An American In Lebanon: Day 6
Tantig
I wake up in a hot sweat at 2:30 am and see the future of Lebanon.
—– Removed due to the politically sensitive nature of the material —–
…Later, we wind through the narrow alleyway of Bouj Hamoud, filled with sounds and smells, cars parked on the sidewalks and clothes drying overhead. Lisa’s apartment is above a little food store and we walk up 5 flights of stairs in the dark to get there.
All the girls are sitting together, knees almost touching, on two couches that face one another in a small white room. I meet her mother, Tantig, who is as stick thin as Lisa but with a pair of giant glasses perched on her giant nose. Lisa, her mother, and her sister all live here together in this tiny 3 room apartment where they have spent their entire lives. The bedroom has a bunk bed and they all sleep within a few inches of one another on single sized mattresses. The kitchen is galley style and opens out onto the balcony (which is actually a roof but they insist on calling it a balcony). Tantig tells me “I stand here and look out on the mountains and I feel happy”. She’s looking at the rooftops of a slum, through the masses of criss crossing wires and laundry, through the pollution filled haze and seeing only the mountains in the distance. Suzy appears on the roof with her friends, arms outstretched wide, and proclaims “I love Bouj Hamoud” like Fred Astaire in Singin’ In The Rain. There’s something very romantic about this in a “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” kind of way.
Saying goodbye to Tatig with the traditional three kisses we all descend to street level to catch a bus to Hamra on the Muslim side of town. Just before we emerge out into the street Lisa points to the left of the dark stairwell where there’s an open area with a high wall. “That is the rat room” she says. “Jaradine!” Suzy says spookily. The girls giggle. I quicken my pace. The girls tell me that when they were in school the teachers used to tell them that if they didn’t behave they’d put oil on them and lock them in the rat room as a punishment!
The Muslim side of town was off limits to them during the war. It was a divided city with Christians on one side and Muslims on the other. Now it’s all built up with French shops and better versions of American chain stores. There’s an Aldo and an H&M and even a Starbucks. Everything costs twice as much though because of import fees and tariffs. I get on the escalator while they’re shopping downstairs at one of them and say “I’m just going to have a look around upstairs in the men’s section”.
The next thing I know they’re all on the escalator too.“We help you shop”.
I’m just going to have a look around.
“We help you”. And they do.
I’m not used to this treatment. They do this for each other too though. They do everything together.
We go to a favorite hangout of theirs for dinner. Crepe Away, the French version of a 24 hour diner. It’s Suzy’s birthday and this place brings back old memories for her. Dinner consists of french fries, pepsi, and chocolate crepes. Ce bon.
On the bus back to Bouj Hamoud I’m so exhausted that I can’t even keep my eyes open. I’ve never been so tired in my life. I fall asleep thinking about the Muslim women in their burkas shopping alongside stylish European looking Christians in the upscale shopping district where we’ve just spent the evening. It’s hard to reconcile this reality with my American perception of the Middle East. Instead of tents and camels there are Fendi and Lattes.
I am sleeping on a public bus in the Muslim section of a Middle Eastern city and I feel safer than I would in New York City.
Popularity: 3% [?]
An American In Lebanon: Day 5
The Mezze
We’re going to the mountains for Sunday shish kabob where I’ll meet Suzy’s other twin and one of her six uncles. Suzy’s told me how the whole family would get together every Sunday while they were growing up to have shish kabob on the balcony. Today we will have it in a fancy restaurant in the mountains. As we drive up the winding road to the north of Beirut, I think of how Suzy’s family would escape the war during the summers by hiding out up here in a place called Farayah. I want to see this one room place where they all hid without electricity or running water, but not today. Today is a time for celebration.
The restaurant is impressive. It’s outdoors, in the mountains, nestled between ancient towering rock formations and a massive waterfall. The rocks have little holes all through them and I start taking pictures of them. I’ve never seen anything like it. Sevag says “You like the jaradin huh?” He’s teasing me that the holes are for rats.
George, the third triplet, arrives. He looks exactly like Sevag. Identical in every way. From the haircut to the style of clothing to the exact type of sunglass, they are twins. Suzy is their twin too but she looks and acts nothing like them. She’s a bizarro twin.
Her uncle arrives too and everything is pleasant. She talks with them in a mix of Arabic and Armenian while I take in the moment. There’s an Arabic singer who I can tell is very good even though I don’t know what he’s singing about. There are children playing here and there. Uniformed waiters carry trays of food around to all the tables. There is no menu. There is no need. Everyone wants the same thing.
