Is this really a question?

I'm sitting on my couch flipping channels and just landed on the democratic debate. It was a toss-up between watching that and The True Hollywood Story of Sex and the City, but then I was fortunate enough to catch Wolf Blitzer ask the question, "Are Human Rights more important than American national security?"

Richardson - "human rights are important" blah blah blah

Osama Obama - "the two go hand-in-hand, one is not sacrificed at the mercy of the other..." and just as he's about to explain the characteristics the U.S. needs to protray to the world, he's cut off by a commercial for Sony flat screen tv's

Billary Clinton - "national security trumps human rights because the first obligation of the president of the u.s. is to protect the security of the u.s. although that doesn't mean we should neglect our interests elsewhere..."

Is this really a question?

I enjoy that the moderator is the highly enlightened Wolf Blitzer from CNN, the most trusted name in news. And it's nice to see questions being asked by John Roberts, formerly known as J.D. Roberts, master VJ of muchmusic back in the 80s when it was kind of a cool show to watch. You've come a long way, baby.

Not So Different?

Just got back from Fort Lauderdale, Florida, after spending a week down there with family. It was a balmy 90 degrees and sunny everyday except for yesterday, very unlike Vancouver. I was there for Stephen Colbert's big announcement although it didn't seem to rock any boats down there. Of course we were with a lot of senior citizens who were more intent on floating in the pool or winning blackout bingo.

Differences between here and Canada: the huge, flatscreen television in the registration area was showing a Joel Osteen sermon, yes, in a very public place. Can't see that happening up here because it might offend someone's senses, although I do find Joel Osteen offensive anyway. And one day when I was out in the pool the staff were piping another Southern Baptist style sermon through the P.A. system. Again, that would never happen here. It felt more like being back in Syria, or any other country in the Middle East for that matter. No matter where you were - on transit, in the market, in a shop or restaurant - there would be some Quranic sermon blasting from somewhere.

The biggest similarity between here and there, the value of the dollar, for which the whole family is very grateful.

Marion Jones

I was watching the news last night and all the coverage of Marion Jones's confession to misleading the FBI and oh, the rest of the world, about her steriod use. She apologized to everyone because her lying caused us all "hurt and pain". I feel neither hurt nor pain for what she did. What I do feel is a lot of cynicism about athletes and their performances.

Right now I'm watching the track and field championships in Stuttgart on the TV and I am constantly amazed at how our bodies are formed and the lengths to which they can go. For me, that celebration is enough, to watch people push their bodies to the limit and do amazing things.

In some ways I don't care if people want to inject themselves with whatever to go higher and faster, you hurt yourself and assume the risk. What I do hate is the lying that goes along with it. When Florence Griffith Joyner died a few years ago at the age of 38, some of those close to her said the world shouldn't be asking if she had ever taken drugs, her legacy spoke for her character and determination. But a heart seizure at 38? Besides, she had always tested negative for steriods, but then again so did Marion Jones.

So finally Marion has come clean, now I'm just waiting for Carl Lewis and Lance.

Mother & Daughter Fingers

Read this story from the Prince George Citizen:




HATCHET JOB
Mom, daughter injured in separate mishaps
(Top Stories) Friday, 21 September 2007, 04:00 PST
BERNICE TRICK Citizen staff

Nellie Lefebrve, left and her daughter Corinna show the hatchet that injured their fingers while cutting kindling. (Citizen photo by David Mah) A Prince George mother and daughter, who were determined to drive the autumn chill from the house, both ended up chopping their fingers with the same hatchet Tuesday.

"A silly thing happened at my house," Nellie Lefebvre said.

"When I was out in the garage chopping kindling to light the fire in my insert, I missed, and I cut my left index finger badly. I drove myself to the hospital. It bled a lot like a gusher. They couldn't stitch it because of nerve damage, but they glued and bandaged it.

When Nellie was at work the same afternoon, she received a call from her adult daughter, Corinna, who lives with her.

"Mom, I went out to cut some kindling to start the fire so you wouldn't have to, and I missed and chopped my finger," the 32-year-old told her mother.

A neighbour drove Corinna to Prince George Regional Hospital to deal with her right index finger that was also gushing blood.

"Darn those hatchets anyhow," said the medical person caring for a second family member in one day.

Nellie said now she and Corinna are trying to decide whether to frame the hatchet or throw it away.

"I wonder what the odds are of two family members --one left-handed and one right-handed-- cutting index fingers with the same hatchet on the same day," said Nellie.

Superglue

You know how those superglue bottles come with warnings about skin sticking on contact? It's true. Missing chunks of fingers this morning.

Free Stuff

So there's this thing about getting free stuff off Craigslist or other places in general. For example, the free TV stand I got from the "nice" lady? She told me when I got it that it was missing 'a screw.' 'A screw' in her mind meant all the hardware, instructions, and legs. Who steals legs from a TV stand? It's now in the dumpster and I reclaimed my old TV stand from my brother, so basically I still ended up with a free item.

