June 13, 2015 by Farrah Berrou - 0 comments

For the Love of Airports

Although the 3-hour cab rides through the heart of Moscow and the layovers in Istanbul are not always thrilling (not to mention the malfunctioning digestive system side effects of cabin pressure), there was one aspect of travel that you admired in a detached way as if you were a narrator of a Woody Allen film. An outer-body experience that made it feel as if this was the kind of thing you would be explaining to your grandkids one day because they would be of the public space-shuttling generation and they would find these transatlantic journeys so primitively historic. Then again, you were supposed to be of the flying-car generation so who knows what travel will really mean in the decades to come.

You want to roll through an airport and have the narration in your head begin as you people watch, where are they from? Where are they going? A father asks you to photograph him and his daughter in Frankfurt Airport. The little girl has a fabric bracelet with the Jamaican flag colors. What language are they speaking? It’s not French. Where is her mom? Maybe they’re divorced. You try to go Sherlock on them and read their story through their mannerisms and nonverbal behavior, appearance, and clothing. A group of high-schoolers are lining up. Their teacher is screaming who’s on the waiting list and passing out passports to kids in oversized hoodies emblazoned with various college acronyms and university crests. What a strange and fascinating place an airport can be. A stopover where all people abide by a system as if there is a guidebook of rules as to how one is to internationally travel. It’s the one ritual that all citizens do in the same way: carry-ons, portables, chargers for our devices, check-in counters, baggage claims, money exchange. Don’t even think about packing the cosmetic scissors.

And then you observe a foreign city from the air. Residents going about their days because your existence does not relate to theirs. Where are they driving to? All these people living their lives completely unaware that you’re flying over them heading to some plant nursery in Bucharest. I wonder if the driver in that white sedan on the highway is happy. I wonder if he looks up at my plane climbing overhead and thinks, ‘I wonder where that plane is heading. I wonder if the girl on that plane is happy.’ Lives continuing simultaneously while we throttle across the sky and into the clouds. Parallels physically and figuratively.

You spend hours next to strangers, at gates or in lounges or even onboard budget flights that make you feel like you’re flying in a recycled Pringles tube with wings. You judge your neighbor by whether or not they’ve heard of your home country, the notorious troubled Lebanon, that exotic sliver of hedonism and resilience hidden in the bosom of the Arab and thus, conservative Middle East. Beirut usually gets more recognition, although not knowing that it’s a capital (not a country) doesn’t exactly sedate your fears of where the education system is heading. Either way, bonus points if they show geographical knowledge not just polite interest in your brief exchange before either one falls asleep or puts on headphones. Another internationally recognized symbol for travel for please leave me alone, thanks.

You find yourself missing cities as if they were people you know. With all of your friends relocated to opposite ends of the earth, you’d think you were not looking for more to miss – the roster should be full by now. And yet, you are longing for breakfast on Brooklyn rooftops, a walk through Gorky Park, and a lazy cappuccino before the Dubai Mall fountains start their sunset dance. You’re homesick for places that were never home and wishing that you didn’t find comfort in those washed-out Tumblr photos with the word wanderlust scribbled in handwritten font across the center.

But maybe, it isn’t wanderlust. Maybe it’s just curiosity and the need to see beyond your balcony or border. Maybe it’s embracing another place’s magic and your own home’s chaos. Maybe it’s just about feeling like you’re part of humanity. That every place can be part of your story that some other person at an airport is trying to read off of you.

April 26, 2015 by Farrah Berrou - 3 Comments

Big Questions in Brooklyn

Being in New York City can make you feel small. And when you’re arriving from a dot on the map, it can make you feel like a speck of dust in a sandstorm. It was the first time that I stopped to think, not only about all that has happened to me in the last few years, but also where I may be heading in the ones to come. Turns out, I didn’t want to wait another 3 years to reevaluate – by then, it would be too late.

Spending a week in NYC was more of an investigative trip. I wanted to see if it could be a new frontier, the next step that would shove me out of my comfort zone and teach me more about who I am. The more I thought this way, the more I felt like a high school senior in need of a gap year, a lost guppy who wanted to find herself or was on some journey of self-discovery, a walking millennial cliche. Basically, I felt like a spoiled brat because I wanted more when I was and am already quite fortunate.