The traditional meal starts with Lebanese “mezze”, a dizzying array of appetizers that is a meal in itself. There is hummus and tabouli and the kind of appetizers you can find in any Middle Eastern restaurant in the States. But there are also quail eggs and raw beef and basterma. I sample a bit of everything. When in Rome you know. Everything is delicious, even the raw beef which I would never eat in the States. Because the food is all fresh and local here I’m not afraid of getting sick. All this food is accompanied by Arak which is exactly like Uzo in Greece or Pastis in France. They insist that it’s different though. It is Arak. What it is is strong and every time I turn around my shot glass has been refilled. Combined with the heat, humidity, and lack of sleep it starts to affect me very fast.
Next come the kabobs. Plates of delicious grilled chicken and beef served with spicy pita and various herbs. I’m already full but keep picking at it because it’s so unbelievably flavorful.
Just when you think the meal is over they bring another course. This time it’s plates filled with the ripest juiciest fruit you’ve ever tasted. They literally squirt halfway across the table when you bite into them. If fruit tasted like this in the States no one would eat junk food. Colorful liquors are lined up next to narrow glasses filled with crushed ice. Each one tastes like mint or chocolate or some other flavor and I sample several. It’s the perfect end to the three hour meal and everyone is happy. I notice that every meal takes about three hours here and that they never drag or feel like a waste of time. Time moves differently here and it’s easy to adapt to because it feels natural.
The family is doing well now, war has been replaced by a feeling of prosperity and the men enjoy the moment they’ve provided, even allowing me to take pictures of them this time. Although it’s the triplets birthday no mention is ever made of this, no song is sung, no cake is eaten. They’re all going out for kabobs together. Hallis, it’s enough. Nothing more needs to be said.
Popularity: 3% [?]
An American In Lebanon: Day 4
Crazy Daze
I’ve just had one of the most crazy and exciting days of my life. As I write this I’ve been up for exactly 24 hours and need to sleep… but the ringing in my ears will keep me awake for long enough to tell this tale.
5am Jet lagged, can’t sleep in the stifling heat. Haven’t been able to sleep more than a few hours since I got here. People here seem to survive on Nescafe and passion. It’s too hot to sleep. It’s too hot to eat. It’s not just that it’s hot. The humidity is close to 80%.
Nescafe by the way, is an instant coffee that you are offered pretty much everywhere you go. So on the one hand I’m a walking zombie but on the other I’m shaking from the constant caffeine.
Suzy and I sit on the balcony talking and staring at the sea while the traffic down below whizzes by at dizzying speeds. They don’t have traffic lights in this country due to the frequent electrical outages, so in addition to the incessant honking of horns there are also sporadic whistle blasts from the men who stand in the middle of the intersections directing traffic. No one slows down or pays any attention to them anyway so it just adds to the fabric of noise, like the invisible roosters crowing over the din.
10am Suddenly Suzy’s brother Sevag gets up and heads for the door, declaring “We go”. Apparently he means right now and the women scramble to get ready instantly. He doesn’t wait for them, just heads straight down to the car. They have to get ready fast or be left behind. He’s not about to wait for them for hours like I do every day of my life. How Awesome!
Today we go to Bouj Hamoud, the Armenian section of town where Suzy and her 9 family members grew up in a tiny 1 bedroom apartment. No one wants me to go there because it’s not touristic and they’ve given Suzy a hard time about wanting to take me. They only want me to see “the best” of Lebanon, not the real Lebanon. I can understand this. They’re insecure about their past due to the war and the struggles they’ve endured and they want the world to love their country as they do instead of fear it’s explosive, violent, unpredictable nature. I don’t care. I’m going. I love my wife so much that I wish I could have been there for her during those war years to protect her, to guide her, to love and provide for her. Walking in the footsteps she took as a little girl is as close as I’ll ever get. It’s a pilgrimage of love.
The Armenian section of town is even more crowded, narrow, and noisy than the rest of what I’ve seen. People are double parked on both sides of the street and motorcycles swoop in and out of the few inches between cars while the drivers push each other back and forth through every available space. It’s a shoving match on wheels.
Suddenly Sevag speaks again, “Get out”. And the women jump out of the car, right in the middle of the street. There’s some shouting in Arabic and Suzy yells back to me “we’re going to get manicures while you meet my father”. What? Without her? OK, I roll with it. What else can I do.
Armenians are known as master craftsmen. Workers of metal in particular. Her father’s shop specializes in chandeliers. It’s not a shop as we would think of it in the US. It’s just a room open to the street with a desk, a few chairs, a TV, and a bunch of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. There’s also a room in the back where they work the metal into images of dragons and ancient Armenian kings.
“You sit” Sevag says to me. And so I do. The only electricity is for the TV which is in Arabic and showing an Israeli commando raid on a ship that got stopped while trying to run a blockade last week. Every TV shows these images over and over while serious looking men in head scarves lecture on and on about it. I don’t have to speak Arabic to get the idea. There’s no mistaking their point of view.
I don’t see a phone or a cash register or any office equipment. Not even a pen. There’s just this room with the desk, the TV, and the chandeliers hanging everywhere. There are no customers and no one passes by in the street. There isn’t even a sign on the door. Actually, there isn’t even a door.