The free 27" screen TV I got in the back alley? It decides when it turns itself off, which seems to be after about 1 1/2 hours when it overheats. The weird thing is it stayed on for all of "Children of Men", a movie so boring and flat that I wouldn't have minded if the TV had shut down in the middle of it. Why did people say that movie was so good? Did they watch it? They're probably the same ones who also thought "Babel" was amazing. What a tedious, stereotyping, redundant flick. It felt like the whole movie was an excuse to exercise the director's dream of slapping a full-frontal nude Japanese girl up on screen. It still doesn't make sense to me how she fit in, and no, it's not because I'm cinematically challenged.

Whatever. The point of this entry is to talk about free stuff. And I must say that I am relieved to be released from the bond of Craigslist. I am happily moved into my apartment and have no further need of other people's stuff.

$1500 Challenge

Where have I been these past few weeks? Getting ready to move into my new apartment. Yes, it takes that long since I set myself a goal with the intent of saving money but also proving you don't have to spend a lot to get something that looks decent.

When I moved away from Toronto last summer, I sold all the furniture I had and almost everything in the kitchen. I thought I'd be overseas for much longer than I was so it seemed like the smart thing to do. Now I'm home and have to start all over again. So I set myself a limit of $1500 to get the whole apartment furnished and decked out to look like a professional something lives there and not a student, no futons to be seen.

In case you're wondering how this is possible, here are a few ways I saved money:
1. accepted gifts from family, like bed and dvd player
2. designed my own furniture and got my dad to build it (which he loves doing, btw)
3. scowered craigslist for cheap and free stuff. Two big finds: a 27" tv with amazing colour and picture that I got out of a back alley, and a chest of drawers someone tossed on the front lawn. I also scored a free tv stand from some lovely woman who said it was easier to give stuff away than to sell it
4. I'm having a shower instead of a birthday party this weekend. People seem to like that I've 'registered' at Superstore. I'll try anything PC except the beer.

Hints:
1. If you design a coffee table, don't do something with glass - it jacks the price up considerably no matter how cheap you try to go
2. Stain sucks. Go with paint and avoid the headache from fumes and frustration

Of course this is not easy and I've almost killed myself with all the projects I took on to meet my goal, but it's looking good and at this point I've got $30 in change leading up to Saturday's big paint/move. I have to break the budget since I'm painting the whole place but I will not go over by more than $200, my conservative estimate.

I'm tired and just want to be done all of this, and I'm really hoping it was all worth it.

Meaningful Lyrics

I'm watching Much Less Music right now and a retrospective on that popular mega band of the 80's, Def Leppard. I can't count how many of their songs are written without the benefit of an editor or speaker of common sense English, and I am stumped at the meaning of 'Armageddon It'. I think it means 'Giv 'er' or 'Punch me in the face'.

But their brilliance doesn't stop there, check out these lyrics and guess the title of this song:

Make love/like a man/I'm a man/That's what I am (oh wait, on second thought, what am I?)
You want it/I'm the one/I got it/I'm Mr. Fun
You need it/I'm Captain Cool

Mmmmmm, sign me up for that dating service, please.

Verbing

I am distressed by the number of new verbs that are appearing in the English language. The most offensive to date would have to be "scrapbooking." Consider this dialogue:

A: Hey, wanna go out for dinner tonight and then catch a movie?
B: I'd love to, but I've already got plans.
A: Oh yeah, what you up to?
B: I'm scrapbooking.
A: Hmmm. What's that?
B: You know, scrapbooking!! Putting photos and my own unique drawings in a scrapbook.

Du-umb. Why don't we just call it 'artsing and craftsing'? Equally stupid but I haven't heard anyone saying that just yet.

And I'm busy this weekend in case anyone calls. I'll be cerealing, then later on I'll be pantsing, and then by the end of the day I'll be pyjamaing.

No SUVs Please

After last week's attempt to blow up the airport in Glasgow, I wonder what extreme measures airports in The West will take to avoid such further attempts. I'll bet they ban people arriving at the airport in SUVs because those SUVs might be loaded with explosives. If terrorists did that before, they are probably uninventive and bored enough to try doing the same thing again.

I loved the shoe bomber guy from a couple years back. He tried lighting his shoes up to take the plane down, so it follows that we all have to remove our shoes at the airpot now because hey, we saw him try it, why don't we give it a shot?

When I was flying back to Vancouver from Toronto a few weeks ago, the screener guy tried to take my bottle of suntan lotion out of my carry-on because the bottle could hold more than 100ml. I asked him to shake it around and tell me if more than 100ml was actually in there because I had been using it. He let me take it on the plane.

Contrast this with airport security in Damascus and Abu Dhabi where it took less than 10 seconds to clear the gates. No dusting of my laptop, no removal of shoes, belt, underwire bra. In Damascus the security guy did remove the batteries from my camera and put them in a separate part of my purse than the camera LIKE I'M NOT GOING TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO REUNITE THEM. And as I was passing the screener guy in Abu Dhabi, I did notice that he was actively picking his nose and looking everywhere but the x-ray screen. OK, I'm cool with that, he's probably been doing this for awhile and has an idea of what he's about. And it is pretty funny watching a guy pick his nose with that much vigour in public. Then vigilante passenger dude passes through security and sees what I see except he gets his knickers all in a knot. He takes it upon himself to stand in the middle of a very busy and crowded gate to make loud 'guffaws' and 'what the?????s' before calling over a security guard to complain and criticize the apparent lack of concern Abu Dhabi has for our personal safety. I felt like knocking him on the head and telling him that 200 people might watch him raise a ruckus, freak out and start a bigger one. And it takes forever to clear security in Heathrow, a royal pain in the ass, so why not thank your lucky stars that finally you don't have to strip, open all your carry-on junk just to repack it, eat your deoderant sticks and drink your contact solution?

