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Welcome to my traveldiary notes. It’s a wordy/fabulating/reflecting experience I’m inviting you to join. Since I left london for Paris I’ve been writing almost everyday. There’s been a lot to digest. If I’m tirering you, I don’t understand it – to me it’s all very exiting and important!
Tell me if you have questions, want to jump off the trip or take others with you (i.e. give me emails of the people I forgot to put on the mailinglist).
And yes, the diary begins exactly a week ago, the day before I left Paris for Beirut. Due to illness, unstable internet connection and an action packed unplanned programme I haven’t been able to send the diaries before now. So, enjoy!

(n.b. everything’s fine, i’m happy and in a good mood. hope everything’s fine where you are. don’t hesitate to write me back, I like to follow you all. soon I’ll be wirelessly connected and thereby easier to communicate with. my cellphone number is: 0961 7089 2681. Love you all and miss you all, sidsel)
(email sent to family and friends the 30th of Otctober, 2007)

23/10/07. Paris, France (Thoughts before taking off)

Left London – again – this Saturday with Eurostar heading towards Paris. It’s been a bit of travelling since. I left my house in Carlile Close, London, the 12th of October to spend a week full of hellos and goodbyes in Copenhagen. Most of the time I was with my family hugging, touching, looking and listening to my two beloved nieces. Their slow baby-pace reloaded me and the 18th I went back to London to pick up my stuff for Beirut. I had two really nice days there and said goodbye to people once again. These 14 months in London have been quite tough, tense and tight. But during the last month I’ve had time to enjoy the city and take advantage of it’s good parts (which a too busy MA does not allow you to enjoy). There are places I’m gonna miss and people that I already long to see again. Still, I’m not the only one leaving. People from the MA is already scattered around the world; Turkey, India, Lebanon, Latin America etc. Two of my best friends have been offered jobs at the museum of contemporary art in Rome and at a project for the architect Rem Koolhaas in China (I’m so proud..! tell me about the dinner with Rem, Raf…). All this struggle during the MA has proved not to be too bad after all.

Here in Paris I’m spending time with my sister and her family, celebrating my birthday (thanks for all the facebook/myspace-messages, texts and emails. Love you all and will soon answer them☺) and then I’m going to a performance with a Lebanese artist tonight. Paris is a good transition between London and Beirut (Lebanon has been colonialised by France), I’ve started speaking French again (because of the colonialisation a large part of the population speaks French) and mentally started preparing to go south. I will leave Paris at 1 pm tomorrow Wednesday and arrive at 10.25 pm local time in Beirut. Mirene, my friend from London, will pick me up in the airport and I’ll stay a couple of days at her dad’s place until I move to the room, where I’m gonna stay until the 15th of December.
I know some have been surprised by my decision to go to Beirut, but looking at the friends I’ve got in london, it doesn’t seem as such a foreign idea. I’ve already mentioned Mirene, she and her cousin Marwa are in Beirut now working on a workshop with a Mexican artist. Then there’s Christine who is also from the MA and running Ashkal Alwan ( http://www.ashkalalwan.org/), a centre for plastique arts where I’m gonna do most of my research for the Danish thesis (the official reason I’m here). Muzna is another friend, she’s doing a Phd at Goldsmiths in visual anthropology and currently doing her fieldwork in Beirut. All these people are somehow related to a lebanese/palestinean group of people i hang out with in London, who are all working with some kind of artistic practice. Among those who are still in London are Mahdi (studying film) + Tania (does performance art), and in Canterbury there’s Bassem (another filmmaker). Then I recently met Ali and Najlaa, who are working at the BBC in London. And of course Katrine (my Danish friend who also did the MA at Goldsmiths) who has studied fine arts in Beirut and who has introduced me to a lot of these people. Then there’s another Danish friend, Marianne, who’s in south Lebanon this autumn doing a documentary with another friend, Dalia (also from Goldsmiths).

So, I’m really exited☺ Katrine has shown me all the good places to eat, have milkshakes, swim, have coffee, where to become a regular, where to promenade, have my nails done (?!), go to the cinema and so forth. The place I’m gonna stay seems to be really good. It’s Muzna who has put me on contact with a photographer, Matthew, who has a spare room in a big flat placed in the city centre so i can walk to all the good places. I’m gonna look at my room there as a studio, I’ll have a desk and a chair, which is all I need to write and read.
Some of you have been asking; what about the bombs..? Since the war ended the bombs have mostly been targeted assasinations with few casualties. Some told me that I should be more frightened about the traffic. We’ll see, now I’m speaking with no personal experience, it all may change or it may not. Hvo intet vover, intet vinder (if you don’t try, you’ll never win), and I want to try and I want win in terms of knowledge, experience and hopefully a more broad horizon. Now seems to be a good moment, so, tomorrow at 1 pm…

24/10/07. Larnaca, Cyprus. (Doubts on the way…)

Have a 2 hours stop in Larnaca, Cyprus, before flying 30 minutes and landing in Beirut. Have doubts about my rubber boots. People have looked at them with a surprised face and they may be right. It’s 20 degrees outside and here I am; in three layers of wool, a long coat and my rubber boots. With a high heel. I checked the climate in Lebanon before leaving and it’ll soon start raining twice as much as in Denmark. I feel awkward, though, and I’m glad i didn’t bring my Finnish ‘authentic’ leather snow-boots. Just want to fit in!
I still haven’t got a confirmation from Mirene that she’ll pick me up in the airport. I’m quite certain she will be there. Our cellphones doesn’t correspond, so… Better go now, can hear the call for gate 7.

25/10/07. Beirut, Lebanon. (The first day in Lebanon)

Sisi! Sisi! As I left the transit hall i was met by a row of eyes from unknown faces. It was from behind this row I could hear the sound of my name and I could see Mirene’s face popping up and down as she ran carefully towards the exit in a short dress and heels. I knew she would be there. It was so nice to see her again. It felt all homey and I had the sense I’d been here before. Her brother was there as well, Kik, he spend a month in London, so I already know him a bit. We drove through the town while updating on the latest news and doing a bit of sightseeing in the dark – it was almost eleven as I arrived. That was yesterday, Wednesday the 24th of October.