An old man shuffles slowly into the shop and I rise to greet him. It’s Suzy’s father. I recognize him from photographs. Sevag says something to him in Arabic. I assume he’s telling him that I’m his daughter’s husband. I extend my hand to him and greet him by name. He barely looks at me, gives me a slight grunt, and sits down behind the desk where he proceeds to stare straight ahead out the front “door” as though I were not there. “This man was the boss of Bouj Hamoud and all of Lebanon… but now he’s old” Sevag declares before disappearing again into the back room. Again, I’m left to sit there and either stare at the wall or watch the propaganda on the TV.
After a while Sevag reappears. “You come”. We go outside and he gets on a Suzuki. I am supposed to climb on back. I’ve seen these guys racing perilously though the narrow streets. Now I will be one of them. There are no helmets as there are no traffic rules. It’s survival of the most macho.
We race through the streets to who knows where. “You see, in Lebanon we have everything. This is the best street in Bouj Hamoud. You can get anything here.” He wants to show me the best, not realizing that all I see are little nick-knack shops of no particular appeal. I don’t care. I just want to get where we’re going without falling off this thing.
We arrive at a bank where he has to deposit a check. His friend gives us Nescafe and they talk for about a half hour.
Next we go to a little clothing store where he has another friend. They talk/argue for another half hour. “You want anything, you take” Sevag says to me. Who the hell knows what that actually means so I just nod and look around.
Last night I’d asked him how business was that day and he responded, “Not every day we make business. We are not a supermarket. Friends come. We see friends”. So this for him is a day at the office. He’ll visit his friends and have lots of coffee and his friends will visit him. Maybe every once in a while there will be a customer.
We stop at a roadside stand and get menaich. This time it has mint leaves, tomatoes, and olives on it along with the zaatar. We take them back to the shop and eat in complete silence with their father Assadour. About a half hour after that the women arrive, full of laughter and noise and color and fun. The exact opposite of the men. Suzy kisses her father and I take a picture. Sevag won’t let me take a picture of him but the father moves too slowly to avoid it.
I whisper to Suzy that I want to get the hell out of there. It’s been hours. I notice she doesn’t have a manicure. “We needed an appointment”. So who knows where they were all this time. It’s pointless to ask. I just want to go and not get stranded here for the rest of the afternoon and I tell her so. Soon after that we leave to walk the streets of Bouj Hamoud.
She has a big smile on her face as she points out places to me on every street and alleyway. “This is where we went to school. This is where we would walk every day. This is where Lisa and I would hang out.” She loves it and I love seeing her so happy.
“You have to jump in the traffic. They won’t stop” she says as she yanks me into an intersection and across the street. “You are very brave habibee” she reassures me and I think to myself that I am the only American I know who would do any of this and have to agree with her.
Here and there we stop at a roadside fruit stand or a candy shop. It’s been over 10 years since she’s been back here but everyone instantly recognizes her and greets her warmly. The little candy shop is particularly meaningful for me. She’s told me how she used to pass by it every day and stare at the chocolates on display, never having any money to buy one. So we go in and I say to pick out anything she wants. The woman behind the counter remembers her as one of the triples from long ago. “The three angels” she says. Suzy’s light and free and happy, without any of the the stress she so often feels in the United States where our “rules and regulations” often confuse and overwhelm her. Here nothing changes except that now she can afford a piece of chocolate.
A block later she points to a very old green army jeep parked on the side of the road and she says “This is the car I learned to drive on”. That kind of car huh? “No, this is the actual car. The owner used to teach people how to drive using it. He died a few years ago so the car is still here.” It takes me a minute to wrap my head around that. There are no traffic cops or police here. There is no one to write a ticket for an abandoned car like this so it just sits there year after year, gathering dust, and no one thinks to haul it away. I ask about this and Suzy says “There is no tow truck anyway.” She doesn’t even understand why I’m asking in the first place and changes the subject. I think to myself that eventually the streets will all be full of abandoned cars like this and no one will have anywhere to park.
“This is the building where we grew up”. We’re standing right in front of it. There are masses of wires everywhere and a long dark hallway inside. She explains that during the war everyone in the building would sleep in this hallway to avoid the bombs that might come through the window and that there were sandbags piled up in the entryway where the men would take turns on guard duty.
We can’t get into her old apartment itself though. One of her twin brothers still lives there but he’s a bartender and works at night so he’s sleeping and won’t come to the door when she knocks. No one ever thinks to call ahead here. They just show up places and knock. They didn’t have phones during the war so even now she doesn’t think to use one. We go up onto the roof instead. “I used to spend a lot of time playing up here” she smiles. “And that is where I thought about jumping off when things got really bad”. She’s not sad about this. Just states it as a fact.
