Cappadocia
We thought it would be cold but it wasn't that cold
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Istanbul
I remember Istanbul like it was either two days ago or one month ago
I remember Istanbul like it was either two days ago or one month ago
Travel29
I bought this app for my IPod that stimulates brainwaves and aids relaxation by playing a combination of sounds overlapping each other. The one sound is natural or a facsimile of natural and is the bubbling brook or light rain or rain with thunder or waves gently crashing onto a shore. The second sound is an electronic hum and the result of hearing both these sounds at once which are massaging your brain in some way I do not understand is that you can ostensibly reach a deeper state of relaxation than you can without the aide.
As far as I know the app's real main purpose may be to brainwash me into buying more Apple products or Cheetoes or Milky Ways. It has at least as a white noise machine aided me into sleep a couple of times.
But here in Byblos, in this room anyhow, the machine is on all day. The waves are lapping the pebbled shore and the mechanics of the building, the room's small refrigerator compressor or the hot water heater kicking on act as the electronic hum. So that last night while deciding where to go and eat we both Bernadette and I went into some kind of trance which disallowed us from ever leaving the room at all. Instead we watched a couple of movies and fell asleep suffering only mildly the pangs of hunger.
This morning the waves are lapping still. But as a pretty desirable breakfast can be had just four floors below I think we will get quickly to our much needed food whether still in a deep hypnotized state or not. And yet the breakfast room also overlooks the water and those constant gently slowly rushing waves.
I bought this app for my IPod that stimulates brainwaves and aids relaxation by playing a combination of sounds overlapping each other. The one sound is natural or a facsimile of natural and is the bubbling brook or light rain or rain with thunder or waves gently crashing onto a shore. The second sound is an electronic hum and the result of hearing both these sounds at once which are massaging your brain in some way I do not understand is that you can ostensibly reach a deeper state of relaxation than you can without the aide.
As far as I know the app's real main purpose may be to brainwash me into buying more Apple products or Cheetoes or Milky Ways. It has at least as a white noise machine aided me into sleep a couple of times.
But here in Byblos, in this room anyhow, the machine is on all day. The waves are lapping the pebbled shore and the mechanics of the building, the room's small refrigerator compressor or the hot water heater kicking on act as the electronic hum. So that last night while deciding where to go and eat we both Bernadette and I went into some kind of trance which disallowed us from ever leaving the room at all. Instead we watched a couple of movies and fell asleep suffering only mildly the pangs of hunger.
This morning the waves are lapping still. But as a pretty desirable breakfast can be had just four floors below I think we will get quickly to our much needed food whether still in a deep hypnotized state or not. And yet the breakfast room also overlooks the water and those constant gently slowly rushing waves.
Travel27-2
But in the end despite not having enough time to really understand anything significant about Tripoli and some getting lost exposure to a type of ghetto with no particularly scary people but rather a landscape like a combination of several of my worst nightmares, I am rather drawn to Tripoli and Lebanon in general inasmuch as my limited experience will allow. We are in Byblos now, not too much grit here but a pretty fine sweeping view of the Mediterranean from our room. However, the roadblock on the highway between Tripoli and Byblos with it's serpentine of oversized metal jacks-like obstructions, which our cab driver was summarily waved through, tempers somewhat any purely romantic notions you may be able to have about this place. Still, I really do love it here, despite my inclination for criticism.
But in the end despite not having enough time to really understand anything significant about Tripoli and some getting lost exposure to a type of ghetto with no particularly scary people but rather a landscape like a combination of several of my worst nightmares, I am rather drawn to Tripoli and Lebanon in general inasmuch as my limited experience will allow. We are in Byblos now, not too much grit here but a pretty fine sweeping view of the Mediterranean from our room. However, the roadblock on the highway between Tripoli and Byblos with it's serpentine of oversized metal jacks-like obstructions, which our cab driver was summarily waved through, tempers somewhat any purely romantic notions you may be able to have about this place. Still, I really do love it here, despite my inclination for criticism.
