an ending

Woa. Finally back in the States. Very strange to be back-- feels almost like the past month never happened, either that or it is so totally out of time that I'm not sure how to place it in my mind. I was awarded the grant February 7th, planned for it all last winter and spring, adapted the trip details last second and then it's over. Just like that. Very odd.

After sitting in the Beirut airport for four hours, an eight-hour flight to London, spending the night in Heathrow and a seven-hour flight to DC, I finally made it to the promised land of Dulles airport. My lovely father graciously parked my car nearby (and replaced the cracked windshield that had been gradually been creeping along the entirely of my view over the course of three years-- hey, I've always admitted being cheap!), I grabbed a cab, picked up the adored Fit, and commenced my eight-hour drive to Spartanburg, South Carolina for my cousin Wyatt's wedding. Made it just in time for the rehearsal dinner that night and the ceremony the next morning.

Now it's up and down the east coast, visiting friends and family, checking up on my new tenants (groaning as I realize the roof is going to need to be replaced very very soon and having to hire a plumber for my sink, dishwasher and bathtub who struggle to fight the downhill slow of the city's sewer system), collecting my belongings sprinkled throughout several states and then back up to start my last year of school. Can that be right?!

I thought I'd do a wrap-up for the trip, but I'm really not sure how to do it (strange I know-- I'm normally spewing horribly tangental thoughts that completely lack any sort of cohesiveness). However, I am finding it hard to deconstruct and mentally organize my month of travel.

The first two weeks were obviously full of fabulous food, delightful debauchery and a general lack of academic research. My frustration and generally apathetic view towards Yale in the past year pretty much yielded a guilt-free use of the first two weeks as nothing less than a vacation. The last two weeks, however, completely fulfilled my hopes of Middle Eastern exploration. I feel that I collected what I needed to pursue this area of study and, though I still regret the missed opportunity of visiting Egypt, Syria or even Israel, I am certain that this trip has opened up new doors for me to pursue this type of study and has thoroughly whetted my appetite for returning to watch what happens during the next few transitional years.

Yale does not have a thesis, however they do have the option for an independent study. Hopefully this will be the beginning of a proposal to obtain a coveted spot and continue to study how this reconstruction is actually taking place, including current events, current political turmoil and the personal opinions of local inhabitants. I have to put together a show at the end of the year, documenting my trip and displaying any conclusions or "lessons learned" on a series of boards hanging on the main floor of the architectural building. A question and answer session with the Dean (good lord, who knows how that is going to go...) is open to the general student body during a wine and cheese reception. Definitely not a big deal so the compilation of this research is pretty much up to me. Guess I'll do it during all my free time this upcoming school year. Ha.

I wanted to thank my mom who gave up her priceless and fleeting Bethany time and summer in general to come to my rescue in a time of rapid change and uncertainty. The trip would have not been nearly as fun without someone to enjoy endless vino and hedonistic meals. Plus, who would have caused us to get lost on moped adventures or be a witness to countless travel debacles that people at home would not believe had I experienced them alone? (However, we were in the Lebanese newspaper while we were there. Names, quotes and all! I guess that's something...) I definitely would not have come home with as many travel trinkets, which I would have surely inevitably regretted.

This blog has pushed my comfort with social media and my fear of "governmental tracking" (Facebook is the devil) without a question, but I am glad that I kept it (though once I got home I definitely dropped the ball on keeping it updated!). It is a different type of journalling than I am used to, but I think it is a worthwhile thing to have. It will unquestionably help my ever-diminshing memory once I start forgetting what happened and the chronology of events! This silly thing has gotten over 2,200 views (though I am certain that most of them are repeat offenders!) in over six countries, which has completely blown my mind. I am touched that there was so much interest in my travels and appreciate all the emails received during the trip. Thanks for the support! (Sorry for the cheesiness...)

Alright, off to the next adventure: studio. And, oh, what an adventure it will be! Now all that is left is to try to figure out how the heck to take this thing down so that no one at my snobby school will ever find it!

Thanks again,

the war-torn wanderer.

hezbollah

after all night in airport. lovely.

Last day in Beirut. Last day of the trip! I can't believe it went by so fast. I guess when one is hopping from city to city time seems to fly by. Gracious.