She points to the windows in the apartments surrounding her building. “That is where my friend used to live, and that one is where they had a grape vine but they would never give us any of their grapes, and that is the window where our neighbor used to sit and stare at us”. She goes on like this for a while then she points to a big hill by the water and says “and that is Trash Mountain. They throw all the garbage there, which some of it contains seeds, so over time it sprouted grass and became a mountain”. Aha, so that’s why this whole rooftop smells like hot garbage rotting in the sun. Suzy doesn’t seem to notice. She’s completely unaware that she grew up in a war-torn ghetto. This was her home and it holds many memories for her. They are her roots and it nourishes her just to be here.
We head back down and walk to the street where she used to shop with her friends. Just as she’s telling me that this is where they all used to meet one another I notice her friends emerging from the store across the street. They smile and wave and shout “Habibee” as they cross the street to chat with one another. Suzy squeezes my arm and turns to me, saying “this is very normal”. Ten years have been erased and she’s back.
3pm. In Armenian: “We went to the mother of a friend of a friend to have lunch without the friend”.
In English: Yesterday, we met Tsoler through a mutual friend, she invited us to lunch at her mother’s home the following day, but when we arrived Tsoler was not there and she was not intending to come. She had a manicure appointment. She just thought we’d enjoy having some of her mother’s cooking and her mother was happy to serve us. Course after course until I was beyond stuffed. Every time I’d thank her and say I couldn’t eat anymore she’d bring me out more food as though I’d just said I was starving and hadn’t eaten in a week. All this for people she’d never even met and that her daughter had just met the night before. All this too I’m told is very normal.
6pm We go back to the apartment to take a nap before heading out with the girls to go clubbing. They always stay out til dawn and I haven’t slept more than a few hours total since I’ve been here so I really want to take a nap, but that never happens. We always either end up talking or eating. Never actually sleeping.
9pm Suzy wants me to wear a special outfit to the nightclub but I just can’t do it. Even though it’s nighttime the heat and humidity are oppressive, like a hot towel pressing dow n on me, and I simply cannot wear tight fitting slacks, a long sleeved dress shirt, and a tie. Not even for 5 minutes let alone all night while dancing in a smoky nightclub. She gives me the pouty look but this is one of the few times I’ll refuse to give her what she wants. I have no intention of dying from heat stroke in this club tonight. I put on linen slacks and a t-shirt I wear sometimes after my shows which has a pattern of silver rivets on it. It’s cool and somewhat understated. It will have to do.
10:30 All the women drive in a disorganized convoy to the area of Beirut that has all the nightclubs. They keep losing each other on the way. At one point I notice we’re back in Bourj Hammoud, which looks like a favela at night. A few minutes later we’re on a narrow street with a lot of traffic. There are men in full military uniform touting automatic rifles and a jeep with a machine gun mounted on it stationed in the middle of the street. They’re checking the cars before letting them into the nightclub area. “Don’t be afraid” one of the women tell me. “They’re here for our protection, to make sure no one has a bomb. You have your passports?” No. We do not have our passports. One of the girls told us to leave them back in the apartment so we won’t lose them. “Yes, don’t bring your passports bring a copy of your passports”. Typical Lebanese.
11:00 We arrive at the club. It’s called Shah. “Like the Shah of Iran” they tell me. This does not reassure me, in fact it has the opposite effect and I wonder who is running the place. Our group is the first to arrive. They came early so they can get a table before all the people get there. 11pm is far too early to go clubbing in Lebanon.
Midnight. People begin to arrive and soon fill the place to beyond capacity. Everyone is well dressed, good looking, and actually having fun. Not just going out to try to have fun like in the United States. Actually having a great time with each other, with the food, the drinks, the music. They know that at any time the war could start again so they party every time as though it were the last time.
There’s a singer that does an amazing set at one point. She looks a bit like Cher, but skinnier and more exotic and she does her songs in accented English.
After her set a parade of birthday cakes appear. They all have three lit fireworks in them. Not candles. Not sparklers. Fireworks. Every single person in the place sings happy birthday. It’s Suzy’s birthday so one of them arrives at the table. There’s no way to blow anything out so we just stand back and wait for them finish or set the place on fire. Suzy’s delighted.
1am The first concert ends and the techno dancing begins. The DJ is excellent and builds the energy and pace throughout the evening. Songs cut in at the chorus and mix into one another before they become repetitive. Robotic lights illuminate the stone and brick walls with strange inscriptions above the doorways and the video screens pulse with colorful techno patterns.
