When things go south...

OR: A smooth seaside street to the southern city of Sour.

OR: Of the man and the fish, smoky roads, coffee through a straw and everything else related to the long and fascinating journey to the south of Lebanon.

As you can read, my inspiration is overloading, my mood is up and my skills at making blog titles are not getting any better.

How is life wherever you are? I hope it is as nice as things are here for me at the moment. There is so much to tell, and at the same time I fear I will be boring you with details of my life which do not nearly fascinate you as much as they do me. Therefore, I choose to write to you today about a road. And not just any road. A road going south (you felt that coming, didn’t you? ;)

Since my work started with the NGO I have been travelling to the south of Lebanon several times per week. In fact, I have been on that road so often that a few days ago I found myself giving my Lebanese (!!!) colleague, who was driving us, directions about the route. And before you ask: we arrived fine, without accidents and very timely, thank you very much! (We got horribly lost on the way back but that would be a story for another time).
Back to the road. Basically, it is simple. After leaving Beirut, you just drive straight, keep the sea on your right hand, and you will arrive in the south. You will inevitably pass the area of Sour.
Every time I go to the office I watch this road. It starts near Beirut where it is covered from both sides by commercial boards, shops, restaurants, coffee places and depressing looking flats. But after a while there is the view of a small coastline and the sparkling ocean (I say sparkling because I prefer to describe the road to you on a sunny day). Exits of the high way to the villages up in to the mountains become more scarce, but yet you’ll never feel like you are in a remote area.
My colleagues are almost all of them in the habit of drinking coffee in the morning, and who has time to make that at home when you have an impatient and always early (ahum) Dutch girl waiting to catch a ride with you? Thus, we stop at one of the many coffee places along the road to take a cup with us. That decision more than once goes sort of like this: ‘Coffee?’ My colleague asks. ‘Yes, sure.’ I respond. ‘Ok. Let’s go to that place.’ And he/she turns the wheel 90 degrees, slides over two lanes to the right side of the road while going from 120 km/h to 50 km/h and stops us neatly in front of a small coffee stand. It may look now as if my colleagues are horrible drivers but when you consider everyone in Lebanon drives that way and yet my colleagues have never got me in any sort of accident, you must admit they have skills we cannot see copied on the A2… (a Dutch highway). Anyway, two minutes later we drive away with two cups of coffee, …. and two straws! Yes, I know what you are thinking. The first time I observed this thin, dark straw in my coffee I assumed it was meant for stirring, but this is extremely unpractical considering the cup is covered by a plastic lit. I didn’t consider drinking the coffee through a straw, but every other way seemed destined to make me pour the hot drink all over myself (remember my description of the driving…). So I surrendered to what I saw other people do and I drank the coffee through the straw. I didn’t spill any of it, I hardly burned my mouth and the taste is (not surprisingly) pretty much the same.
In any case, by now we’re about halfway and we passed the city of Saida. The highway goes through the city (not very much as a highway of course) and leads you out where the road becomes more hilly. Flags of political parties and religious groups now dominate the sides of the road.
Some days, people burn trash or leaves in one of the fields next to the high way, which leaves the road covered with a thick smelly smoke. One time it happened at night and my colleague and I simultaneously leaned forward in our seats as if it would help us see any more through the dense mist that suddenly surrounded us.
‘This is so dangerous.’ I had to say it.
‘Driving in Lebanon is dangerous.’ She replied dryly.
No argument there.

At the very end of the highway (it literally stops because of an army check point) there is a sharp turn to the right, going up a hill and leading to a crossing. Very often in the middle of that crossing stands a man, holding a fish. Is he selling the fish? Is he taking it for a walk? I don’t know. He just stands there with this fish on a hook. At times he seems to be directing the traffic (pointing with the fish) but mostly he just stands there.
After the man-with-fish-crossing we continue over a smaller road to Sour. For the first part the sides of the road are colored and scented by orange-trees and banana plants. After that, the view gets more depressing… We drive passed small, self-made houses that look like one night of rain could wash them away.

Fifteen more minutes of driving leads into Sour and to the office. Work. Of course. And I remember that the trip had a destination. But the entertaining road alone is reason enough why things go south :)

Have a great weekend all!

Love,
Marlies