Pretty much I have been dying to go into the Hezbollah controlled area of Beirut since I started researching the reconstruction of the Middle East last fall. I think Lebanese political history is so interesting and having the downtown being rebuilt at the same time as the southern suburbs is pretty much the ideal comparison of restoration in a war-torn city. Call me crazy, but I was determined to get into those areas being rebuilt by something other than the official government or capitalistic developers.

Hezbollah has a tumultuous history with the Lebanese government. They have a tumultuous history with Israel. They have a tumultuous history with the US. Pretty much they are controversial. They are made up of mostly Shi'a Muslims and have been supportive of the PLO and the poorer Shi'a people living on the southern coast of the country. Their support of these Palestinian refugees has put them in the spotlight as a political party that may harbor potential terrorists and has caused them to be one of the main targets of the Israeli army.

In 2006 a 34-day military conflict erupted in northern Israel and southern Lebanon when militants from Hezbollah fired rockets at the Israeli border towns as a diversion for an anti-tank missile attack on armored Humvees patrolling the Israeli side of the border. The attack left several Israeli soldiers dead and the Isreali Army responded with airstrikes and artillery fire in the southern suburbs, resulting in the launching of more rockets into northern Israel and the instigation of guerrilla warfare by Hezbollah and their supporters. The conflict killed at least 1,200 people, mostly Lebanese citizens, severly damaged Lebanese civil infrastructure and displaced almost one million Lebanese people and over 300,000 Israeli citizens.

As a result of all this fighting, the Hezbollah controlled portion of Beirut was left in shambles and in desperate need of renovation, rather, completely new construction. The innocuous word dahiya, meaning "suburb", achieved unprecedented notoriety because it was this dahiya that the Israeli warplanes pounded until little, other than rubble, remained. This was Hezbollah's security zone and since Hezbollah has always desired a separate identity from the Lebanese government, they sought to redo their portion of the city themselves. The area has its own phone lines and other infrastructural systems and their means of construction couldn't be more different than that taking place in downtown Beirut.

I finally found a driver I could bribe into taking me into the southern suburbs (wimps!). I can't even explain the look I got from the guy arranging it (stupid American!), but even though the duration of the trip only lasted about 2 hours, it was the best money I spent during my time in Lebanon. It's not that it's dangerous going there, it's just that most people consider the area to be a slum and there is always the risk of a foreigner being taken in for questioning. Also, I promised Yale I wouldn't go near it.... hmmm.

Officials in the area strictly forbid taking pictures so all images that I have are from my iphone, which I inconspicuously held up every now and then to snap a shot out of the van window. I definitely was not allowed out of the car and made sure to wear long sleeves. The driver spoke little english so I wasn't able to get out as much information about the area as I had hoped, but he was good company nonetheless and didn't seem to be too bothered by the idiot who wanted him to drive up and down each street.

So, there I am, riding shotgun in an SUV through Hezbollah's living quarters, trying to hide my iphone as I snap away, jamming out to Mariah Carey (seriously, this guy played the cd over and over-- four times we listened to the silvery lyrics of the musical legend), and in general gawking at how much renovation is taking place.

Here the rebuilding happens either a) a full block of new apartments arise from complete destruction or b) a building is singled out and built in-between existing slums on either side. The area has no cohesive plan but cranes, scaffolding and construction dust are everywhere. There are no signs in english, no fancy stores and definitely no skin showing. Not every woman is in full religious garb, but those who are not are more conservatively dressed than the chic urbanites downtown. The area sports signs of Universities and tolerance, but no one seems particularly welcoming. One can tell it is a tight-knit community who has little interest in absorbing the more westernized culture surrounding it.

After I felt I had gotten what I needed, and I had exhausted the driver who I'm sure was still convinced I was nuts, we headed to the airport where I started my long trip back to the States. The very long trip.

Thankfully I have "Hero" securely stuck in my head for travel entertainment.

hypocritical me

So, I admit, I'm terrible. I officially got home August 12 but have been so ridiculously driving all over the East Coast (admittedly I actually enjoyed seeing the familiar SUVs hogging the highway that I so previously detested) that I have this morning is officially the first morning I have been in a coffee shop to catch up on my travels. Apologies.