Travel27
Perhaps to some the description of Tripoli as a "hellhole" would be granting it a kindness it does not deserve. Its recovery from the Civil War and subsequent explosions seems to be a more reticent one compared to Beirut. The bullet riddled buildings are still coated in grime, the school children I trailed behind on my early morning walk drop behind them in a sadly familiar fashion the candy wrappers and potato chip bags as soon as the last chip entered their mouths.
Perhaps to some the description of Tripoli as a "hellhole" would be granting it a kindness it does not deserve. Its recovery from the Civil War and subsequent explosions seems to be a more reticent one compared to Beirut. The bullet riddled buildings are still coated in grime, the school children I trailed behind on my early morning walk drop behind them in a sadly familiar fashion the candy wrappers and potato chip bags as soon as the last chip entered their mouths.
Travel26
With our vast accumulated wisdom we have upgraded to the VIP bus this time (the windows are cleaner for sure) and are now sitting, waiting in our slot for takeoff. For at least 24 more minutes. A beautiful clear day in Aleppo. The two buses next to us have taken off and now another has just pulled in. Buses from this station go to Istanbul, Tehran, Baghdad, Aman, Beirut and hopefully to our destination which is Tripoli.
Overall the hustling here in Syria was less demanding than in Turkey, although by number shoeshine boys per capita are about the same. Yesterday a boy from Charles Dickens central casting practically attached himself to Bernadette's leg in his attempt to convince her she needed a shine but later while I was out alone possibly the same boy (certainly one very like him) persisted beyond my initial ignoring of him only briefly before his 10 year old boss dragged him away. As I was at the time in a brief but very sincere sober contemplation about rates of monetary exchange perhaps the older boy recognized the emotion as one he himself faces and so gave me a pass on the hustling. We were however later kindly and politely hustled by a fluent english speaking Syrian Lothario who in the end only wasted slightly more than an hour of my time and only cost Bernadette sixty something American for the silver necklace he led us to deep in the souk.
The two Americans have been graced with good luck at both Syrian border crossings but whereas the one in was by private taxi and took ten minutes this one out is on the bus with forty others of varying nationality and well...now we are finally out in just under 2 hours. But as often can be the case it wasn't the Americans slowing things down for everybody at the border. Next stop a few minutes away, Tripoli, a reputed hell hole, but alas, where by paternal grandparentage, I am from.
With our vast accumulated wisdom we have upgraded to the VIP bus this time (the windows are cleaner for sure) and are now sitting, waiting in our slot for takeoff. For at least 24 more minutes. A beautiful clear day in Aleppo. The two buses next to us have taken off and now another has just pulled in. Buses from this station go to Istanbul, Tehran, Baghdad, Aman, Beirut and hopefully to our destination which is Tripoli.
Overall the hustling here in Syria was less demanding than in Turkey, although by number shoeshine boys per capita are about the same. Yesterday a boy from Charles Dickens central casting practically attached himself to Bernadette's leg in his attempt to convince her she needed a shine but later while I was out alone possibly the same boy (certainly one very like him) persisted beyond my initial ignoring of him only briefly before his 10 year old boss dragged him away. As I was at the time in a brief but very sincere sober contemplation about rates of monetary exchange perhaps the older boy recognized the emotion as one he himself faces and so gave me a pass on the hustling. We were however later kindly and politely hustled by a fluent english speaking Syrian Lothario who in the end only wasted slightly more than an hour of my time and only cost Bernadette sixty something American for the silver necklace he led us to deep in the souk.
The two Americans have been graced with good luck at both Syrian border crossings but whereas the one in was by private taxi and took ten minutes this one out is on the bus with forty others of varying nationality and well...now we are finally out in just under 2 hours. But as often can be the case it wasn't the Americans slowing things down for everybody at the border. Next stop a few minutes away, Tripoli, a reputed hell hole, but alas, where by paternal grandparentage, I am from.