Honestly, only those who are blessed enough to have options at their fingertips have the luxury to think this way. When you are tied down with responsibilities and bills to pay, the path in front of you has limitations. But when you’re not surrounded by commitments that dictate your decisions, you only have you to answer to. The possibilities are overwhelming and have never been more daunting. It brings on inner monologues and sidewalk soliloquies that have your brain pondering things like What am I really doing? Why am I restless after 3 years at the region’s best agency? Am I satisfied with where my life is now? And if not, why am I wasting time being stuck? But where do I go?

If I were to move to NYC, or move anywhere that wasn’t my dear Lebanon, would I survive it? Am I as strong as I think I am? Like many people who were strolling the streets of Brooklyn, I found that I was having discussions with myself out loud; I was asking the big questions that come with being in a big city. Am I doing everything in my power to make sure the life I want will come to be? What is the life I want?

My closest friends are all abroad and the days are numbered when it comes to those who are still here. Most of my phone contacts have country acronyms next to their names because they’re abroad trying to make something of themselves. Am I selling myself short by staying behind? Is there more for me out there? In a country that can be so much but give so little, I am finding it increasingly difficult to pass up opportunities that would empower me as a young professional, experiences that would equip me with new skills, and chances that would expose me to hidden facets of myself I have yet to know. Can Lebanon give me that? Am I still betraying my country if I want more for myself? If I stay but don’t move forward, who am I really helping? In the end, wasted potential serves no one.

I’m grateful I don’t have parents that poke and prod about when I’m going to walk down the aisle or make them grandparents. Instead they entertain the same questions that I struggle with. My dad recently asked me if I ever give any thought to where my personal life is at. I think he worries that he instilled in me such a spirit of ambition that my careerist ways have backfired. Regardless of whether it shows or not, I do think about it. Even more now that I have entered Wedding Territory. For the next 5-7 years of my life, I will have, on average, 3 engagements/weddings to attend annually. Not out of desperation, lack of self-esteem, or fear of becoming a cat lady, but this brings on big questions as well: Will I find that person? Would I notice them if I did? Have we already met? What am I missing? and then the worst one of all: Is something wrong with me?

If I were to move to NYC, or any other city that disconnects me from the world I’ve known for so long, would I become more guarded than I already am? Would I be so good at surviving that I become too strong? Would I be lonely? Will I miss out on special milestones for the sake of my own selfish drive? Does going solo really matter if it means you’re sacrificing moments with the ones you care about the most? If I leave, dad won’t be around to make Spanish omelettes with Kalamata olives on Sunday mornings. If I stay, I’ll never make them for myself. There’s always a fine line when trying to decide what’s best for you. In the Arab world, sometimes you have to cut the cord yourself.

I resigned from my job before boarding my flight to the States. A week after landing, as I stood on the edge of East River Park looking at the Manhattan skyline on my last morning in Brooklyn, a small voice asked, will Beirut be okay without me?

I know I want to find out.

April 14, 2015 by Farrah Berrou - 2 Comments

Mistakes Made in NYC

Buy a SIM card from a vending machine in JFK. T-Mobile, why no stand at the airport? How are there no telecom providers there? What’s a payphone?

Pay for individual metro rides. Get the unlimited 7-day card for $32 and take all the wrong trains you want, no penalties for being a semi-tourist except lost time.

Fail to invent an app that tells you where there are clean public bathrooms and charging stations. Every traveler’s two worst enemies are iPhone batteries and bladders. With that said, thank you Starbucks for your $7 blattery break. Get the powerbank from all those techie shops in Duty Free.

Assume that Airbnb hosts will have towels available because it’s basically like a hotel with a stove, right? Go buy $5 bath towels from a dollar shop around the corner. Proceed to have pink fuzz everywhere after every shower. It’s been 3 days since I returned and I still feel like a molting Furby.

Allow eternally lost friend to navigate. Instead of ending up at Century 21, the discount hotspot by the Empire Hotel, you end up near a Century 21 real estate office in Soho.

Attend Sleep No More while suffering from respiratory allergies. Although one of the most intriguing experiences and my first at interactive theatre, running up and down staircases through creepy sets with a mask on when you can’t breathe is a whole new level of nightmare. Note to self: bring tissue and a snorkel next time.

Eat breakfast before going to Smorgasburg. That’s just wasted space. Especially when you’re going to be stocking up on 18-hr cooked bbq beef burgers, ramen burgers, nutella banana wontons, and truffle fries. And maple lemonade. And cheese curds. And Pepto-Bismol.

Eat everything and justify it by saying “well, you ARE walking a lot here.” You are not Forrest Gumping through the Meatpacking District, you’re packing meat through all the districts. No, I don’t mean like that, perv.