Mom left Beirut after the construction site adventures. A 3 am flight home left her wondering what day it was when she got home. Oh, lovely jet lag. Though I would miss dinner conversations, I was excited to set off in the city doing pure research and attempting to enter the places she made me promise not to explore. Safety?! So overrated.

The day after she left I had an early morning meeting with my professor who is from Lebanon and back for the summer to oversee his project in the new marina. It is the same project we got such an intimate tour with the day before and he was shocked to see my photographs (I mean, seriously. I was shocked to have them!). It was wonderful seeing him; he had a million things for me to do. I only wish that he had answered my plethora of emails from earlier that summer so I could have met him earlier. I only had two days left to check of everything on his "must see" list!

As stated before, there is one development company, Solidere (http://www.solidere.com), that is re-doing all of downtown Beirut. It is very controversial because they basically bought everyone that owned war torn buildings out, gave them shares that were worth a lot less than their original properties, and have totally reinvented the look and feel of the downtown. To be fair, there was not much left to salvage after the war, but the financial perfidy mixed with the utterly new appearance of the downtown has left conflicting opinions with the locals. Solidere has hired so many world-renowned architects (seriously the list makes one have to wipe the drool from her chin) that it is hard not to be excited about the city plans. Argh! I am so confused! Normally I hate such historical destruction and mass architectural capitalism. Buuuuut, here comes that salivation again...

My professors's firms is one of those chosen by Solidere to complete a project. They designed it with Steven Holl (He's worth looking up. I promise!) and have designed a marina club beautifully built into the the shore line. He actually has about eight commissions currently in Lebanon and are expanding their New York office and establishing one in Beirut. The meeting definitely had hints of their desire to hire outside architects and bring them to Lebanon. Not going to lie, sounded perfect and worth considering.

Anyway, he insisted that I meet with some of the head guys from Solidere, called them up on the spot and told me to be at their office in two hours. Just like that. Done and done. So, off I went, hurriedly reading up on the Solidere project and familiarizing myself with all they were doing so as not to look like a complete idiot once I arrived.

Of course I got lost on the way to the office. Being cheap and liking to think I am oh, so "green", I insisted on walking the 2 miles downtown, giving myself an hour to do so. Should be plenty of time! The only maps I had at this point were sections of the city that did not show the whole thing at one time. Of course they are all different scales so my attempt to glue them together failed miserably. There I was, sweating, wandering through the city, sweating, recognizing landmarks but not knowing how they knit together, sweating, and pretty much looking like an idiot. So much for my plan of arriving looking clean, spiffy and smart.

I had to hire a cab for the last half mile since I was already 10 minutes late. He got lost (stupid security guards blocking off roads) and our typical argument about payment for services resulted in my simply throwing lira at him and running off to salvage the reputation of a Yale student-- or at least what one should be.

I got into the office, went to the wrong floor, finally found it, and shook the Solidere's business man's hand, huffing a dramatic apology. (Never caught the man's name, or, more likely, I didn't understand it so he therefore shall be referred to as Bob for the remaining of the story.) Bob was gracious about my tardiness and anxious to walk me to their marketing office and through their finished projects.

We crossed the street and entered into their second office who's lobby was full of models of the master plan, buildings and demonstrative models of how things would work. The site plan model was over 12'x12' and took up the entire lobby. Projects by Zaha Hadid, Norman Foster, Steven Holl, Jean Nouvel and so many others were there and fit perfectly into the city fabric. It was truly amazing. I am definitely going to have to plan a trip back in 15 years when it will all be finished.


Bob took me upstairs and saw larger scale models of each individual building and I got the corporate scoop on each project. The very corporate scoop. Still, it impressed me and I am excited to watch how the whole thing plays out.

We walked over to their most recently finished project, the Souks, a project designed by five separate international architects as a comprehensive program of pedestrian zones for shopping, restaurants, a theater, underground car parks and gardens featuring Roman ruins uncovered during the excavation. It was very cool, very modern and made me even more embarrassed of my sad "city" of New Haven.

As much as I hate the corporate take over of the city center, and the Disney-like way that everything looks so perfectly re-done, Solidere is doing a great job of incorporating gardens, historic ruins, cultural events and sculpture into the project and have been successful in bringing life into the city in general. All the stores in the Souks are way out of the average American grad student's budget, featuring designers such as Gucci, Prada and more diamond stores than one can imagine, but the place is busy with patrons that can actually afford such luxuries.

