some guy in lebanon

“Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes.”

That is the opening line of the first number of a play I saw when I was 14 years old.

Incidentally, I was on my first trip to New York City, my first trip “solo” (visiting my God Mother), my first Broadway play, and it was the first time I knew how many minutes partitioned a year.

A lot has happened since then…

Today I sign off officially from ‘Some Guy in Lebanon,’ as I start work with TWI as IT Project Manager.

I will be traveling extensively across Europe, Asia, and the Middle East for the next year – if you live in Frankfurt, Zurich, Istanbul, Dubai, Kuwait, or Kyrgyzstan, I would love to hear from you, as I will bouncing around that part of the world extensively. For those of you who are wondering, yes, the plan is to be back in Beirut by the fall.

The last six months have been a wild ride – Last time I posted it was October 6th and I think I was in either Jordan or Charlotte. It was with some consideration that I decided to discontinue this blog, but it was clear that blogging shouldn’t be a priority now that I have to direct all my attention to a new and difficult job. I will be sure to keep personal notes, however, and I am more than willing to share where I am and how things are going, if you’re interested.

It’s extraordinary how things work out.

And as always, I’m in debted to a good friend for his help. It’s time to take my little Middle Eastern sideshow on the road, leaving Amman, Jordan, for Dubai. I’ll be there in two weeks.

I can’t even begin to thank everyone who has done their very best to get me out of this jam with the Lebanese General Security. Hopefully, come January or February, I’ll be back in Beirut with flying colors, ready to take on the world again.

In the meantime, I must go hibernate, and see what I can see, in that city built on sand they call Dubai. Perhaps I’ll do a little indoor skiing while i’m there…

To my family, and to my friends, thank you so much.

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank one more group of people – the employees/owners of Liquid, the coffeeshop and second home of mine on Second Circle, in Amman. Here’s a picture of the store, Ahmad, and me. I would have been infinitely worse off if it wasn’t for this place…

Well well well – It has been an interesting week. For those of you who don’t know, despite having a visa from the Lebanese Consulate in New York, I was refused entry into Lebanon last week, and sent to Amman, Jordan, ostensibly to “think about what I’ve done.” Any city would feel like purgatory under this arrangement, it’s true, but arriving in Amman in the middle of Ramadan, this place feels acutely like the doldrums. Until today, as it is the beginning of Eid and things have returned to normal, there has literally been nothing to do but sleep and eat.

At least I can know tell a heck of a story!

A quick remark – I would like to take this moment to bring to light the pathetic response of the American Embassy in Beirut when I called them to let them know what was going on. Their response, “We can do nothing because Lebanon is a sovereign nation and it’s their call,” was as laughable as it was infuriating.

I was up late this evening, faced with the sudden urge to watch “Casablanca.” I can only imagine it has much to do with my longing to get bored at 2:30 in the morning and wander over to Captains Cabin, for a beer (or several).

But I have an awful, frightful, terrifying secret that I must get off my chest – I had never seen Casablanca all the way through. Only in bits and pieces, here and there. I know, it’s sad.

However in retrospect, I’m sort of glad I hadn’t – At least this way nobody could accuse me of trying to, well, you know, be Humphrey Bogart.

I guess I’ll just have to be more careful now. That pained expression I get when I’m talking about women I’ve loved over many rounds of scotch at 4 in the morning in any dive in Hamra? Well, now you can assume it’s just my way of pretending we still live in a world where one can run guns to the resistance in Ethiopia and pretend that, if it’s said a smoke-filled-bar where the men speak Arabic and the women speak French, it makes one a protagonist. Only in the movies, I’m afraid – although, it seems, love still finds a way to hurt us more in real life than on celluloid.

No matter. There’s something magical about the movie – I think it’s sort of incredible that it was filmed prior to the American invasion of North Africa. I think that the character of Rick and the love triangle, and his actions, must have had an enormous impact on the American viewer at the time. The movie does not scream “love triumphs over all.” If it did that, it’d just be foolishness. Instead it says, “love is a uniquely free thing. Fascists don’t feel love, rebels feel love. Bar men feel love. France feels love, and God dammit, Americans feels love. And the only people who aren’t having any fun are the Nazi’s, and we’d best keep it that way, because we’d rather be in more pain from love than not love at all.” The movie beautifully orchestrates the viewer into a position where they must equate rebellion, intellectualism, sympathy for the underdog, good music, gorgeous women, and smokey saloons with love, the opposite (an absence of love) with the Nazi’s. The Fascists are here to take your fun and your love, and by God, if even this drunken angry murdering love-struck chain-smoker can do the right thing, why can’t we all?