Wait too long for a table at Spotted Pig in Greenwich without taking photos of the movie-set neighborhood streets because, if you walk away, you might miss Kanye walking in. Forget to ask for your burger without Roquefort cheese because you’re so hungry you didn’t even read the menu, you just said “burger, medium well” and started counting pig statues. Miss the train back to Brooklyn for the Mast Brothers Chocolate Factory Tour. Go home to slip into food coma.

Wear the right shoes with the wrong socks and bleed on your Nikes. Use this as a completely illogical excuse to buy a new pair and go to Lady Foot Locker when you know sneakers are your Louboutins. If you find yourself agreeing with the saleslady when she says, “you can never have too many Nikes,” you need to get out. ABORT MISSION.

After realizing you are part of the first two cult followings of America (Starbucks and Apple), contemplate joining the 3rd: Abercrombie & Fitch. Realize you don’t like smelling like a junior prom queen or lining up to use a flashlight to shop for hoodies. I can do both by rummaging through my own garage.

Pass up on a bottle of chili oil honey from Roberta’s because you got take-out since there was a wait of an hour and fifteen minutes and you didn’t want to buy it before trying the Beesting Pizza. You thought something called “chili honey oil” could actually taste bad. Fool.

Leave ribs on your plate at Hillstone because you’re full. You could’ve taken 4 more, weakling.

Going to Fuerza Bruta after ingesting half of NYC. I am a slug in human form.

Only spending 10 minutes at Grand Central Station and 30 in Dumbo. What are you even doing underground on the subway where you see nothing but people using the earphone protective forcefield? Swim to Brooklyn.

Wait for someone to ask where you’re from. Walk around with “I’m from Beirut” written on your face because people will either think you’re:
a) a good businessperson
b) friendly unlike the “dry Americans” and give you hugs goodbye
c) from a place they’ve never heard of and, thus, you are exotic or a terrorist
d) just sooo gorgeous.Upon revealing my nationality, an Ivory Coast cabbie immediately felt a connection because our countries were both occupied by the French, a Yugoslavian mother told me her life story within 12 minutes of meeting, a Turkish shop owner gave me free postcards & stickers, and a Puerto Rican gay man named Carlos said I was the Regina George of New York. WIN.

Send a picture of your vegan doughnut to your vegan sister. Have her jealous vibes send your cappuccino flying into your lap. Plus side is smelling like doughnut glaze all day.

Introduce yourself using Arabic pronunciation. Adopt “Vera” as your new name since that’s what they hear anyway.

Constantly move. Johnathan from HONY can’t take your picture if you don’t stand still and look pensive. I had my speech ready and everything. I even bought a hipster hat from a Brooklyn flea market.

Be flattered by people thinking you’re a New Yorker but then have an existential crisis about whether you are meant to be one or not. Chuckle and think, “Please. Carlos is right. I got this,” and get on the 6 humming JLo.

Use the excuse “I’m cold” to eat warm breakfasts like bagels, waffles, and muffins. Blueberry flavor and topped with fresh fruit because, ya know, it’s healthy. Having an everything bagel will teach you that frozen Sara Lee bagels tossed in a toaster aren’t bagels, they’re carbohydrate lies. Thank God that the cold also means your clothing layers will hide your gluttony until you go on a kale-only diet for 6 months upon return to the labneh motherland.

Miss labneh.

March 21, 2015 by Farrah Berrou - 0 comments

Moscow: 3 Meals in 3 Days

The Brooklyn of Moscow

Although this was not my first business trip to Moscow, it was the first in which I got to experience a bit of the city. Did I have stroganoff? No. I did, however, get to see some of Moscow’s hotspots. If you don’t speak Russian and you need to get around, use Uber for cashless transactions or Yandex Taxi if you have rubles on you. You can plug in your destination so you *hopefully* won’t get lost and need to google-translate your way home. Free wifi is usually available at most hotels and cafes so just linger outside of one long enough till you connect.

Buro Canteen 24/7

Buro Canteen is the latest project from Buro 24/7 Russia. If you’re wondering where the Muscovite hipsters hang out, I would imagine it’s at this cafe. The Canteen is located in the middle of an industrial-turned-hip complex that could easily be mistaken for the Highline or Williamsburg. The interior decor is a Soviet Art Deco dream made for Instagram: large vibrant posters, a hand-lettered chalkboard menu, an illustrated world map, and an instant photo booth in the bathroom – need I say more?