The rest of my day was spent exploring the new construction and pouring over the gorgeous book Bob gave me showing all future development. Hardcover, 10"x16", matte finish images and thick paper, it definitely seduced even a snob like me. Why do books beguile me so? Sheesh. I am so cheap and easy.

I was tempted to go to the Sky Bar later that night, Beirut's hottest night club and the only place to be if you are in your 20s (http://www.sky-bar.com), but then I remembered that I hate crowds, hate being alone with drunk people, hate paying for cabs and, unlike my sociable sister, hate being hit on. I am much more comfortable in dilapidated cities than among swanky and chic young urbanites. It would have been a good story though...

Tomorrow it was off to the southern suburbs controlled by Hezbollah, the militant group who has a complicated history with the Lebanese government. The 34-day war with Isreal in 2006 left their part of the city in complete ruins and, like downtown Beirut, they are in the process of rebuilding it. I have been dying to get over there but the wimpy taxi drivers wouldn't take me. Pansies! More on that later...

Spoiler: I did get over there and it was well worth the bribe I offered.

construction zone

So cab drivers are tricky business here. Apparently there is a code to which all taxi drivers adhere. I have not had the honor of physically seeing this clandestine cabby constitution, but I am assuming it includes the following statutes:

1. honk at least every 25 seconds lest someone forget you are one of 30 other taxis around
2. shout "taxi!", "taxi!" at anyone that looks remotely foreign and follow the poor soul along the curb until she ducks into a store
3. look a nice American woman like she shot your mother when she offers you the LEGAL rate of 2,000 lira for her ride and not the 15,000 you are demanding
4. suddenly forget you know all english if in a precarious situation... or one you simply don't like

Exempli gratia:

It was our second day here and I wanted to walk along the shoreline where my professors are working with Steven Holl on a marina project being built at the very head of the city. I kindly asked the taxi driver to take us to the port, something which apparently was not clear because he kept pulling over asking unsuspecting passers-by what I meant by "port" or "marina". This should have been a warning, but instead of reading the omen, I simply got more and more annoyed. (My typical response with any inefficiency or confusion.) We finally made it to the downtown area and were driving along the coast when I saw the construction site.

-- Here, Sir. You can just drop us here. 

-- Here? This is nothing.

-- We want to see that building there. We are going to take pictures.

-- This building? (pointing)

-- Yes.

-- This building? (pointing again)

-- Yes. Just drop us here and we'll photograph it and then walk into the city. Thank you.

-- This building? (Are you freaking kidding me?!)

Ignoring our constant reassurances that yes, this was the building we wanted to see, he slowed momentarily at a red traffic light, spun around the traffic barrier and into the construction site. The new building was close to the water and we were still a good 150 meters from it. He pulled next to a small gate house (for lack of better word) and started shouting and pointing in Arabic. The other guy shouted and pointed back. We drove into the construction workers' "parking lot" (which by the way, was filled with only Mercedes and BMWs- very strange cars to see parked along side of bulldozers for sure) and navigated through the tight spaces left by the nice, though dusty, cars.

Got through the car maze. Darn. Blockade at the end of the lot.

Back we went, this time faster-- our guy was getting mad since clearly the guard had told him the way was unobscured. Drove by the guard. More shouting. More waving.

--Sir! This is fine! Drop us here!

-- This building? (pointing to the SAME and ONLY building in sight!)

-- YES!!!!

-- This building?

Through more traffic lights. More U-turns. Hit another guard post. This time it was actual security guards with uniforms and official looking badges. More Arabic and rapid hand waving transpired. This time he kept pointing to us then to the building then to us again. Somewhere between the high-speed driving, heated discussions in a language that always sounds like someone is pissed and Mom, who was still trying to tell our guy that we were better on the street taking pictures, I decided to stop trying to translate and see how this one played out. On we went in the direction of the confused guard's gestures. That is, until we hit another barrier.