I did not know my Great Grandfather but in the briefest of senses – When he died I was not even three years old. There are pictures of me with him, and I suppose any ‘memory’ I have of him is clouded by those photographs.

Yet no one can deny the degree to which I unconsciously feel his presence in everything that I do – It was his friendship with Nick’s Great Uncle, Governor Sumner Sewall, that led him to purchase Ropes End in Small Point, leading not only to my long and formative time at the Small Point Club, but also to Nick’s inevitable suggestion that “Lebanon would be a nice place to move to, don’t you think?” And I would like to believe that, if genetics or heritage plays a part in anything, the instinct in my mind that immediately agreed to leave my cushy work-from-home job in consulting for the great unknown on the other side of the world was part and parcel of the instinct that led my grandfather to agree to everything that his family and country asked of him, no matter how bureaucratic (like founding the Federal Aviation Agency) or life-threatening (like dog fighting in bi-planes), and everything in between.

I’ve had conversations with various members of my family, as well as people who knew him, trying to get to the heart of the man – It’s as if I have a ghost that haunts me, determining an extraordinary amount of my life and my decisions. Well if I am to be haunted, I suppose there are far worse ghosts to do the haunting!

And just when I felt that following in his footsteps might have led me right off a cliff (see my last post), two things happened.

You were once my hostess. Now you are my home, my friend and my sister. I say these things with the utmost seriousness, and a firm understanding of the context of each statement. Homes, friends and sisters do not enter my life lightly or without struggle.

Though you offered me no promises, this is my promise to you: No matter where I go in life, who I meet, what I see, I will sing your praises to whoever will listen, to the point of outright obnoxiousness.

Before I go to America for vacation on Wednesday, let me offer the following comment I made on November 4th, 2008:

“My new boss Marc remarked to me today, with excitement, trepidation, and the cynicism of a westerner towards the United States of this past decade, of the irony of my arrival the day before the most important American election of the modern era, and that I would begin to work on the day after. He dared not even suggest that Obama could pull it off.”

Almost 8 months in Beirut now – Eight long months. As I sit back and think – go over my current situation, I can’t help but notice the totality, and the still insignificance, of what I’ve accomplished so far… and all the people who have trusted me, who have had faith in me, and who have stood by me.

I will never be able to repay the debt I owe to those who’ve made this possible – even here, I see that truly it takes a village to raise Will Donovan. Perhaps more here than anywhere.

Who has arrived in Lebanon without family, with limited finances, with no contacts, and with a degree in Religion, and built a business from nothing? To those of you who have done so, you know how hard it is. To those who have not, perhaps you can imagine.

To those who have treated me like a brother, God Bless you. You will always have a place in my heart. I could not have done this without you.

To those in particular who have opened your homes and your hearts to me, thank you. There are no words to express my gratitude.

Not much new to report – planning on bunking down tomorrow for the elections – have been to the store to pick up the staples: beer, chips, snacks, diet Pepsi, cheese and crackers. Hopefully it will be a high-uneventful day.

I wanted to share these: The first is from the nightclub White, the second from Chilli’s Restaurant in Achrafiyeh, and the third are from the Sea Club Sporting (they call it a beach club but there’s no beach so I refuse to honor that title, even though it’s an awesome place.

First, White – didn’t expect to be back so soon but I had a great night out there and managed to get some reasonable pictures with the phone.

Next, a frightening and bizzarre experience at Chilli’s Restaurant in Achrafiyeh, which might as well have been somewhere in the Mid West or Boston or something. A truly strange experience to walk out of Beirut and into Chilli’s!

Finally, the wonderful club Sporting – I took a 360-Degree set of shots from where we (Me, Catherine and Nick) were sitting – you can see Rouche, the Sea, South Beirut, and the Ferris Wheel at the Amusement Park.

I also had lunch at the restaurant at the Club, which sits above the main pool areas – we were sitting to the far right.

Click “Read More” to see all the pictures.