2am After more techno music set to rhythmic drumming the second concert begins. This singer does all his songs in Arabic. Classics done to a techno mix. Every single person loves it and sings every song along with him as loudly as they can. They all know the words to every song and soon every single person is standing on their chairs and dancing, arms in the air, singing and acting out the lyrics. The men kneel before the women with up-stretched arms and beseech them longingly while they sing in Arabic. The women belly dance around the men, tempting them and teasing them mercilessly. It’s raw and sensual and uninhibited. It’s on and everybody knows it. No one worries about getting sued. No one worries about sexual harassment or playing mind games on each other. No one worries about anything at all. I’ve never been so out of place yet felt so at home. In my eyes Suzy is the best dancer and most beautiful of them all and she playfully belly dances for me as though I’m any other Lebanese man. I’m in heaven.
There is no pause in the energy or break in the beat of the tribal drums all night long.
3am People start falling off their chairs, but they get up, sweep away the broken glass, and keep on dancing.
3:30am Chugging Red Bulls. More techno music and tribal drumming. More dancing on the chairs and tables.
4am The music gets a bit slower. The room gets a bit brighter. They don’t simply turn off the music and turn on the lights. It’s subtle so you start to think about where to go next instead thinking it’s over. Soon we find ourselves having Kneffe’ (melted cheese and rose water in freshly baked rolls) on the side of the road at Sea Sweet as dawn breaks over Beirut.
5am Back at the apartment. Ringing in my ears. Suzy’s taking a shower. They all shower at night here. Motorcycles drag race in the street outside the window. I probably won’t sleep again tonight. I don’t care.
Popularity: 4% [?]
An American In Lebanon: Day 3
Roosters & Motorcycles
Roosters wake me at the crack of dawn. Roosters crowing mixed with the sounds of motorcycles whizzing by. Where the hell am I? And why is it so HOT? This is not natural heat. This is not subtle, like Florida in August heat. This is the devil’s steam room. It’s 5:30 am.
We decide to take a taxi to the mall. I know, I know. Why come all this way just to go to the mall and shop for imported goods from America that cost 3 times as much. But the mall has one very appealing attraction. It has air conditioning. So we decide to go. Besides, when Suzy lived here there was no mall. Just little shops and people selling from the side of the road. So this mall represents the growth and rebuilding of her country after the 15 year civil war that she grew up in. Besides, it has air conditioning!
I’m dressed and ready to go in about 3 minutes. Three hours later, we leave. The pace is definitely slower here. People do not live to work. They like to linger: over coffee, conversations, and even just leaving the house. At home I’d just pull out my iPhone and check email or maybe return a phone call. Here I must learn to sit and stare at the sea while I wait.
The taxi. It was going the opposite direction but he turned around to pick us up he said because we looked so exotic. Suzy with her blonde hair and me with my white skin and green eyes. The driver’s son who was sitting in the front seat next to him turned to stare at us as we got in and kept right on staring, mouth agape until we arrived at the mall. Do I really look that out of place?
The mall. Here’s all you need to know about it. Everything imported is expensive and almost everything’s imported. The one exception is “meneish”, which is like a thin pizza with herbs and olive oil on it instead of tomato sauce and cheese. It’s a favorite breakfast food of the Lebanese people and it really is delicious.
Before we leave we stop by a little jewelry stand and Suzy picks out a necklace for me that features a silver cedar tree (their national symbol). “Now you are a Lebanese!” she smiles approvingly. I exchange a few words in Arabic with the lady who sells it to us and she smiles at me and says something to Suzy while her painted eyes flash mischievously. Later Suzy tells me she said I’m cute but not to teach me too much Arabic so she’ll be able to keep secrets from me. Secrets and mysteries. That, middle eastern women have in abundance.
I can hardly keep my eyes open and we sleep the rest of the afternoon until Suzy’s friends arrive to take us out to dinner. It’s much more comfortable here at night time. It’s still very hot but the sea breezes make the warmth wrap around you like a blanket and the energy of the city, known for having some of the best nightlife in the world, makes you want to go out and have an adventure. They bring two cars because they are so small. One of them is new, a mini cooper, and one is old, at least 25 years old, but it still works and gets them where they want to go. This reminds me of Beirut itself. One Beirut is new and flashy, wanting to show the world how impressive it has become since the war. The other Beirut is so old you can’t believe it’s still going but it never seems to die or give up and it probably never will.
The restaurant looks like a scene from Casablanca, except that instead of a piano there’s a man on an accordion playing the theme song from The Godfather. We’re early. No one’s in the restaurant yet and we’re informed that the real entertainment won’t start for another 2 hours. It’s only 9:30. But we’re all starving so we order grilled meats and french fries along with hummus, roasted eggplant, and tabouli (a salad made of minced parsley).
I’ve been told (many many times) that the french fries in Lebanon are far superior to what we have in the United States. I’m skeptical because when we went to Belgium and had the original style of french fry I did not like them at all (you thought they were originally from France, huh? Nope, Belgium). They fry them twice and in beef fat or something so I was not a fan. In Lebanon though I’ve been told that ALL their food is THE BEST in the world and so far I’ve not been disappointed.