And guess what??? None of these planes fell out of the sky!!!!!!!!!

All this is to say that people in the west are learning how to live in a perpetually paranoid state about airline travel and personal safety. I do not claim to know anything at all about how airport security is handled from country to country, but it looks like in the past few years any new security measures appear to be largely reactionary instead of prevention-ary (is that even a word?) That is why I recommend no more SUVs within 1000m of an airport.

P.S. Why didn't they think of backing a Pinto up into the airport at full speed instead?

P.S.2 And what's up with plastic knives and metal forks? I can't hurt you by repeatedly poking you in the eye with my metal fork??

Hunting

Everyone knows that the job hunt is a demoralizing, debilitating experience. I've given myself what I assume to be a reasonable timeline of finding a job by the end of August. I've watched my friends do all the same things - send out resumes and letters, wait for responses - and then follow the same psychological patterns. Day one they are hopeful and know that everyone wants them, by day two they're depressed and feel stupid and worthless. Day three means you've given up hope of ever being employed and make plans to live in a box under a bridge somewhere. Day four you consider McDonald's.

All my friends are employed despite this process so why do I feel like I'm going to be the odd one out, the one who actually makes it to fry-guy status? Big sigh.

Noticing Things

I'm always curious as to how I'll view my country/people when I get back after an extended absence. Maybe this last absence wasn't so long, nothing's really changed, people look and act the same. The one thing I do see now though is how many women are bursting out of their shirts. I was sitting on Bloor and Yonge the other day, having my hotdog and people watching. Couldn't keep count of all the boobs I was seeing in almost all their splendor. This was around 4:30pm, end of the workday. I don't think I'm a prude but come on, is that what you wear to work? I'm assuming many of the women I saw are quite intelligent and could easily trade on their brains yet they insist in cashing in on their boobies.

It reminds me of an episode in "Cheers" when a bunch of guys showed up in Boston from their country where women walked around virtually naked. They were so excited to meet Rebecca because she wore clothes. Extreme, yes, but sometimes I think there must be some guys out there who wouldn't mind seeing a turtleneck occasionally.

A Day in the South

Yesterday we went to Bosra in the south of Syria, an ancient Roman town and theatre. It was lovely, the air was fresh and clean, and the temperature was a delightful 28 degrees. We then hopped into a microbus to go to the town of Dara where a friend's friend picked us up for a tour of the region.

We went to the Yarmuke River, site of an ancient battle, and looked across to Jordan and Israel, just a few miles away.

Next we headed to a man-made lake where young boys jumped in and went for a swim while a younger boy took his pet cow on a leash for a drink (sorry, true but connection is too slow to upload pictures and verify).

Then it was off to another lake where families were rowing about in small boats. Other families were playing drums, clapping, and singing. Smells from the barbecue wafted in the breeze. A bedouin girl cruised the crowds asking for money. She liked my nosering, she was wearing one just like it.

Two motorcycles bumped into each other head on and the men driving them got off to have a go at one another. They had just gotten each other into headlocks when police sirens were going off. And then, a foal ran by. I turned around to see a man sitting on a white horse in the lake. I was confused.

We got back in the truck and stopped for cotton candy. The ice cream truck man was sitting there in his truck, not waiting to sell ice cream but sitting there to watch us eat cotton candy. The ice cream truck music was creepy, it helped to explain all the horses.

Change in My Pocket

I'm buying gifts for family and friends right now and have been hit with raging PMS. This is useful when going into the souqs and having to bargain for good prices. For those of you who know what I'm like during this time of the month, it should come as no surprise that I got everything I wanted for the price I wanted. They didn't stand a chance.

Is It Safe Yet?

The biggest problem with living in Syria was that I was muzzled from commenting on anything political, muzzled because I wanted to stay and check it out without getting kicked out. But now that I'm out of the country I've finally got my tongue back.

Last month the country had an election, or rather, a referendum. About 4 weeks earlier there was a first election where civic officials, ministers, and the current president were voted in for another 7 year term. So the referendum was something like this: Do you want the president to stay president for the next 7 years? Answer: Yes or No

The week before the referendum all these tents appeared around the city and every night there was a party. Free t-shirts, coffee, marches, banners, dancing, lots of music pumped out of crappy speakers, road jams everywhere. One song went something to the effect of, 'Save our president and Nasrallah, too.' Then the election/referendum. The vote was almost unanimous, 97.4% said yes. Now I heard that seven years ago the vote was 99%, so where did those 1.6% yessers go? Everyone who voted got a free candy. You also had the option of voting in blood.

