Siestas and Fiestas

As the title suggests, this post comes from the lands of the Iberian peninsula - Spain and Portugal!

Dios mio what a sublime place this is! It is easy to see why so many people fall in love with this area of Europe; sun drenched beaches, lush green mountains, desert mountain ranges with snow on top, cities full of colour, flamenco dresses, matadors, cute little chimneys and extraordinary cuisine. Plus Spanish always sounds so dramatic to speak.

The adventure began some weeks ago for stalwart traveler Renee, she had been doing some work on a remote farm-stay in Asturias in the very north of Spain. When I found her, she´d been living in a stone cottage with no heating and no running water. She had become some sort of wild thing, carrying water up mountains from the spring, foraging for leaves and berries, digging rocks with her hands and more. I tasked myself to communicate with this untamed spirit, teach her about the world again, teach her how to use electricity and remind her that she would have to leave this paradise and return to real life. It was touch and go for a while there, but she is now fully civilised and well kept again.

Ok, I exaggerate a touch. But the farm was remote and foraging for food and water was required, but it was an absolutely majestic location, nestled in mountains lifted straight out of Tolkien and a way of life is so simple and wholesome that I found myself reluctant to leave it too. They also had some wicked cider and stinky cheese that are unique to that area and Favada bean stew and, somewhat surprisingly, Nettle Soup is to die for!

Needles to say, not many folk speak English round here off the beaten tourist track, so crash Spanish training was necessary. It´s a cool language though we it is difficult forcing the lispy "th" sound out for the letter c (ie. Barcelona is pronounced Barthelona). It is all too easy to spit everywhere in a rather undignified manner. All Spaniards and Portuguese also seem to pride themselves on speaking at a kazillion miles an hour too, it´s like a sign of fertility to the other sex or something I think. All swearing and insults in Spanish, just like most other romance languages, pretty much revolve around cursing relatives, descendants and god in truly gruesome ways. 

Somewhat amusingly, Spain and Portugal, just like Italy, are rife with African fake bag / sunglass peddlers. These guys are the epitome of sly, they set up their wares on a small bed sheet with all the products pinned down via pins. Each corner of the sheet is attached to a rope, by which the dodgy trader can quickly convert the whole setup to a bag over their shoulder the moment they spot the boys in blue coming their way. The way the police end up herding these guys through the city like sheep is hilarious - very much like some Benny Hill skit.

Certainly one of the highlights about Spain is tapas. Tapas are basically small dishes of food that you eat with your beer in a Cervaceria. In places like Granada and Sevilla we found that tapas not only comes for free with each beer, but it is devastatingly good too. Inevitably you find yourself ordering more and more beer just to see what the chef is going to throw your way next time. In some tapas bars there are no seats, just high tables. You stand up, drink and eat, with discards going on the floor. The room is filled with boisterous Spanish and the atmosphere is unlike any pubs we´ve encountered before. It´s worth the price of admission to Spain alone just for these tapas bars!

Additionally, I have to also pay mention to Churros. The undisputed king of diet destroyers (all bow before their fried, chocolaty goodness!) and the fact wine is cheaper than water here. Both of these things bring happiness hitherto unfathomable. The hot chocolates here are wickedly thick too; some might describe them as blocks of melted chocolate in a cup, they´d be right too! Drinking one is a challenge, the more appropriate technique is to revert to six year old and pretend you are cleaning a bowl a chocolate cake was mixed in. Dig for victory amigo!

There are some hitches in Iberian cuisine though - firstly, salt content is at Dead Sea ratios. Your kidney´s will be a permanent state of siege; especially for the salted cod which resembles giant vaguely fish shaped clusters of salt. Secondly, the Asturian Hot Dogs are best avoided, buying a bread roll and finding a surprise lukewarm Chorizo in the middle is arguably too character building even for my hardened stomach. 

You´ll drink a lot to wash that salt down, and because the weather in southern Portugal and Spain in Summer is very, very hot. Siesta is serious business here, just after lunch the entire country basically closes their cute little wooden doors and slatted windows and hibernates for several hours. As a tourist this means you are trapped outside during lockdown to melt on the street while saddened locals watch you from the inside knowing they cannot help you without letting the insane heat in.