Mirene lives with her dad and brother a little north of Beirut. Her brother is studying at the AUB (American University Beirut) and her dad is retired. As I’ve been sick all day today (I caught a cold in Paris, it was really cold there), I’ve spend a little time with her dad, who is very noble, kind and a bit quiet. We had dinner together as Mirene is working really hard on a conference taking place next Wednesday and for that reason, she wasn’t at home. During the dinner we talked about politics in Lebanon and Denmark. The cartoon crisis (it’s a subject one seems to carry on one’s shoulders as a Dane these days), immigration politics, visa’s (who pay for entering which country), elections (there’ll be elections in Lebanon and Denmark within the same week), social systems etc. He’s been very kind to me – it must be a bit strange to have an unknown friend of your daughters in the house, who’s moreover sick and walking around like a zombie. At least it’s been a bit strange for me, the zombie, to enter a house and just sleep and eat without the energy to behave as appropiate as I would like towards this noble old man…

The dinner was prepared by Lisa, the servant who lives in the house. She’s in her 30’s, from Ethiopia and seems to be around all the time. Making tea, breakfast, lunch (had a really nice lebanese dish with meatballs in a yoghurt sauce with coriander, mmmmh) and dinner. As soon as I left the room this morning, she went in and did the bed. It’s a bit weird, with my Danish background I’m not used to be around servants – don’t know how to behave. In my upbringing we all participated in doing all the house duties and no one would leave the table after dinner without helping clearing it.
As my friend said, when one has a servant living in the house one has issues of class, money, private/public life and cultural patterns – also on a global level as the servants here often come from Sri Lanka, Philippine and Ethiopia – mixed in the home. It’s interesting on a theoretical level as well as on a personal one. After waitressing in London at high society events I kind of identify with Lisa in an awkward way – it’s not fun to serve people in this way in my opinion! And therefore it’s not fun for me to be served. But then, it’s a delicate problematic and I don’t know enough about this specific case to say anything about it. Lisa has been with the family for 5 years now – it’s a long while.

Well, this first day in Lebanon has been a bit foggy. I’ve been sleeping most of the day except from when Mirene’s dad took me down to buy a sim for my cellphone. This evening I started texting people I know in Beirut and I’ll meet most of them this weekend. Muzna asked me to join her on a trip for Tyr, it’s a town down south about 1,5 hours from here. She’s going on Saturday and we’re planning on taking a swim on the way. As she said; you have to get well, because we’ve kept the good weather for you to take a swim… I envied her so much this summer as she was in Beirut and I in rainy London writing my dissertation… So I’ll get well – even though I don’t mind this slow and silent transition. I have to get used to the climate and prepare for the things I’ve wished to do for so long; having time to write, reflect and adopt the things I’ve learned during the masters. And then it seems like I have to get used to a different lifestyle as well. As Mirene told me, the first thing you have to learn, is, that you never know when or if things will happen. I guess it’s something about not planning too much, as things seem to happen in the moment/near future. We’ll see.

28/10/07. North of Beirut, Lebanon. (Thoughts on architecture and an unforgettable trip down south to a village and a palestinean refugee camp)

“things seem to happen in the moment/near future.” This was the end of my traveldiary notes from the 25th of October. This predictions was right and I so much want to tell you about an action packed weekend full of experiences, but I’m too tired! I’m in Mirene’s room thinking while listening to a talk (on her computer) by Tony Chakar, a Beirut based architect and theorist who’s talking about how a catastrophe shapes architecture. In this case he’s talking about the civil war in Lebanon. What one could notice at the end of the war, was that newly built houses would have smaller and smaller windows. This was a result of anxiety of a future catastrophe. The small windows would protect against attacks from snipers, bombs etc. So, to protect oneself against future attacks even though the war had ended was to anticipate another catastrophe and thus making the architecture into an architecture of catastrophe.

Tomorrow, I’m moving to my new house. It’s a big old French/Lebanese building with big windows and a terrasse for each room. I’ve never been in a house with such high ceilings. It has cheramic floors and coloured walls. Lots of space. Lots of doors and windows opening up to the outside making the appartment porous in the sense where in and out blends. The balconies and the open doors and windows mark the transition between public and private life. Outside and inside. I remember to have attended a talk by Anne-Marie, the former director of the Academy of fine arts in Copenhagen, on precisely this topic. The blurred boundary of inside and outside is (was in some cases) apparently a characteristic for Middle Eastern architecture.

Now I’m awake, so why not continue a bit. I got the room in this porous house through Muzna, a friend from London. She took me on an unforgettable trip to the south yesterday, Saturday, so first a few notes on Muzna:
Muzna is in he early 30’s currently doing a Phd in London at Goldsmiths in Visual Anthropology (which is somehow to change the notebook of the anthropologist with a camera = she makes films) and is now doing fieldwork in Beirut, where she’s born and grew up. Muzna has over the past years worked for different NGO’s, among others Amnesty and Save the Children. She has worked a lot with young people in areas of conflict and has organised a lot of events, workshops etc. with and for young people. She lived 4 years in the south of Lebanon while she worked for Save the Children. Here she met Mariam, a teenager who’s now at my age. We went to the village of Mariam yesterday to see a film she’d made with some other young people from the same village. The film was on the youth in the village and the topic was emigration, i.e. why the youth wants to leave the village and what they think they’ll obtain in another country. This is Muzna’s blog: http://hakaya.blogspot.com/

Before we continue, a few words on Mariam:
Mariam lives with her parents and some of her 10 siblings. The mother is 67 and really cool. She looked like she was 80 (she’s been pregnant 15 times, lost 4 of the kids), missing half of her teeth and having wrinkles all over the face. When we said goodbye, she high-fived me and hold my hand while looking at me with the the warmest eyes and the biggest smile in the world. The family is a muslim family. Mariam decided to take off her veil one year ago. Still, when she’s in the village, she wears it loosely binding it in the neck. Muzna and Mariam befriended each other ten years ago.

Where we met to see the film we were invited for breakfast. We sat on the terrasse, which was like a room in the house, but without walls (again, a blurring of the inside and the outside of the house). There was a big table with fresh meet, grilled meet, eggs, tomatoes, fresh thymes and mynthe, manaish (a round and a bit thick /soft bread with thymes folded on the middle), bread and fresh olives from the terrasses in the mountains. The olives had only been opened a bit on the side and then put in salt. The taste was really fresh and very different from the olives we know.

It was overwhelming to come to the village. It’s situated in the mountains in a very beautiful area. You’ll find olive trees, lemon trees etc. and a lot of bombed houses. The noise from the construction of new houses was immense and always present. Mariam’s showed me an area full of stones situated just behind her house. There had been a butcher, a clothing shop, small food shops etc, 8 houses in all, that were all bombed during the war in 2006. This was just one example of the present traces of the war. On the way down south we drove like in waves because bridges had been destroyed and roads bombed. When it comes to mines, all the villages have been cleaned, but the fields are still no-go land for visitors (it’s also where hezbollah hides their weapons, so they’re not that interested in visitors as well). We also drove through Khana (the town, where Christ (according to some people) changed water into wine), which was the target for a massacre with around 100 casualties (mostly women and children) in 2006. 44 of the children came from the village of Mariam.