When the decorative plates piled high with fries arrive I have to agree that they are excellent. Crisp and fresh and not oily or starchy in the least. Everyone munches on them with Pepsi poured from old fashioned glass bottles written in Arabic. Everyone’s happy. People are filling the restaurant now and smoking from hookah pipes at most of the tables. The service is fantastic. The food is amazing. And since it’s not imported, very reasonably priced. Suzy’s a great cook and makes all the middle eastern dishes for us when we’re at home, but the quality of the ingredients themselves are much different in America. Here the food is locally grown, picked when ripe, and sold when in season. It’s not processed and injected with chemicals like in the States. It’s real food and it’s much better. It’s something we’ve lost in America and it affects just about every area of life: from health to happiness to marital harmony. Score one for Lebanon.
Popularity: 2% [?]
An American In Lebanon: Day 2
Crossing the Border
When we arrived in Beirut I was a bit tense until we got through immigration at the airport. Suzy spoke with the officials in Arabic for what seemed far too long while I became overly aware that the airport security men were dressed in full fatigues and carrying real weapons. A Saudi in long white robes caught my eye and I flashed back to scenes in the movie Syriana that I’d rather not remember. Finally they stamped my passport and waved us through. I was in Beirut. We had arrived.
Suzy’s twin brother met us outside the airport. I’ve flown to countries with these kinds of airports before. When you clear customs you walk through a door and are instantly dumped out on the street where a mass of people are all packed together, jostling to catch the traveler’s attention as they emerge. It’s like this in many slightly off-the-grid countries. The key is to have someone waiting there for you when you arrive. In this case it was Sevag, a stocky man in Ray Bans who waved us over, greeted us quickly with a “Hello. We go.”, and moved us quickly away from the throng, elbows punching the air beside him as he cleared us a path with swarthy Mediterranean machismo.
I’d been warned that the drivers in Beirut are crazy. They drive aggressively with no sense of lanes or speed limits and honk at each other liberally. This is true, but somehow I didn’t mind. This kind of driving is normal for them so why be concerned. I watched as we passed by densely packed buildings with clothes drying on the balconies, mosques with minarets jutting into the hazy sky, and palm trees growing out of the cracks between battle worn buildings. The whole scene,nestled between the mountains and the sea, reminds me a bit of Rio. Rio but mixed with Istanbul.
When we arrived at Sevag’s building I was surprised to see how nice it was. It’s near the sea and has an elevator! This must be a decent area of town. Where Suzy and her twins grew up there are no elevators in the buildings and I wasn’t expecting one here.
Sevag’s wife Monica greeted us with her baby in her arms and insisted on feeding us before we fell to sleep. They all spoke in Arabic and Armenian while I smiled and looked at my wife for clues. I’m used to this. I know she’ll tell me if there’s something important. In the meantime I just look at her to stay somewhat engaged with their conversation and enjoy the excellent food. It’s a strange dish that looks like a noodle cake with chicken. It’s very good. But we’re exhausted and need to sleep. They’re giving us their bed and sleeping in the baby’s room while we’re here. I protest, but weakly. “No, you don’t have to do that, we’ll be fine in the other room. It’s not necess…zzzzzzzzzzzzz”.
Two hours later we’re woken by the laughter of many women. Suzy’s girlfriends have arrived. I slap myself hard across the face and force myself to wake up. Suzy’s already in the other room talking with them a mile a minute.
In Lebanon friends stay friends for life. Suzy grew up with these girls in the little Armenian section of Beirut called Bouj Hamoud. They went to school together, grew up and went clubbing together, and now stay in touch halfway round the world through facebook and Skype. They’re cradle to grave friendships and I’ve not really seen anything like it in America.
Instantly their little group picks up as though she hadn’t left 10 years ago and they chit chat and laugh together for hours. There’s an open air balcony that looks out over the sea and we sit together there enjoying the merciful breeze.
Every so often the lights go out. All of them. One by one the buildings all around us go dark and then, with a click, ours does too. The girls just go right on talking. This is normal for them. Eventually the generators turn on and one by one the buildings light back up. I was already experiencing technology withdrawal from having left my iPad and iPhone behind. I knew there’d be no wifi, but no electricity too?
This is definitely something new and one of the benefits of real travel. You learn about different people and cultures and ways of life and it changes you. At home I get annoyed when the wifi is too slow to stream movies without buffering. At home we’ve all become extremely reliant on technology. Here they don’t need or want it. They talk rather than text. This will take some getting used to.
Popularity: 3% [?]
An American In Lebanon: Day 1
2o Hours of Travel
Of all the crazy adventures I’ve had in my life (and there have been many) this promises to be one of the most extreme. I’ve gone caving in New Zealand, zorbing in Australia, scuba diving in Bora Bora, elephant riding in Thailand, ziplining in Costa Rica, and parachuting in Santa Barbara, but they all pale in comparison to the prospect of spending a month in the Middle East.