But once the heat dies down a bit, the doors start to edge open, Siesta mode is disabled and Fiesta mode enabled. The locals then proceed to drink, socialise and generally celebrate something until some ungodly hour of the morning, only to repeat it all again tomorrow.

The architecture in Spain is guaranteed to charm the socks off anyone. In the north it is very traditional and basic with a lot of stone cottages, streets and churches. In the south, just like the cold beer, it is very Moorish (¿see what I did there?). The Alhambra in Granada is absolutely a wonder of the world, filled with incredible fortifications, gardens and a masterful, ancient irrigation and fountain system throughout that will push your bladder control to the edge. The Plaza de Espana is also easily one of our favourites; it is fairly modern but simply epic and an an extraordinary example of workmanship. It also doubles as Naboo in Star Wars. .

Lisbon was also a noteworthy visit - it is basically a city made of marble with really cute old trams that have no guards around the wheels. I imagine that on a wet day this basically turns the city into a giant slippery slide / meat grinder for people. It also seems like a very liberal place too, judging by the uplifting experience of seeing a completely naked dude waltzing around the train station upon arrival.

I must admit at this point that I was also taken aback at how uncommon "Portuguese Peri Peri Chicken" is here. I could not find a single place that sold this, not could I find the royal court of His Succulency Lord Nando. I can´t help but feel a little hollow inside being a long time Nando's fan.

So anyway, that´s all for now - just remember the Spanish word for a fun park ride translates as "thing" - so basically you ask "A ticket to ride your thing please...". Also, Spanish and Portuguese people always look like they are talking in photos because they are saying "Patatas" rather then a word that forces your mouth into a smile like formation.

It´s either that or they are still excited from riding some thing.

Hasta Luego ... baby.

- Adam

Middle East Part IV : They do the sand dance, don'cha know?

The final leg of the Middle Eastern odyssey went far beyond the Dead, alongside the Med and over the Red from Jordan to Egypt.

Unfortunately there is no way to get from Jordan to Egypt via land without going through Israel and again that is something to be avoided as it would have been comprised of a nice ten hour day stint in a sweaty border interrogation office due to shiny Lebanese and Syrian passport stamps. The only option is a ferry from Aqaba to Nuweiba on the Sinai Peninsula instead. In hindsight I am not sure what option was worse.

What followed was typically late arrival at the port and a mad dash from one office to the next to get an exit pass, and then a ticket, and then pay tax, and then get passports stamped and then find the bus that takes you to the boat. Approaching the ferry the pressure was building; the officials were spurring a run and slowly lifting whistles to their lips in an ominous manner in tthe final few metres. What came next was a dramatic dive aboard the ship, bags being dragged on roughly, somewhat reminiscent of one of Indiana Jones' great entries ... the problem was the ferry then sat in the port for another two and half hours...

The ferry, once underway, is quite a blissful ride - that is if you get a seat above deck. If you are in the cabins below you can expect six hours of hardcore foot stench as it's pretty much the norm to kick your shoes off round those parts. At least there was a dramatic sunset across the Red Sea between Egypt and Saudi Arabia, although the relaxation was short lived. Visions of that splendid twilight quickly faded and were replaced with the utter fiasco of disembarkation.

I honestly just can't even remember what the hell happened at this point exactly. You just jump off the boat, stand around in an orgy of people yelling at each other, somehow randomly pick an unlabeled and over crowded bus to get on that drives you the sum total of 30 seconds to a tin shed containing no less than three border checks (that may or may not pay any attention to you) before being dumped out into an alleyway with no signage. 

At the end of the alleyway is a giant prison gate that rolls back to disgorge you into a mass of taxi drivers where you are expected to casually diffuse a kind of taxi driver world war three that follows as they try to secure your fare. The bargaining is fierce, as it is everywhere here. Indeed at one point the offer was "$10 to train station?", followed by "$5 to train station!", then "$2 to train station, you drive!". 