Muzna is strong, a loving and giving person. She’s a hard worker in an admirable way. She’s still in contact with the people she worked with 10 years ago and was around in the village talking to people assuring that they were okay. She and her boyfriend, Maher, have initiated the project that resulted in the film we saw. They run a project called Cinemayat ( http://www.cinemayat.org/), where they collect moving images of the daily life from around the country. One principle is, that the images have to be filmed by the people out there themselves. Cinemayat emerged as a reaction to the mass media images (that are very present here in Lebanon, everybody watch the tele all the time) and Muzna and Maher are now building an archive of all these images and films. They spent two hours discussing the film and the future progress of it with the young people who made it. That was quite intense to overhear; a long song of arabic sounds and the smoke from maybe 70 cigarets issued from their talking lips, while I painstakingly tried to decipher just a couple of words. It’s difficult.

From the village we drove to a Palestinean camp to pick up the stuff of Fiona (my future flatmate) and her boyfriend, Fabien, who have been living in the camp while they were helping Mariam and the others doing the film. It was interesting to see the camp. Fiona told me that it’s one of the most peaceful camps, as it has no internal fights or conflicts between families etc.
Accumulation is a good word to describe the camp. The houses are small and placed very close to each other. And as the families grow and they can’t expand the houses on the ground, so the houses expand upwards. You’ll find cables for electricity hanging everywhere. It’s quite quiet, we came around 7 pm when it was dark. As most of the streets are tiny, tiny small, you’ll find no cars. Moreover the streets are not lit, so one’s senses are more awake. We went to the cultural house, where they have a theatre, a library, computers and so forth. It was a very nice place and Fiona told me, that this camp is one of the best, when it comes to cultural life and social activities. I’m still asking myself, can you imagine to live on a temporary basis for a lifetime?

That was Saturday. Today I went to the north with Mirene and her family. We went to a christian village where her family originates from and where they have a house and a church. In two days I’ve been in the north and in the south, in a muslim and a christian village. I’ve seen the traces of unbelievable things and met people who witnessed them. I’ve been in and out of their houses, houses where I was welcomed in the most friendly, open and sweet way. The houses had big windows in a metaphorical sense. It was houses with people who definitely know the fear of future attacks, but people who weren’t affraid of foreigners at all. Foreigners can be a link to an outside world, which was seaked at least between the people in the village in the south. I was offered two marriages, mostly for fun. In both cases it was women who asked me about my status and proposed a son or a brother to me. They fantasize about the life in Denmark. I’m just smiling – it seems to be a good move – and the only move I can make while the election campaign is going crazy on immigration politics in Denmark. It’s kind of a serious gap (on the one hand people dreaming of a happy and rich life in Denmark and on the other hand a Denmark where the hostility against emigrants is increasing) to contain through a somehow funny situation (the marriage-situation is always followed by a lot of laughter). What I have experienced so far will lie dormant in me for some time, while I try to find out how to deal with it.
Anyways, I’m not gonna marry so far and I’m not gonna tire you with more stories. I’ll save some writing for tomorrow, for my new house and for my first real day in Beirut.

29/10/07. Beirut. (First day in my new house and how to find my way around in a confusing town)

First night in my new house. I’m alone. I was sitting in the dark on the balcony (having yoghurt and müesli for dinner, still don’t know how the gaz works), when it appeared to me, that I wasn’t scared. There’s 15 rooms including kitchen and bathrooms, a lot of doors and dark corners. Still not scared.
Tomorrow I’m gonna wake up at 5 am to the sound of two minarets just around the corner. Hope to fall a sleep again. Have to get used to the sounds, the cars and the dust from the construction site in front of my window.
Went to Hamra today. Hamra is a wellknown street and it’s apparently the place where all the good café’s are. It completely exhausted me. Didn’t find what I looked for and expected – everybody is so exited about Hamra. But it didn’t open itself to me today. Plus, it’s not really easy to find one’s way around this town. It’s a town people know through buildings. I remember how a lebanese friend of mine didn’t know how to use an A-Z (the detailed map over london, which is a must-have in that city). She didn’t know how to navigate a map, because she had never really learned it or used it. Here one navigates differently than through grids, numbers and streetnames. When you take a cap or a service (shared taxibusses), you don’t tell a street as your destination, but a building. So one has to know all the buildings in the city to circulate smoothly. That means, that I have to learn them by, yes, I don’t quite know by what means… Now I understand how my friend felt in London… I haven’t adapted to the beirut-way of finding one’s way around… I’ll soon learn, the city centre is small and a first plan is to walk and walk and it’ll all be more known to me.
It’s been an exhausting day, moving and buying stuff. Don’t have the energy to write about the trip up north yesterday. Maybe it’s not everything I have to write about. So, I’ll leave it or save it for later.

30/10/07. Beirut. (Maybe I was scared anyway. But it’s okay now:-))

So, I didn’t wake up by the prayers from the minarets. Instead it was the sounds of footsteps. It was around 2.30 am and I could hear the steps approaching my room. It sounded like heavy boots that clashed the floor and then was dragged slowly until another clash took over. Clash draaag, clash draaag, clash draaag.
I’m alone in the house until tonight and my room is at the far end of the entrance. I wasn’t expecting anyone to come. Pretty scared I sat up in the bed, grapped my phone, dialed Mirene’s number and listened.
It could be a ghost. I’m sure lots of stuff have happened in this house. Maybe it was a soldier, the heels sounded like military boots. I’m not afraid of ghosts, my MA dissertation was on ghosts and my thesis in Denmark is gonna be on ghosts. Should I welcome the spirit?
I made sure not to make any sounds and listened carefully. The steps were carried by a strange echo. Maybe they were not that close. Maybe it was the people upstairs? It sounded like that, I told myself. You can relax now, take a deep breath. Slowly my grab around the phone was loosened and I fell back into sleep.

Today I’m relaxing, unpacking my stuff, getting adjusted to the house and then, later on I’m going to meet with Mirene, her cousin Marwa and Cuauhtémoc Medina, a Mexican writer and theorist who’s giving a talk tomorrow at a conference Mirene and Marwa are arranging. We’re gonna meet at the seaside – something I haven’t seen of Beirut yet.