Travel223
The only time I get to watch TV these days is on the bus from Damascus to Palmyra. We stayed at a very nice boutique hotel in Damscus, the Beit Rose, in the old town and even though you have to put your toilet paper in a trash can instead of down the crapper the accommodations and service were most agreeable. The toilet paper thing is not as bad as you would think, except perhaps for the housekeeper. I didn't tip her enough for that but hopefully the fresh picked Lebanese orange, the delicious banana from last night's fruit plate and the complimentary travel bag from Turkish Air left behind in addition to the small change will relay to her our best intentions. This high fiber Middle Eastern diet is very friendly to one's colon
I thought we were watching on this bus to Palmyra something like the A Team in Arabia but maybe the show changed while I was focused on writing this because the tinny speaker over my head was just now briefly playing some little Michael Jackson riff. In the back of this bus of Syrian's and maybe a Jordanian or two and some Bedouins we are two Americans, three French, and one young Japanese.
Palmyra ostensibly had some kind of temple here before the Romans came and added their distinctive flavor all spread over an area of a few hundred acres at least. Bedouins on 125 cc 40 year old motorcycles zig zag along the pathways offering rides to the further reaches for a fee or extending arms covered in inexpensive beads and with refreshing humor hounding Bernadette and I until I bought not once but twice from him. Those first ones were just glass and plastic he confessd to me. I like plastic and glass I said and after he had hoisted upon me three more "valuable" necklaces to add to the three previous cheap ones bought earlier, and a thrown in hematite necklace and a small silver camel all for only 1000 Syrian pounds (about 20 bucks) I told him ok my friend we have done good business here today but if I see you again before we leave here today I am going run away from you as fast as I can and then showed to his smiling face an example of my speed.
something crawled up inside me and died yeaterday evening so I slept little and feel a liitle upset in the stomach this morning. I told Bernadette to go off to the Tombs without me then I will join her and our hired driver for a visit to the castle above Palymra and then we will venture more into the dessert on thus rainy day, towards Iraq a bit and then north, stopping at a couple of dead cities on the way before bedding down for the next couple of days in Aleppo.
The only time I get to watch TV these days is on the bus from Damascus to Palmyra. We stayed at a very nice boutique hotel in Damscus, the Beit Rose, in the old town and even though you have to put your toilet paper in a trash can instead of down the crapper the accommodations and service were most agreeable. The toilet paper thing is not as bad as you would think, except perhaps for the housekeeper. I didn't tip her enough for that but hopefully the fresh picked Lebanese orange, the delicious banana from last night's fruit plate and the complimentary travel bag from Turkish Air left behind in addition to the small change will relay to her our best intentions. This high fiber Middle Eastern diet is very friendly to one's colon
I thought we were watching on this bus to Palmyra something like the A Team in Arabia but maybe the show changed while I was focused on writing this because the tinny speaker over my head was just now briefly playing some little Michael Jackson riff. In the back of this bus of Syrian's and maybe a Jordanian or two and some Bedouins we are two Americans, three French, and one young Japanese.
Palmyra ostensibly had some kind of temple here before the Romans came and added their distinctive flavor all spread over an area of a few hundred acres at least. Bedouins on 125 cc 40 year old motorcycles zig zag along the pathways offering rides to the further reaches for a fee or extending arms covered in inexpensive beads and with refreshing humor hounding Bernadette and I until I bought not once but twice from him. Those first ones were just glass and plastic he confessd to me. I like plastic and glass I said and after he had hoisted upon me three more "valuable" necklaces to add to the three previous cheap ones bought earlier, and a thrown in hematite necklace and a small silver camel all for only 1000 Syrian pounds (about 20 bucks) I told him ok my friend we have done good business here today but if I see you again before we leave here today I am going run away from you as fast as I can and then showed to his smiling face an example of my speed.
something crawled up inside me and died yeaterday evening so I slept little and feel a liitle upset in the stomach this morning. I told Bernadette to go off to the Tombs without me then I will join her and our hired driver for a visit to the castle above Palymra and then we will venture more into the dessert on thus rainy day, towards Iraq a bit and then north, stopping at a couple of dead cities on the way before bedding down for the next couple of days in Aleppo.
