I have a visa in my passport, as I did a year and a half ago when I flew in to Beirut…

only to be confined to the concourse of Rafic Hariri International Airport (like a bad Tom Hanks movie) and sent packing.

We’ll see if my luck is any better tonight… as they say, inshallah.

From my heart a greeting to Beirut!

Charlotte, NC

“Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes.”

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

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

A lot has happened since then.

Most of 2010: Frankfurt, Germany

If I were to characterize the twelve years since that trip to New York, it would be a series of adventures of an ever accelerating scale.

Simultaneously, I would submit that the past year would best be described as a catalog of misadventures, proportionate only to the degree to which I was capable of finding trouble (or trouble was capable of finding me).

Misadventures, then, are what are on my mind as I sit here in the Bad Homburg Arcade, outside Frankfurt, Germany, writing this long-overdue post longhand as I wonder why the past year was the way it was.

Why the struggle? Why the trouble? Why did my good fortune turn to bad in an instant, and what is the use, therefore, of attempting to contrive a definition of a year like this past year based on something so innocuous and conspicuously nondescript as five hundred thousand plus minutes.

This picture was taken exactly one year ago in Amman, Jordan.

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes ago I sat in Amman, Jordan with $71 to my name and over seven thousand dollars in credit card debt. Barred from Lebanon, I had yet to cement a deal with Henry Ijams to return to America and consult with PayStream Advisors in Charlotte, North Carolina, when I would veer away from the precipice of insolvency at the last second.

In fact, fifty two weeks ago the reality that my possessions, my money, my apartment, my work, and indeed my entire life had vanished like a mirage had yet to fully set in. I possessed a vague plan to move to Dubai, or to London, and I was seeking more detail on another vague plan with a Lebanese lawyer to post a bond in my name to guarantee one more Lebanese three month tourist visa (the money for which I didn’t have)… and I’d then have 90 days to secure a work permit (for which I had no guarantee).

Fifty one weeks ago, I was completely broke and out of time. I didn’t need to listen to Sultans of Swing to hear about Dire Straits. I’d moved, the previous year, to one of the world’s most troubling and confounding locales, and confounding trouble had finally caught up with me. It was time to turn tails and run. I bought a flight to New York and left the Middle East.

Prior to that, whatever was going through my head as I slept on the floor of a friend of a friend’s condo in Abdoun, Amman for a month, I seem to have repressed. I recall arriving at Queen Alia Airport (that would be the airport I’d passed through a dozen times on various other adventures, the airport that King Hussein named after his third wife… who died in a helicopter crash) feeling rather numb. I now had $40 dollars and that was after an emergency inter-Curtis loan. $40 would not get me from New York to Charlotte, so thankfully Oni bought my train ticket south… although I know that he could barely afford it either.

February: Istanbul, Turkey

Charlotte was a whirlwind – I won’t get into the details too much – but the experience was a jarring transition… although the crummy neighborhood on Wilksonson Boulevard that I moved into reminded me of certain other seedy places around the world I’d seen.

Accepting the job with TWI was essentially under duress (although indeed it was a timely blessing), as I’d made little headway with my debt and my gig with Henry was over – the inevitable consequence of the professional opportunity was the complete disintegration of my personal life and eight months of 14 hour work days, 7 day work weeks, and months in solitude.

In less than eight months I have ignominiously joined the 100K club at United Airlines, so it surprises me to have only seven counties under my belt this year. Nearly 100% of that travel was solo. The job? Replacing inventory management systems, which probably hold the rank of “most boring ERP systems ever.”

February: Kuwait City, Kuwait

Living in Germany for a lot of that time was particularly difficult – although the autobahn must be experienced to be believed. I don’t speak the language, I don’t know anyone here, the TWI team here has the highest of expectations, and the project began without a plan, without guidance, and previously implementations had not gone well.

