Manu, Corinna, and I decided to go to Damascus for the weekend. So, Friday afternoon, after buying water and food at Fahed and preparing it for the expected wait at the Syrian border due to my American passport, we departed. We took a service taxi to the bus station, where after getting out, we were surrounded by at least 10 taxi drivers who all wanted to take us for varying amounts of money from $7/person to $100 for all three of us… until we told them one of us was an American… Then, they all dispersed as if we had leprosy and saying, “no, the wait at the border will be too long” and that they don’t want to take us. Except one of them, who worked for a bus company that provided regular service to Damascus. So we went with him, and bought our tickets for the bus leaving in about an hour, at 4PM. After taking a few pictures, eating, and waiting for the driver and his aide to gather other passengers, we left earlier than predicted towards the border. First came the climb up the Lebanon mountains, from the sea level to more than a 1500 meters, through the clouds, into the sunshine, and then the sight of the flat Bekaa valley - more a plateau, than a valley-, with farms and fields. After a drive down the mountains, we stopped in Chtoura.
On the subject of Chtoura – pronounced Shtewra- I have to mention a company called Choura Garden, which makes fruit juices. It is the only Lebanese product I have ever seen sold outside of Lebanon, oddly the- Israeli owned- Hummus bars in Budapest. Which is quite strange, since there are no contacts of any kind between the semi-Arab country and their Jewish neighbor to the south. Even stranger is that the bottle’s label shows a lush, green field with many fruits, yet the place is nothing more than a quite uneventful town of money changers, small shops and rest areas.

Our rest stop was a bakery with a flatbread conveyor in the window, showing the freshly baked flatbreads, which was the most interesting thing I was there. After a 15 minute stop, and a 5 minute drive, we were at the Lebanese border. This is where the problems started, and we got a first hand experience of the Lebanese system of laws…
First, we had to fill out exit forms, which we all did, and then stand in line at the line for foreigners, which was handled by one bald, typically French-looking officer smoking a cigarette in front of a “no smoking” sign. After a 10 minute wait, Corinna handed him our passports, he stamped and threw back mine, and soon the other two as well, without stamps, saying that the sheets had to be filled out again due to too many corrections. After this was done, and the passports were handed back, he said he cannot stamp them, since the visas were expired. After not receiving any more info, fortunately the bus driver’s helper directed us to the officer’s office, where there was a French speaking officer who nicely explained the situation: The visas that we were all given at the airport and had 1 month written on them were valid for 3 months, but the law had recently been changed (a month ago), and were now only valid for two months (one month multiple entry, and 1 month exit only), and therefore only Corinna and I could exit the country. Additionally, nothing could be done at the border crossing; it all had to be done at the Surete Generale (Security Headquarters) in Beirut. So after I got my exit stamp cancelled – I had already officially left Lebanon-, which wasn’t easy either, and decided to head back home.
First, we decided to take a service taxi who wanted to find two more passengers - who we waited half an hour for, but never came, and all the while he also tried to make us pay their part of the trip as well-, we decided to start back on foot, and sure enough a minivan picked us up, took us to Chtoura where we boarded another bus, which took us back to Beirut.
When we entered the apartment, everyone was quite surprised, since they thought our trip to Syria was quite short. We soon explained the story, and I convinced Manu to go out with Justine and Jean Paul to a bar called Club 55 in Jemmayze.

That is, WALK to Jemmayze. Manu didn’t believe it could be done, and on our half hour walk, we did not see any other people walking on the streets. Not because it was dangerous, because the service taxis were too cheap to be walking on the street, usually 1500 or 2000 Libanese Lira, or $1-1.50. I had the chance to talk to Jean-Paul during our walk, and learned many interesting things on the Jesuit University in Beirut, the road dividing East- Christian- and West- Muslim- Beirut - which we were walking on -, uneventful social life in Kuwait, and how he was continuously mistaken for a Frenchman in Belgium.

On our way, we stopped to see a new sushi restaurant. At first I didn’t see the building, just a round, see-through cylinder the size of a truck. Then, I noticed that it was a large elevator, with two large couches and a coffee table, on its way up with a girl at the controls. We rode the elevator down, and it was then that I noticed that the whole restaurant was underground, structured in a circle around the elevator. Of course, like all chique restaurants in Beirut, it was full, but since we looked like tourists – at least I did- we could walk around and see it. After another quick ride, and a walk, we arrived at Club 55, where a full table of Manu’s co-workers and friends were already sitting at a table. We ordered our ten dollar cocktails –beers were 7, so there was no use in ordering them- , and talked, photographed and watched Jean-Paul perform his Scrat (the squirrel in the Ice Age movie) routine, and then left for home soon later, to get an early start for our trip to Tyre .