Apparently the spot does, in fact, cater to a lot of creatives working in big fashion companies nearby which was what Mira Duma, Buro 24/7 founder, was hoping for when she decided to open the concept there. The Canteen was created in partnership with Girl Power LLC, the group behind The Slow Kitchen and B152|Tearoom (both also in Russia).

The menu is changed regularly and has a variety of options. We ordered zucchini & feta rolls, burgers, and fries. The ketchup was a winner.

White Rabbit

Located on a snazzy rooftop of a hotel/shopping center, White Rabbit has a full view of the city of Moscow through its large semicircle windows. The decor is shabby chic, with large armchairs and psychedelic Nat Geo photographs of wild mushrooms scattered among portraits of rabbits dressed in Victorian costumes. It’s as if the Mad Hatter invited you to come have drinks and ravioli.

We had great cocktails: a raspberry passionfruit cosmopolitan and a mandarine bourbon mix. Although we weren’t eating lobster or anything of the sort, they made us wear bibs before dinner. The guys’ version had bow ties and ladies had necklaces. I think we smelled like camera-happy tourists so they wanted to give us the full experience because we got smokey sorbet on the house for dessert. Waiters speak English! Yes!

Mendeleev

So this is another place that I would expect to find in NYC. It’s entrance is inside the fast-food Chinese Lucky Noodles joint. To the right of the register, there’s a bouncer blocking a staircase that leads to a speakeasy-like gastropub from the 1920s. The bar has barely any chairs and you have to pay minimum charge for a table. If you plan on eating and drinking, you might as well just get a table because your bill will come out to about the same.

It gets really crowded by midnight and you wouldn’t even guess that there’s a financial crisis going on in this city. However, I’m pretty sure those affected by it aren’t hanging out at an underground pub named after the guy who discovered the periodic table. And what an appropriate name it is: the bartenders work like chemists, mixing concoctions based on what you want because you can’t read the all-Russian cocktail menu. Drinks are excellent* and the music was just like being out in Beirut, house that got deeper as the night got later.

* meaning they don’t taste like diluted alcohol and you don’t need to wait till your third to actually enjoy not tasting what you’re ingesting

: Buro Canteen 24/7

: Buro Canteen 24/7

: Buro Canteen 24/7

: Buro Canteen 24/7

: Buro Canteen 24/7 BURGER

: Buro Canteen 24/7 Bathroom

: White Rabbit

: White Rabbit

: Lucky Noodles

: Mendeleev

: Mendeleev

: The Chemists

January 4, 2015 by Farrah Berrou - 0 comments

Bambi’s Soapbox: Top 5 of 2014

I did not post as much as I would’ve liked this year and I plan on working on that for 2015. Apparently, I post on Sundays the most. And here I am, posting again on a Sunday. How appropriate.

5) Beirut vs. Budapest

4) Samsung S5 vs iPhone 5S

3) Dubai vs. Singapore

2) Lebanon, Would You Miss Me?

Parks of Dubai: Safa and Zabeel

Last weekend in Dubai, I found myself lounging on the grass two mornings in a row. The fact that I traveled over 2000 km just to be lazy under the sun listening to podcasts was a tad frustrating. I was in what is commonly referred to as a desert, and yet, it seemed like they had better public green spaces than our own “lush” Lebanon. In a country like ours, with weather like ours…why don’t we have parks EVERYWHERE? The last time I hung out on the grass like that, I was still an AUB student sprawled out on the Green Oval.

Safa Park, Wasl Road Gate

Although partially closed off due to the construction of a water canal, Safa Park is very charming and chill. With a spectacular view of Downtown Dubai and plenty of mini playgrounds surrounding a little lake, there are shady spots scattered around where you can just set up camp and hang out. I was there on a workday so it was pretty vacant. Schoolchildren were there on a field trip; their teacher was teaching them about greenery and plant life. “This is a BROWN leaf. What’s that mean?”, she asks the little people. “IT’S DEAD!” they all shout. And then she told them to cross it off their checklist-clipboards. It was all very amusing to see kids that enchanted with the natural world.

Zabeel Park, Gate 1 (Friday Mornings)

Home to Ripe Market, the organic farmer’s market of the UAE, Zabeel was pretty impressive. Not only were there people from all over and of every age group, there was also a big variety when it came to the actual stands present. Mini pancakes, Lebanese street food, Raw Coffee, crafts, and products. And when you’re done perusing through the market, you can go find a spot under a tree. Although Dubai is nicknamed “the city of Malls,” I found it ironic that they have their farmer’s market in a park and we have ours in a shopping district (Beirut Souks).