To celebrate the "victory" there was another week of partying following the referendum. The same crazy gigs going on around the city, songs, dancing, etc. I got stopped by the police at one of the marches because I was writing 'something'. They tried to read my writing - English speakers can't even read it so how could these guys? I was allowed to go and so I did because the march was boring. But it is fun seeing fireworks every night, fired off by two-year olds unattended by their parents.

There are lots of billboards with pictures of different people and English slogans, things like, "I believe in equality", "I believe in freedom", "I believe in children". Then a picture of the president beside all of them, "I believe in Syria." I think his phrase should be prefaced with, "Yeah? Well fuck you! I believe in Syria!" Having said that, I do think he is a decent guy and even though his hands are severely tied by his cabinet, the country could do much, much worse.

I think our Prime Minister could use this P.R. engine, it's simply amazing at how much support you can get for the only contender.

Iraq

OK, so I didn't really get into Iraq but that wasn't for lack of trying. I was with some Iraqi friends yesterday who had to cross the Iraqi border to get a stamp to re-enter Syria with permission to stay for another month. They continued on past the Syrian border on a charter bus without me and I stayed behind with one of the Palestinian bus drivers. He tried his best to help me cross No-Man's Land, taking me to the general having his morning breakfast in his undershirt. The nice general told me to get lost as did the other immigration officials. The Iraqi major was the nicest of all telling me 'Next time' as he headed back to Iraq with two security guys in bulletproof vests and a truckload of Iraqis returning to their hellhole.

Nevertheless, the experience was good, if not for the adventure then for seeing how these people are trying to cope and struggle from day-to-day, forced to flee from their country and having to fight for rights in the only one that will give them refuge. Right in the middle of No-Man's Land is a camp of displaced Iraqi-Palestinians. There have to be more than 2000 people living in tents right now, stuck in the middle of nowhere with no resources. I'm not sure how they get their food and other sustainables but I think it needs to be brought in by groups passing between the two borders. It makes me appreciate how incredibly easy we have it in Canada. There is also a military training base beside the border so as my new buddy and I were walking around you could here them exploding bombs on the other side of the security fence. This is the farthest thing from my Mennonite upbringing, really.

My Students

Now that I'm an English teacher I suppose I need to share a few of the gems my students hit me with. (Note: they are all older than 18)

Two days ago we're practicing some reading and they have a hard time pronouncing 'suggested'. So I suggest to them before they fall asleep that night they should say 'suggested suggested suggested' and make the word their own.

I've also told them to stop calling me 'Teacher' and to call me Alison instead. This is difficult for them since they have always been taught to respect authority (notice I do not say elders). So one of the guys who believes himself to be the hottest thing on the planet is calling me over to ask a question. He says 'Teacher' so I ignore him but he keeps trying anyway. Finally I turn around and ask what my name is. He gets this smile on his face and says, "Tonight before I fall asleep, I'll say 'Alison Alison Alison', and then I'll never forget it." Gag.

To all you teachers out there, does this ever happen to you???

Canadian Girl Missing in Syria

For everyone who knows that Nicole Vienneau, a Canadian woman, is missing in Syria, this email is to inform you that I am still alive and very, very safe in Damascus. I want to assure everyone who has sent me 'worried' emails that fears are unfounded, and I'm going to be very direct for the rest of this message. It may offend some people but I'm here and the rest of you are not, I'm speaking from experience.

I was speaking with mom last night and she was reading me the stories from the newspapers with comments from people responding to it and this is where a lot of my anger is being driven from.

First of all, Syria is not a shady country. While the policing system may be more noticeable here than in Canada, that does not make the rest of its citizens "shady." I'm using this word in response to a reader who said, "Those who go to shady countries are taking risks." He also said that if you go to countries like this, you are just asking for trouble. I'm tired of people making judgemental comments about a place they have probably never visited and have never researched. If you want to believe everything western media tells you, then you area a good candidate for believing in Santa Claus. And if the only thing you know about Syria is that it is 'dangerous', then you need to know the only thing Syrians know about Canada is that it is 'cold.'

Second, Nicole is a seasoned traveller and anyone who has travelled solo knows there are risks involved. From what I understand she is a smart traveller, one who lets people know where she's going. Anyone who's been on the road in these regions before knows that there is a community of travellers and locals alike with whom they share stories and experiences. It is almost impossible to be here and not have others know what you're up to. For one, the Arab culture is all about talking with each other, we call this gossip in Canada. There's not a lot you can do here without someone commenting or passing it along. For example, Sonya and I went to Beirut a few weeks ago and pretty much everyone in the tourist quarter knew about it even though we only told one or two people what we were up to. If Nicole was going somewhere in desert, I guarantee you at least one person knows where she was headed.

Third, anyone who comes to this area knows there are risks but they are not usually the risks Westerners are thinking about. There is no war in Syria - that is happening next door in Iraq. There is no imminent threat of war or attack from neighbouring countries such as what is happening in Lebanon. The risks come from eating dodgey foods or drinking contaminated drinks, from doing drugs, or more simply, crossing the street.