BO18 – for the un-initiated, it’s sort of the peak of Lebanon’s “stay out as late as possible while really not having a care in the world” culture. Designed like a coffin, it’s below ground, but with a roof that retracts up ‘on the fly’ so that the cramped and claustrophobic atmosphere suddenly transforms into an incredible outdoor nightclub. And we’re not talking about some little carbon-fiber roof – we’re talking about an enormous steel-girder thing…

Definitely a crazy night… Happy Birthday to Omar – I don’t really go out and hit the town very often but last night was definitely a good time.

…And then next weekend will be a return to the equally swanky Music Hall when Nick’s sister Kaiulani arives. Will be sure to take lots of pictures for the folks back home.

Another another note – I’ve resolved myself to start writing more often… even if it’s boring non-political posts about the occasional late-night crazyness…

A few months back, I wrote a piece entitled “My dear Israel.” In it, I derided Israel for it’s inexplicably overpowering assault on Gaza – Look, every situation has two sides – Hamas took off the gloves, and it’s entirely up to both timeframe and opinion as to who shot first. The truth is, when it comes to Isarel/Palestinine, the first shots were fired by people most of whom have not lived to see their consequences.

Such as it is in Lebanon today, as well, although the wounds are certainly fresher in the Occupied Territories’ northern neighbor: Those who fired many of the first shots are no longer alive to see the positive, and negative, consequences that lead to the Lebanon of May 2009.

Such as it is in Lebanon today, as well, although the wounds are certainly fresher in the Occupied Territories’ northern neighbor: Those who fired many of the first shots are no longer alive to see the positive, and negative, consequences that lead to the Lebanon of May 2009.

I have lived here about seven months – I have seen what a quiet Beirut is, but I have yet to live through “accidents” or “unfortunate periods” or “trouble” or whatever those who have lived through it like to call mid-to-large-scale political or regional violence. But I know one thing – I am an outsider, at the fringes of what these days I can only tentatively call my neighborhood, my city, and my country. Because of course it will never really be “my neighborhood, my city, my country,” not just because I am not Lebanese, but also largely because there are so few in Lebanon who make that claim themselves – the Lebanon of their birthright is hardly the Lebanon it is today, because nobody deserves citizenship to a country in pieces. I think every Lebanese awaits the day when their nation and their passport don’t raise eyebrows or pulses.

My God, it’s been ages, hasn’t it? I am so sorry for not keeping up with my blog, but I’ve been SO busy over the past two months. So many people who are reading this are not at all uptodate on what’s been going with me, and I don’t know where to start, but I’ll try to just give a brief overview.

My God, it’s been ages, hasn’t it? I am so sorry for not keeping up with my blog, but I’ve been SO busy over the past two months. So many people who are reading this are not at all uptodate on what’s been going with me, and I don’t know where to start, but I’ll try to just give a brief overview.

In the past two months I’ve been so blessed to have my name and expertise grown noticed by many people here in Lebanon. In particular, through some business associates, I now have a budding career in strategic communications consulting in Lebanon, and I find myself one of only a few people who are offering those types of services here. What does that mean? In Lebanon, unlike say, in America, there are very few people who help companies…

From Forbes Magazine:

BEIRUT–You could argue that, in a contest to choose the most civilized citizens of the world, it would be a travesty not to choose Beirutis. Multi-domiciled (New York, London, Paris, Beirut), automatically fluent in three languages (English, Arabic, French) and the literature thereof, exquisitely turned out, hospitable and generous by instinct, they conduct their lives in a physical setting so glamorous it rivals Istanbul. They should be U.N.-protected as international cultural treasures.

Conversing with them is a little like appearing in front of an Olympic committee that adjudicates finesse in everything from fine dining to dirty jokes. The financial and entertainment geniuses of the region, they’re the last of the great historic Levantine communities, the kind Lawrence Durrell so loved. They speak a natural Esperanto, “Shu? Alors, what’s it called, habibi, the tres gentil guy who owns Chanel here, my cousin’s husband … ”

This has been my first visit to Beirut as a grown-up, indeed since the civil wars began in the mid-1970s. One week’s past and already I’ve found myself trying to rejig my life so I can return incessantly again and again as the waves do below the Corniche, and as Beirutis never fail to do after each war.

Jill Bolte Taylor: “A Stroke of Insight” – The most incredible speech I’ve ever heard. If you can’t see the video above, click here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyyjU8fzEYU

Agent Lathan gave out 2,000 high fives by standing next to a subway escalator during the morning rush. Five additional agents spread out along the adjacent stairs, holding signs that prepared commuters for the upcoming high five fun. Enjoy the video first and then check out the mission report and photos below.