Tuesday night, after a last minute cancellation of one of Manu's roommate's birthday party, we decided to go out to Jemmaizeh anyways, since we were dressed up and ready to go. Jemmaizeh is a district of Beirut where there is a long street full of pubs, clubs and restaurants. After taking a "servis" a taxicab which picks up more than one group of passengers, continually honking to find new clients, we were let off near the Hariri mosque, and walked a few minues to Central, a restaurant and bar designed by a famous Lebanese architect. The building was a small, dilapidated abandoned church before its transformation , but only the outside walls hint to its' previous role as a place of worship. Now, there is a restaurant with very high ceilings on the ground floor and a large wine elevator where the altar used to be, and a bar on the top floor which can be reached through a nice elevator at the back. In the summer, on days with good weather, the roof of the bar - which looks like a long barrel from the inside - is removed, and reveals the beautiful view of the surrounding neighborhood. After staying at the bar for a while, and snacking on carrot slices dipped in lemon juice and worm-shaped chips, we received a call from one of Manu's Armenian-Lebanese friends, Shant, who was in a Armenian-Lebanese bar nearby. We walked for a few minutes through Jemmaize, and soon found Jayla bar. Inside the small but cozy bar, everyone was Armenian-Lebanese: The owner - a psychology student studying humor - studying, surfing and conversing all at the same time; Shant - who works with Manu, and also sings in a band -; Shant's friend who plays in the same band, and his girlfriend. We talked about the Armenians, that they curse in turkish, Lebanon, its' politics, Bulgaria, Hungary, their next concert, and much more!
The highlight of Wednesday was: Sushi! After Jamal collected Manu, Corinne and me, we headed off to Sushi wa, a sushi place that no-one really knew where to find. After looking for it for 20 minutes without luck, we tried another sushi place, which was full, and another one, also full, we headed back to find Sushi wa, and found it! After taking a look at the menu, we decided the cheapest solution was the biggest one: the party platter! Actually, this is only half of what we ate, we received another boat 10 minutes later and you can't see the 10 bowls of ginger either... Safe to say that the asian ladies preparing the sushi were quite amazed at the amount of sushi we ate!

We recently went shopping to Fared, a local supermarket for food. One of the surprises was that the leading tomato paste product was Arany Fácán –Golden Pheasant – from Hungary. There were even Lebanese knockoffs with the same logo, but English script which were made in Lebanon. There were also a few products with strange names. You can see some here, but go ahead and visit the Photo Gallery in the links on the right.

Sunday, we were invited for lunch to Manu’s “adopted family” Farida, George, and their daughters Joyce and Jessica. They live in a two story, 120 year old enormous house very close to Manu – which they just sold to a developer since it would have cost too much to renovate - . I ate lots of tasty dishes cooked by Farida: cutlets in a carrot sauce with puree, chicken in a white sauce with rice, mixed salad with lemon juice and olive oil dressing, and dessert with fresh fruit and flatbread with tahini spread (made of sesame seeds and honey! Mmmmmm!)
After lunch, we were dropped off with Manu at Manara (lighthouse) district and took a walk on the boardwalk in the Chamia district. Since it was Sunday, it was packed with people walking, smoking water pipes, riding bicycles, performing stunts on rollerblades, and enjoying the breeze from the sea. During our walk I also noticed Beirut is a lot more globalized than any other place I have been to yet – outside of the USA - . All makes and ages of cars can be found here, from the newest BMWs, Ferraris, and Porsches to the oldest Mercedes, Renaults, Oldsmobiles and Chevrolets and everything in between. Then, the restaurant chains: Burger King, McDonald’s, Hardees’s, Domino’s Pizza, Hard Rock Café, and Starbuck’s Coffee, to name a few. The only difference is that everyone here speaks at least three languages: Arabic, French and English…We then walked to Downtown Beirut, a part of the city that was completely destroyed during the civil war – some say on purpose – and rebuilt in an arabesque Ottoman and French colonial style. It kind of felt like Disneyland and there were also a few interesting product placements, like the Rolex clock tower at the center of the main square, and the Generali Insurance lion statue on one of the buildings…