Fourth, what happened to Nicole, whatever that may be, is very very unusual here. All the Syrians I know are shocked about it, this doesn't happen here. Think about Canada and the U.S. where kidnappings or killings happen all the time. In B.C. a number of women have gone missing on the Similkameen highway in recent years while hitchhiking. Nothing has been solved. Think of the recent shootings in Viriginia. For everyone who's asking us to come home, you're asking us to come back to an area inifinitely more dangerous than the one we're currently in. For the record, I have NEVER lived in a safer country, including Canada. I can walk here, anywhere, anytime, by myself and not feel threatened. Of course you use your common sense wherever you are in the world and try to avoid potentially difficult situations. But you can never know for sure what's going to happen, no matter how much you plan in advance.

The biggest problem I have living here is that most people at home don't believe it is a safe and good country to live in. I can't convince anyone this is true unless they choose to believe it. No matter how many times I've tried telling people I'm OK, some still choose to ignore this. Again, I am here, you are not. Believe me when I tell you I value my life and that I would rather live than die. Because of this I choose places I am comfortable being in. Maybe they are not the same places others would choose, but some of y'all go to Florida and that is one place I have absolutely no desire to visit, precisely because of safety issues. Believe me when I say the Syrians are going to suffer for this incident because very few people will stand up in their defense. Tourism is already low here and might go down. One or two 'bad' people affect everyone else and it is a shame for those who take pride in their country and want to show it to foreigners.

In no way am I trying to undermine what has happened to Nicole. I can't imagine what her family must be going through and can only hope they have a good support system in Canada that is helping them get through this incredibly difficult time. I just want to give you peace of mind that if you know someone over here, they are almost 100% safe if they're being careful.

Good luck to Matt Vienneau and his family as they hope for a happy ending to this sad story.

Mmmmmm, Real Hotdogs

Yes, oh yes! Yesterday I found a hole in the wall that serves real Canadian style hotdogs. The only difference between there and here is they serve the french fries in the hotdog itself. I think they should add that to the menu at the Vesta Diner in T.O. "Fench frie Hotdog"

Text Messages

Everybody texts messages here, it's a cheap and easy way to communicate with (or to harass) people. This is a random, inane message I got from one of my admirers awhile ago (the spelling mistakes are all his):

"Hey. Am in my way home. home whr the dearest person in a lifetime lives that is u Aleson. pls make no plans friday night. We r going out 4 Dinner. Looking forward to seeu. warmest greetings to a beautiful blue eyes."

My eyes are green.

My friend Sally got this one:

"A star has 5 ends, a square has 4 end, a traiangel has 3 ends, a life has 1 end, a circale has no end, so I hope our friendship will be like a circale. Welcom my friend."

She met him at a cafe one night and spoke with him for two minutes. Very romantic, no?

Let's Play "It's Mumkin!!"

"Mumkin" is arabic for "possible". I've noticed an unusual number of people with their hands bandaged, splinted, or cast here, and thought it might be nice to see what other people notice. So I've started a points-system game based on honesty and integrity, a strange concept in the Middle East.

Points are awarded as follows:
man/woman with bandaged/splinted/cast arm - 1 point
man/woman with cast on leg - 1 point
cast on both legs - 2 points (really, it's mumkin!!)
man/woman with one leg - 2 points
orange pants - 1 point
orange shirt - 1 point
orange pants and shirt - 2 points (got points today for that)
woman with two black eyes, attributed to nose job - 2 points
cast on one leg and wearing orange pants - 3 points (i've already scored on this)

automatic game winner:
woman wearing hejab and her bellybutton is exposed - 20 points

The Most Important Relationship

The hardest person to meet in your new city of residence will be the most important one - your hairstylist. Forget doctors and dentists, these are the keepers and slayers of hair. Today I went to get my hair cut for the first time since moving to Syria and my apprehension grew larger after dreaming last night that I would leave the salon with - horror of horrors - female Syrian hair. This means layers and blow-outs so big they rival the miracles of women in Texas.

So I arrive and have the most beautiful thing done, someone else washes my hair, the best part of any haircut. Then the guy with the polyester track suit (opened halfway down his chest so I can admire his mat of curly chesthair) and attitude to match asks what I want done. I point to a picture of Charlize Theron with her delightful long, straight, minimally layered hair. He starts cutting and is done, umm, maybe 8 minutes later. Zero layers, nothing's even but I think I have something resembling bangs again. You need to know that my stylist in Vancouver, Glen the Giver of Amazing Cuts and Colour (call him at One Salon on Burrard 604-733-3909), takes at least 30 minutes JUST TO CUT.

Then another guy slaps some weird paste on my hair (to 'treatment it') and wraps it (my head) in seran wrap and leaves me there for 20 minutes. After he takes it off and washes my head - again - another guy blow dries my hair. You know how in North America most hairdryers come with cool bursts to help the hair set? This one comes with bursts of... HAIRSPRAY! I've never seen or smelled anything like it before. Amazing.

And so I leave the salon with flipped hair smelling like bad aftershave. I don't look too Syrian and thankfully my hair does not hold curl so by the time I get home, the walk and pollution have straightened it back to normal. I'm not crying so it must all be OK. We'll see how I feel after one night of bedhead.