01/11/07. Beirut (Powercuts and how power conditions your life)

It’s interesting how one is conditioned here. Like now. There’s a powercut. It happens almost everyday and lasts in our area for about 3-4 hours. I was in the middle of making espresso on an electrical machine, when the machine suddenly stopped. At first, I paranoiacally thought I had broken it. It’s not mine, but Matthew’s. The guy who has the house and whom I haven’t met before. Didn’t like to break his machine before even meeting him… But no, it was a powercut. We were making pancakes and I so much wanted a coffee. Then, while Fiona was making the pancakes I went to wash my clothes. We have a special washing machine. It’s something about filling water into it, then adding clothes and soap. Then making it spin for 15 minutes. Then emptying the machine for water into a bucket, filling the machine with water again (warm water comes from the kitchen in a bucket as well), spinning for 15 minutes, rinsing, emptying it again with help from the bucket. Then put the clothes into the centrifuge twice and then finally, drying it on the balcony. I added water, soap and my clothes. Pressed the button and nothing happened. I really couldn’t understand why it didn’t work. It wouldn’t spin all though the machine made a sound. Had I broken it, did I do something wrong? Then, it came to my mind. There was a powercut. How stupid I was. Now my clothes are in the water with the soap and it’s gonna be there for, yeah, another three hours… I had planned to email my university in Cph and then to go to Ashkal Alwan today (Ashkal Alwan is the association my friend Christine is running and where I have access to a whole archive of Lebanese video art, performance etc.) I could go out now and come back when the powercut is over to wash my clothes, but then, I have friends coming from the south (Marianne and Dalia doing a documentary in Tyr, I’m happy to see them☺), and they’re coming within an hour to place their stuff here. So… can’t even email now, as the internet doesn’t work without electricity… What to do, then…

Fortunately my computer is almost always charged. So, by now, I know I have around an hour and a half with my computer. I’m on the balcony, eating pancakes and drinking tea.

The powercut is followed by signs. One of them is sound. The sound of generators that make it up for the national electricity supply. Our house doesn’t have a generator. But all the houses around us have. So now, I’m on the balcony with a heavy symphony of generators. A sound that signals the powercut. A powercut that conditions my actions and possibilities. Like yesterday. I was on my way to Ashkal Alwan. There was a powercut and as the internet doesn’t work, I couldn’t check the address. I wouldn’t call Christine to ask her, as she’s extremely busy. My dear friend Katrine had made a map of Beirut by hand. I kind of knew in what direction Ashkal Alwan is situated and I knew it was close to the SAS hotel. So I walked in that direction and when I came nearer, I asked people. But nobody knew Ashkal Alwan. Walking, walking, walking. I had given up and was looking for a café to have a coffee, when my eyes were caught by something familiar. It was the SAS hotel. Feeling a little bit like home (…) I continued. The hotel had half a circle of flags on top of the entrance and I noticed, that the Danish flag was put in the back… One couldn’t see it, actually. In front was the Swedish and the Norwegian flags. Looking a bit lost two taxidrivers asked me if I needed help. Ashkal Alwan, I said, and one of the taxidrivers got a sudden smile on his face, Christine! Ashkal Alwan! Eh, eh (yes, yes). Waving with his hands and talking in Arabic he followed me 20 metres down the road, and there it was, on the fourth floor.

Now it would be natural to tell about Ashkal Alwan and Christine, but I’m not sure I have time enough. I don’t want to rush, when I write about beloved people. But I can tell, that it was really nice to see her again. We did the masters together in London and she left in June to do work in Beirut. We haven’t seen each other for almost half a year. Sometimes I don’t understand all the things she’s managed to do in the 15 years Askal Alwan has existed. She told me, that they’ve lately been part of changing the censorship laws on cultural production in Lebanon. I knew, that a specific performance had caused a lot of turbulence and discussions this August. But I didn’t know, that it let to a change in the laws. That’s huge. I was supposed to see the performance in Paris, but didn’t reach it. It’s How Nancy Wished That It Was All An April Fool’s Joke by Rabih Mroue and commissioned by Ashkal Alwan. It is on 4 martyrs and was banned by the Surete Generale for content in Lebanon. It was not until three days before the performance was scheduled, that the Interior Minister withdrew the ban because of pressure from local medias and cultural practitioners. The Culture Minister was on the front page of one newspaper talking against cultural censorship. Sometimes art does have an effect and makes a change…

It helps to struggle against power and authorities. And I can understand why artists here do it. Power is visible everywhere. Especially in the streets. Policemen are standing, a lot, controlling the cars who passes certain roads. Sometimes there is metal barriers so cars have to drive as if it was a slalom. It reminds me of when I trained to get my drivers license.
From the balcony I can see a small house. It’s placed in the corner of a parking lot full of quite expensive cars. The house is not a house, it’s more like a barack around 3 metres wide and 6 metres deep. On top there’s a round container collecting rain water. In fact the barack in itself looks like a wooden shipping container. In this ”house” 6 policemen live. From the door of the barack one steps out on the pavement. Here they stand in pairs and check the traffic in the street. The street is about 200-300 metres long and it’s a quite quiet area. Not many cars pass by. So, they have a lot of time to keep an eye on the area. As the other night. We were on the balcony when some kind of unnatural phenomenon appeared in the sky. It seemed as if an enormous piece of white cloth was floating far, far away. It was night, the sky was dark and it looked amazing. So what does Sidsel do? She runs to her room to get her camera. The camera doesn’t work very well with nightvision. She tries to figure out how take good photographs at night, and clicks several times to capture the phenomenon. With and without flash. It still doesn’t work and instead she takes a couple of pictures of the others on the balcony. We continue talking. Suddently the moon appears and we can understand that the white cloth was moonlight shining down on a moving cloud and thereby creating floating formations.
I was tired, the talk of the others became distant as my eyes drifted to the street. I could see the policemen discussing with some local people. They were pointing towards our house. One policeman started running, the gun jumping up and down. Then they calmed down. The policeman came back. They continued discussing, looking and pointing at us. I silently told the girl next to me. She’s lebanese and didn’t take much notice of them. She stood up to look at them. The others got involved in the looking. More action on the balcony and the policemen started approaching the house. Matthew? They shouted. No, he’s not here yet. Tomorrow. Eh, eh (Yes, yes). They continued walking towards the house. Then they ran the bell. I went to my room with computer, Fabien did the same. Fiona and the two Arabic girls opened the door.
Apparently, they had seen us taking photographs. The flash. They needed to know that it was just a flash (and not a gun?) and that we didn’t photograph them or the buildings around us. I showed them my camera. There was a couple of black screens with a small white, unclear formation somewhere in the background. I had deleted the worst ones. How many pictures I had taken? I don’t know. How many I had deleted? I don’t know. He continued to look at my pictures, some from London, some from Mirene’s village up north. Feeling a bit intimidated I took my camera out of his hands. He let me do so. The others were talking in Arabic, the policemen smiled, shaked hands with us and left. It was a very weird situation. Feeling like a kid being told not to do something. Meeting borders you think are unfair, but not being able to negotiate with the power telling you to behave otherwise. And not feeling like negotiating with this macho authority. Just wanting them to leave and letting us be.