Today, I spent mostly in bed, curing my cold, which seems to have become a sort of light flu. The first thing I noticed in the morning was the amount of continuous honking on the streets. During the day, observing the street from the balcony, I realized that this is due to the following things, resulting from the misconception that although the Lebanese really think they are the best drivers in the world - and will get really upset if you say otherwise - they simply don’t know how to drive:
1. They speed all the time without a reason, as if their life depended on getting to their destination as fast as possible, and beep at anyone who is driving slower in front of them¬;
2. They suddenly stop in the middle of the road, get out of the car and leave their car double parked, if they can, since everyone behind them starts honking until they give up on this idea, and speed away;
3. They try crazy maneuvers such as backing into the opposite lane from a side road, blocking both lanes of traffic, until the honking discourages them;
4. They ignore one-way signs, and then honk at each other when encountering oncoming traffic, until someone gives up.
All these situations result in continuous honking and beeping, additionally, the always-present taxis honk at passing pedestrians to advertise that they are free and can be hailed they have the idea that if they are in one of the ubiquitous traffic jams, honking will magically dispel the cars in front of them, and result in an open road. At night we were invited for dinner and I had my first traditional Lebanese meal –prepared by an Italian, Manu’s roommate Corinna - at the house of Jamal, a young professor, and the son of a Greek Orthodox politician of the Lebanese Communist Party. Wearing my Che T-shirt - suggested by Manu to please Jamal - we were picked up near our place with, Johan a French kid living here and his girlfriend Reema. We had a nice time, sitting in Jamal’s “arab room” on cushions, drinking Lebanese wine and chatting about various aspects of Lebanon and Capitalism.

I arrived in Beirut last night at 1AM, during a thunderstorm. Although I couldn’t hear the thunder inside the plane, I could definitely see the lightning and feel the shaking and bouncing of the plane quite well, and the large waves hitting the shoreline of the Beirut coast. As we finally landed on the runway, the plane was blown left and right a few times while decelerating, and eventually stopped. The landing wasn’t the scariest one I’ve experienced, but it was definitely in the top 5! After landing, I proceeded to passport control, where after a short wait while first one border guard, and then another scrutinized my passport for any Israeli stamps, let me in to get my bag, which amazingly arrived in one piece and unopened, and then out to the arrivals hall.
After meeting and greeting Manu, and a friend, George, we were quickly whisked away in a taxi, going at least 120km/h in the city towards downtown Beirut. Here George got off to go partying, and Manu and me were taken home to Fourn el Shebbak, where she lives.

So, I have come half-way, and currently sitting in the transit area of Kemal Atatürk International Airport, typing up a blog entry on Kinga’s borrowed laptop after finally finding an outlet and somewhere to sit next to it. My flight from Budapest was nice; it’s been a very long time since I’ve received a hot meal on such a short flight! I was a little late getting to the airport by public transport; fortunately Türk Hava Yollari was late as well, so there were no problems.
This is my first time at Istanbul’s airport, the last time I came by cruise ship, so I didn’t have a chance o see it, and I must say that I am quite impressed. I expected a crowded, small, unorganized, smoky, dirty and loud airport, and I got exactly the opposite. It is large and clean, has a lot of space, quiet –except for the occasional announcements – , adequate seating, no smoking – not even smoking rooms, as far as I can tell- and many stores and cafes. It also looks a lot safer; there are two security checks, one when entering the zone for ticketed passengers, and another one when entering the gate area, both with metal detectors and x-ray machines!

Alright, enough about the airport, let me tell you what I’m doing here. I am currently on my way to Beirut, Lebanon. “And why?” you might ask. “Why would you want to leave your cozy place in Budapest and instead of going to a sunny island in Italy, go to the Middle East, to a country full of terrorists, car bombs, and Israeli rockets?” Well, it’s all because of Amnesty International . Let me explain…
It all stared out sometime in 2004, my love, Manu, wanted to do something productive while she was in Hungary trying to find a job, so she started volunteering for Amnesty International, taking the train from Székesfehérvár to Budapest a few times a week to help at their Hungarian office. One thing led to another, she ended up the Director of the Board, and decided that she liked Human Rights so much that she wanted to get a Masters Degree in the subject. After spending six months in a classroom in Pisa, she had to decide where she will spend the six months of her internship. She did have other choices, but it is clear why she chose Beirut, when her other choices were Darfur and Somalia. And after almost being done with her time there, for my birthday on Friday the 13th of this month –some of you might remember ;) – she bought me a round-trip ticket to come visit her and go traveling together in Lebanon.
I have two and a half more hours until the next flight, so I will eat the last of my sandwiches with Medve sajt and Szalámi, it will be some time before I eat these delicacies again, but from what I hear from friends, I won’t be disappointed in Lebanese food…

Organizational Hierarchy