Travel131
The cab driver Abu Ali drove us to Tyre (Tyr, Sur, Sour) yesterday, from whose beaches you can see Israel (according to the preamble of the guy on the beach trying to sell me fake artifacts after pointing towards Egypt across the sea and at Palestine as the middle of the visible land mass jutting distantly to the left), and we saw more archeology (Tyre dates back to 2750BC), wound our way through clean narrow streets or alleyways where open doors gave view into small tidy homes, briefly through a souk (outdoor yet often covered market) which for me exuded more exotic visual flavor than anything previously seen on this trip. When at the marina it began raining we were called over to the small corner shop/living room of a Christian fisherman and told to sit down. I saw bottles of whisky on his shelf and ordered a neat Dewars (back in Beirut in the hotel room we are drinking at the end of each day duty free Johnnie Walker Green Label). Bernadette ordered an espresso but the fisherman's espresso machine, such as it was, did not cooperate so she had a tea. The fisherman laid out olives and some packaged pita bread on the table. When it was time to go he charged us 10,000LBP (about $6.50) but I did not have a 10,000 note so he took my 20,000 note and offered no change. I was ok with it. The olives were very good.
Abu Ali was waiting for us in his red 75 Mercedes near the Al-Mina site. Today we are in a mid 70s Chevrolet Caprice Classic, driver's name unknown, veering around and in between cars on the mountain road 40 minutes east of Beirut, snow coming down, visibility a liitle better than zero. We just made a pit stop at a roadside store. The driver bought us espressos and introduced us to a money changer. We traded forty American into Syrian Pounds just to have some get started money.
We are headed into Damascus. The driver is making his fourth stop. At a bakery this time. We just stay in the car. The driver comes back and gives to Bernadette a handful of baked crunchy bread nuggets with sesame seeds and a hint of cinnamon sugar. Now he is smoking, the window barely cracked. There is a lot of smoking in Lebanon.
In Beirut you need not look for cabs because they look for you. As obvious as we are as tourists we get honked at a lot, just a short beep, not really too obnoxious. And at corners the drivers solicit you but also not in annoying fashion. Unlike the brazen touting in Turkey, especially at Istanbul's Grand Bazaar, where the hey look at my rugs, what I'm selling etc. can seem until calluses form hurtful and punishing.
But the Tyre day we had a plan which was to catch a cab to the Cola transport hub and then a bus to Tyre for maybe thirty bucks round trip. So we headed right out the hotel door and to the first guy waiting at the corner hailing us for his cab we said yes and got in. Our hotel had told us maybe 120 round trip by private taxi so when Abu Ali hearing of our bus plan quoted us 80 and said--good deal, good deal, we knew he wasn't just whistling something a Muslim might whistle. So that is how he became our driver and somewhat tour guide.
We did not ask him to take us to the Al-Bass archaeological site, he just took us there, and then to the Al-Mina, and then he parked and waited while we toured the old part of town for a long hour and then to a fish house across the street from the Sea Castle (Crusaders) in Sidon on the way back to Beirut, about a six hour commitment to us altogether.
We had Al-Bass mostly to ourselves. It is a quite expansive site. It is bordered on one side by a Palestinian refugee camp. At some point not ten minutes in to roaming around these three young boys, Palestinian, about ten to twelve years old sneak up on us all frieidly like so I just sort of motioned at my camera and they jumped right to posing. They asked Bernadette her name and she told them and the ask her my name and she told them, so I became Jeem, their English most rudimentary yet far exceeding our Arabic. In all there were maybe ten boys and I took a few shots of them climbing on the ruins ( or maybe I pointed to the ruins I wanted them to climb on until they quickly took to my suggestions. The boys were under the tutelage of some Muslim scholars, one of whom spoke English and let us know they were doing the Lord Allahs work by trying to teach the boys the lessons of the Koran. The boys were just having fun which I am sure Allah does not object to. We got back to Abu Ali without taking a proper look at the world class hippodrome but got a gander of it on the distance as the Palestinian boys raced off towards it.