There was already quite a different feeling here. Egypt is a country that has been blessed with near limitless tourism over the years, however the money from this has clearly NOT filtered down. Indeed in most aspects of people's life here, money has so firmly stayed at the upper echelon that the streets showed real poverty. Desperation seemed present and it felt more chaotic then any country encountered so far. 

One word you'll hear a lot here in particular is "Baksheesh", which is basically a tip. You will get asked for Baksheesh relentlessly by people who have done pretty much nothing of any noteworthy value for you. It is so bad in places that you almost have to avert complete eye contact and discussion to avoid falling into yet another over zealous Baksheesh trap. 

Social realities aside, the Sinai Peninsula is stunning. Here lies the oldest working Christian monastery in the world and Mt Sinai, a place you can climb to be greeted by a sunrise to end all sunrises from the summit. It was quite a pilgrimage to say the least climbing this mountain in the dark and your shoes will be covered in enough camel droppings to make quarantine shoot you on the spot should you attempt to ever wear them back to your home country.

Actually it's worth making an addendum here to the previously listed insane traffic rules of the Middle East. It is in Sinai that I note to another brilliant "law of the road" in that when attempting to overtake a bus or a truck at night, you must turn your head lights off and "sneak up" on the beast from behind; pouncing on it at the very last moment and overtaking it on one glorious, swift and death defying motion. If you give the truck or bus driver warning you are coming via your pesky headlights then they just won't let you past and will go out of their way to consume all of the road. Ridiculous I know, but sadly true.

Oh you'll also find that every taxi driver has a business card here. After each transit miracle is completed and you arrive safely at your destination, you'll end up having to accept a one. You'll soon have so many of these that it becomes a collectible car card game, for on the back of each card is a picture of some European luxury saloon or supercar that is completely unrepresentative of the ex-Dakar, diabolical death trap you just drove in. When I quizzed one driver over why his car was a Daihatsu and wasn't the Mercedes S-Class shown on his card he raised a small grin and said "that one is still in the shop right now my friend!". I am guessing he wants you to err on interpreting "shop" as mechanic, not car dealer.

The road to Cairo from Sinai is a long one, much longer than it looks on the map. It's sprinkled with roadside "diners" that might have passed for such about 50 years ago and one very long unventilated tunnel that goes under the Suez canal. The hazy mirage at the end is Cairo, an absolute nightmare of people and traffic with a long lost oasis buried somewhere underneath. Actually it's quite surprising just how green Cairo (and indeed the Nile delta) is.

The stay in Cairo was brief, Luxor was the real Jewel of the Nile to be reached via the wonderfully decrepit Ramses train station. No transit hub on Earth will probably fill you with as much dread and lingering doom as this place, especially when it is undergoing construction and small bits of wood wall on you as you walk through it. It is here that you dream of such luxuries as a toilet, or platform numbers and you'll be wondering why your overnight train has five guys in combat gear wielding M-16 machine guns. 

Now Cairo has some pretty awesome pyramids that you may have heard of, but Luxor's Karnak temple is simply incredible. It is impossible to not be smitten with the sheer scale and quality of the architecture considering its age. It's amazing what unpaid slave overtime can build when you’re Pharaoh. It’s also amazing just how many of your pets you can mummify when you’re Pharaoh too.

Fortunately, it was only two weeks after this visit Egypt that mass riots broke out and the Egyptian people led an uprising against their temporary/permanent military dictatorship. I don't imagine it will be an obvious holiday destination for some time.

Overall the Middle Eastern experience was worth every penny. It's not somewhere I imagine many of you will ever want to go, but if you do, you may never be more welcome as a guest anywhere in the world. In fact you will hear the actual word welcome used more here than you've ever imagined possible. Here are some examples I noted down:

Example 1

?? "Where are you from?"

Us "We're from Australia"

?? "Ahh, welcome ..."

Example 2

?? "This is traditional Bedouin food."

Us "It's delicious!"

?? "Welcome ..."

Example 3

Us "This is an amazing view!"

?? "Welcome ..."

Example 4

Us "Good night!"

?? "Welcome ..."