Have no fear! We just drove around the barrier! Off the paved road, into the dust. Bouncing up and down in our "off-road" BMW getting closer and closer to the construction site. Piles of rocky sand? No trouble! We'll just go over them! Ramps of dirt meant only for construction trucks? No worries! Our tiny car will undoubtedly make it down their slippery slopes! Construction workers hollering at a small car with cab light driving through their construction zone? Forget it! Surely they can't mean us!

you want hard hat?

If there was a soundtrack to our trip it would be some sort of arabic circus music that ended with an abrupt high note allowing the whooshing sound of the dust settling after our spin-out to be heard. We came to a stop literally 20' in front of the building and I'm pretty sure that the only reason we didn't drive into the building was because there were piles of construction material in the way. We got out at which point confused workers came out of the woodwork and our lovely cabby invoked rules 3 and 4 of the previously stated code. More money. No English. Apparently he thought he had done an excellent job at getting us where we wanted to go. I mean, I guess I can't argue with him... I did get great pictures.

After attempting to "talk" with a few construction workers, being taken into a trailer and being offered hard hats and then taken to another trailer to meet the construction manager, we were finally able to explain that our presence was a mistake and confusing even to us! We began the long trek back to the street, back up the dirt ramps, through the cut stone, waving as huge trucks stopped for us to pass in front of them. I mean, seriously?! Were we really in the middle of a Lebanese construction in our open-toe sandals, sporting large purses and cameras?! Needless to say, we were pretty much peeing our pants from laughing in disbelief the whole way back (either that or gagging from the dust that was flying everywhere around us!). Good lord...

our view from construction zone... this building?!

After such an eventful morning the afternoon seems a bit dull. We walked and walked and walked while I took picture after picture after picture. The construction downtown was swift and immediate. The developers took down every last building that was destroyed by the war and put up brand new ones in their place. As we got further down the old Green Line things were not quite as cut and dry.

Before the war Beirut's downtown was owned by many people of different religions and demographics. After the war the country was left trying to piece itself back together, dealing with remnants of things established in the 70s and with a financial system that no longer existed. Therefore new construction can be as tricky as dealing with cab drivers. If a tenant signed a 50 year lease in 1974 (before the war) for 700 lira a month (about $350), that lease still would be upheld. However, the troubling thing was that now 1,500 lira = $1, meaning that if the tenant had stayed throughout the war and wanted to continue living there, they now only owed $0.50 a month. Needless to say, there were lots of Lebanese who liked paying nothing to live downtown.

Since the building owners were making no money on their land and they couldn't break their contract, they either stopped maintaining their buildings or began sabotaging them themselves, trying to convince the inhabitants to leave (our tour guide from yesterday had a story where his building owner threw dead animal carcasses on all the balconies until people left. Apparently he had watched The Godfather earlier that week). The property owners are waiting for their contracts to expire before they start fixing their buildings and the State has no ability to buy the property of people that abandoned their land during the war; therefore, it is very often that one sees a brand new building sharing space with one that is completely derelict.

The city is literally a construction zone throughout. Everywhere new buildings are being erected; cranes dominate the skyline. On one hand it is extremely exciting that a country as a whole can be so ready to move on, but on the other hand, the presence of these run-down older homes makes it hard to forget that while all this "moving on" is happening, no one is really dealing with the heart of the situation: rules and regulations set up and unchanged since the 1930s, money coming in surreptitiously from outside the country and politics that do not include everyone, nor solve all the country's problems. Big name architects have arrived on the scene to give Beirut a facelift, but will all these construction zones really fix a broken social system?

If not, can they at least be made more easily accessible by cab?

finally, beirut.

Arrived in Beirut yesterday morning. The most expensive flight of the whole trip and only 35 minutes long. That just seems wrong. My professors had said there was a ferry from Cyprus to Beirut but I guess it was discontinued a few years ago because of issues with "security". Who knows. I am getting the feeling that is how Lebanon typically roles-- decisions made without much of a legitimate explanation.

We left Cyprus (and our ridiculous hotel never mentioned because it makes my blood boil just thinking about how stupid the experience was. Good lord, don't get me started...) around 7.15 am after getting up at 4.30 am (only to sit at the airport for 2 hours. Again, don't get me started on the stupid hotel managers!), and arrived in Beirut at 7.45 am.