The cab driver Abu Ali drove us to Tyre (Tyr, Sur, Sour) yesterday, from whose beaches you can see Israel (according to the preamble of the guy on the beach trying to sell me fake artifacts after pointing towards Egypt across the sea and at Palestine as the middle of the visible land mass jutting distantly to the left), and we saw more archeology (Tyre dates back to 2750BC), wound our way through clean narrow streets or alleyways where open doors gave view into small tidy homes, briefly through a souk (outdoor yet often covered market) which for me exuded more exotic visual flavor than anything previously seen on this trip. When at the marina it began raining we were called over to the small corner shop/living room of a Christian fisherman and told to sit down. I saw bottles of whisky on his shelf and ordered a neat Dewars (back in Beirut in the hotel room we are drinking at the end of each day duty free Johnnie Walker Green Label). Bernadette ordered an espresso but the fisherman's espresso machine, such as it was, did not cooperate so she had a tea. The fisherman laid out olives and some packaged pita bread on the table. When it was time to go he charged us 10,000LBP (about $6.50) but I did not have a 10,000 note so he took my 20,000 note and offered no change. I was ok with it. The olives were very good.
Abu Ali was waiting for us in his red 75 Mercedes near the Al-Mina site. Today we are in a mid 70s Chevrolet Caprice Classic, driver's name unknown, veering around and in between cars on the mountain road 40 minutes east of Beirut, snow coming down, visibility a liitle better than zero. We just made a pit stop at a roadside store. The driver bought us espressos and introduced us to a money changer. We traded forty American into Syrian Pounds just to have some get started money.
We are headed into Damascus. The driver is making his fourth stop. At a bakery this time. We just stay in the car. The driver comes back and gives to Bernadette a handful of baked crunchy bread nuggets with sesame seeds and a hint of cinnamon sugar. Now he is smoking, the window barely cracked. There is a lot of smoking in Lebanon.
In Beirut you need not look for cabs because they look for you. As obvious as we are as tourists we get honked at a lot, just a short beep, not really too obnoxious. And at corners the drivers solicit you but also not in annoying fashion. Unlike the brazen touting in Turkey, especially at Istanbul's Grand Bazaar, where the hey look at my rugs, what I'm selling etc. can seem until calluses form hurtful and punishing.
But the Tyre day we had a plan which was to catch a cab to the Cola transport hub and then a bus to Tyre for maybe thirty bucks round trip. So we headed right out the hotel door and to the first guy waiting at the corner hailing us for his cab we said yes and got in. Our hotel had told us maybe 120 round trip by private taxi so when Abu Ali hearing of our bus plan quoted us 80 and said--good deal, good deal, we knew he wasn't just whistling something a Muslim might whistle. So that is how he became our driver and somewhat tour guide.
We did not ask him to take us to the Al-Bass archaeological site, he just took us there, and then to the Al-Mina, and then he parked and waited while we toured the old part of town for a long hour and then to a fish house across the street from the Sea Castle (Crusaders) in Sidon on the way back to Beirut, about a six hour commitment to us altogether.
We had Al-Bass mostly to ourselves. It is a quite expansive site. It is bordered on one side by a Palestinian refugee camp. At some point not ten minutes in to roaming around these three young boys, Palestinian, about ten to twelve years old sneak up on us all frieidly like so I just sort of motioned at my camera and they jumped right to posing. They asked Bernadette her name and she told them and the ask her my name and she told them, so I became Jeem, their English most rudimentary yet far exceeding our Arabic. In all there were maybe ten boys and I took a few shots of them climbing on the ruins ( or maybe I pointed to the ruins I wanted them to climb on until they quickly took to my suggestions. The boys were under the tutelage of some Muslim scholars, one of whom spoke English and let us know they were doing the Lord Allahs work by trying to teach the boys the lessons of the Koran. The boys were just having fun which I am sure Allah does not object to. We got back to Abu Ali without taking a proper look at the world class hippodrome but got a gander of it on the distance as the Palestinian boys raced off towards it.