I must of course thank TWI for the opportunity to complete a project so prone to failure…

13 months ago I was certain of my future in Beirut. My first post in exodus 12 months ago was titled “some Guy in the World,” as I suddenly felt I was a citizen of nowhere, which I never wanted.

What I’d failed to see at the time, however, was that my newly contrived status would unleash me from a long-held belief that my location should define my experience.

Instead, what I am now aware of is that the truth is the opposite: My experience should define my location. In fact, my experience should define everything.

June: Washington, DC

This awareness had its tradeoffs: I acknowledge that the past year has had a hardening effect, and the past 8 months with TWI in particular have been desensitizing and lonely.

But I should not assume that the effect was dehumanizing: Quite the contrary. The journey over the past five hundred twenty five thousand six hundreds minutes was Sisyphean and I am better for it.

I chose a path whose consequences I wrought, and as I watched the boulder roll down the mountain last September, I turned to push it back to new heights consecrated in the knowledge that my future was in my hands.

As that is the case, that this past year has been Sisyphean, I must turn to Camus to properly understand my year, and its epilogue, so forgive my aggressive quotation of his work, “The Myth of Sisyphus,” (which you can read in full by clicking here):

February: Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan

Camus states the gods believed, as they punished Sisyphus, that “there is no more dreadful a punishment than futile and hopeless labor.” I know I have believed the same thing at times.

As Sisyphus, “stole the god’s secrets,” he was punished with the task of rolling a rock up a mountain, only to have it roll back down, in an eternal torturous cycle.

But, as Camus states, Sisyphus, “is. As much as through his passions as through his torture. His scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life (meant) for him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole of his being was exerted in accomplishing nothing.”

And so as, “Sisyphus watches the stone rush down in a few moments toward the lower world whence he will have to push it up again toward the summit, he goes back down the to the plain.”

I, like Camus, am most interested in that moment when Sisyphus turns to watch the boulder roll back down the mountain, for that is where I was a year ago, and it is where I find, for all intents and purposes, myself today.

September-October 2009: Amman, Jordan

For this is, “the hour of consciousness when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks towards the lairs of the gods,” when, “he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock.”

Indeed, “if this myth (of Sisyphus) is tragic, that is because our hero is conscious… the lucidity that was to constitute his torture at the same time crowns his victory.”

As Sisyphus’ return to the rock, at the base of the mountain, were his, “Nights in Gethsemane,” (the garden where Jesus begged God His Father for an alternate fate, and received no answer) so too were my nights, one year ago to the day, in Amman.

“But crushing truths perish from being acknowledged.”

Camus quotes Sophocles’ Oedipus: “‘Despite so many ordeals,’” despite exhaustion and misadventure and misfortune, “‘I must conclude that all is well’, and that remark is sacred.”

January: New York City

“All Sisyphus’ joy is contained therein. His fate belongs to him.”

His absurd struggle causes him to, “Say ‘Yes’, and his efforts henceforth will be unceasing. If there is a personal fate, there is no higher destiny… he knows himself to be the master of his days.”

“At that subtle moment when Man glances backwards at his life, Sisyphus returning to his rock, in that slight pivoting he contemplates the series of unrelated actions which became his fate, created by him.”

So, we leave Sisyphus as he proceeds to his boulder. We board the plane, pack the car, collect whatever is left after our choices lead us to disaster, and leap forth to whatever is next. Because we can, we must, and therein lies the reason that we can: Because we exist, and our actions, and their consequences, are proof enough that our existence is our own. Were it not for consequences stemming from our capacity to be deliberate, our humanity would be empty and our lives inescapably droll. To act, to choose, to be, is our gift, and any curses that stem from that gift pale, in comparison, to inaction.

April: Zug, Switzerland

In Camus’ immortal words, “Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile.”

“Each atom of that stone, every mineral flake of that rock-filled mountain, in itself informs the world. The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

I too conclude that all is well.

