LETTER XXV: NEW EYES ON THE GROUND, PART II

March 2010

It was the Easter weekend. We shared that celebration with our friend from Amman, Frances Abouzeid, her husband Alexi, and their extended family in the mountains above Beirut. Midnight mass at a Maronite Church with Alexi leading the choir, and winking at us from the front. Frances' aunt was delighted that I sat there taking notes. "An American journalist!" She dragged me to see the priest. "She wrote that the altar boys wear sneakers! I have complained about this bad dress to you before." She was triumphant. Monsignor was patient. "Now the American sees it too!" She was also pleased that I appreciated the lilies she'd placed on the altar. They were just about to bloom, symbolizing the essence of Easter which is hope and rebirth -- not unlike Hajj, but without the Sanctus and the flowers.

Early on in my blog entries I wrote wide-eyed about Beirut. This time we went east to the Bekaa Valley. Conjuring memories of grit and fighting from the Lebanon Civil War and the Syrian occupation that followed in the eastern part (Israeli occupation in the south), the Bekaa was full of surprises. There are still checkpoints on the mountain crossings; there are tanks dead on the side of the road with sheep and goats grazing nearby.

A productive winery, Ksara, and lovely small towns with rushing streams and restaurants with rushing waiters dot the lush green valley. But Bekaa’s crowning vision is and has been for centuries, Baalbek.

Although its earliest settlement is not as old as our Petra (which dates back to Neolithic times), Baalbek boasts Middle Bronze Age inhabitants (1900-1600BC). Then came the waves of interested parties: Hebrews connected with King Solomon, the Phoenician masters of Syria, Greeks associated with Alexander, Ptolomaics of Egypt, and then in just barely BC, the great conquering Romans. Later come Arabs, Tartars and Turks. Then French, then … (see above)

But look at the size of these columns! How do they do it?

Is it good taste or gotta take over that has humans building their new cities on someone else’s old one? Maybe it’s the basic REA DNA – the real estate agent gene – that makes us see the one important factor: location, location, location.

They are all at Baalbek. The most magnificent remaining ruins of a monument -- to my eye is the remains -- of the Temple of Jupiter. But don't miss the Temple of Bacchus, either.

Alyce Faye, Peter, Katie and I enjoyed it all. Plus a four-hour fresh fish frenzy at Chez Sami in Juneih, on the Mediterranean coast just north of Beirut. And we visited again with Samia's family.

After Alyce Faye left Jordan we were our nuclear-family-minus-one in Amman.

It was quiet.

Except for the roosters.

LETTER XXIV: New Eyes On The Ground

March 2010

And then came Alyce Faye Eichelberger Cleese.

We are trustees of the Esalen Institute, and like rooming together at board meetings. Making connections between Jordan and California is not terribly difficult. Lots of golden, rolling hills that turn green with rain – and we had good rain here this winter. Hiking. Adventure trails. Desert. Good coffee. A penchant for kicking back. And natural hot springs. In fact Jordan is one of the few places in the world besides Esalen that boasts the coming together of the Earth’s three waters: salt water, fresh water, and hot springs.

There are big differences, too, of course. Most obvious is the absence of ocean. Our (very salty) Dead Sea (into which the hot springs and cold creeks run) has two visible shores and very little surf. No otters or whales or anything that breathes underwater.

And making me quite at home there’s a rooster on the Esalen campus in Big Sur, California, too. It doesn’t understand that the sun will come up with or without its crowing; it also crows throughout the night in hope. Alyce Faye and I grew to loathe the rooster since usually we were up late and wanted to squeeze in as many extra minutes of sleep as possible before our own early swim in the pool and mad, freezing cold dash to the hot tubs where we luxuriate before breakfast and hours of reports and spread sheets. We called the rooster “Cheney.”

Alyce Faye has a very good eye. Our favorite public beach at the Dead Sea looks like a five star resort.

My bedouin friends, Manal and her brother Ismail at Petra, made us tea on the high cliffs leading to the Deir (Monastery).

Not to mention visiting Samaher Khameis's special mosaic workshop in Madaba. Samaher teaches at the Institute for Mosaic Art and Restoration in Madaba. My short film on the Institute will be on YouTube soon.

And she didn't miss charming downtown Amman.

This was Alyce Faye's first visit to an Arabic-speaking nation; like most people who come here, she loved it. Ambassadors all of us, who return assuring Americans that it’s safe, friendly, respectful of women, respectful of people of varying faiths, easy to get around, visually compelling, and fun. Of course that sentence is laden with generalities, but generally they are true.

Anywhere we go the evil and nasty is an exception. Except, it seems, when we go to the front page of newspapers or to top-of-the-hour headline news. (Whoops! No offense to my dear friends in media who struggle to balance accuracy, information, commercial interests, subjectivity and good writing every day.)

Peter arrived while Alyce Faye was here and we all went to Lebanon.

SEE "NEW EYES" PART TWO.

Amman Four: 16 September 2009

This is how far I’ve come: I no longer set my alarm clock. I trust the rooster (whom I no longer call Cheney) to wake me for early breakfast. If I’m too groggy to get up when he crows I am certainly ready by the time the muezzen makes his first invitation.

One morning when I didn’t hear the rooster (or roosters – sometimes it sounds like there are either two of them or the one has an independent echo … sometimes the one is solo) I was concerned for his well-being. Had someone committed the act I’d been eager (in jest) to accomplish? Later that day I heard him again with relief.

All in16 short days.

It’s amazing to think we’ve been in our apartment for 16 days. It seems like forever and no time at all.

Our picked-up-off-the-street top of a rubber tree plant seems to be recovering in its new pot. The flowers we bought last week are beginning to bud.

5:00pm

This morning I met George David and Nada Doumani of the Royal Film Commission. Delightful conversation about their facility and projects and then a dreaming of the feature films that ought to be made: of Arab heros, the civilization of Al Andalus, the tragedy of 1492. George really liked the ideas about Granada. Now I’m thinking a three-part epic series: Gibraltar, 1492, and Leo the African. Nada knows Amin Maalouf and thinks he’d be happy to see his book made into a movie.

We made no agreements, no promises but to meet again. I hope to bring Peter and Katie to the film screenings they will host 28-29 September. There’s an Irish film festival 5-7 October. Maybe Peter and Kate will be interested in that, as well.

I also met with Chari Rassass, a colleague of Mark Tremblay’s at ABT. She’s working on the health system renovation project supported by USAID. A good human being through and through. Fasting in solidarity this Ramadan. Frustrated with “the good life” she sees in Jordan and a perceived lack of appreciation for the improvements brought about by this project – especially when compared to her recent experience in Yemen where there is, apparently, dire need. Yemen has about four times the population and about half the aid that Jordan gets. See: www.usaid.gov/policy/budget/cbj2010/2010_CBJ_Summary_Tables.pdf, and www.usaid.gov/locations/middle_east/countries/yemen). We may brainstorm together with her team looking for new ideas for integrating their work here in supporting families to have the number of children best for them.

Everywhere I turn I see a story to tell. From the big foreign aid debacles to the boys on the street selling bamboo. It's nice to know that the occupational norms of a journalist remain alive within.