What Not to Do at a Shi'a Wedding

1. do not try and shake the groom's hand
2. do not wear your nine west sparkly gold heels, not because they're inappropriate but because women are competitive, especially at weddings
3. do not make enemies with the bride
4. do not make enemies with the mother of the groom

I didn't know the thing about shaking hands, but I was doing what we do in the West, shaking hands in congratulations. Not until I put out my hand did I notice he was holding the Quran and figured he wasn't supposed to touch another woman apart from his wife. Faux pas number 1.

My friend who I went with told me to wear Western style dress because underneath the hejab the women are all hooched up. They hooch up to compete with each other since no men are allowed at the bride's party. Then he saw what I was wearing and said that I was about to step into a viper's den and would get bitten alive. Apparently I looked too good and was therefore competition. Competition for what???? No men were there!!!!!

Faux pas number 3 was not my fault, the bride was not impressed with faux pas number 1 which no one explained to me.

Mistake number 4 was also not my fault. I was invited to the wedding by the father of the groom whom I met the week before. After the wedding when I told my friend that the mother was NOT friendly to me, he explained that she was probably ticked off because her husband made a big deal of me being there. Again, women are very competitive. WHAT IS OUR PROBLEM???????

I have many other observations about what I witnessed that evening but let's leave it to this one: I think the Sunnis are hipper and more fun but I'm not sure I want to go to one of their weddings to confirm that.

Followed

I've been checking out what the women wear here. For example, can I wear a short skirt, short being around the knee. The answer appears to be 'yes' as long as I wear black tights with it. So this is what I do last Thursday on a very warm day. In addition I wear my knee-high black boots. I'm wearing a loose-fitting black top and my leather jacket. I think I'm more conservative than some of the girls here. Not so decide the men in their trucks and cars on the main road by school. I got honked at, whistled at, yelled at. All because, I think, I'm not wearing a headscarf. I get on my service to head home and the driver wants me to sit beside him. I try explaining that I like my seat, this causes a commotion in the bus and the young guy beside me tries to calm the situation.

At last we get to my stop and I jump off as does the young guy. I'm going to the internet cafe, which happens to be closed, so I start walking home. Guys come out of their shops to tell me the internet cafe will open again in two hours. The young guy from the bus magically appears and starts following me around. I eventually tire of him and tell him to get lost which he does not do. He persists in following me around my neighbourhood while I buy groceries and try to lose him. I get to my apartment and make sure he can't see that I'm going upstairs. He's not there, at least I'm sure he's not. I get to my apartment and start telling my roommate about this guy, who is maybe 19 or 20 years old. Ten minutes later my doorbell rings and it's him, standing there asking for my phone number. So I walk out to where he is and give him an earful in mixed arabic and english. I'm yelling "memnua" (forbidden)and a whole host of other words that my neighbours might not like if they understood. I haven't seen him since, I think he's been scared into hiding, as well he should be.

I will NOT wear a headscarf. I know who and what I am and if I have to explain that, OK. Just don't follow me home, you weirdo.

A Few Days in War Country

last week i had a break from school after exams so i finally headed back to beirut after 4 years. it looks so much like vancouver that it felt like being at home at times. it sits right between the ocean and the mountains and the seabreeze was soooo good to feel and smell again. while i appreciated the cleanliness and a few familiar looking restaurants this is the number one reason why i prefer syria - it's not westernized and feels like i'm in a land far far away. it's very much like arabian nights and that is what i wanted. plus i like the people here better, they are less fractured and complicated. when y'all come visit beirut you'll see what i mean, nothing there is simple in terms of relationships and everyone picks at the other.

hezbollah supporters are trying to get more profile for their party and so there is a huge tent city outside parliament where everyone has been living for a few months now. it was just down the road from our hotel so i took a stroll through it - it was very quiet. it was the second anniversary of hariri's assassination on wednesday and so i think the military were trying to keep things low-key. last time i was there the only military visible were there because of a franco-nation summit which chretien was attending. lots of high-profile political leaders were in attendance so of course security was high, but there weren't any tanks anywhere and people were out and about. this time the city was dead, no people anywhere, tanks and soldiers everywhere, a very different feeling. i asked shopkeepers what was going on and they all said 'it's tense right now, hopefully it will be done by the end of the week' but i got nothing more elaborate than that. they also say they hope the 'situation' is fixed by summer, meaning the syrians are gone and there's a new map of the middle east. i saw this supposed map which is very different and more complex, i think, than the current one. i tried to take a picture of it but the guy who showed it to me hid it under the table and said no one else should see it. secrecy and intrigue makes beirut. i also asked one of the guards who checked my purse one day how he knew for sure there weren't any bombs in my bag as he only looked at the top. he told me that he trusted me, how's that for a very stupid question and benign answer?