Everyone leaves the Middle East on a sugar high, with an ample supply of saffron, with newfound respect for road rules, with sand in almost every nook and cranny, with tans, with quirky experiences, new friends and a thousand welcomes. It's the only way.

Middle East Part III : Like Jordan

Travels continued southwards from Syria, on dusty roads in a dusty car driven by a dusty driver who nonchalantly stopped to hide at least twenty boxes of duty free cigarettes in every panel of his car prior to crossing the border into Jordan. It's in this third entry that the focus is on one particularly amazing aspect of the Middle East: the people. 

The folk around these parts, particularly in Syria, are remarkably nice. Nice being an understatement; adjectives do them no justice. 

Our tale starts in Madaba, a place where you'll be pushed to the limits of MFS (Mosaic Fatigue Syndrome) within an hour. It's here that I was innocuously about to walk past a trinket shop when a small, haphazardly secured sign hanging at the door caught our gaze. It cryptically and boldly stated "You wouldn't know what you are missing by avoiding this shop." With a grandiose claim such as that, a visit was pretty much mandatory. 

Inside was a man named Joseph (Yosef). Joseph came to epitomise everything lovable about the people of the Middle East. Upon entering his shop, rather than being fed a concocted and robotic sales pitch so common around the world, tea was immediately offered with a comfortable seat. He described his tea as the "best tea in Madaba". It looked much like the tea everyone else brewed; his title was undoubtedly self-proclaimed by himself and probably many others.

Joseph spoke about his great grandfather who had helped build Madaba as a new place for Christians to live after fleeing persecution. He spoke  about his family, which to him and every other Middle Easterner, is everything in life. He asked us about Australia and was grateful to have company from the other side of the world. It was a brilliantly interesting afternoon powered by sugar and cultural sharing. In the end, so much time was wiled away in his shop that the original destination for the day was long forgotten. In fact his company was so good that the next day was also spent visiting him again for more tea and chats about everything and nothing. To me Joseph was exactly what the Middle East was all about; unrequited hospitality. To top it off, I could not actually pay for anything in his shop, on both occasions leaving with merchandise as a gift despite total reluctance. It has never been this hard to pay for something.

Just like the people, Jordan is a beautiful country spoilt for natural wonder. Looking upon the promised land of Bethlehem and Jericho from the top of Mt Nebo in a Moses-esque moment is an unforgettable experience. Driving through the middle of truly epic Wadi Mujib canyon. Clambering over the awe-inspiring Karak Fortress. And then, coming to some of the most astounding, jaw-dropping, camera-battery-draining things one can see: The Dead Sea, Petra and the Wadi Rum desert.

I'll start with the Dead Sea. The severely overweight and underworked lifeguards are testimony to the ridiculous buoyancy of this vanishing body of water. It is freakish beyond compare to walk out into the water and then suddenly start to lift off the ground leaving you to do a kind of vertical doggy paddle with your entire upper chest still sticking out of the water. A word to the wise though, the salt content is higher than a happy meal, so you'll discover wounds you didn't even know you had. It also pays to not ignore the sign that says don't swim on your stomach or dip your head under the water as the experience can be truly blinding. 

Next up, Petra. Nothing can prepare you for this archaeological wet dream. The sensation of walking through a mile long chasm and then being tantalised by glimpses of the ancient structure lying at the end is epic. Sadly you cannot go inside the Petra treasury anymore, but I've seen Indiana Jones so I'm guessing this is due to the fact that "only the penitent man may pass". I can't remember the last time I saw a penitent tourist.

Sadly, for all it's wonderment, Petra is showing the signs of rampant tourism now that is officially a new 7th wonder of the world. The entry fee is quite simply ludicrous ($90 USD) and it's not really clear where or how that money is being put to use. I expect this fee to have risen substantially by the time you read this, and again by the second time you may read this.

It's also nothing short of a travesty that the Crown Plaza has been allowed to set up a restaurant right in the middle of the "protected" area, filling the valleys with the romantic sounds of generators. Worse still they have somehow manipulated the main walking path so that it literally leads everyone straight into the restaurant. They might as well have just chucked in some trapdoors that literally slide you straight into the restaurant seats.