We grabbed a cab to the city center, which was an adventure in itself. Apparently around here one must bargain for a cab. Drivers tell the unseasoned visitor there is a set fare. Little does she know that everyone will lower his after trying to rip off the stupid American women who look totally dazed and about to cry. Let's just say that in the first five minutes of our time in Beirut we were baffled by the ATM which only dispensed US dollars, swindled by a cabby who was going to charge $45 to take us to the hotel, watched a fight break out over who would take us-- a fight which included one cabby grabbing another's throat (still haven't figured out if that was a joking gesture or not), and another cabby walking away with our luggage and putting it in his car. Welcome to Lebanon.

The hotel is lovely and right in the center of the Hamra district, the neighborhood that contains American University of Beirut as well as all the old coffee shops and studios where the political debates fueling the civil war took place, inciting the students to take action and join the fight. It is still a young demographic and even though the country is celebrating Ramadan, the night life is bustling.

We had randomly (and fortunately!) found a walking tour online that would be offered later that night. We wandered the area and visited the University while waiting for the tour, getting associated with the neighborhood and enjoying the luxuries of the hotel (clean sheets, AC, constant electricity and fabulous shower!). The first thing we found, of course, was the most wonderful bakery that had counters full of honey soaked delicacies and nutty treats. What a great opportunity for research! Of course we have to taste the local cuisine!

downtown construction- cranes dominate the skyli

The walking tour is the only tour that Beirut has. It was started by a AUB student who couldn't look any more hippy or have a more peculiar temperament if he tried. But, boy, could he tell some stories! The four hour tour took us all over the city, explaining a plethora of conditions from why American dollars are used throughout Lebanon without an exchange rate changing in twenty years to land use zoning issues and the political history of the recent war. He was fantastic. Truly captivating. It was the fastest four hours of my life and I still didn't want it to end.

the holiday inn, center piece of the civil war

Beirut's downtown was center stage of the fighting, its Green Line running from its port all the way past the city's edge. The Line was established in 1975 and wasn't abolished until 1990. With the exception of the Israeli bombing of 2006 that destroyed the southern suburbs, the further destruction of the city has been on a lesser scale. However, as one can see in the news, Lebanese life is never completely peaceful and tumultuous situations can arise spontaneously, and most often do. Lebanon can't seem to find a way to maintain a status quo. There is always something worth fighting for, or so it would seem.

The downtown was completely demolished in the fifteen years of fighting and is now under such extreme renovation that one can barely recognize the old city, a fact that has many Beirutis up in arms, protesting against the major developers and arguing over what to do with the missing blocks in the city center. Over 1 billion dollars has been pumped into new projects so far and real estate values continue to skyrocket. It was surreal walking through the city and seeing ramshackle buildings, bullet-ridden and falling apart, next to brand new construction in front of which billboards boasted star-itects' names in bold letters, hoping to entice the richest and most cultured of clientele to buy.

 our Lebanese Mags

We finished the tour a little after 9 pm (thank goodness it was an evening tour! The heat has followed us throughout this trip) and we started back towards Hamra. There was a young reporter on the tour with us doing an article on our tour guide for a local paper. Bubbly, well-traveled, knowledgeable and fully of personality, she quickly became our "Lebanese Maggie Clay"and allowed us to kidnap her a bit longer so we could bounce off questions about Lebanese customs and exchange war stories of past travel. She taught us how to navigate any future taxi debacles, answered our questions on Lebanese dos and don'ts and though a complete disaster, gave suggestions of where to eat (love her, but she's no foodie...). I think we must attract awesome people from the inherent awesomeness that we ourselves posses. It is like a magnet!

We headed back to the hotel, still in awe of all that we had learned that evening, and hit the sack. A 4.30 am alarm clocks on top of four hour tours sure make a gal tired!


Tomorrow it's back downtown, documenting how this massive growth is affecting the city. We'll be visiting projects that my professors have designed and mapping the route the destruction took during the war. So far so good. I'm definitely loving it!

greek side

Back to the Greek side. Back to rebuilding, renovating and ... Starbucks. Ahhh. (Didn't drink any-- are you kidding me?!-- but it is funny how the 'Bucks seems to be the mark of "civilization" these days...)

