drone on as background noise becoming just a hum. If it weren’t for the subtitles, I wouldn’t have paid attention to the juxtaposition at all. How true to reality is that? When I was speaking to her about my impression of the film, she told me that foreigners picked up on the dramatic insight more than the Lebanese viewers that it was based on. Foreigners see it because the fear that is a cast member for us is a cameo in the sitcom that is their life. It’s still palpable to them while we are so numb to our status quo that we don’t even see it when watching it unravel on screen.

If you’ve left, it means you’re fortunate enough to have that option but it also means you’re fed up. For me, it means I’m a little heartbroken. There is guilt for walking away from someone you love, like you’re abandoning them when they need you but their uncertain salvation is only done by dragging you down too. Leaving is a gross, reluctant form of self-preservation. My expat friends and the last ones still standing on Lebanese soil, who are planning their subsequent moves in the next 18 months, have all said different versions of the same thing: Lebanon is home but I can’t be there anymore. The only thing that brings me back is my parents.

It’s true, the formidable pull for me is the parental unit especially when I imagine dadboss as Atlas, cradling the Wesley’s world on his shoulders. Everything else does not seem worthy or permanent.

I attended a friend’s family iftar a few weeks back and it was like being inside a Lebanese enclave in the heart of SoCal. It started to feel like you could have that dose of home while still being in a society that was made up of humans of all shades, without the accompanying condescension that comes from growing up in a homogenous village by the Mediterranean. America has its fair share of racism but at least here, there is a spectrum of people.

It could be the current sociopolitical climate but there is something about being in the US that makes you want to either assert your ethnicity or completely ignore it. Beirut, I may be making my own labneh, hanging a map of you above my bed, and playing Arabic songs for my American relatives but those are signs of gratitude for how you’ve shaped me. Like every love that comes into my life, you’ve left your imprint on who I am but I’m on the other side of the earth and I don’t miss you the way I thought I would.

As much as I love you, maybe you don’t care.
Maybe convincing myself of that is my way of coping with this sense of betrayal for wanting to stay away.

Maybe you don’t want me back,
maybe I don’t either,
maybe that’s okay.

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My Interview with US Homeland Security

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A week ago, after being searched in CDG Paris before boarding, my sister and I were picked up upon exiting the aircraft in LAX by two border patrol cops. I thought, Excellent, we get to skip the lines! as they walked us through immigration. But it didn’t end there.

I asked them why we were getting a police escort to the baggage conveyors. “Oh, we’re just going to conduct an interview once you get your bags.” Riiiiight. I tried connecting to the airport wifi so I could notify my aunt that, after our flight already being delayed 2.5 hours in Paris, we might be with the Customs and Border Protection (CBP) for a while. It didn’t connect.

After collecting our suitcases, we were taken to a back area of baggage claim where our bags were searched, we were questioned, and our devices were confiscated.

“Could you just write your passcodes here please?”

I asked if that was legal, implied that being this invasive was a violation of our rights, and mentioned that we were citizens. “Yeah, we’re not regular cops, we’re border control cops.” Whatever that means.

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He gave me a leaflet about how they were allowed to take, copy, and keep all devices if necessary. Cop says, “it’s been like this forever.” “But we didn’t have our entire lives on our phones since forever,” I retort. I remembered the story about the NASA engineer and Rebecca Solnit posting about this happening but the legality of it all is a bit sketchy. You’re a citizen but you’re on the border so the Fourth Amendment – the right to be free from unreasonable searches and seizures – doesn’t apply 100% when within 100 miles of the US border.

Moxy*, the Filipino border control cop who felt like my friend after a 2-hour interrogation, says, he “eats too much rice” and is dabbling in a little landscape photography. As he goes through my suitcases, I explain what the jars of labneh and zaatar are, why I have so many books, and “yes, that’s Lebanese wine” as he peaks into a Wesley’s bag. He asks me about my Wacom tablet and we compare notes about which is the best one to buy. My sister, a nutrition student, gives him tips on how to stay healthy and tells him how she used to be a vegan extremist. The normalcy of our interaction gets interrupted by moments like having a police-escort to go pee, not being able to contact my aunt who’s still waiting outside cluelessly, and being told that my airport-bought cantaloupe needs to be incinerated.

I asked, “is this a Trump thing?” while we waited for our devices to return from a back room. Moxy has been at his post for 5 years and says it’s always been this way. Indeed, upon further digging now, it seems that this has been allowed since the Bush administration. Read more about this loophole and the legislation that conveniently passed quietly in 2013 here, here, and here.