I kind of understand why an architecture of catastrophe with small windows appears (see notes from 28/10/07). Our house, which is very open, does not fit into an anxoius society. We use the openness this house offers us. We sit outside at night. And we talk, listen to music, get home late from bars, have a lot of guests visiting and sleeping over: A lot of peopel circulate in and out of the house. Of course, I’m not gonna take pictures from the balcony at nighttime again. I’m getting adjusted to the rules here. And as soon one knows them, less fritction appears. And one has more power. One is not conditioned by power in such a strong way. And one can bend the power instructions to one’s advantage. Do a slalom to avoid the barriers. By knowing the barriers, one can be prepared to meet them. And let go with the power – also when it’s cut. Stress less, it tells me. It’s appears to me to be difficult. But I’ll try so. This is how I think. Am I right?

Well, now I have 30 minutes left with the computer. I’m gonna rationalise my time and work on one of the essays until Marianne and Dalia arrives – or until the sound of the generators stops and the power is back. Then the internet connection works and I have the possibility of acting a little more freely. I’ll get my space back where I am the master of my own actions. No restrictions, please, at least in my virtual life and in my thoughts… Sisi the Superheroine, adding electric power and melting restrictive policemen, reinstalling love, happiness and laughter to give up the ghost of anxiety. In your dreams (but it’s sweet).

(Just to let you know… In another world we have a Miss Sisi Marple. She’s on a case: the steps (see travel note 30/10/07). The following night they came back at exactly the same time, 2.30 am. Approaching my room. I’ve been told that it’s an old lady, who lives upstairs. That made sense to me, as the clash might have been her walking stick and the dragging her actual steps. But then, why does she go from somewhere in the appartment towards my room in the middle of the night? I’ll have to visit her.)

02/11/07. Beirut (Voting for a new government)

””Libanon på randen af borgerkrig!” det er hvad aviserne skriver i Danmark i disse dage! Det er helt ved siden af virkeligheden hernede. Misvisende!” (””Lebanon on the edge of a civil war!” That’s what the Danish papers write these days. It’s completely out of sync with reality here. Misleading!”) The words came from the first Danish ambassador in Lebanon in 24 years. His name is Jan Top Christensen and he’s been here for two month only. Nevertheless, he’s already had meetings with all the top politiciens and important old guys. He has had to focus a lot on politics because of the rather tense situation around the next presidential election, which is taking place in November. The election has been postponed twice, first time because of an assacination of a Member of Parliament. It’s the parliament who has to choose the next president and the different coalitions can’t agree on a candidate. So, to get the majority of votes in the parliament, the coalitions seem to have a strategy which is to kill mp’s of the other coalition until they have the majority seats in parliament. The political life here is really complicated and violent; religious fights, clans, international interests and reminiscences from a rather turbolent history of Lebanon are all things that make it even more difficult for a foreigner to grasp.

It’s not like I’ve started hanging out with the the Danish upper class in Beirut that I talked to the ambassador. Marianne (Danish as well) and I went to the embassy to vote today… It was a big thing and probably the most exiting “voting moment” I’ve had. It felt much more of an action to go voting, as it was out of the normal context. No long queues in the local school after work with hungry parents and crying children on the edge of a breakdown in the hour of the wolf just wanting to go home.
I was curious to see the embassy; was it the same as the one, they burned back in february 2006? Anyways, nobody knew about the Danish embassy. The taxidriver drove us to the Austrian one, as the flag was red and had a white cross in the middle… Safara Danimarki?? No one we asked could help us. When we found the embassy, it was an anonymous tall office building in a christian area. Not a single guard outside. Inside we had to leave our mobiles, bags and Dalia, who’s not Danish and thereby not allowed to enter the embassy.

The embassy was situated in an office that only seemed Danish because of an old poster with Queen Margrethe and Prince Henrik – and because of the very sweet Danish ambassador, who was eager to speak to us. About everything, politics, cultural life, his family, servants etc. His wife is a Vietnamese doctor doing research at the AUB (American University Beirut) and because of her Asian look, she’s often approached by Phillipine servants in shopping malls etc. Some of them have their passport taken from them by the family they work for and are literally kept as slaves. Not allowed to leave the house, always available. Within 2007 there’s been reported 8 Phillipine servants dead. They all fell out from the balcony by accident…

If a civil war would break out, the embassy has started a textmessage service. So, I’ll be told by sms what to do, where to go etc. if evacuation is needed. Fortunately, I’m in a situation, where I wont have to jump out from the balcony in despair to escape the country.

03/11/07. Beirut (Fashion)

It has become a bit difficult for me to write my travel notes.
First of all. It’s not really travel notes. I mean, I’m not travelling. I have a house to live in and I’m planning on staying here until May 2008.
Second of all, what is my purpose? To be honest, my purpose from the beginning was to let people in Denmark know that Beirut is not a place with veiled women and fundementalists living a foreign life somewhere far away from Denmark. I wanted to tell about the lively city and the rich cultural life – which is, in many cases, full of people that one can communicate easilier with compared to other Danish/European people. I can understand and identify with the group of people that operate here on especially an international level much better than my neighbour in Amager, Cph.
I don’t know if I’ve succeeded in showing the ”homey” things here, because what I have focused on, have almost only been things that I’ve found strange and different. And because the homey feeling comes from an understanding across borders, which has to do with similar mindset, values, ideas, expressions, approaches, goals etc. And these are difficult to write about compared to cultural differences, habits and so forth. The homey feeling takes place in discussions and through viewings of films in Ashkal Alwan. Home here is a language, which is not necessarily bound to a country, but related to creation, concepts and coffee (without which one does not meet, talk and create concepts).
On top of this, I have sent my travel notes to Lebanese/Palestinean friends as well. I’ve got two good reports back and they want to hear more. More, about what..? What shall I write about? Puf, I’ve got an audience that talks back and that is something I have to get used to. Good exercise for me and thank you for being there at the end of the correspondance.

(Talking about language, my friends desperately try to teach me some Arabic. It’s quite difficult, a lot of strange sounds in the throat and then, it seems like the sentences are not put together by words, but by smaller sentences that always stay the same. One can communicate (on a very simple level) from knowing these sentences and a few words. Danish and English are much more about putting words together and not sentences and words. Interesting. Even if I’m not right.)

I decided to write this travel note on fashion. I’ll stay with the writing blockage and stop here. It’s sunday, it’s quiet, there’s a powercut (but no generators, the shops are closed…), I’m in my house and I don’t have to think about fashion here. Khallass! (Stop!)

