Shāh Māt

What do you think?

Beirut Art Center, “Sexy Semites” ad in the Village Voice. It’s the next best thing since sliced flying pigs.

Arabic slips out occasionally, and sometimes the words are mine.

The sun is out and I am too. I’m squinting and smiling and admiring your crow’s feet. “Some kind of light is coming from her head.”

I’m still pissed off about Roman Polanski. And Arizona deserves to sleep on the couch.

Conversations at Cafe Younes, I will miss those. Starting to think about the things I’ll miss.

Went to Tripoli today.  Took a bus from Beirut for a dollar, driving along the water the entire way and thinking “If I lived here…” I was eating knafe two hours later. Passed the big mosque and a creepy garden next door. Reminded me that if I ever get married, it will be at the Enchanted Garden Chapel. Why do women still marry men?

I’ve been walking far and my feet are flatter than ever.

Language keeps on getting in the way, trouble conjugating verbs and people.

Walking along Nahr Ibrahim, in the mountains. The water was cold and my jeans are still damp. My lungs needed that hike.

3anjad my lungs can hike!

Journaling 4.2.10/4.4.10/4.5.10

Arrived in Syria, sitting in Damascus at a café. About to have Turkish coffee.  And orange juice. Staying at a palace (Nassan) in Old Damascus, Bab Sharqi, with a load of tourists coming through to take pictures every morning while I’m walking across the courtyard brushing my teeth. Last night, sat on the border for only two hours (WASTA). Gorgeous, Damascus is cleaner than Beirut and more quiet. No mopeds, bikes instead. Staying in Christian center of the city for Good Friday.  Palace is from 1640, there’s a club attached to the back.  Walked through the palace’s garage last night to get a gin and tonic.

Meaningful lyrics –>Weird like a bearded lady. Get the funk out my face.

Remember this from last week, that your liberation is bound up with mine.

Sitting in a church, Notre Dame of Damascus.  Today we went through the Hamadiya Souk, I did not find my lingerie but I did find ice cream and Hezbollah posters/wallets/t-shirts. About to celebrate Easter Syrian style… with music and crucifixion. I like this church and want to sit here longer, but we have to keep running through the city.

Umayyad mosque, Iranians crying and singing over the death of Hussein.  Kids spread out across the mosque’s floor, making a star shape with their bodies. I went to the wrong side, and these men are laughing at me.  But the sky here is big and blue.

“Hey! Charlie!” “blah blah blah (some stuff about the navy),” from a guy at the Syrian bus stop.  “Chalas!” I say. But we made friends after he quit yelling at me. I need to get out and see more of what’s around Lebanon. On Nick’s roof this morning,   Saluah holding Hezbollah decoration she bought in Hamadiya, explaining her friends’ response, “They just don’t get the kitschy aspect of Hezbollah!” Hassan’s beard.  Eating eggs and bread and drinking tea on Nick’s roof before I leave for Beirut. So much sun, so much more I will write about later.