They seemed surprised that my sister and I were so cooperative. Apparently, most who are stopped give them a hard time. “How weird, that after +20 hours on a flight here, they’d be assholes to you guys for keeping them from going into their own country. It’s been a long flight over, just ask whatever you want,” I said with a smile.  In these moments after a transatlantic voyage, you either lack patience or energy. Given my experience with these situations, being polite with a little sass has a greater impact in getting your point across than if you were to be plain aggressive.

I slipped in a few jabs (or latchet as we say in Arabic) when I could so that Moxy understood that we were seasoned at this search process and we didn’t appreciate being treated like terrorists in our own home state. I told him that this has happened before, that I get “randomly selected” and “interviewed” upon arrival AND departure from NYC or LA whenever I’m in town even though all I do is sell Oreos for a living, that now it actually feels odd when I don’t get stopped or marked with a giant X. I told him that their teams need to communicate better so I don’t have to keep telling my life story at every airport. He laughed and filled me in on this service which is your way of being proactive to you being prone to searches: DHS TRIP.

“Isn’t that like flagging myself FOR the system?” to which he replied, “well, you know you’re getting stopped anyway so you might as well do something about it.”
Good point, my man.

According to the leaflet Moxy gave me, DHS TRIP (or Department of Homeland Security’s Travel Redress Inquiry Program) “provides a single portal for travelers to seek redress for adverse screening experiences and to resolve possible watch list misidentification issues.” Unfortunately, it also says that, “individuals who receive redress through DHS TRIP may still be referred for additional screening for unrelated reasons in the future.” Hmmm.

They asked about our social media presence. When I mentioned my blog, he asked what I blog about. “You know, my life. This will probably be on there in a few days if I ever get my computer back.”
“Yeah? If you have beautiful readers, mention that I’m single,” says Moxy with a chuckle. I tell him that, since he already has my info, he should email me his photo so I can do a full profile. Business opportunity! A Tinder for border control cops in which I do the first screening interview myself.

When I got my computers, camera, and phone back, it was clear that they had probably downloaded its contents because I had an additional phonebook’s worth of Ethiopian numbers in my contacts. Jeez, if you’re going to steal my info, at least do it right. Now I know that if my iPhone is ever on the fritz, I have another backup synced at LAX.

To all those flying in the US soon, log out of your social media accounts and your email on all devices before boarding. Whatsapp conversations could be tricky – you can backup the chat history, delete the app, and redownload upon arrival. This may all be futile but try to carry as little data or access to it as possible. Most importantly, know your rights as a citizen or noncitizen entering the States.

Despite the annoyance at being delayed for no reason, Moxy’s upbeat, humble attitude and relaxed friendliness made the 2 hours easier to endure.

Moxy: I’ve got bad news *dramatic pause* You guys get to leave me now, you’re good to go
My sister: OH GOD, I thought you were going to send us back to where we came from!
Me: Which is here, technically.

We all laughed as my sister said, “see you next year!”
It’s always a pleasure feeling like a criminal in your own country. And they wonder why Beirut feels more like home to me.


*Name has been changed

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Back in California: Where is My Life Going?

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I feel like I have more headspace while in sunny SoCal. The 10-hour time difference gives me enough quiet minutes to get my to-do list in order while dadboss is snoring in another hemisphere. I don’t have many friends left here so there are less temptations and I’m not a tourist so there’s no major itinerary to follow besides work-related supplier visits. Books and sunshine are my main distractions. However, having so many tete-a-tetes with your own tete makes the content all the more daunting. This self-reflection, this attempt to answer the everlasting question of should I stay or should I go, this search for the cure of stunted adulthood – it can be overwhelming when you’re one year away from that 4-year reevaluation that just so happens to fall on my 30th year of life.

I love being here and it’s not just for the donuts. I love that my thoughts have room to expand like a soap bubble and pop when they’re done. There is no annoying toddler in the form of Lebanese inconveniences coming in to poke the bubble forcing its premature death. To be fair, that may have more to do with the distance from daily life than it does with the California weather and temperament.

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Am I the only one that thinks, okay, I’ll figure this all out when I’m away for a few weeks? As if being detached from your own reality will give you clarity to work out the kinks in your life plan. You look back at home and think, is this where you want to be/are you maximizing your potential/are you meeting the right person/is this it for me/are you okay with it if it is? It would be wonderful if the answers to those questions came in black & white but it feels like gray comes in more than 50 shades. I’m sorry I used that. Won’t happen again.

When I’m away, Beirut is on my mind and when I’m home, I’m looking abroad. Not in the grass-is-greener way but in the am-I-settling way. Being young and untethered, restless and ambitious, hungry and responsible. All these adjectives lead to one: conflicted.

“Small goals.” After a talk with a friend in London who recently had a break from life to figure out life, he said it. Small goals will take some of the pressure off. Baby steps toward moving forward on a personal level so you feel that even if you’re not on the express train, you’re still not stagnant.