Entrance was 5 dhs (~$1.37)
BONUS: Both parks have jogging tracks that run around their perimeter (padded asphalt, stretching stations, distance marks, the works).

August 25, 2014 by Farrah Berrou - 0 comments

How Laguna Beach Deals with Panhandling

Some parking meters in Laguna Beach have been repurposed in order to avoid panhandlers. Making them colorful little pieces of art scattered around the artsy town, each meter has a plaque explaining that inserted coins will be collected and used toward efforts to aid the homeless. Assuming that these efforts have been effective, I believe this is a good controlled way (regardless of how minimal it may be) to help those in need with your loose change. Although most of us need coins for the actual parking meters since there are no change machines set up, maybe we could implement something similar in the future here in Lebanon.

August 10, 2014 by Farrah Berrou - 0 comments

Observing Space & Time

This post is dedicated to two observatories in the US of A: the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles, California and the abandoned Warner & Swasey Observatory in Cleveland, Ohio. I encourage you to actually click on the “Click to Enlarge” pics below.

LOS ANGELES

Walking up to the Griffith Observatory

Click to Enlarge

Atop a hill overlooking Hollywood within Griffith Park is the Griffith Observatory. The land surrounding the observatory was donated to Los Angeles by Colonel Griffith J. Griffith in 1896. In his will, he also donated funds for an observatory, exhibit hall, and planetarium on the donated land. Griffith’s aim in this project was to allow astronomy to be open to the public instead of cut-off from the people by being on a solitary mountain exclusively for scientists. First, the Observatory is beautiful just as an Art Deco structure on its own. An obelisk-like sculpture celebrating historical astronomers in the center of a grassy lawn that leads up to the Observatory doors, which are also beautiful. The grounds have the solar system engraved in the floors. Second, as soon as you go through the doors, there’s the Foucault pendulum hanging from a ceiling mural of Atlas and other mythical characters. Both the left and right wings have exhibitions on space exploration and discoveries in physics and astronomy. The view from the opposite side is almost a 180 of Los Angeles. Since it was featured in Rebel Without a Cause, there’s a James Dean bust near the Hollywood-sign lookout spot. The Observatory would be the ideal date spot at sunset if you’re into spacey nerdy stuff. And sunsets. Plus it’s free entrance since 1935.

The orbits of each planet run across the floor of the grounds

At the foot of the entrance stairs

The view (click to enlarge)

CLEVELAND

The Abandoned Warner & Swasey Observatory

Warner & Swasey Company used to be manufacturers of machinery, including telescopes and precision instruments. The partners, Worcester Reed Warner and Ambrose Swasey, opened a machine shop in Cleveland in 1881. According to Case’s Encyclopedia of Cleveland History, “With the advent of the sewing machine, bicycle, and automobile industries, the firm began to focus on producing turret lathes.” Turret lathes are machines that make tools and interchangeable parts. W&S donated their private astronomical observatory to Case School of Applied Science (now part of Case Western Reserve University) in 1920. It expanded and grew to be the Warner & Swasey Observatory housing another telescope, a second dome, a library, and a lecture hall.

Located in East Cleveland, eventually with time, the facility was no longer viable because more light pollution (suburban sources of artificial light that brighten the night sky). It operated for 60 years but was sold sometime in the early 80s. The telescopes were relocated to other facilities and the W&S Observatory was “left abandoned, as a host to decay until some time in 2005 when it was bought by a couple to be converted into a residence. These plans were put to a halt when the new owner was convicted of mortgage fraud and sent to prison in 2007 but other sources say this had connections with a drug dealer.” The name of the fraudulent real-estate broker? Nayyir Al Mahdi of Shaker Heights. Sounds Middle Eastern. SCANDALOUS. Check out some pictures of the interior and read more on the closing here. The irony of such a place: a home to telescopes looking into space is now a decaying shell. I have never wanted to commit a B&E so badly in my life.