Grabbed an electricity-less siesta and some much needed water and hit the streets again. Armed with three types of writing utensils and the map of the south side of Nicosia we began walking the Greek side of the Line, mapping out what streets were destroyed during the fighting, which ones are still vacant and which have started renovations. The thickness of the buffer zone is marked on all maps of the city, but when one includes the dilapidated streets in that calculation, the Line takes on another size entirely.

It is sad how many streets have been deserted since the war, but when compared to the Turkish side, there's a stark contrast. It takes roughly four blocks from the Line before the Greek side starts getting life again. Whether it is better funding, citizens more bent towards entrepreneurship or determination to reclaim their city, the Greek side has moved towards the contemporary regrowth with substantially more speed.

one block from green line

The areas that are still in ruins are either completely abandoned or are sparsely occupied, mostly by automobile workshops and architectural studios (oh, aren't we the ballsy ones!... Either that or the poorest, willing to set up shop anywhere. Hmmm.) It is clear that everyone wants these particular streets to be active once again, but so far it has only been a few brave (or monetarily challenged!) individuals who have actually begun reclaiming the area.

student coffee shop

After mapping and diagramming in the sizzling, sweltering sun for three hours (definitely got many strange looks as I used the buildings as a vertical writing surface and even had a few passers-by pull over to ask if I needed directions--- "ah, Miss! You have beautiful eyes!"-- sheesh), we grabbed some water and lemonade at the Cyprus University student hang out that we had discovered the day before. This area is near the Line but come 6 o'clock and it is packed with students drinking frappes and enjoying cigarettes, discussing politics, fashion and other such things. A busy hub like this, just a few blocks from the Line, only reinforces the striking distinction between the north and south sides of the city.

We finished our lemonades and made our way back to our beautifully air conditioned hotel to peel off our soggy clothes, saturated in afternoon grim and sweat. Delicious.

We are finally on the Cyprus schedule (the last day we're here!):


10 am: coffee and yogurt
2 pm: siesta starts/ electricity out
4 pm: siesta ends/ electricity on
5 pm: espresso and/or ice cream
9.30+ pm: dinner

view of Greek growth outside ancient walls

In the spirit of late night carousing, we waited until almost 10 pm before finding a place to eat. Oh, we are so with the times! Having had a Greek salad every day since arriving in Rhodes mid July, we opted for some pasta and found ourselves eating an Italian salad and roasted veggies pasta. A full bottle of wine and good bread and we were right back in Italy there on the streets of Greek Nicosia. Gotta love globalization.

Grabbed a Turkish coffee after dinner. Now, just for the record, Turkish coffee could be the best thing in the world. Layered with cardamon and the lightest amount of sugar, its thick texture coats the throat as it ambles down making a girl feel like she might just downright have to dance a jig with joy. Hot smooth liquid that is relished up to the point where the sipper must stop! suddenly lest she suck down the viscid dregs that occupy the entire bottom half of the tiny espresso cup. It is well worth the risk of getting the gritty dregs in the mouth. Well worth it. It's heaven. Simply heaven. Being around the Green Line makes one have a distaste for these Turks, but if they could come up with a drink this amazing, well, I might have to reconsider...

street starting housing renovations

Tomorrow it's an early flight to Beirut where I am hoping to do a similar mapping exercise. The Lebanese Green Line was taken down in 1990 at the end of the Civil War and has become a hot spot for flashy architects and millions of dollars of developmental investments. Nicosia is struggling to deal with its Green Line, to come to a political agreement or a way to move forward. Beirut has had 21 years of slow progress and has recently attacked the idea of reclamation with a fervor unmatched in any other war-torn city.



Goodbye Greek salads. Hello labneh and modern architecture.

turkish side

This morning we crossed the Line.

After touring the monuments and historic sites of the Greek side of the city yesterday I wanted to go across the divide and document the Turkish side of the Green Line, possibly seeing if they had another view on the events of the 1974 Turkish Invasion. If they were anything like the Greeks, they would have justifying opinions on why the invasion took place and why they had the right to the land.