Another peeve, Petra has a Monastery that is as equally amazing as the Treasury. You reach the Monastery via a very long and precarious rocky staircase. It's quite a spectacle the entire way and well worth the hike, however for the elderly and less able it’s potentially insurmountable. But then, one day. an enterprising Bedouin thought to himself "I know, I'll take the less able up on the back of my donkey for a small fee!". 

The people did say yay for now all could share the glory of the Monastery. But, things have gone a bit pear shaped since then. Now there are seemingly two donkeys for every tourist and are certainly no longer restricted to the less capable. The hike up to the top is now a constant battle against a veritable swarm of Donkeys who seem to be trained to defecate every ten steps where the path is at its most narrowest. 

Now add to this scene a bunch of "rock traders" that have set up tents every ten metres. I don’t mean they have set up a trading stall ON the rocks, I mean they are literally trying to offload rocks onto you for money. It’s a hard job and thirsty work, which means as a professional rocker you need a good cup of tea and this means you need a good fire! But hey wait, there's no trees for fuel! Not a problem, just burn garbage!

What you are left with now is having to negotiate a path of god knows how many steps, in the blazing sun, being strafed by donkeys delivering a deluge of donkey effluent whilst only being able to breathe a charming mixture of donkey butt stench marinated in burning plastic.

Petra is a beautiful place, I can only hope they do more to manage it or in 20 years time it will be a wreck.

Moving on, the final experience in Jordan was the greatest; the Wadi Rum desert. I find myself searching for bigger and better superlatives to describe this place; the desert landscape is just so eerie and evocative and all that was known beforehand was that you might not be able to remember your own name and that you should walk without rhythm. 

One cannot come to these parts without being in a group led by a Bedouin guide. They know the desert like the back of their hands. Our group's guide taught us a lot about how they survived here, we taught him how to play rugby. We spent New Years Eve at his Bedouin camp under the stars clapping and dancing to traditional Bedouin music, eating hearty Mensaf, sipping sugar while discussing Lawrence of Arabia followed by a flaming torch led procession to a nearby valley to watch New Years Eve fireworks that echoed through the desert mountains.

Hiking in the desert mountains is the perfect antidote to the craziness of Middle Eastern cities. This is the way to escape it all, although civilisation is never TOO far away, especially when climbing mountains bordering Saudi Arabia; the hills came alive with the sound of mobile phones. Apparently Saudi Arabia has very good mobile coverage. 

Camels rides are par for the course. Strange creatures they are, offering odd stares and random groans and grunts at nothing. The ride quality on a camel is, if anything, a little too animated. Especially if you have a very hungry camel who wants to eat every shrub in the desert and nothing but bones for an arse like I do to absorb the frantic ride. On the bright side though, the Bedouins are all too keen to offer at least 10 camels for any females in the group, like some sort of wife swap. At about $1300 USD a camel that's not a bad trade!

Jordan was a gem of the desert though, for all it's visual marvel, it really was all about the people. The people that house you when you are weary, offer potatoes in times of gastrointestinal discomfort, talk to you about their misunderstood ways over cups of sugar, drive you to weird and desolate sights or just chill with you in cosy transportation momemnts. I think it's sad and a touch ironic that so many tour groups walked straight past Joseph's shop sign in Madaba. I can authoritatively say they didn't know what they missed out on by avoiding this shop.

Middle East Part II : Syriasly Cool

The next Middle Eastern leg was to one of the most wonderful (and certainly one of the least touristic) places we have been - Syria.

The journey there alone was quite something. I could only describe the common forms of transport know as Servis' as “Scoobie Doo Mystery Wagons” capable of speeds well beyond their appearance on roads resembling open strip mines. Bags haphazardly strapped on the top aid aerodynamics considerably and the bag straps endlessly banging on the window and roof settle the nerves to no end. 

Sometimes Arabic pop music is played to distortion when it suited the driver, other times you just listen silently to fellow passengers of whom none spoke English. Add to this a seemingly endless barrage of border checks filled with moustached men floating on paperwork, several unexpected detours for cigarettes / batteries / potatoes and then, finally, being dumped on the outskirts of a destination straight into a bunch of crazed taxi drivers and you have an unforgettable cultural voyage. Insane as it all seems at first, it is an experience that fast becomes the norm here in any length of stay.