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And it’s about the little things. Reading in the backyard. Getting just the right amount of milk in your coffee. Finding that Yeezus shirt on Amazon. Tacos & dancing nights with your homies. Maybe the future needs to stay in the future since we all don’t know what’s ahead, how to get there, or even where we need to go. Or maybe I’m still jet lagged and a reflection session will hit me in the afternoon. At this point, all I can hope for is another good coffee and a good book to go with it.

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Catalonian Traditions, Turkish Snowstorms, and Lebanese Warmth

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Coincidence brought me back to Barcelona around the same time that I had departed last November. I found the city just as I had left it, minus a few notches in temperature but just about the same number of pigeons.

Going somewhere familiar is unlike vacationing in an undiscovered destination. I guiltlessly slept in and spent afternoons in cafes. I finished a book. It was, for once, a break where I disconnected from home and was present in real time. I still worked from my trusty overweight laptop but I was mentally distant enough; my thoughts had room to expand and float above me before they popped in thin air.

Being in Catalonia at the end of the year means you learn about the seasonal traditions. First, there was Tio. Then, on New Year’s Eve, you have to eat 12 green grapes when the clock strikes 12. One grape per chime of the clock, one grape per month of the year. You also have to wear red undies for good luck? Some say they have to be a gift, others say you have to gift them before daybreak. I’m still digging up the origin story on this because I fear it’s the De Beers’ solitaire of undergarments, not that that stopped me. After 2016, I’ll take any source of luck for the calendar ahead.

Tortell de Reis (like our Galette des Rois) appears on January 6th for Three Kings Day. It contains two surprises baked into the pastry: a small king figurine and a bean. The person who gets the slice with the king gets to wear a paper crown and the person who gets the bean has to pay for the cake. They’re also granted good luck if they keep the bean in their wallet all year. I had already paid for the cake AND the bean was in my slice. It’s like it knew.

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Whenever I encounter Arabs abroad, there is an immediate sense of familiarity. You’d think that once you’re out of the country, you’d make it a point to meet people of different backgrounds but I understand why we flock to each other when setting up shop overseas. When I come across a Syrian, Jordanian, Egyptian, and, of course to an even greater degree, Lebanese, I feel an unspoken understanding. As Rankoussi, my glass-blower friend in Rome, said to me with a grin,“you are also from there,” after revealing he was from Damascus.

The unexpected “unlucky” 72-hour layover in the Radisson Blu near Sabiha Airport opened my eyes to a quality of our people that I am reminded of whenever I leave: warmth. 

I left Spain decked out in thermal Nike running gear (that I didn’t run in) and boots (to avoid adding the extra weigh to my suitcase). Thank you red underwear and bean for knowing more than I did. Besides the literal warmth my lucky outfit provided, there was a figurative one that came from being stranded in a Turkish blizzard with 3 Lebanese guys who were also flying back to BEY from sunny Barcelona.

Although I may not ever see my stranded brothers of Istanbul again, I am grateful that I had some company while stuck in a frozen village. Plus, chasing down taxis in a snowstorm would’ve been a nightmare solo. These absurd yet instant friendships where you are trading stories on a hotel couch drinking minibar wine, the kind that may evaporate as soon as you part ways, never to see each other again, was still comforting in a situation where you would normally feel entirely alone. It’s bittersweet how this only happens when we’re away from home. When abroad, I don’t get the same warmth from my fellow Americans in airport terminals or Starbucks lines but, when I’m here in Lebanon, I don’t get it from my fellow Lebanese either. When at home, we don’t mix outside of our known circles.

We have to be removed. We have to be foreigners together against the world to feel like we can do that, to feel like we’re the same.

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3 Meals in NYC – 2016 Edition

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Back in 2014, I spent a quick 5 minutes in NYC and wrote about my 3 main food stops – one of which has since closed permanently. After spending a week in 2015 and another in 2016, here’s an updated list of 3 meals to enjoy if you ever visit the home of 8.4 million.

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Hillstone for Campfire Ribs
My friend took me here in 2015, it was the first meal I had upon revisiting in 2016, and I will be back for sure. There is a fear that a restaurant will not be as good as you remember it, leaving you heartbroken because you romanticized a memory of saucy ribs, shoestring fries, and coleslaw. Not at Hillstone. They were better the second time around and I still couldn’t finish them. Mom helped.

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Photo Credit: @blacktapnyc

Black Tap for Burgers & Shakes
Pearl from legymonline tagged me in a gram of their crazy “milkshakes.” One afternoon, mom & I were wandering around Soho and ended up near Black Tap so we mozied over to the spot for a volcano of fat. Fifteen minute wait. She had a burger while I had a spicy margarita with onion rings. We split the top of a milkshake. It’s all we could get down considering they’re a mountain range of deliciousness. Bonus points for the 90s R&B playlists.