06/11/07. Beirut (I’m frustrated)

He is sitting behind a desk and he is stupid, annoying, irritating, smiling, stubborn, smooth and not eager to negotiate. This is the commander of the AUB Library: “Sorry, that’s all I can do. The best offer is 20 dollars for one day. And that’s without the possibility of borrowing the books. Or you can accept the offer, which says 55 for two weeks. Here you can’t borrow either.”
But listen! I can’t pay to access a library, it’s insane!
So, I refused. Walked out of the library. Was almost about to cry. It’s not fair. Got my passport, which I had to leave at the protection office at the entrance of AUB. Called my friend, wanted to hear, if she’s got her visa to Paris. It’s complicated. A lot of papers, documents and signatures from people in powerful positions. She had a meeting with the French Embassy this morning. It seemed to have went well. She’ll know, if she has the visa the day before she’s suppose to go. Hmm. I asked her about the AUB library. Knew she was a research associate at the AUB. What did she do? Yep, she didn’t use the library, had to pay 600.000 Lebanese Lire – approximately 400 dollars for a year. It’s insane.

The AUB library is one of the best libraries in town. It’s very difficult to access information and knowledge here in Lebanon. Libraries are not a part of a local social/enlightenment thought as in Denmark, where every small town will have a library and a bus, which will drive to your house with the material you have ordered… Being used to having easy access to libraries (the Library in Kerteminde was like a second home for me from the age of 7-14 and I worked for two years in The Royal Danish Library in Copenhagen..) it’s not easy to face a closed door knowing all these lovely books are just on the other side. And what about my essays for the University in Cph, how will I write these without books?

16/11/07. Beirut (adjusting to a politically more and more tense situation and dealing with difficulty of accessing libraries)

The last two weeks have been two weeks of struggle. Mostly in terms of education, the purpose of my stay and the conditions in Lebanon.

But let me begin in otherwise. The weather has become colder. It began a Tuesday night with a heavy wind slamming doors and sliding iron pieces in the streets. From then on, it was no longer convenient to sit on the balcony and we have now retrieved to the living room. As it is now, Fiona, Matthew and I are sitting with our computers in each a sofa around two tables with tea and leftovers from our breakfast. The sound of the generators just began as it’s 12 o’clock and the electricity has just left…

The political situation is tense at the moment. The presidential election has been postponed thrice this autumn and the last deadline for agreeing on a new president is the 23th – within 6 days from now. People are scared that the parliament wont find a new president and that it will – in worst case – lead to another civil war. Few people think that. Maybe the outcome will be two parallel goverments, which wont add stability to the current situation. This situation has reminiscences of the civil war from 1975-1990. That’s why poeple are scared. For sure, some people say, we will experience assasinations, demonstrations, riots and maybe even a blocking of the airport. While others don’t expect anything. Knowing little about the political situation, it’s difficult to judge or say anything from my point of view. What makes me happy is, that Meeting Points, a quite big cultural festival is still running and will continue to do so until the 25th. As one of the coordinators said, it’s couragous of the foreign performers to come her, but if we had to cancel everytime there’s a tense situation, we could never do our cultural work.

It has taken some thinking to get used to being in such a place, where life continues as always and seems normal, but where medias are talking about the country being the edge of an abyss and where diplomats are flewn in from France and the UN to try and ease the negotiation between the coalitions. One thing which is really surreal, is that more than 40 members of the parliament is kept in a 5 star hotel not to get assasinated. They don’t leave the place and they’re guarded extensively.

Apart from adjusting to the situation of the country on a political level it has also taken a while to adapt to the system of education. I came with the intention of writing two essays for the MA in Copenhagen while doing research for the thesis. One obstacle is a daily routine with powercuts. Another is the access to literary sources (see travel not 06/11/07). First of all it’s difficult just to access the AUB. To go there, one has to trick the guards at the entry of the university and at the entry of the library (else, one has to call the library from the entrance, tell them an excuse to go there, then sign something and leave ones passport with the guards. Once I forgot my passport overnight and the next day, there was written a report in arabic on my passport. They asked me to write: I HAVE RECIEVED MY PASSPORT FROM THE PROTECTION OFFICE on the report. I did so and asked for a photocopy of this letter. Somehow it signalled the impossibility and trouble of accessing material for my essays and I now keep this letter in my desk). I’ve got a deal with a friend of a friend who’s a student at AUB. If I fill out a form for each book i would like to borrow, he’ll go and give the form to the librarian, wait 20 minutes and come back with the books to me. We did so once, I came out with 5 semi-important books, one of which the most important essay was missing – someone had torn it out… 4 out of the 9 requested books were missing from the library. I might have been unlucky, I just find the struggle between the demandings from one kind of society (the Danish society and the requirements from my university) difficult to match with this one. I even started dreaming of the Goldsmiths Library… To me, it’s unfair not to give everybody the chance to access knowledge. It’s frustrating. And it would be for the best of the country. But looking at the history of the country, one can understand why libraries have not been first priority and one can also understand, that one should be extremely happy for the libraries in Denmark.

Summasumarum; I’ve decided not to write my essays here and I’ve started doubted, whether I can write my thesis under these circumstances. Maybe the arrow is pointing towards Denmark from January and unwards. I’ve reached the conclusion, that I would like to stay here on a long term basis, if I had something to do within the Beirut-context. Then the possibilities of the city would meet the requirements of my job and I wouldn’t be torn to pieces by an impossible situation, where the ends does not meet.
Now, I’ll continue my research at Ashkal Alwan, where Christine has offered me a desk in her room. It’s brilliant. She doesn’t use it, so I can go to the office everyday and read in peace and at the same time have the compagny of the people in the office. It’s one of the best things, that has happened to me here.

19/11/07. Beirut, Sanayeh (how one can negotiate powerstructures meaninglessly imposed on you)

Just came back from a danse show. It was astonishingly good. Strong and very quiet. We were a bunch of people driving back into town, passing by tanks, policemen, checkpoints etc. The town has been invaded by military forces since yesterday morning. 30.000 extra soldiers and policemen are here to secure the city until the elections on Friday. On my way from where i was dropped off, a distance of maybe 200 metres, I passed by at least 20-30 policemen/soldiers. It’s scary!
The situation makes me think of my childhoods fairytales, Brødrende Løvehjerte and Ronja Røverdatter. It is the only time in my life I have felt this kind of anxiety before (I was a very passionate and empathic reader as a child). Both stories are about children caught in the middle of an adult conflict. A conflict, which is evil and has no meaning. Astrid Lindgren, the author of the two childrens stories, decided to end the stories in a good way. I’m hoping that there is a writer of the story of Lebanon and that this person decides the same. People here seems to have had enough, they’ve stopped breathing and are just waiting for the politicians to make up their minds. It seems like people are caught in the middle of a conflict they are not entailed to act upon. They can only ask questions, be anxious and try to predict future scenarios.
Other people are completely calm (at least on the outside). They party, they chit-chat, they laugh, they drink, they drive, they love, they argue, in short; they continue more or less as before. What else can one do? No one can predict the future. “Don’t be worried before something happens. If something happens we’ll just stay at home until it’s over. If they block the main streets, we’ll stay in this part of the town. If there’s demonstration we wont go.” I can understand this reaction, Beirut is where their life is, and not to react is also to act and to show, that the stupid politiciens can’t stop people’s life.