My mother was freaking out before we left and in truth I am aware that the US Embassy warns all Americans not to travel to Lebanon because violence could erupt at any time. Suzy’s main concern however has been that I go shopping for stylish clothes before we leave so I don’t look like a “trashy American”. The whole world thinks of Americans as the worst dressers because we value comfort over style. Where we wear ill fitting t-shirts and baggy jeans or sweat pants they wear tight fitting fashions of the latest style. Even if they only have one black suit they wear it every chance they get. I have 5 or 6 suits and they sit in the closet unless I’m obliged to wear them. Suzy even made me get a pair of Ray Bans saying that the $8 pair of sunglasses I got on the beach would be a dead giveaway that I’m an American. Where my mom fears an actual disaster Suzy fears only a fashion disaster.
For over seven years my wife Suzy has informed me almost daily of how “everything is better in Lebanon”. From the fruit that is so juicy it squirts from your mouth when you bite into it, to the nightlife that is so energetic that everyone stays out til dawn, to the dark haired, olive skinned women in their string bikinis, designer shades, and high heels strutting up and down the beachfront. I have been told countless times how, if not for the war, Beirut would still be the Paris of the Middle East.
I have heard countless times how nothing we have in America measures up to the wonders of Lebanon. Nothing that is except for safety and prosperity. And so, leaving the comforts of both behind, I have boarded a plane with my Lebanese bride, bound for her homeland, and all the delights that surely await me.
So why do I feel a bit nervous? Is it because she quickly draped a cross around my neck as soon as we got on the plane? Could it be because of all the things she’s warned me not to say or do while we’re there? Perhaps it’s simply because I’m now surrounded by unshaven men and covered up women and have watched too many episodes of 24.
Whatever the reason, I am both excited to see firsthand the land of my love’s birth and concerned at being whisked away in an unmarked taxi to be made an example of as an infidel of the West.
And thus begins my summer vacation!
Popularity: 3% [?]
Speaker Training Questions – and Answers!
Do you have questions about how to actually make money as a speaker?
Do you wish someone would just give you straight answers without all the hype and BS?
Back when I first started speaking I had A LOT of questions.
• How do you get the bookings?
• How do you construct a powerful presentation?
• How do you create your own products to sell after the talks?
• How do you sell a ton of back of the room products so everybody’s happy?
Fast forward a few years and now I’ve done literally thousands of presentations in just about every market you can think of: corporate, colleges, conventions, cruise ships, and that’s just the Cs!
I’ve also written and self published two books, created dozens of CDs and DVDs, and sold A TON of products in the back of the room.
So How Does This Help You?
Well I use all these real-world experiences when coaching other speakers on how to build their own six figure speaking businesses just like I’ve done.
>>>Get $277 Worth Of Speaker Training Materials Plus Download My New Book “Cruise Ship Speaking” for $1<<<
See I’ve been there and done that (Just last year I spent 21 weeks at sea speaking on cruise ships)
…And I’ve learned a thing or two about how to maximize your profitability in the process.
I also present at about 80+ colleges each and every year (both shows and seminars). That’s a heck of a lot more than people who put on high priced seminars on the subject.
The difference is… I’m actually out there doing it.
Yes, I also do corporate keynotes, but I’ve found there are much easier and more lucrative ways to become a six figure speaker (like by putting on your own seminars).
Anyway, I coach other speakers on real-world techniques for building your own six-figure speaking business and I’d like to give you a sample.
Just Look At Everything You’ll Get Instantly:
• Download my new book “Cruise Ship Speaking: How to build a six figure speaking business while traveling the world for free”
• Listen to the recording of last month’s Q&A Coaching Call
• Submit your questions for this month’s Q&A Coaching Call
(and participate in the coaching call itself!)
• Bonus MP3: My motivational recording of the book “As A Man Thinketh”
• Bonus MP3: “How To Get Your Speaking Business Online Fast”
• Bonus MP3: “The 7 Steps To Write And Self Publish Your Own Book”
• Bonus MP3: “Unlimited Confidence And Motivation”
(great for overcoming stage fright & getting pumped up before your speech!)
And you’ll also get access to the first of 12 monthly training modules designed to take you step by step through the process of building your own six figure speaking business.
That’s over $277 worth of speaker training materials… for just $1
Get everything right now at http://www.AskJoshuaSeth.com
If I had access to this kind of information early on in my speaking career it would have cut YEARS off my learning curve and put lot of extra moolah in my pocket.
If you truly want to turn your passions into profits and make speaking your profession, then check out my “Six Figure Speaking Club”
The $1 trial offer is just a small fee to separate those who are serious from the merely curious. Which one are you?
Popularity: 7% [?]