i ended up walking everywhere since lebanon is quite a bit more expensive than syria and i didn't want to waste my money on taxis and get marriage proposals from taxi drivers. my feet were killing me by the time i left but i had seen a lot of the city. nowhere near all of it, it's definitely a place i want to get back to and explore a lot more as it is utterly fascinating. the american university of beirut is stunning and the walk along the ocean is beautiful. there were lots of bookstores with english literature so i was able to find a copy of people magazine and catch up on britney spear's sad life. i'm so glad to not have to see that stuff every day. i also found a cinnzeo and stuffed my face with a chocolate cinnamon bun, not as good as mom's of course. you don't see the military after awhile and they leave you alone anyway. the shopping is very upscale and some of the restaurant neighbourhoods rival yorkville in toronto or yaletown in vancouver. i saw at least 2 lamborghinis and there are armani, bcbg, and other high-end stores everywhere. you forget you're in the middle east and think you might be somewhere in france.

it started raining (the last day i was there) the way it does in vancouver and my shoes got soaked through. i was therefore uncomfortable and decided to head back to damascus a few hours earlier. it turned from spring to winter and as we passed through the lebanese mountains on the way back to syria it started snowing heavily. absolutely beautiful but too cold for my little leather jacket. i fell asleep after we passed the syrian border and woke up in damascus with the feeling that it was good to be home. i knew i liked it here but i had to leave for a little bit to confirm that it is actually becoming home.

The Best Bakery in the World

I finally found loaves of bread! Not Syrian flat bread, pita bread, naan bread, hard and brittle bread, but a real, bonafide loaf of soft, sliced bread. Do you know what this means???? I can eat toast now!!!!! I was so desperate for North American bread I would have gladly eaten stale Wonderbread sent by snail-mail from home. Alison may not be able to live by bread alone, but at least it makes Alison very, very happy.

First Visit to the Hammam

WARNING: there may be some content in here that makes people squeamish or they might take offense to. This is my apology for any damage to your mental health.

I'm not a big fan of spas, I think it's a little weird to spend a lot of money for people to slap seaweed on you or massage your face. Nevertheless, the hammam (public bath) is a popular pasttime in the Middle East so I decided to go check it out. I'd been once before in Turkey with a friend - we were the only ones in the hammam and I assumed I might encounter something similar here. Not so...

Arab women have an aversion to hair anywhere on their body apart from the head so I thought I might get my hairy western arms waxed just to see what all the fuss is about. The waxer looked as if she had just emerged from the steamroom, straggley hair plastered against her forehead, old track suit hanging yet clinging to her. A cigarette dangled out of her mouth as she went to work on me, tut-tutting at the state I'd let myself get into. They wax you in public, in front of everyone else who's come in to hang out for the afternoon. The portraits of the former and current presidents hang overhead staring down with creepy grins. They don't use hot wax here, instead it's like a thick paste they rub between their hands to warm up. Then they slap it on you and start ripping away again and again and again. I'm gritting my teeth, the waxer grins and grunts with her cigarette lodged between the gap in her teeth where at least two other teeth should be but have fallen out. She's doing my forearms and then horror of horrors, she moves to my biceps and shoulders. Now I know for certain that I do NOT have hairy upper arms and I try explaining this to her but she is convinced I must be cleansed. Then she starts trying to rip it out of my underarms where the hair is too short. I'm yelling "la la la la" (arabic for 'no no no no') but she must think I'm singing and makes it a mission to get rid of whatever is there. Finally she quits and the next scary lady comes over and grabs my arm to lead me to the next stage of bathing...

She drags me through ancient hallways - this hammam is more than 800 years old - through the steamroom into the large hall where at least 40 women are lounging about in various stages of undress, throwing hot water on each other, washing their hair, and smoking. This is where the women go to meet and talk, I assume they gossip and diss each other out but I'm not sure as I still only understand a few words. Fruits and vegetables do not seem to be a popular topic. I'm led to a smaller room where a young women is sitting with her mother and aunt. They greet me with big smiles and begin to throw water on me. Then one grabs my loofah from me and starts scrubbing my back with man-strength force. After awhile the masseuse comes in to give me a massage. This is no private room with pretty scented candles, Pachabel's annoying Canon playing in the background accompanied by chirping whales, discreet and calm massaging of my back. Instead I'm surrounded by chatty and yelling women, there is no music, the mother is still smoking, and I'm lying on my stomach while she pounds the crap out of my back. I must point out, however, that this is the kind of massage I like, it actually feels like they're doing something. Then she starts yanking on my fingers, I don't know why. Then she pulls out my shampoo and starts washing my hair. It smells nice when she's done but it's also in a billion knots. Then some women from Lebanon try to take over our room and the aunt goes crazy on them. You have to see a 70-something, toothless and topless woman running around tearing strips off people to know that this is not a North American spa. So I took my leave and went out to change.

While I'm towelling off and putting my makeup on, the daughter comes out and we start talking in stilted English and Arabic. Her mom also comes out and soon my purse is stuffed full of apples and oranges, and I'm drinking tea and eating pita with some olive spread on it. I'm clean, smooth from finger to shoulder, I've made new friends, I'm fed, and I think I might just come back, minus the wax job.

Sandstorm

Last Saturday the atmosphere started to get a little manic when a brown haze settled over the city. At first I thought it was pollution but by mid-day the wind had picked up and sand was swirling all around. The drivers were crazier than before, people were edgey, and the billion stray cats in the city decided to come out and sing in unison. That evening I could barely see the green lights of the mosques as I was standing on my balcony and when I went to bed I could taste the sand in the air.

