unexpectedly unexpected

Being back from holidays is a very harsh reality check, especially when you spent the last 8 days in Paradise and you land back in Beirut. No offense Beirut lovers, I love this city most days of the year, but not today. Not when I just came back from blue skies and turquoise seas, deserted islands and elephant rides and white sand as far as the eyes can see.

I haven't been able to write anything since I got back because the mere idea of getting back into my "life" was depressing to me. Ever since I came back last week, I've tried to pretend that I was still away, hiding away from my usual hangouts, getting lectured by dad because he "hasn't seen me one second since I got back" and being passively present at work --physically but not mentally.

Now it's Monday and there are no more excuses. Everyone is back to reality by now and even though it sucks for a few days, I know that by next week, Thailand will be just a memory and life will be in the present again. The streets full of traffic at any hour of the day; The overcrowded bars, even though you'd think everyone got wasted enough the last two weeks of December, turns out they are even more crowded now; in the office where stacks of papers have piled up and you had promised yourself to put everything back in order in 2012; The bedroom where the new housekeeper (God Bless her, she's the sweetest person on earth but she doesn't understand a word I say) has decided to mix all your clothes with your sisters', as if sharing a room and fighting over who borrows what isn't enough; The to-do-list that you have to stop adding to, and start actually getting done. Did I mention all I've done since I got back is post pictures of Thailand on Facebook and play with my new iphone?

But sometimes in the midst of a nauseating routine, you find a glimpse of the good stuff --and what I mean by the good stuff is Sex. Turns out letting your guard down and just doing what you want to do sometimes takes you to better places. Let me explain --my friend Curls meets this guy over Xmas break: she doesn't live here, he doesn't live here, they've got nothing to lose. They find themselves attracted to each other and in that moment she knows all she wants from him is physical. She lets her guard down, doesn't play games, goes for what she wants and what happens? It actually clicks. I mention this because she is the queen of meeting new guys and it not working out. She is almost always looking for something serious, something meaningful, and she's a romantic one --but usually in stead of letting things flow as they should, she is prepared to settle for less. She meets a guy, realizes he fits the checklist, and holds onto him for dear life. Why? Because after years of getting run over by men you develop this phobia (and this is purely my own theory) that you may very well never find what you've always dreamed of and you settle for less. And if there is one thing I hate most in life it has to be just that. I almost fell for this too, not so long ago: met a guy, found him good-looking and charming and sweet and A-Perfect on every item on the list but you know what, at the end of our "date" I was disappointed. There he was: great on paper but no butterflies. Amazingly well-rounded but with nothing "special." No edge. Nothing out of the box. It was a perfectly well wrapped box with a pretty bow on top, and I'm sorry but that's not for me. And it's not for Curls either. Now the second she thought "I've got nothing to lose" suddenly she was herself. She broke down the barriers we put up to be our most attractive self, and put her cards on the table. I know, men like to chase. They don't want all your cards upfront. But it's all in the attitude. I spent all year listening to all kinds of advice from all kinds of people and it got me nowhere, until I met this guy randomly and I decided to have a one night stand --because that is exactly what I wanted-- and it turns out it was a damn good stand to take. It felt liberating to finally act the way I want, with no calculating and no over-thinking, just simply following my own wants and needs. 

So I think I finally may have figured it out. It's not the games and the number of calls and the bitch 101. It's whether you do what you want, or whether you do what you think he wants you to do. Simple as that. And here's the thing about doing what you want: it is so much more fun.

a Lebanese weekend

I want to tell you about my weekend. Mostly because it's the first weekend in 4 months where we weren't on set shooting for "Beirut I love You" and I was having some serious withdrawal symptoms. But then again, it's summer, and I haven't had a summer-like weekend yet so I went all in.

Friday night, I had dinner with one of my closest friends who was here "de passage," for a wedding of course, her seventh of the season. We did the whole "let's catch up in an hour and half" thing when you just give the highlights of the last few months and, in perspective, so many stories that felt important along the way don't make it to the final cut. Then I spruced up my  attire, adding high-heels and gold earrings in order to enter the epic Lalaland of Skybar. I usually risk it once a year, just so I can reaffirm my hatred when friends try to convince me to go. That way I can say with absolute certainty that yes, I still hate it as much as last year, and no, I will not be coming next Friday. Now I know it's part of our national pride or something, and should probably be in the runner against the Jeita Grotto for the Wonders of the World thing, but I hate it. And it's not Skybar itself that I hate, because it's a beautiful place, obviously, but that music; and those new screens with the light shows; and the fire; it's like what one of my friends called it "a modern day circus." Seriously, I know us Lebanese love to go and look at each other, males riveted by females wearing short dresses or mini-shorts, and girls starring at each other always finding a way to put down the beautiful girl who just walked in because "her toes are crooked" or "she's not a real blond" or "she actually has a fat ass if you look at it closely." And I'm not saying I've never done it, I'm just saying I hate that I actually stand there and participate.  Of course it wasn't all bad --mis-a-part my poor feet that really aren't used to a night in high-heels.

