perspective
August has arrived with a vengeance; "hot" has been replaced with "scorching" (but not yet "diabolical"; I think I'll find that in the East). Consequently, ice cream consumption has increased and I've gotten quite adept at seeking out air conditioning. Yesterday, staged a brief escape by doing a dusk drive up Qassioun, the mountain that overlooks the city. We were hoping for a sunset view (parenthetically, recently learned that the arabic word for "set" is "gharaba," which shares its 3 letter root, "gh-r-b" with the for "west." Literal and poetic.)
The overlook is a popular spot. Foreign and local families bring folding tables or rugs and set up impromptu picnics. Vendors sell trinkets or coffee and tea out of the back of their pickups. You can rent a nargile--if you didn't bring your own from home.
We stopped at one of the restaurants and discovered that the typical Qassioun fare-delivered to your table as soon as you sit down--is heaping plates of fruit, small cookies, nuts, and carrot sticks. Guessing that the prices were as astromonical as the view, we declined in favor of fruit drinks. Still, a nice idea.
Marveled at how little noise filtered up from the city: no traffic and the call to prayer was barely audible. Either we were very high up or there's a strange trick of physics at work. It does suggest that Qassioun is a lot steeper than it looks, which makes the creepage of houses halfway up its slope both impressive and terrifying.
The taxi ride back climbed higher and circled the summit: after this leisurely tour, the descent was a harrowing sprint down barely-lit grades. Normally, the NASCAR-like antics of local drivers don't get to me, but this had me grabbing the seat.
On the way back home, I had the ultimate "you know you've assimilated when" experience: some out-of-town (arab) tourists asked me for directions. Imagine their surprise when I started my stumbling reply. "You're not Syrian??" they asked. Very amused to discover their mistake and I was delighted. Apparently, I look like I belong here.
It turns out that the angle is wrong; the sun sets somewhere behind your right shoulder. Nonetheless, the view was spectacular. This photo shows about 1/6 of it. We sat on a ledge and watched the lights come up across the city: the usual assortment of white, yellow, and red, but speckled with a profusion of green neon pinpoints marking the mosques.
The overlook is a popular spot. Foreign and local families bring folding tables or rugs and set up impromptu picnics. Vendors sell trinkets or coffee and tea out of the back of their pickups. You can rent a nargile--if you didn't bring your own from home.
We stopped at one of the restaurants and discovered that the typical Qassioun fare-delivered to your table as soon as you sit down--is heaping plates of fruit, small cookies, nuts, and carrot sticks. Guessing that the prices were as astromonical as the view, we declined in favor of fruit drinks. Still, a nice idea.
Marveled at how little noise filtered up from the city: no traffic and the call to prayer was barely audible. Either we were very high up or there's a strange trick of physics at work. It does suggest that Qassioun is a lot steeper than it looks, which makes the creepage of houses halfway up its slope both impressive and terrifying.
The taxi ride back climbed higher and circled the summit: after this leisurely tour, the descent was a harrowing sprint down barely-lit grades. Normally, the NASCAR-like antics of local drivers don't get to me, but this had me grabbing the seat.
On the way back home, I had the ultimate "you know you've assimilated when" experience: some out-of-town (arab) tourists asked me for directions. Imagine their surprise when I started my stumbling reply. "You're not Syrian??" they asked. Very amused to discover their mistake and I was delighted. Apparently, I look like I belong here.
posted by Emily at 6:20 PM
4 Comments:
that's always a nice feeling! It always seems to open many doors in the long run!
Interesting comment about being local - shortly after 911 I was traveling and was detained at LAX. I was told later by a fellow traveler that it was probably because I looked middleeastern. I always said I could claim you as my daughter!
Congrats on being mistaken for a local!
oooo! what a compliment. i love being mistaken for a local.
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