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Gotham West Market
Located in Hell’s Kitchen, GWM has a couple of offerings all housed in a food hall. From Indie Fresh to Choza Taqueria, the variety is there along with a chill vibe that’s perfect for hanging out with friends. It’s what you wish your high school cafeteria was like. It also has a bike shop inside. No, I did not see Wilson Fisk anywhere.


Honorable Mentions:
OBVIOUSLY, a pastrami sandwich on rye from Katz on the LES. The line you see above is not tourist hype, it is worth the wait, the $19.95, and Meg Ryan’s reaction was because of this sandwich. Also, Smorgasburg in Brooklyn, Untitled at the Whitney in the Meatpacking District at the end of the High Line, and pre-packaged food at the Food Emporium for when you need takeout so you can go back to your hotel room and binge watch Luke Cage.

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My Top 5 Spots in Rome

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Although two weeks is longer than a typical trip to one European city, I don’t think you can ever truly experience a destination without living there or having a local show you where the real hidden gems are. I do intense research before heading somewhere new so I can find venues beyond the standard tourist traps but I also try to get lost so I can find my own recommendations. The below are the spots I would’ve lived in were I to ever become a resident of Rome.

La Proscuitteria Trevi for Casual Charcuterie 
Danielle from Beirutista sent me to this meat haven tucked in behind the Fontana di Trevi. After waiting in line next to a La Dolce Vita poster with Sylvia wielding a T-bone in the air, we got a teeny table in the back of a butcher-turned-wine bar for a wooden slab of cold cuts, cheese, a basket of bread, and Chianti red wine. Let’s just say that this meal was not one that would’ve been approved by my dietician but let’s also say that I don’t regret being a rebel for one second. For 20Euros each, we had plenty to feast on and extras to take home for snacking on later.

Bead Shop Rome for Murano Glass Jewelry and Souvenirs
Rankoussi, shop owner and artisan, is a Syrian glass blower specializing in the Phoenician and Murano glass craft. He gives workshops and does in-store demos every Tuesday but gave my friend & I a quick show and made a mini blue eye. I’m guessing this had a lot to do with me asking where he was from and him replying, “I am from the Middle East and you are also from there.” International wasta FTW. Rankoussi gave us a brief history lesson of his work, told us the origin story of certain beads and their cultural significance, and took selfies with us in his technicolor wonderland.

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Sant’Eustachio Il Caffe for Cappuccino and Chocolate Covered Coffee Beans
Fun fact: there is no Starbucks in Rome. But who needs it when, across from the Sant Eustachio church and behind the Pantheon, this cafe from the thirties serves all the caffeine-lovers favorites. Urbanista does a good job here in Lebanon but cappuccinos will never be the same after Rome. Sant Eustachio’s grand cappuccinos set me back 2.90 Euros each visit. They’re pricier than other little vendors but, in comparison to the hotel’s watered down black American, I happily paid it. Maybe it’s because they mix it with water from an ancient aqueduct – how very Roman. The workshop faculty suggested their chocolate covered coffee beans which are delectable and come in bright yellow packages with a stag in their branding so naturally I adored them as mini gifts for my peeps back home.

Barnum Cafe for an Espresso/Prosecco-Filled Remote Office
I’ve never been smitten with a cafe. I spent a couple of days working at a communal table that had an old bourbon bottle centerpiece filled with lavender. The bartenders were friendly and warmed up to my friend & I because we were singing along to all the great tunes from the early 2000s. I had wondered if I had finally found the place where my iPod Classic disappeared to, then we get a Vanilla Ice dedication, and I’m thinking, “Ah shit, I’m never leaving. I am moving to Rome for a coffee shop.” They have a no computers after 7:30pm rule though because it morphs into a bar, which is fine because I’d get a good 3 hours of work done beforehand as my espresso would transition into Prosecco. Order the tiramisu, it comes in a coffee mug topped with glazed hazelnuts.

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Osteria da Fortunata for Fresh Pasta in Campo di Fiori
Nonnas make the pasta right there near the tables so you know you’re not getting any of that stiff packaged stuff being sold on every corner. I’m not a pasta fan but when it’s fresh, it has a completely different texture on the palate. The cacio e pepe (cheese and pepper) plate was the only serving of pasta I ordered during my entire two weeks and it’s all I needed. Take that mac & cheese.

Honorable Mention: If you’re at Barnum and still need to work post 7:30pm, you can walk over to Circus which is another work-friendly cafe. There’s lots of teeny boppers hanging out and music gets loud but they don’t mind if you don’t. And the waiter has a human Gus Gus-from-Cinderella quality to him so you can’t help but smile. They’re open till 2am.