A year of struggle has yielded new friends, new love, new passion, new insights, new wealth, new opportunities, new risk, new growth, and an altered endeavor that is wholly my own, despite the unceasing mist that hides the path forward, and its boulders, from view.

It is with hubris, and without trepidation, that I will turn Monday morning to descend this year’s mountain. I have already paused long enough for consideration, and my clarity in this moment is my triumph, my higher fidelity – it is the evidence of, and the reason for, my happiness.

Late January: Dubai, UAE

It is in these moments that we should measure our years, and our lives.

Without Gethsemane, without God’s punishing silence or life’s innumerable obstacles, without our trials, without the mountain, how would we measure our triumphs? How could we ever be happy?

Without the actions we take that seal our fate and ignite our adventures and our misadventures, how else would we measure our years besides the droll of passing minutes?

As some of you might know, I am now living in Frankfurt, Germany, where I am managing a project to deploy ERP software across our supply chain.

As I sit here today writing this, I am in a little town in Switzerland called Zug, which is near Zurich, where our corporate headquarters is located. Our office overlooks Lake Zurich and the train station, and the office, the town, and the surrounding area is a vision of Swiss efficiency (I only reset my watch, and assume that it is correct, when I come to Switzerland).

I drove here from Frankfurt yesterday – a fun trip south which is mostly across the German autobahn… that provides the gut-crunching possibility of “speed-limit-less” travel. That being said, as far as I can tell, my rental Ford Fiesta is incapable of going much faster than 110 mph, and often it seems like that is standing still in comparison to the BMW’s that roar past at speeds that must be approaching 200 miles per hour. I took a quick picture of the road as I entered Switzerland… this country is like Narnia. I haven’t seen a sky like that collide with rolling green hills since Jerash in Northern Jordan overlooking the Golan Heights – I have a picture of Jerash somewhere… I’ll have to find it because it looks just like this.

This is the first generally relaxing and planned-ahead “trip” I’ve had with TWI… that being said… it was planned Monday afternoon and off I was on Tuesday morning.

I have traveled to so many locations since February 1st that I find it sort of shocking, and this trip has so far been pleasant in comparison by leaps and bounds. Since 2/1/2010 I have been to (in order): Dubai, Kuwait, Istanbul, Bishkek Kyrgyzstan (recently in the news but it was peaceful when I was there), Switzerland, Germany, Portland Maine, Charlotte NC, Denver CO, Swedesborro NJ, Cincinnati OH, back to Charlotte NC, back to Portland Maine, and back to Germany. Including this most recent drive to Zug, I think that adds up to about 25,000 miles of travel in about 75 days, or 333 miles per day.

I am looking forward to a trip to London over the weekend, my first “leisure” travel since Alana and I’s road trip in January.

So all is going very well work-wise but it has been quite a crazy two and a half months. I have found it exhausting and lonely but fascinating and constantly stimulating  - a bizarre but infinitely interesting combination of adventure and work. The people I work with are absolutely top notch and the company looks after its people 110%.

So all is well on my end – It’s been great to hear from so many people who are interested in moving to Lebanon… although I find that just absolutely bizarre. My flatmate in Beirut tells me rent has doubled since I left… perhaps as Nick predicted the yuppies might be headed to Beirut… crazyness. When I think back to his and I’s first trip there in the fall of 2007 when Hezbollah occupied downtown and the Armored Personnel Carrier outside of our hotel had its 50 cal machine gun pointed up at our balcony, I just can’t believe the stories I’m hearing about how tourism has taken off there. It still made me smile though when CNN listed Beirut as one of the 10 “most dangerous cities in the world” this past week.

My love to you all back home – stay in touch!

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

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

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

Feel free to contact me at anytime using this form if you have questions, thoughts, or whatever!

I’ll recap, quickly, what’s happened over the past month and a half. In late August, I approached the NYC Lebanese Consulate, requesting a proper visa to go back to Beirut on, so that I could arrange for work papers and legalize my status in Beirut. They stamped my passport and sent it back to me.