On Saturday, we got ourselves up early and were at our favorite summer place, Jammal, by lunchtime. It's an annual tradition for us to gather on the pebbles, tables and chairs in the water, eating fish until we burst and drinking Arak and/or Rose for about seven hours. There's usually 20 of us harassing the poor waiters assigned to our table. We laughed about each others sex lives (well mine mostly) and tried to be polite in front of newcomers, the respective dates of some of my friends --and we came to the  realization that all the guys on the table were attached, and all the girls (who weren't their girlfriends) were single. Makes you wonder. But every year people have come and gone from that table on the pebbles --some are gone for good; others, perhaps, have joined for good, but the core is always the same.

We stopped by McDonalds on the way back and each ate a full meal, with supersized fries and cokes. And we all felt like throwing up afterwards.

Now Saturday night was a whole new experience for me, as I attended a gay birthday house party. Don't get me wrong, three of my closest friends are gay and I love them to pieces, but this was still an experience. First of all, we don't have that many house parties in Beirut. Second of all, there was an agglomeration of thirty guys in a super cool and neat apartment, with a buffet of neatly cut and shaped fruit on the table. And I had the best time. Samantha, an Italian hot-stud who I so wish wasn't gay, told us the story about when his mama came to Lebanon and wanted to visit Sabra and Chatila wearing Chanel from head to toe and a big summer hat. Now imagine him telling this story with an Italian accent. Priceless.

On Sunday, my eternal brunch buddy came back to the surface after months of neglect. I went with him and Classy to have lunch at Tawlet. We spent the afternoon in the AC watching the most depressing movie of the year, Winter's Bone, and then we had to put thirty minutes of Gad Elmaleh just to change our moods.

At night, it was the BILU reunion [Beirut I Love You cast and crew] since I wasn't the only one having withdrawal symptoms. We went to have dinner in Bikfaya, at our director's beautiful house. We ate, we drank, we had a guitar. And we were all in the garden singing Bob Dylan and the Beatles and apart from the random beetles and insects that scared the shit out of me a few times, it was perfect. And this is going to sound cheesy but that's ok, we could all use a small amount of cheesy in our lives --we were singing Coldplay's "Beautiful World" and I had a thought: I had a very Lebanese weekend, from one extreme to the other. But what makes it Lebanese isn't Skybar or Batroun or Tawlet or Bikfaya. It's the human connection we encounter everywhere we go.

Cause everybody here's got somebody to lean on.

Beirut RATsodies: dating beyond borders

Lebanese live abroad, work abroad, date abroad. I asked one of the guys to talk about his experience of dating a non-Lebanese. This is the RATsody of the month!

Dating beyond borders

Lebanese men seem to have become accustomed to the concept of dating foreign girls. We hear of the Lebanese who moved in with his French girlfriend in their 15 m² apartment; the friend who got married to an Italian girl he met 6 months ago, only to divorce 6 months later; the colleague who is dating an American blonde who seems to come straight out of a Hollywood teenager movie.

When you leave home to settle in another country, dating a foreign girl becomes an adventure that follows very specific stages. You start by hanging out with other Lebanese and feel awkward about approaching locals. Then, you’re puzzled about the idea. You think it would help your integration. You’re excited. You can’t resist her blond hair and blue eyes. You make a move and you intend to test the claim that French girls are great in bed. It generally doesn’t really work the first 2 or 3 times. Then you find the perfect match, get to know each other, discover a new culture, move in together and feel that you finally belong.

That’s until the moment of truth arrives, when you invite her to come spend a week in Lebanon… Because no matter how much you prepared her for the ride, or how many times you asked your parents and friends to be nice and always speak English, things unfortunately never turn out as easy as you thought: excitement is replaced with awkwardness, discussions about your parents turn into conflicts, English turns into Arabic. Then you realize what “lost in translation” feels like, and that the same jokes are actually not that funny in German.

