Sylvia's Journal

Our first outing was by taxi, driven by Eli Adam who used to be a salesman but has been driving a taxi the last 11 years. That he was a salesman is obvious; he likes to talk. Since Axel also likes to talk he got to ride shotgun. I tucked myself way in the back of the family van and looked sideways rather than to the front. Beirut traffic is scary, hence the taxi. Renting a car was only a brief fantasy until we experienced being in traffic on our first day here.

We are hiring Eli for most of the week to take us places. We speak a mixture of French and English with him, in true Lebanese fashion. Yesterday he took us to Byblos , or Jbeil, the place where we are told the alphabet was born.

We had another fantasy lunch, overlooking Byblos’s tiny harbor, eating fried fish, and drinking the wonderful house wine at Pepe Abed’s. The remaining open spots on the table were occupied by the small plates with the famous Lebanese mezze that have become Tessa’s staple.

The restaurant was one we knew from way back. Pepe has died in the meantime and now his son Roger runs the place. The street leading to the restaurant is named after his famous dad.

The restaurant is decorated with photos of Pepe with famous personalities who have come here over the decades; it included a whole series of posed photos with various Eastern European beauty queens. Brigitte Bardo is prominently featured in the famous people gallery amidst sundry local and not so local politicians and world leaders.

After lunch we hired a guide to show us around the excavations of some 17 different archaeological sites, built on top of each other over thousands of years. Everyone was deeply awed walking amidst so much history. The guide then wrote our names in Arabic, in Phoenician and backwards in English.

Eli dropped us off at the kids’ apartment (our progeny as they are referred to by Alistair) where everyone flopped on the beds. Being a full time tourist is tiresome. Eventually we pulled ourselves up and walked around their neighborhood to check out what was for dinner.

We ended up in a street full of bars, still empty at 7 PM. Clearly our eating habits are out of sync with the Lebanese, who enter restaurants just about when we are done. The waiters happily served us beer and wine when they found out we came from a dry place, and asked as, like everyone else does, why the hell do you live in Afghanistan?