Upon arrival at the airport in Beirut, I was barred from entering the country, and I went to Jordan. A wide range of people did their very best for me, but at the end of the day, it was to no avail.

I have booked my flight back to America, and will spend the next three months or so in Charlotte, NC, working for PayStream Advisors on an integrated communications project – I am blessed to have the opportunity to finish what I started with PayStream, and it is truly a lucky stroke to have things line up time-wise.

Taking stock of the past month, I notice two things. First, it is apparent that the ground moved too quickly, this time, beneath me, to respond. I got caught on the wrong end of a bureaucratic stamp, and there was no way to flex around the problem. Second, as a learning experience, this was a good thing – I realize now that I took this situation far too personally, and allowed it to get under my skin. As someone who would like to spend the next five years or more overseas, I’ve got to learn that luck is not always going to go in my favor, and disasters are unavoidable.

In terms of actually just growing the heck up and getting on with it, I definitely noticed that I was in profoundly serious need for an event like this. I did not do a good job of securing a proper safety net in the event that something went wrong with my paperwork, nor did I move towards a place quickly where I could emotionally accept what was happening. Indeed, I did quite the opposite – I convinced myself that things would work out, and, as I said before, I took the whole situation personally, which was a dire mistake. When it didn’t work out, I did nothing but fight it. This was a serious mistake but one I’ll learn from.

In Arabic, there are two terms which tend to govern the general thought process of many people in the Middle East. On the one hand is Insha’Allah, and on the other is Mash’Allah. The former means, “God Willing,” pointing to future events, and the latter means, “God Wills it,” pointing to the present. I would like to venture the following: Somewhere between God’s relationship with the future and the present, lies everything else – Indeed, it is here that we make our stand for sorting out what we have control over.

We need not take this from a religious or spiritualist perspective – merely acknowledging that there is so much beyond our control, b0th in the present, and the future, gets to the heart of these statements. Indeed, recognizing that there are billions of other people and so many other forces acting in tandem to our own actions and choices, is to recognize just how little control we have, and how important it is to exercise our capacity to act when it is possible, and therefore necessary, to do so.

This is perfectly encapsulated in the age-old prayer, “grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.” Where does that wisdom come from? I can only say, as someone who is as young as I, that it comes not from theoretisizing, but from experience. And experience is something I lack. I lack it in spades.

But I am pleased to say that, for what it’s worth, this was an experience that I’ll relish, although I don’t know how I’ll pay back the debts I’ve accumulated from this episode.

Gosh! What a month. I have to say it was not pleasant, but it was what it was. I’m still standing, still breathing… I wasn’t able to shift my weight on this occasion. And, to the ire of several people who I know have my best interests in mind, I even managed to lash out at the American government… something I probably should not have done.

Well, consider this my apology… and also my very specific statement that I’m not giving up. I am not.

I look forward to getting back on American soil – I guess that makes me a bit of a hypocrite… but whatever the case is, I’ll move forward and I won’t wallow in it.

Take care all – this will be my last post on Some Guy in Lebanon until I manage to get back… if I manage to get back. Thanks for reading – to those I’ll see soon, I can’t wait to see you.

As a parting… gift… or whatever, as they are my favorite places in Beirut and the spots I’ll miss the most, here is a picture of Cafe Rawda, of Andre and Captains Cabin. Naz is in there too

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

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

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

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

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

But it seems that there is no solution to my problem in Lebanon. For reasons I don’t understand, I am not allowed entry, not even to collect my things and empty my bank account. A work permit is the only option, but I cannot make that option work, for now.

So now I’m truly in diaspora… and it’s amazing to know what that feels like. Whatever it is that the Lebanese government assumes I’m up to, at least I know I’m not. I have infinite reasons to be upset, but for some reason, finally, after losing my cool for a few hours, I am strangely at peace with everything.

