Looking forward to the final leg home on Tues morning, and ravishly consuming US media in the meanwhile.
There's a lot of shit to respond to in the public sphere, but I really want to call attention to the impotent response by our government in evacuating US nationals. As of yesterday, there's a decent number of articles that have started to cover this story. But the more details we have from the ground, the better.
Before going any further, please you all, take a moment to vote::
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/13905498/then notice the ridiculous response. As of 6:45am on Tuesday, it's split 47/53!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Don't get me wrong, I'd pay any price for evacuation... see below.
15 July 2006
Achrafieh, Beirut
I went to bed about 1:30am early Sat, expecting to be shocked awake by the early morning IAF strikes. But thank god for a relatively peaceful night in which only two rockets fell, far far away from my slumber, deep inside the childhood home of a musician friend. If there's any refuge in the city, this was the place to be-- a playroom for kids in the deep chambers of a 150 y.o. enormous mansion tucked into the Maronite Christian area of Achrafieh in East Beirut.
I woke nervously as the most immediate task was to cross from East Beirut to West Beirut, from Achrafieh to Ain el Mresse. The night before, we had crossed the opposite direction and realized that the bridge, which connects these two sectors of Beirut that fought each other during Lebanon's civil war, was a potential target. It was one of those first realizations that anything could be a possible target and not just those areas, neighborhoods, and infrastructures that are more or less trafficked by Shiite Lebanese. The crossing was simple, though the cab driver was rather clueless about where to pick me up and where to drop me off. Luckily I know the city pretty well by now.
I walked into the Seaside Apartments (where I'd stayed during my first Beiruti visit two years ago!), expecting to leave momentarily for the Tripoli-Aleppo border. No news of any bombings up north, so it seemed like the plan was a go-ahead. But that was wishful thinking.
The first major decision was whether to stay and wait to be evacuated by the US government or go forward with private, and potentaiilly more risky, services. I'd heard the night before from my mom -- we called each other constantly by cell -- that the US would pay any evacuation costs, and that there were would be an "inevitable evacuation" of 25,000 US nationals. Pretty words. A friend called her contact at the US embassy in Beirut, who flatly informed us that they hadn't started working on any plan for evacuation. There was no way anything major would get started by Monday.
But if the border wasn't safe, what if bombings started at any moment? We heard of a water source being hit in Aqra, and that Israel bombed the border leading into Homs, Syria (far closer to Damascus than our original route and recommended to me by a Syrian friend). To compound all this, our driver just didn't show up.
Excuse #1, 8:30am: Tired from trip to Syria and needs to sleep. Needs 1 1/2 hours.
Excuse #2, 10:45am: Getting up. Needs to shower.
Excuse #3, 12:00pm: On the way.
Excuse #4, 12:45pm: On the way.
Excuse #5, 1:20pm: On the Corniche.
You can imagine our confused reactions -- does he know something about the security situation that we don't? Is this a Lebanese way of saying, no fuckin way you crazy foreigners?!?! Or rather, since I'm getting $1200 from you all, I can take a beauty nap. Or is it better to travel later in the day so that the border crossing is easier, or, more rushed and therefore fewer questions, more bribes? At this point, there was no guarantee by the Syrian authorities that they would permit evacuees into the border. And, we were traveling with a family of five (parents, two kids, domestic help) who didn't have visas.
I was also deliberating going to the public transport hub, Charles Helou station, and grabbing a bus/shared taxi to the border. I had a multiple entry visa and my passport was speckled with many border crossings from earlier this spring/summer. Surely I'd get through. I also didn't want to wait for evacuation because all my belongings -- computer, violin, research materials -- were sitting in my apartment in Damascus.
At 2pm, Michel arrived. He owns Prestige Taxi, a fleet of 73 cars who are making some pretty pennies off this crisis as they navigate the country with fleeing foreigners as carriage. We climbed into the minivan and 4door sedan and set off up north. Whie we were packing, a bomb went off, and two others followed as we hit the autostrade towards Dora.
Then we pulled off to get sandwiches. WHT?!?!?!! the f*&*!! I don't know whether it was the drivers, the two adorable kids who proved to be total sports for the ride, or whatnot but yea, we spent 30 minutes at the Wooden Bakery in Dora. 30 precious minutes.
Pulling out of the parking lot, Michel didn't rejoin the northbound traffic. He turned inland, towards the mountains, where few cars were headed. And we went ballistic. The road was empty, probably because it headed straight for the Beqaa valley, which is one of the two main regional targets by the IAF. Michel was taking us to the Beirut-Damascus highway which was under constant bombardment!!!
We called frantically to the other car -- how could "Madam" (the professor who originally ordered the cars) rationalize this? We interrogated Michel -- why why why? Meanwhile both cars sped up the curvy mountainside and I swear I expected to see James Bond 007 pass us on our left.
Instead, Qatari diplomat vehicles passed us. We fell silent when Michel pointed out that we were taking the same route as the Qatar Embassy, whose UN ambassador Nassir al-Nasser sponsored last week's security council resolution on Gaza, VETOED by the States.
The scenery was gorgeous. Cedars, whisps of fog, alpine slopes. And we commented, two American grad students and a professor in the back seat, on how we might remember this trip in the future, how we might recall the calmness of terror.
We summited the Chouf mountains and before us spread the vast valley of the Beqaa. I'd never been this far south before, only passed on the Beirut-Damascus highway which runs through a skinnier section of the valley to the north. We passed the mixed village of Zahle, which is the hometown of some singers that I hope to work with. And descended into the Beqaa.
And found out that the valley was bombed but one hour earlier.
Can I just pause and suspend this story for a moment, and say how incredibly wonderful my companions (who will remain anonymous for the time being) were!! Really, everybody kept their cool and stayed calm, alert, tough, rational, didn't break down into hysterics that might have tipped us all over the edge or at the very least increased our exposure to the skies.
We could smell the bombings in the Beqaa. Certainly wasn't the sheep we passed on the road! Michel was decidedly nervous now, compared to earlier when he actually slept in the passenger's seat! We shot past gerbil drivers inching down the main road but then got lost in the center of the valley and took directions from a man whose daughter was slung across his back and dangled with open mouth, open eyes, and frizzed-out hair like she was the day's catch. We made a u-turn and went back to the center of town where a cheery 11-year old shaabi pointed the other direction and said, "Bye Bye!"
Dancing through the Beqaa. This was supposed to be my fieldwork on the debke, not a way to describe an evac route!!
Finally we hit the homestretch and Michel pressed the pedal to 140km. We tensed as this is the moment that we're really considered moving targets. Then you won't believe what loomed ahead but this fat taxi with an overloaded rear, a friggin bus next to her, and a TRACTOR on the other side who decided to turn onto the road right in front of us. Michel screamed on the brakes and we let loose a torrent of curses in Arabic that made us proud.
Yea, the story ends well. We got to the border. I immediatley received a text that the border was just bombed ten minutes ago. I think you all have heard about it, but later when I was speaking to Syrians, they didn't realie that the bomb actually fell on Syrian territory, on an army base just inside the border. We didn't have to wait long at either the Lebanese departures station or the Syrian arrival station (two visa processes) thanks to some serious bribing.
The economics of the package turned out to be USD 150 pp plus 50 in bribes. Compare that with the $300 US evac offer!
tbc...