Travel129
We are the two American tourists in Beirut traversing the city on foot. There is a building boom here on a scale I have seen in few American cities. Everywhere we walk the most noticeable activity is the moving crane. It would appear at this point that no one here will accept less than forward progress. Sunni, Shia, Christian, also now apparently Syria as an entity distinct if not separate from their known platform as Hezbollah supporters, and the non-believers alike all have enough mortar pockmarked ruins to gaze upon to last them a lifetime and certainly enough to last them more than 15 years if you are clocking from the end of the Civil War, please don't even mention the last Israeli trespass in 2006.
From nightclub to restaurant to corner store the focus seems to be business as usual, let us know when you get that government thing straightened out. If there is some sort of domino thing going on in Northern Africa it would appear not exactly pertinent to life in Beirut, isolated minor riotous acts notwithstanding.
A local artist tells us "well maybe a few more tanks" (than usual) but the mood of the army men on the street here seems one of slightly lessened alert, almost as if the turmoil in Egypt is decreasing the intensity of the crisis here rather than exacerbating it. The army men seem curious about us, not that we as American tourists are so rare, yet at the same time I'm not seeing so many of us. We are off season. Did I mention the weather here in Beirut January is perfect. And they have Cheetoes. Oh I could winter in Beirut. Thank God, peace be upon Him, for Lebanon.
Bernadette and I hope to get down to Tyre tomorrow.
We are the two American tourists in Beirut traversing the city on foot. There is a building boom here on a scale I have seen in few American cities. Everywhere we walk the most noticeable activity is the moving crane. It would appear at this point that no one here will accept less than forward progress. Sunni, Shia, Christian, also now apparently Syria as an entity distinct if not separate from their known platform as Hezbollah supporters, and the non-believers alike all have enough mortar pockmarked ruins to gaze upon to last them a lifetime and certainly enough to last them more than 15 years if you are clocking from the end of the Civil War, please don't even mention the last Israeli trespass in 2006.
From nightclub to restaurant to corner store the focus seems to be business as usual, let us know when you get that government thing straightened out. If there is some sort of domino thing going on in Northern Africa it would appear not exactly pertinent to life in Beirut, isolated minor riotous acts notwithstanding.
A local artist tells us "well maybe a few more tanks" (than usual) but the mood of the army men on the street here seems one of slightly lessened alert, almost as if the turmoil in Egypt is decreasing the intensity of the crisis here rather than exacerbating it. The army men seem curious about us, not that we as American tourists are so rare, yet at the same time I'm not seeing so many of us. We are off season. Did I mention the weather here in Beirut January is perfect. And they have Cheetoes. Oh I could winter in Beirut. Thank God, peace be upon Him, for Lebanon.
Bernadette and I hope to get down to Tyre tomorrow.
Travel127
You would think considering we do nothing all day but sleep late and walk around looking at stuff and eat followed shortly after by planning what next to eat that I would have time to write something but no. We like this Babel cafe for Internet and friendly host and groovy music and that is where we are now waiting for a small mezze plate whle drinking the local beer, Efes. Demon took off for Paris this morning and Bernadette and I are a couple of hours away from catching the airport bus and then off to Beirut. I am happy being here in Istanbul and I am happy to finally be getting to Lebanon.
You would think considering we do nothing all day but sleep late and walk around looking at stuff and eat followed shortly after by planning what next to eat that I would have time to write something but no. We like this Babel cafe for Internet and friendly host and groovy music and that is where we are now waiting for a small mezze plate whle drinking the local beer, Efes. Demon took off for Paris this morning and Bernadette and I are a couple of hours away from catching the airport bus and then off to Beirut. I am happy being here in Istanbul and I am happy to finally be getting to Lebanon.