Thank you Amman for your help – And thank you Lebanon. Hopefully, somehow, I’ll see you soon.

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

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

We all know that it is American money and aid that pays for Lebanon’s roads, medical support, and much more. We all know that American tax payer money was instrumental in the arrangement of the last election. We all know that American money paid for Israeli smart bombs used in the 2006 war, and we all know that American money now pays for rebuilding the infrastructure that Israel destroyed. Don’t tell me you can do nothing – That’s what you told the Marines you sent here to die.

So – to those of you at the American Embassy, thanks for nothing. If only I was a Senator’s son! Imagine! But no, I’m just some guy in Lebanon. I would venture to guess I do more in a day to extend American goodwill than the State Department accomplishes in a year. Your lack of action that night is disgusting, as I sat in a lonely airport terminal for 12 hours, awaiting a flight to Amman.

People always ask me why I don’t register with the Embassy – Why I don’t go there, why I have nothing good to say about American foreign policy. Well, let me tell you – I have met several people who work for various European embassies in Amman, and they are all were shocked to hear that you would do nothing for your own citizen in such dire straits. Money for bombs, bridges, and votes, but not a second thought for a tax payer.

But I have taken this experience to heart, and I know now to never expect anything from my government – neither social security nor the slightest inkling of help when I’m stranded thousands of miles from home. It’s a wonder I pay taxes at all – just remember who pays for your armored SUV’s and your cushy life up on that hill, let alone for the men who protect you. Next time you buy a drink in Gemayze, just think about where your paycheck from comes as well.

In the meantime, I am reading The Age of the Unthinkable by Joshua Cooper Ramo – I can’t recommend it enough. It’s about the need to respond asymmetrically to today’s problems, and about the nature of Complexity Theory and its relationship to a world where information, decisions, and money move at the speed of light. He points out the extraordinary improvement in the movement of data – in the past one hundred years, the speed at which data moves has improved by 1,000,000,000%!

Anyways, it appears I will be back in Beirut early next week, thanks entirely to friends in Beirut. Though I blame the Consulate in New York for giving me the wrong information, I understand that they are operating within the context of Immigration policies that are fluid – Indeed, calls to various Lebanese agencies has revealed disbelief – No one can believe this happened and everyone seems to have a different reason, and I can accept that. But I am sorely disappointed with my own government’s response – We can invade countries, fund rebels, and buy elections. But for some guy in Lebanon, it’s “tough luck.” Thank you – lesson learned.

What a summer. What an extraordinary, incredible, lovely, indescribable summer. Hopefully not too-indescribable, or it would be hard to articulate it in this post…! And now it’s over, and tomorrow I get on a plane and fly back to Beirut. As my business partner Oni Kabir put it to me this evening, “It’s amazing how full circle things feel.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Let’s take a moment to reflect on the past year – 365 days ago I was working at the Portland Lobster Company and gearing up to fly to Lebanon, with literally zero plan besides to intern at the Daily Star. I was also painting houses. Hey, don’t knock it – It paid the bills. But I was staring out into a future that I’d no idea how to envision – In 45 days I’d be getting on a plane for Beirut, praying that Nick would, in fact, be at the terminal to receive me (he was).

9 months later I returned to the United States for vacation, initially planning on being here for a 30 days. However, as my grandmother had major surgery over the winter and wouldn’t be in Maine until late August, it was important (and fantastic) to stay for another three weeks to see her. And so my return date morphed to September 11th (I didn’t choose the date).

I’d like to reflect on that date for a moment – September 11th doesn’t need an introduction. It is a day that will long be remembered in horrifying imagery as America was attacked in an unprecedented terrorist incident. On that day, it seemed, the long arm of Middle Eastern politics, upheaval, and affairs, reached out far across the seas, as Saudis, financed by oil profits, and under the nose of one of America’s key allies, obliterated our sense of security and isolation. Suddenly there was an enormous realization that America did not stand alone in a vacuum. There was a new interest in the Middle East – People took Arabic in unprecedented numbers, and our President and our foreign policy took a new interest in the region, often for the worse. It is impossible to deny that September 11th awakened me to an interest in the Middle East, as well.