Talking about acting in this state of paralysis, the night before I went to Lebanon I watched a performance by the Lebanese artist Lina Saneh. It’s called Appendice and has her and her husband on stage. She is sitting in a chair facing the right side of the stage. He’s standing in the right side of the stage reading out loud from a script. The script is Lina’s story. A story about how she wants to be cremated when she dies. But no religion and no law allows one to be cremated as a citizen in Lebanon. As one can’t be an atheist, it’s not possible not to be part of a religious community; there’s no way to escape religious laws. But Lina is determined to escape this law, she wants to claim her right to decide what is going to happen with her body, when she dies.
She finds out that if a bodypart gets amputated, one can burn it. One solution is to cut off all the not necessary body parts and burn them. Then she’ll be left with her torso and her head. This she needs in order to have a happy and not too difficult life, the doctor says. This is enough for her, she just wants to keep her voice, so she can continue to perform. But still, she can not burn the rest of the body, because a torso with a head is still defined as a human being, i.e. a religous being, and it is therefore not to be burnt. Hmm. She then conciders, if she should peel off her skin (I don’t remember the reason for this, but I remember the reaction from the spectators. Adgr). There is one problem with peeling off the skin; It is the most painful state of living (I began thinking; how will one live without ones skin? Where would one be? Not lying in a bed, that would be too painful. Maybe in a bath of balsam. One would be weightless and maybe not feeling the unbelievable pain),. In such a condition, life wont be happy. Consequently, to take off the skin is not a solution.
Lina Saneh finds the solution in art history. Here artists have sold canes of their shit (Piero Manzoni) and treated their body as a scultpture (Orlan). Lina decides to do both. She decides to sell parts of her body to artists and theorists for a good reason to ask for this particular bodypart in exchange. This bodypart they’ll get after her death with a contract saying, that it’s a piece of art and that they shall either preserve it or burn it. As such, she’ll manage to be burnt after her death and the law, which seemed as an unbreakable wall, is now avoided. (Lina Saneh Body P-Arts)
After seing this performance my thoughts were; what a strong insistence on something so morbid. Think of the possible scenarios she has been ready to enter, just to escape the law without breaking it. From where came this drive to think the situation through in such painful details and being ready to suffer so much in life to be burnt after life? It was not like she would go to heaven – more like the opposite.

I think the insistence comes from a feeling of resisting to be powerless in an imposed situation. Of not having the means to decide for one self. Not being able to reach something, which is right there, but still unreachable. The unfairness of not having power over something private and something, which means a lot to one. The insistence comes from an unbelievable will not to let the powerstructures kill your hopes and dreams. She, as an individual and as an artist, has found a way to cope with an overarching principle of society.

I somehow see the powerlessness in the faces of people now. When they’re not able to effect the political decisions (and almost have stopped trying to) and are left in the hands of a bunch of old men who are not there for the best of the people, but for themself and their families. It is the powerlessness, which makes people hold their breath until the decision is made and a president elected.

I have, on a very almost embarrasingly, small scale experienced the powerlessness. Of course it’s present all the time as a foreign woman in this country. The service-drivers try to cheat me, men try to flirt and be charming (some are really not!). I get comments on the streets. But somehow I can negotiate this. The first step is to dress otherwise and the next is to be determined, both in my walking and in my talking/discussions with the servicedrivers.
But where the powerlessness has meant the most to me, has been in my encounter with the AUB library (as you can understand, since this is the 3rd time I’m mentioning it). I can’t access books and I feel, that the political situation is taking my energy. So, I have decided not to stay here to do my first half of the thesis in jan/feb/march/april and I decided to postpone the two essays. Now I’m spending my time researching and reading semi-important books in a pace, which fits the Beirut pace of powercuts, police and politics.

Apart from struggling with the possibilities of the city I have also taken advantage of them. Can I just mention, that within less than 2 weeks I’ve seen 14 dance pieces, two plays, one performance, 9 movies/videoworks and three exhibitions. I have participated in a dance criticism workshop, got a piece of writing banned from this same workshop (it was damn good! One workshop leader loved it (from Spain), one hated it (from Portugal and a really eurocentric, conservative young man who found himself controversial). The latter had the most power. Once again, experiencing the imposed powerstructure), I’ve discussed the public for hours with Mirene, I’ve been out partying until late on a sunday, I’ve been walking at the corniche (the seaside), I’ve been driving around the city on the back of my friends scooter and I’ve had waterpibe in the best restaurant, Rouda, at the sea while the moon was setting as a thin, thin leave leaf lying in the coloured clouds of the sunset. On the minus side I’ve had a stupid stomach-thing and I’ve lost my time in the library of the Goethe Institute (think they stopped buying books in 1970).

And where does all this end? With the conclusion, that the writers block did not last. The life in this city won over university-requirements from another. Modes of production are site-specific and I’m back on the fabulating keyboard. It feels really, really nice.

23/11/07. Beirut, Sanayeh (life after apocalypse now)

So, today was the last day of the election period. President Lahoud has to leave his palace at midnight tonight. But no president has been elected to take his place. The decision has been postponed until next Friday. For the next week, the country is without a leader. For that reason, the city is now even more full of tanks and military. We have 3 tanks within 150 metres of our house. Now I’ve seen a tank from within (a week ago I don’t think I’d ever seen one before, except from in a museum, maybe..?). Today everything was a bit suspended. The city centre was blocked for vehicles and as Ashkal Alwan (where I’m now studying everyday) is situated very close to Hotel Phoenicia, where all the anti-syrian members of parliament are kept (from fear of being assasinated by the pro-syrians to change the balance of the parliament so the pro-syrians can elect the next president, so people say) I decided not to go today. Instead I placed myself in the doorway of my balcony to watch the spectacle of the street. It coincided with the Friday prayer in the mosque just in front of the house. It was very quiet even though more people attended it than usual. They had to place carpets on the asphalt in front of the mosque and still, some people had to pray on the ground. It’s always only men. Young boys and old men. As being interested in dance i can help seing the prayer as a choreography… And as I don’t understand the prayer, I only hear the words as singing. I like it. Sometimes I watch a movie on my laptop and then, the minaret starts and the soundtrack completely changes. I experience a lot of clashes with my usual row of associations and presuppositions. The mosque also has two Volkswagen vans of the kind Scandinavian hippie families used to go on holiday with in Eastern Europe. Not sure this connotation goes here.