August 6, 2014 by Farrah Berrou - 3 Comments

NYC: 3 Meals in 30 Hours

1. GRIMALDI’S, UNDER THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE

Grimaldi's, from across the street (click to see the line of people)

Grimaldi’s, from across the street (click to check out the line)

Men at work (taken by Gracia El Ayle)

Grimaldi’s pepperoni mushroom pizza

Before heading to NYC, I looked up some places that were “musts” for a New York visitor. Grimaldi’s was listed as “the best pizza in NY” and I figured, if we ended up in Brooklyn and it wasn’t too far off, we could give it a try. I’m usually quite skeptical of places that have such titles on travel sites. After all, how many places have lines around the block and a lot of hype but end up to be flavorless disappointments? An hour into our NYC weekend, we’re roaming around Brooklyn with our luggage on our backs. Google maps led us to an old white building right under the Brooklyn Bridge, across from a red-bricked Eagle Warehouse & Storage Co. Although the line looks intimidating, it moves pretty quick. We waited for about 20 minutes and YES, it’s worth it. Each pizza is made on the spot and tossed into the coal-brick oven. You can choose all your toppings, with or without tomato sauce (white). A favorite is pepperoni mushroom with sauce. It’s Italian style (not Chicago deep-dish) and the dough is just right: it’s not too thin, soggy, or hard cardboard and there’s just enough oil to feel like you’re having pizza without needing to go TSA on it with a napkin. The portion sizes are also quite fair. Be warned: cash only, no delivery, no reservations, and they don’t serve by the slice. Whole pizzas only. If you don’t finish it, DOGGY BAG IT.

2. MAX BRENNER CHOCOLATE BAR, UNION SQUARE

Max Brenner’s, from behind the bar

The bar

The burger

We got to this place around 11:00pm with no reservations. Big mistake. You’d think that people would be done feasting by then but we had to wait a good 45 minutes before being seated upstairs. It wasn’t so bad though because that gave us time to inspect all the chocolate boxes at the entrance. The entire place smells like you’re sitting in Willy Wonka’s factory. Although it’s a chocolate bar, we hadn’t eaten since Grimaldi’s so it was time for the pizza’s evil cousin: a fat burger. Medium well meat with a ginormous onion ring & criss-cut fries on the side. One friend got banana chocolate waffles while the other got a Philly cheese steak sandwich…in waffles. Recommended chocolate to take home: milk chocolate covered pralines dusted in cocoa powder available in a cardboard giftbox or collectible tin. There’s also mini boxes by the register next to the chocolate-scented pencils. Yes, I’m serious.

3. MAS (LA GRILLADE), GREENWICH VILLAGE

The pastries, strawberry jam, and sea salt butter (taken by May Chaker)

The burger

The last NYC meal was at this little French spot in Greenwich. We got there for a $28 set-menu late Sunday brunch so we had the place to ourselves before the kitchen closed. The menu changes depending on chef Galen Zamarra and available ingredients – which are locally grown. Our server was a super-friendly perky lady who was ready to explain each entree. Although she described everything as “delectable,” I don’t think she was exaggerating because regardless of the entree chosen, we were all making happy noises throughout the entire meal. Excellent fresh-squeezed OJ helped with the washing down of a whole platter of pastries (vanilla scones, blueberry muffins, croissants, and mini baguettes) with strawberry jam and sea-salt butter. We were not prepared for the hoovering of the “Grilled Short Rib Burger with Herb Mayonnaise on House-Made Kaiser Roll” but we pulled through. My oh my, that little mushroom shaped bun of meat. I was full until the next morning.

August 3, 2014 by Farrah Berrou - 1 Comment

Welcome Home?

After spending a few weeks in the States, my flight back to the Middle East snuck up on me. Upon arrival to my front door, the electricity cut, my friends were messaging about the Lebanese Army kidnappings, and I watched some videos and read some stats about unemployment & driving accidents in Lebanon. Did I mention we still have no president? At the moment, I’m spending my evening listening to Mashrou3 Leila and Wanton Bishops (a Beirut playlist I had made for my American family to listen to while there) and I feel like I never left. I feel at home instantly. It’s as if I hit the pause button here and went to another planet for 3 weeks. Maybe in my bubble it feels that way except it’s not true when you take a step back: the region has gotten worse. Gaza, Mosul, Syria, even our own Arsal. I want to write posts about my time in the US, new developments in the tech world, and perhaps even a post teasing Lebanese travelers and yet…

it all feels trivial and unfair when I see what’s going on around me. Thinking about all the negatives, especially when you feel powerless, is overwhelming. In the sea of news, I wouldn’t mind finding a lighter blogpost that doesn’t address such things just to escape all of the turmoil. It’s not about turning a blind eye and ignoring reality, it’s just giving yourself a breather.

Right now, I don’t feel up to writing one of those posts. Maybe it’s the perspective of leaving and coming back. Maybe it’s the jetlag. Maybe tomorrow will be the day I can’t stop typing about how much I missed this chaotic little place. But that’s not happening tonight.

Bambi's Soapbox

Category Archives: Travel