Being part of a family that has a significant number of unsuccessful experiences in the topic, I knew I would be facing issues introducing my foreign (now ex-) girlfriend to my family.  Initially, my mother didn’t like the idea of us living together – not to mention the fact that we shared our apartment with her huge dog, that she was 2 years older than me and spoke a local dialect that often required a quick search on Google translate. Less than a week after introducing her to my entourage, annoying questions started popping up: why is she dressed like that? Doesn’t she wear any make-up? Are you really planning on marrying someone who doesn’t understand our culture? Before I knew it, they were already trying to introduce me to their friend’s daughters or sisters. I wondered if only they could learn a little from our politicians who seem to know how to please their foreign counterparts even more than the local people who elected them.

Don’t get me wrong, the experience obviously has lots of upside: teaching her swear words in Arabic, taking her to Baalbek and realizing it’s the first time you actually go there, or being proud to show her how many good friends you have at home. When I was away from Lebanon, I loved how simple our relationship was, the fact that we didn’t have to deal with her parents every day, that issues such as religion and age difference were not that big of a deal. I also appreciated not having 50 friends in common with her and not meeting her ex every time we went clubbing, which seemed to be very common experiences for my friends back home.

So how can you make it through without the hassle and the conflicts?  First, prepare yourself mentally to face the challenge and the criticism; Prepare your partner to the test that she is about to face and help her get through it: buy your mother a gift on her behalf, remind her to call your dad on his birthday, help her find common interests with your best friend. At the same time, show your entourage how much she means to you and remind them that she truly makes you happy.

Most importantly, make sure to explain to your partner that in Lebanon, dating beyond borders means she’ll be in a relationship with your parents, siblings, grandparents, friends, culture and origin!

introducing girls and boys

Meet the Lebanese girl.
She's the one who gets her nails to match the buckle of her Chanel bag. She goes to the gym six times a week, has her hair professionally done, wears the latest Louboutin and when it's time to walk that body in a bathing-suit, she looks like she was copy/pasted from Playboy Magazine.
She's the one who sits in the back of Torino Express sipping a beer and inhaling a cigarette with her hair kinda falling in front of her eyes. She reads books written by obscure Russian novelists and shows up at every Art show in town --which most of us don't even know existed.
She's the one who works 15 hours a day, but still manages to look good when she walks out of the office and into Myu at 10pm, ready to put her flirt on. She's the one who goes biking and skiing and climbing --just for the fun of it. She's the one who stands up for gay rights, women's rights, children's rights, and always has an opinion. She's the pretty one, the smart one, the snobish one, the fashion-addicted one, the diet one, the plastic one, the business one. She's all of that and none of that and there's one for every taste.

Meet the Lebanese boy.
He's the one with the black Porsche and the 4 digit car-plate even though he's only 21. He orders Champagne at Palais, and has a table every week of the Summer at Sky Bar. He wears a Polo Ralph Lauren shirt and a Rolex watch, none of which he could ever afford without Dad.
He's the one hiding behind his beard, drinking Tequila shots at Behind the Green Door, sometimes dressed like a homeless drunk, sometimes looking edgy and hot. He smokes weed to chill-out, and ends up at B018 on any given Friday night.
He's the one who works in the family business, and acts as if it was not handed down on a golden platter. He's the one who watches sports on TV, 7 hours a day, and spends the other 7 playing sports --on his Playstation. He's the funny one, the expat one, the sleezy one, the political one, the gay one, the workaholic one, the rich one. He's all of that and none of that and there always seems to be a girl who digs it.

Now meet the Lebanese couple.
They're the ones who are both good-looking, have three beautiful children, and have a professional photographer take their family pictures. They have two Philippino maids, a driver, three cars, and an apartment with sea view. She used to match her nails to her Chanel bag, but now matches it to her kids' clothing. He used to have a table a Sky Bar for the summer, and he still does.
They're the ones who are chilled-out, she still dresses like she was twenty-two, he alternates between the business look and the homeless look depending on the mood. They've been married three years but don't have any children because they're not ready to give up smoking just yet. She's an architect or a journalist, he's a self-made consultant or something financial.
They're the ones who have been dating for seven years, finally got engaged last summer... and then broke up because it suddenly felt too serious. They're the ones who seem to really like each other, especially because they're both from prominent Sunni (Maronite, Chii'a, Orthodox...) families and their parents love each other. They're the ones who are head over heals because their parents can't stand each other, are from different religions, and the boy has no real prospects and the girl doesn't care. They're the ones who cheat on each other like it's just another thing you do, the ones who act like a couple but refuse to acknowledge that they are together, the ones who fight constantly and you wonder why the hell they're still together.

We're all of that and none of that and that's what makes us a little bit Lebanese, and a little bit of that something else that we all bring to the pack.