The Turkish Republic in Cyprus is not recognized by any other country in the world (with the existence of this fact, why they are still allowed to occupy the island is beyond my understanding...) and therefore crossing into their "province"requires some political juggling. There are still passport checkpoints and you still get a stamp, but they are not allowed to stamp your official passport. Therefore they copy your passport number, have you fill out a form, and then stamp your form as if it was an authenticated document. This is seriously a 8.5"x11" piece of paper that they have ripped into quarters. That is our "passport" during our time on the Turkish side.

buffer zone entrance

It is strange spending two days on the Greek side of the city, crossing over a ditch, getting a fake passport and suddenly being thrown into a different culture. Different language, different way of life, different money (very annoying the money thing! What are we supposed to do with this change after we buy some water?! Argh. Guess it's going in my sketchbook...). Immediately one can feel the difference. Even though it is the continuation of the pedestrian street from the Greek side, the street feels smaller and more crowded. We went from a modern city street advertising fancy make up, shoes and a T.G.I. Friday's restaurant to a more market street, complete with kitschy souvenirs and crowded kiosks.

If one walks one block of the main pedestrian thoroughfare immediately she is thrown into dilapidated buildings, dirt streets and old cars lining the side of the road. On the Greek side there two or three streets running along the Green Line are in this condition, but once one passes a bit further into the city, the contemporary city takes shape again. Here this ramshackle state consumes the whole area. I am not sure if it is poverty, the lack of an official governmental funds, or just that this side was hit harder in the fighting, but it feels much more like a "war zone", one that is still active, even though there hasn't been a killing since the late 1990s.

view of line: turkish flags and greek sandbags

The Green Line is well documented in modern day charts and even the city maps they give tourists. It shows the thickness of the zone that only the UN soldiers can access. My intention for this research was in part to document how broad the Green Line becomes when you include the streets and other areas that have been deserted because of the Line. How thick does that zone become? While on the Turkish side it was very evident that most of this side of the city can be included in that "zone", the Greek side has a clear end to the physicality of the Line.

The Turkish people are very concerned with their image. I'm not sure if it is that they recognize that the rest of the world doesn't approve of their actions, or if they are embarrassed by the fact that the Green Line even exists, either way they do not like any photographs taken of anything other than historic monuments or mosques. I was caught a few times snapping a picture of the Line and was shouted at by regular civilians who did not appreciate my attention to the zone of contention.

When we first passed through the "passport checkpoint" we were told by a Turkish soldier to stay on the blue line that was painted on the roads, marking the way that tourists can go throughout the area. This "blue line" was more of a hidden brown line of street paint, covered in dirt and missing in most places; however, here again the citizens of the area insisted that you stay directly on it. We were told several times to get back on the line or had someone frantically come up and point emphatically at the line if we stepped off of it. Being 5 million degrees outside we were walking on the shaded side of the street (as any normal person would do) but had a store owner run out to us, cross the street and forcefully point down at the line that was right across the road. Literally 3 meters away. Until that point we couldn't decide if people were just trying to be helpful in identifying the blue line or if they were offended that we take a single step off of it. That pretty much blew away our optimistic outlook of their helpfulness...

commercial street

The Turkish north side of Nicosia does have a commercial street running through it. It is busy with cars and trucks going to the center part of the city (of course stopped by the pedestrian street and then the Green Line), but it again is only one street wide. If one ventures of a block over on either side, she is immediately back on a street of crumbling buildings, dusty roads and homes with out common amenities.  The commercial street is not new and would be considered shabby on most standards, but it does sport stores for cell phones, insurance and contemporary coffee shops. We stopped in for an iced tea (thankful to finally be off the stupid blue street line!) and ended up spending 10 euros ($15!!!) on drinks just because we couldn't use the cash they handed back to us. I hate spending extra money. Seriously. I might be the cheapest traveler ever. Grrrr!

We headed back over to the Greek side, thankful to see clean streets, signs in English and a generally optimistic outlook on reclaiming and renovating the city. I'm not sure how the transition would go if the Green Line were ever to be taken down. The two sides are in such a different state (seemingly such a different time period as well!) that the integration would be difficult to say the least. Unfortunately, I don't think anyone has to worry about that any time in the near future.

Tomorrow it's mapping and diagraming the Greek side and then off to Lebanon. I can't believe how quickly this part of the trip is going. We've definitely had to embrace the afternoon siesta, both because of the severe heat and also the store closings with lack of afternoon electricity and internet, but I still feel like I'm getting a lot done. It's nice to finally be able to see what I've been researching for so long. I love feeling productive!