Today we went to de Prague. It’s a café in Hamra. I live 300 metres from the centre of Hamra. It is the leftist area of Beirut and it has lots of cafés. People bring their laptop and work in these places. The atmosphere is quite nice. There’s almost always someone you know. Today Muzna was there (she was supposed to be in France – she was the one who went to the French embassy to apply for a visa (travel not 06/11/07). She went this Monday to pick it up and was supposed to leave Tuesday. But she was rejected. That is quite huge. To be rejected happens rarely. But she is Palestinian, unmarried and living in a country with an unstable situation. Maybe they thought she would stay in France. She only wanted to go on vacation with her boyfriend (who used to live there for 15 years ) and meet his friends. The friends had prepared a party for her. But she couldn’t go. And didn’t get an explanation from the embassy. Not everybody can go wherever they want. As she said; it only reminds me that I, as a Palestinian, am coloured). In de Prague we worked and chatted and read and talked and it was nice. A bit of another world, closed and safe from the political really insane situation. The more I think about it, the more I just don’t understand it. Muzna had a phonecall from Al Jazeera. They wanted to interview her for a programme. So they came and did it in front of the café. They wanted to ask her about sectarianism and the journalist wanted her to say, that the situation is out of the hands of the lebanese people. But she didn’t want to, she believes that the lebanese people has a responsibility too; they are in it as well.
I don’t know, it’s difficult to say anything. But what is happening now is really not healthy. Rumours are spread, anxiety created and power wanted. I don’t understand it. It’s painful. They talk about security all the time. They install 30.000 soldiers and policmen (as many as attended the TV-2 concert at Rådhuspladsen, Copenhagen, this Monday. It’s a lot, even though they’re spread on a big area) to take care and make people safe. But people don’t feel safe. How can you feel safe with 50 guns pointing at you as you walk down the street? And tanks and checkpoints. It has nothing to do with security, it has more to do with terror. I’ve started wondering; where is the difference between the talk about security and the talk about terror? Is terror and the strive for security not part of the same game?

I find it difficult to work in this atmosphere. I spend my time writing and reading only a little bit. It’s like my brain stopped being constructive. I try to be active, but no, it doesn’t really happen. This city is so split. Two days ago we went to celebrate the birthday of a friend at a private party. So we were drinking and dancing until late in the morning. And then we drove back through the town, passed a few checkpoints, nothing serious and then went to sleep. I was offered to continue having drinks in a bar, but I said no and went to bed. It’s like night and day are not happening in the same place; from 8-19 we are in a war zone and from 19-8, we are in a no-life zone, where the streets are empty, but parties are happening in half secret places.

Tomorrow my very dear friend, Mirene, is leaving. We were talking about meeting tonight. None of us really felt like taking a service across town alone. So now she’s going to come here with a friend who has a car. Strange life. And it’s gonna stay for one week now.
Where are we going? I don’t know. I’m going to eat now, Fiona and Matthew have been cooking while I’ve been writing to you. I have some very sweet flatmates. They’re activist and fighting for the Palestinian cause. Matthew went to the parliament today to photograph (electronicintifada.net). It wasn’t nice, he said. Only photographing politicians everytime they arived. Downtown was invaded by soldiers, shops closed and therefore no people. Deserted, completely.
And then, at the same time, why doesn’t anything happen? Why do all these people agree silently on having a country without a leader? What is happening?

This question came just as Mirene knocked at my door and Matthew got a text from a friend. There are shootings at the bus station. We turned on the television, Al Jazeera. Thread of State of Emergency, it said. So yes, that’s what’s happening, I guess. Mirene left quickly. Tears were on our cheeks, she has a flight back to London tomorrow morning.

If you want to read more about the political situation in Lebanon, these websites are good:

aljazeera.net
dailystar.com
naharnet.com
tayyar.org

24/11/07. Beirut, Sanayeh (considerations and not much to say)

The first day without a leader of Lebanon (now the country in a confused state of emergency) is moving on very quietly. I’m on the balcony, the sun is shining and drops of sweat is dripping from my skin. It’s really warm. I enjoy the sun, it gives me energy and relaxes me.

There’s not much to say. This morning I had two thoughts:
One; the thought of dying when passing an expensive looking car is no longer occurring in my mind. I’ve reached the conclusion in these half-insane glimpses of my brain-activity, that I’m satisfied with my life, I love my family, they love me and I have obtained what I wanted in the years I’ve lived so far. It is big to have reached this conclusion and crazy to have been in a situation, that provoked these thoughts. I don’t know whether it’s the situation or my fantasy, nevertheless, the thoughts have been thought in the meeting between me and the situation. However, I don’t fear car bombs anymore, I’m more considering when it’s a good time to leave the country. The next week will show, I guess. The next (and sixth!) deadline for the election is on Fridy the 30th of November. I would really like to stay until the 20th of December to see Rabih Mroue’s performance; How Nancy wished that it was all an April fool’s joke. (I can understand that….) It takes place the 19th. It is the performance, which was banned in September (see travel note 01/11/07). We’ll see.

Two; Do you know the story about the wolf and the sheeps? Again I’m withdrawing from reality and into fairytales. The story is written by Martin Andersen Nexø in 1915 and it is a story about (as I was told it…) a boy shepherd, who keeps saying the wolf is coming. So people run to save the sheep, but the wolf is not coming. It’s only a thread and a way to attract attention. So, the day, when the wolf is actually there, people don’t react. They think the boy sheperd is joking. As a result the wolf eats the sheep.
Is this the way Lebanon works? There is an ongoing thread of civil war, of a state of emergency, of catastrophe, of disaster, of apocalypse. And still life goes on. Cars are in the streets. Shops are open. People are walking, buying, talking and running in the garden in the front our house. Yesterday, there was a peak of anxiety – for what reason? Nothing happened, only happy, random shootings and gunfire at midnight, when president Lahoud left his palace. How can one know, when the wolf is really coming?
I guess each person has to decide, when the wolf is here. When the situation is over the top for this person to continue life in a satisfying way. I guess that’s why a lot of young people have gone to countries nearby to work or to fx. London to follow their artistic aspirations. Some people just don’t have the possibility to leave. And for those, the wolf is somehow always there. Without being here. Yet. Maybe.

25/11/07. beirut, Sanayeh (Let’s dance)

Sunday, it’s quiet. As always. Even the Syrian workers are taking a day off. I’m again sitting in the sun on the balcony of my room.
Tonight is the last night of the festival Meeting Points. It culminates with Anna Teresa de Keersmaeker, a Belgian choreographer. She’s is going do an ellaboration of the piece that made her famous 25 years ago. My introduction to international contemporary dance was through dancevidoes of her work. It was in Paris almost 4 years ago and I haven’t got the chance to see her live since. Now she is here, in Beirut, during the worst crisis of the country since the civil war 1970-1995. Clash. Afterwards we going to have a party to celebrate the end of the festival. And then, life is back to normal…