The final destination was Damascus; specifically the “Happy Nights Hotel” situated above a men’s club, beside the main motorway and right next door to an under construction Mosque that looks like it will rival to the size of the Pentagon. Consequently, despite the hotel’s name, I guarantee nights were happier spent away from the hotel.

At the heart of Damascus lies a labyrinth of streets layered upon other streets over countless thousands of years. Markets of melodramatic sellers flog everything from exquisite metal wares, to mountains of saffron (that we could only dream of the street value of back home), to some of the most elaborate party pipes you have ever laid bloodshot eyes on. Intertwined in the old shadowy alleys are remnants of even older Roman ruins which just further heightened the epic sense of history as we waded through hordes of children practising their “Hello, how are you?!” greetings.

Christmas Day was spent in Damascus. Though the original plan was to make it to Bethlehem for this occasion, the fact it sits in the West Bank and Israel being on Syria’s “not cool list”, it didn't seem like it was worth the hassle or risk of being turned around or spending Christmas in a cosy border interrogation room. In any case the Christian Quarter in Damascus was lit up beautifully with Christmas lights so it was certainly very cool to celebrate the day in the oldest city on Earth instead.

Of course being the oldest city in the world means, Damascus has had plenty of time to get recipes right. The food here was unforgettable example of Middle East cuisine; something I ended up having a dangerous love affair with. Intestinal battles followed laced with epic “out of body experience” food poisoning. At one point I thought I was going to die right there in a bathroom still thinking about how awesome the food was and unfair that it should end in such digestive contortions.

Even the bread is more than just a mere staple here. No one in the Middle East would be caught dead eating anything other than the freshest most delicious bread, lovingly served from tiny little “hole in the wall” bakeries scattered throughout every town and city. When the morning bread session is over, the bakeries kick it up a gear and conjure delectable pastries in the afternoon that people queue as fervently for as if they were free concert tickets. After you taste them you can understand why!

Shwarma is another staple. It’s essentially the “anything goes platter”; an awesome mix of all sorts of hot foods that you can just tuck into anytime, anyplace. It’s comfort food at it’s very best and each region has their own variation (which is naturally always the best), adding a few local delicacies in the mix. One of the favourites was Kibbeh – little fried balls of various beans. Someone informed later that it is a holy food that represents Jesus getting stabbed in the ribs by Roman spears. Lovely!

Want something to drink? How about some tea? How many sugars would you like, three or four? Regardless of what you answer you will seemingly get about six, and you’ll be cordially offered relentless cups of it – splitting your pancreas clean in half. Arabic countries have a long history in Alchemy and Chemistry and these guys have truly mastered the art of reaching sugar saturation point in a cup of water.

Last but not least, and possibly the pièce de résistance of Middle Eastern cuisine, Sayadiyeh. This is a seafood dish par excellence. It makes my mouth water now just thinking about it. It makes me sad that I probably won’t find it again for some time.

In fact it’s a genuine travesty that there is just so much Middle Eastern dishes that haven’t infiltrated our homes in the west. I guarantee you they are worth the effort to track down if you have the opportunity. Do note however that I’ve also probably got the spelling of all of these foods wrong too = converting Arabic vowels to English is more of an approximate art form than a science.

Besides food, Syria of course offered wondrous places to see. The Umayadd Mosque was beautiful (and has a massive courtyard constantly and meticulously polished by small children rolling/sliding around in it for fun every morning), desert roads traversing old towns of traditional Syrian mud brick houses (now with satellite TV dishes) that looked like something out of Star Wars, and Crac des Chevaliers was possibly one of the coolest “Life of Brian-esque” castles you could ever get lost in.

Perhaps the most noteworthy site was not a building, monument or mountain, but experiencing a real story teller spin a tale over a cup of tea (sugar). Once upon a time these chaps were the main source of public entertainment in coffee shops but unfortunately are now a dying breed for one reason or another. A husky voice and a body bent permanently in a story book holding pose evidenced his lifelong passion to the art and his walking cane dramatically cracking down on the table of people not paying attention was priceless. Sure not a single word could be understand, but the way he wielded the words and entranced a crowd was something very special.