The next morning it started to rain - nice to make everything fresh but think about where all that floating sand is going to go. This is the first time in my life when I didn't wash just the fruits and vegetables I bought at the market, but also my bags of pasta, jars and cans of other stuff. Before now I haven't been a fan of vaccuum wrapping everything but now I get the point.

Marriage Update

My Iraqi suitor is out of the running. He's currently in jail where he's been for the past week after it was discovered he was a bit of a thief - not of hearts but of cash. His friends ratted him out after he "borrowed" money from them to buy an apartment and a business. He never gave the money back. I think my decision to wait and see if the camels came through was a wise one.

Bidding Wars

The man who owns the hotel I'm staying at has a 95-year-old father who comes and sits at reception every day. He challenges every guest to an arm wrestle - which he always wins - sometimes because people let him but most times because he is still tough as nails. He has taken a shine to me and offered 12 camels and his house to marry me. His son is concerned dad will throw in the hotel but I assure him this is not the case. The daughters-in-law think it's great and would love for me to marry their father-in-law and thereby secure the hotel for their sons when they grow up. Abu Sameer also wants me to convert to Islam.

The Iraqi man who has the room next to mine says he'll give me 15 camels and a donkey. He's said nothing about converting, he is already married.

Basil, the 22-year-old whose fiancee is 15, says he'll give me one camel. He's not very wealthy.

No one else has entered the race yet, but I think I'm going to hold out for something better than old men, married men, poor men, and livestock.

AIDS Test

Everyone who wants to live and work in Syria needs to get an AIDS test done. There are only two places in the country where you can get the test - one in Damascus, one in Homs. Two weeks ago the Iraqi president visited with the Syrian president and requested that all Iraqis be sent back to Iraq within 15 days if they can't get their test completed. This means every morning before 8am there is a huge lineup at the clinic, maybe 500 people scrambling to get their test so they can stay. This is in addition to all the Syrians and other foreigners who are there for the same thing.

This morning I arrived at 8am and stood at the front of the line for foreigners, waiting to throw my passport through the gate to the men in the white coats. The first man was relatively gentle and pleasant, the second yelled and screamed until his face turned red and he sounded like he'd either pass a kidney stone or explode. I got my passport through on the first try and then stood in the cold and mud for the next three and half hours as relatively gentle man let Syrians jump the queue. Eventually he yelled out my name and I was able to get inside the gate and wait for another hour and a half.

As I was at the front of the line this time, I was able to watch yelling man take blood samples. First he yelled at whoever was in the chair, grabbed their left arm and tied the rubber hose around it. If he couldn't find the vein in 2 seconds, he'd rip the tube off, grab the right arm and give that a try. If no vein there, tube off, wrapped on wrist, a little bit more yelling, then BAM, jab into the back of the hand. If he was lucky he'd hit a vein, but sometimes it looked like he was pulling up muscle or marrow. I was lucky and ended up with a soft speaking and polite man who managed to get my vein on the first go. A bit of bruising but at least no emotional scarring.

Tomorrow I go back to get the results - they'd better be negative.

Prayer Time

A 95 year old man makes the call to prayer at the mosque closest to my current residence, about 50 feet up the road. His prayer is painful, you're begging for it to end before he dies and the last breath gurgles out of his throat. While he gasps and wheezes his way through the ritual, the other calls to prayer echo out across the city, fading in and out like twisted backup singers. It's eerie and I'm glad it's only 5 times a day.

Clean & Tasty

One of the things I love best about Toronto are all the divey restaurants you can chow down at. In Vancouver everything is so clean - I've actually seen people eating off the streets. Granted, it's at 2 in the morning when the bars close but I'm sure those fine citizens are very aware of what they're doing. Toronto, on the other hand, tries to be clean but misses the mark somehow, and this is precisely what I love.

Yesterday Chiuchiu introduced me to the JH on Queen West where you have to walk through the kitchen to get to the bathroom. The dirty dishes covered in tomato sauce and grease piled high on the belt were no indication of the tastiness of my avocado shake and the tomato lentil soup was positively delightful. Waitress 1 wore a lovely jacket covered in skulls, some of which sparkled, and served us with a smile. Then surly and bored Waitress 2 brought our food. I'm never sure why those who hate people work in the service industry.

In conclusion, these dives are great and well worth eating at, with the exception of Sneaky Dee's which smells like gym socks and cooked broccoli.

First Leg...

In less than a few hours I'll be on a plane to Toronto on the first leg of this trip to the Middle East. Right now it feels like someone else made all the decisions and arrangements and I woke up just in time to get on my flight. Who is this crazy person who makes these plans? I don't even do drugs, there's no excuse for this behaviour. I'm excited and I know it's going to be a great experience but saying goodbye sucks. The bonus of crying so much right now is that something is wacky with my tears and every time I cry my face burns. It's a self-inflicted and totally free acid peel which I'm assuming means I'll have fantastic skin by the time I get to Damascus if my face doesn't fall off first.

Check ya later, Vancouver...