American interest had its many disasters, including, obviously, the Iraq war, the disastrous financing of Fatah in Gaza, and a blind eye to Arab dictatorships, new allies in the “War on Terror,” as they brutally cracked down on moderate Muslim democratic movements. But it had one interesting moment – Bush loudly backed the “March 14″ coalition in Lebanon when it streamed into the streets in 2005 to protest Syria’s occupation of the country following the assassination of Rafic Hariri. I will not attribute the entire thing to American foreign policy, but it is hard to deny that, in an ocean of failure, this was one bright spot for the post-September 11th American agenda. It paved the way for my life now.

That I am therefore flying back to Beirut on the 11th of this month only adds to an overall feeling that this trip has allowed me to “bring full circle” so many things.

So I’d like to do a quick recap over the past two months- sorry if I leave anything out!

July

I arrived on July 16th exhausted – I’d been up for three days straight because I’d had a lot of business to attend to before I left Beirut – Also, my flight left early in the morning of the 15th and I was afraid I’d sleep through my alarm. Landing in New York, I don’t remember feeling anything other than how big everything looked – Especially the highways and the airport. I think that all of Downtown Beirut (which I define, for those of you who know, as the box made by Hamra to Gemayze, up to the top of Monot and then across to Verdun, then back down to Ras Beirut and the sea) could fit in John F Kennedy International Airport! And to really drive the point home, I don’t think I left that box more than 10 times in the 9 months I lived in Beirut!

Getting back to Maine was wonderful – I took Jet Blue and I remember the only “astonishing” moment of my whole trip in terms of going from Lebanon to America: Satellite TV on the Jet Blue plane in every seat. ESPN! Comedy Central! While I fly! The moment passed, thank god.

I spent the rest of July driving the hot Mustang convertible I rented from the 7/16 to 8/16 (pictured to the right), complete with enormous sound system, but since it rained nearly every day of July I didn’t get much of a chance to use it until August. Didn’t matter – it was still great. It was wonderful to see Mariah Daily and Whitter Lewis get married shortly on arrival.

Those first two weeks of July were jarring – Parties in Small Point, where I was suddenly one of the oldest people there (especially as many of my generation had not yet arrived) produced a serious existential crises, which you can read about here: Some Guy in Lebanon Part 1. July was still wonderful, however, as mom and I stayed first at the Curtis house, and then Bumma’s – July was a quiet time – Lots of reading was done, lots of lounging around, and working on client projects. It was great to see people as they started to filter in, especially as they were people I’d grown up with… And then, suddenly, things took off as August arrived.

August

On August 1st, the weather suddenly drastically improved and wave after wave of folks arrived in Small Point. Small parties and gatherings turned into an endless string of beach days and nights, sailing, cliff walking, and cocktail parties. My favorite thing about Small Point started to materialize – very quickly a ‘sixth sense’ of ‘where people are at’ kicked in, as did an ever-growing need to see each other, to smile, to drink, to laugh, to watch the moon come up and then the sun go down, and then to howl at both, only to see the sun come back up again. Pictured to the right was one of those wonderful mornings when we all watched the sun rise up over the water. Below is all of us from the roof watching as the sun basked Head Beach in a beautiful glow at 6am.

It seemed as if, out of nowhere, flotillas of boats were being lashed together to watch the sun set, and the clinking of glasses filled with vast amounts of gin and tonic had become the anthem-song of August 2009.

Soon I moved in with Brady at his wonderful house on the Harbor, where endless afternoons sitting by the pool and watching the boats roll in and out became the norm. During this time I turned 25, as did Nick, and we both decided to host our party a few days later.

