The first weekend I was here, I went to visit my friend in Bcharré--famous for the cedars (didn't get there) and the Khalil Gibran museum. Lebanon's most famous writer lived in Boston for many years. . .who knew??? I love The Prophet, but the guy's a serious weird-oooo.
After work, I headed to East Beirut, to a Christian section called Dora. Went to the Artin gas station that has a sign called Total, which is across the street from another Total station, but if you ask people, they all call it Artin. (See how it is, finding your waz around this place?)
So I had only been here a week, and I´m already traveling by myself. It really helps to be able to read Arabic. I could make out the sign on the bus and confirmed that it said Bcharré. But that of course is never enough. I learned a long time ago to never trust signs. So I looked at the chauffer and asked, ¨Bcharré?¨ And he nodded. He didn´t do the Lebanese thing of lifting his chin and making a tsk noise. It kind of freaked me out the first time I saw people do that, especially when it was the students in my classroom answering a direct question. How rude! But then I learned that that´s just how people here say no. Like how Americans shake their heads from side to side.
The bus was one of those with fold-out seats in the main aisle, so the bus literally fills up. People kept getting on and getting off, and lots of them were standing. When we got close to the place, I called my friend and her Lebanese friend was trying to explain to me where to get off, but it was kind of useless, considering I didn´t know where I was and his English wasn't so good and my Arabic wasn't so good. So I just handed the phone to the guy next me, and asked if he understood where to tell me to get off. And I thought he did, but. . . he didn´t.
So then later I called back and I was like "Where do I get off?", and then other people on the bus heard me talking in English, and they were like, ¨Where are you going?¨ And I was like, ¨I don´t really know.¨ And this girl was like, ¨What the hell? She doesn´t know.¨ And this this guy asked me if I was Tony´s friend (in English.) And I was like, "yeah." ¨I know about you. I`m Tony`s cousin.¨ Hmm. This might seem ridiculous, but it actually makes perfect sense considering that half the guys here are named Tony (it`s a Maronite Christian town), and they are ALL related. So I handed him the phone and a minute later he was yelling at the choffeur. Next thing I know, we're stopping and turning around. Uh-oh. And then he drops me off on some random side of a mountain with no lights.
Before my eyes could even adjust, I hear a shrieky "Jane" and spot a blonde head sticking out the window of a car filled with Lebanese guys. Naturally, I hop in, and as I'm about to relate my tale of the horribly embarrassing, mortifying bus ride, Tony's cuz comes up to the car, and after saluting everyone in it, tells me I forgot to pay the bus driver the 5,000 Lira. So I have to show my face again to those people as I get out of the car and walk over to the bus. The bus that's been delayed a good ten minutes because of me. I could feel the stabs of hatred coming out of those people's eyes. All the more reason to learn Arabic. . . and fast.
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