Speaker Training Call
Well it took me 90 minutes, but I was able to get through ALL of your questions on our 1st Six Figure Speaking Club Group Coaching Call last night! Thanks to everyone who participated 
If you missed the call (or just want to review all the info), I’ve got the recording up in the membership section at:www.joshuaseth.com/dashboard
I’ll keep the recording up there until next month’s call. Since it’s so long, you may want to download it.
There is A LOT of content covering everything from:
• Lots Of Info About Getting Booked To Speak On Cruise Ships
• What Software TO Use When Creating Your Website
• How To Use Powerpoint In Your Presentations
• Tips For Increasing Back Of The Room Sales
• What Kinds Of Software To Use When Creating Your Products
• Where To Get Royalty Free Music For Your Products and Presentations
• And A Whole Lot More!
Sign into your account HERE to listen to the whole 90 minute coaching call.
If you’re not a member of our “Six Figure Speaking Club” yet, why the heck not?
You can listen to the recording, participate in the next call, download my book, get this month’s speaker training module and over $277 worth of training materials all for just a buck!
Join The Six Figure Speaking Club Here
Popularity: 5% [?]
Cruise Ship Lecturer Interview
Speaker’s do the funniest things sometimes. I’ve seen them try to drum up bigger audiences on cruise ships by handing out little cards to people one by one, or by laboring for hours over exactly how to phrase their blurbs in the daily “patter”. I’ve actually read where other speaking coaching have advised them to do this. What a waste of time!
In my book, “Cruise Ship Speaking: How to build a six figure speaking business while traveling the world for free” I describe how to boost attendance at your talks by appearing on the ship’s morning TV show. C’mon now, it goes out to every passenger’s state room at once and makes you more of a celebrity on the ship. Why would you bother doing anything else to promote your talk?
Here’s a clip from one of these shipboard morning shows that I appeared on just last week. Notice how the cruise director himself holds up my book and promotes the talk. Talk about positioning! There wasn’t an empty seat in the house when I stepped onstage to deliver my lecture that afternoon and I moved a TON of product afterwards. An hour later I was back to soaking up the Caribbean sun (in January!) All part of a day’s work as a cruise ship speaker
If this sounds like a good gig to you, you’re right! You can download your own copy of my Cruise Ship Speaking Book for a buck (plus over $277 worth of additional speaker training materials) and find out how to live this amazing lifestyle yourself at… www.AskJoshuaSeth.com
Popularity: 10% [?]
The 3 Es Of Professional Speaking
I just got back from delivering a knockout event at the US Naval Academy in Annapolis. It’s always my favorite booking of the year. The energy in the room feels like they’re gonna set the place on fire! They pay me very well for an hour of fun that always ends with an element of inspiration, and they rebook me every year.
What does this have to do with the speaking business?
Everything, because those are the 3 Es of professional speaking.
• Entertain
• Educate
• Earn
Yes, you’ve got to ENTERTAIN your audiences. We live in a short attention span society. You know that old story about how you can drone on in a boring monotone and your audience will hang on every word if you’re reading a list of who’s getting an organ transplant to the people who need them? Well guess what, life doesn’t hang in the balance when you speak. Nor does it when I speak or perform.
We’ve got to entertain and engage our audiences if we want them t pay attention to what we have to say. You can have the most important message in the world but if nobody’s paying attention to you when you deliver it than what good is it gonna do anybody.
Speaker’s could learn a thing or two from entertainers about how to get people excited about your appearance, about how to open up and own the room once you get there, and how to leave them wanting more so they’ll bring you back again and again.
Entertainers could also learn a thing or two from speakers about how to weave a message into their presentations. If you don’t EDUCATE them when you’re on the stage or platform then all you’ve accomplished is a little “ha ha show” and your fee will remain commensurate with the value you’ve delivered.
That’s why I always end my entertainment programs with an uplifting message about human potential and apply it to that particular group. It takes all those good feelings I’ve generated and adds value to them.
“You can accomplish anything you put your mind to” is always my closing message in any of my entertainment programs and it’s what the audience walks away with once the laughter dies down. What message do you leave your audience with once everything is all said and done? If you don’t know then you need to clarify what you stand for.
And finally you need to EARN from every appearance. Speaking is a Business just like Show and Business are two equally important components of the same profession. Even if you’re speaking for free (like on cruise ships) you’ve got to find a way to make your fee (like from product sales and coaching). Otherwise you’ll soon be out of business and all those future audiences out there will miss the magic of you.
It’s actually pretty easy to create a six figure speaking business once you know how to deliver those three Es, but you’ve got to do it every single time you’re up in front of an audience or you’ll fail. Simple as that. Boring speakers don’t get rebooked. Fees eventually reflect the value delivered. And your earning power needs to come from more than just your mouth.
The more you can Entertain, Educate, and Earn from every audience the more successful you will be. Check out the Six Figure Speaking Club to find out how.
Popularity: 11% [?]