That “few days later” fell on a Friday, as our birthday party was unleashed on Shell Beach, completely equipped with music, dancing, bar, and bonfire. Many faces I hadn’t seen in ages turned up – I won’t speak for anyone but myself, but I had enough fun to last until next year.

It was great to meet Sarah and Josh, or “Thunderbolt” and “Fergie,” Chef and Sous Chef (respectively) at the Club, including a great night out at Portland bars with them. John Herrigel and Ben Lewis received the thumbs up that they will be running the Summer School next year! Other highlights included reggae at Peaks Island with Emma, Isaiah, and Tim Short-Lee – playing many rounds of chess with Nick at his family’s beautiful home – an amazing pool party at Brady’s – a fast but fun trip to DC to see Leigh, Kris, Devlin, and Alex Steele, and meet up with Oni to talk business – Brady and company’s incredible SPSS play “How to Eat Like a Child” – and so so very much more.

The end of August was of course characterized by the sadness of people leaving, but also the arrival of Maine’s best weather, as well as a few other surprises.

Here are the rest of the photos from the month:

September

Late August and early September brought me and mom back to the Curtis house, spending time with my grandparents – my grandmother (thanks to God) seems more fit than ever – medicine these days is unbelievable!

Sometime in late August or early September I saw my other grandmother, who seems equally fit as ever, while getting a new passport in Boston (lost the old one… then found it after I got a new one…) and had a great afternoon with her. She even made me Kabab, on the advice of her Lebanese hair dresser, and it was delicious.

Everything seemed to get well wrapped up in September – I finally felt that I had caught up on sleep, seen my family and friends, and done everything I wanted to do and all the realizations about my future that I wanted to have. I ended my trip this past week by finally finding peace with an angel, who will be traveling to Nepal this next year and following her dreams, as she should. I wouldn’t trade this past week, month, or year for anything in the world – I have nothing left to do now but smile smile smile.

Epilogue

So what is America to me, having been back for two months? I have traveled its highways, experienced its high speed internet, and enjoyed its Atlantic breezes. It was great to see my friends, who I love, and my family, who I also love. It was obnoxious to be so close to its politics, as they seem to have become horribly stilted, but I still feel the country is in good hands. To me, America is the beautiful, boisterous place where I was born, and where I’m proud to say I’m from. I love this country, and I’ll miss it.

But my home is over seas, and that’s just the way it’ll stay for a while. I have no regrets, and I’m excited to see what the seeds I’ve planted in Beirut will grow into.

I don’t know when I’ll be back next – I’d love to say I’ll be back next summer for a month, and I think it’s possible – but only God knows. Going back to Lebanon is going back to my home – My apartment, my friends, my work, my life. I’m looking forward to working with LAU, with other clients, and settling back in.

Maybe my arrival will herald a newly formed government! Who knows, stranger things have happened.

Some guy from America could move to Lebanon, with no plans, come home after 9 months self-employed, and then go back again with a smile on his face, stretching ear to ear.

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

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

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

Rick's Cafe, Casablanca

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

I was rather harsh on Americans in my last post, I admit. I am prone to that. It’s perhaps fair to say that the emotional orchestration of the American isn’t so bad after all when it’s done with such flair. Hard to say – Let’s just say that the slippery slope begins after the Nazi gets shot in the chest. All in the name of love!

I admit, watching Casablanca this evening, just twelve days before I am scheduled to return to Beirut, put a great many things in perspective. Not the least of which is the fact that I couldn’t help but feel a parallel to my recent love life. I’m happy I hadn’t seen the film all the way through until tonight, and I’m happy I took the time. It was too much fun, and I felt at home.

Perhaps there is a “Karma’s cafe americain” on the the horizon. Just, Karma, one favor – I just can’t understand why everybody kept drinking ‘champagne cocktails’ the whole movie – please don’t serve those. Ever.