Syria, one day there shall be a return to brave your sugary treats again Insha’Allah!

Middle East Part I : Lebenezer Goode

At Christmas time an odd notion formed. Rather than sit in the comfort of a warm house and engorge on  silly amounts of food, a backpacking adventure around the Middle East somehow became the logical alternative. For a fleeting second there were thoughts you might have right now such as “why?” and “surely life is going to suck once you are dead right?”. Such musings were brushed aside, a mocking laugh was conjured at those sitting in the comfort of pool side hotels somewhere and instead a challenge was issued to experience an ancient area of the world few westerners ever make it to.

Yes, the west has a pretty dim view of the Middle East as a whole. In fact if you were to believe the media you basically expect to land at the airport, walk outside, be kidnapped and then appear in a grainy hostage video shortly thereafter. Such sensationalisms could not be any further from the truth. This Middle Eastern experience was so much more than one could ever imagine, may you enjoy reading about it, may it perhaps change a few minds ever so slightly along the way.

The first and most difficult hurdle was decided to go, that was conquered. The next was to actually escape the UK. Heathrow Airport was completely shut down due to snow and it took four days to escape England’s icy clutches. It was a pretty harrowing sight really, thousands of people camped inside the terminals on newspapers, more outside in makeshift tents at sub-zero temperatures. The flight was to Beirut, Lebanon and upon touchdown there were Palestinian refugee camps in better condition than those at Heathrow. It was also a balmy 22 degrees too; a thing of utmost beauty.

Lebanon is a very picturesque country, surrounded by epic mountains that make for impressive views but also sadly trap all of that loving exhaust and dust in for you to marinate in. Seeing the actual horizon is impossible, seeing the sun fade into a reddish brownish ball at sunset is beautiful but disturbing at the same time. Possibly no place on Earth bar Mexico City will benefit from the electric car more.

Beirut is surprisingly cosmopolitan in nature; it is sometimes called the ‘Paris of the East’ and if you dig deep enough into the layers of dust permeating everything you can start to see why. Walking along the Mediterranean water front, enjoying a drink with the waves crashing right beside you in the afternoon sunlight watching people of all sorts walking and jogging by – in Beirut - is a scene you just can't picture until you are here. Sure the Holiday Inn has a massive chunk taken out of it from a missile and bullet riddled walls here and there are not entirely comforting, but generally everything feels much more sedate than you steel yourself for. The folk here are most certainly not anesthetised to their recent troubles, but they seem to want to move on and be done with conflict – which I got to tell you is tough with military checkpoints at almost every intersection.

On a practical note though, these checkpoints don’t seem to achieve much other than slow traffic (they merely say hello and wave you through with a twitch of an M-16). Actually, I take that back, slowing traffic is a brilliant, wonderful thing. Being the first part of our journey, this was the first exposure to driving in the Middle East, which is a combination of a rickety roller coaster ride and Grand Theft Auto the video game. A car driver here embarks on their journey protected by no road rules; only a love affair with the horn, whatever safety systems are afforded by a 1970’s Mercedes Benz, a mound of good luck charms and a level of spatial awareness hitherto unseen in any mortal.

Basically there is one lane on the road, cars going both directions then “fill” that lane as it seems appropriate. If you need more overtaking space, you just make yourself another lane – and since you created it, the people coming 100kmh in the other direction are supposed to admire your cunning tenacity and give way. This, naturally, doesn’t always happen and side to side neck whiplash occurs as your car darts back into safety of more established lanes.

But it gets better. Typically the major roads have no breaks in the concrete median strip/wall for miles. What this means is drivers who pull onto a road that want to only go a few minutes down the road in the opposite direction to the flow of traffic on their side of the median strip simply drive against the flow of traffic down the hard shoulder. If they want to overtake each other then they just “make more lanes”. Knuckles … going … white …

Oh wait, there’s more. If you have the misfortune of still being stuck out in a car after nightfall, a new driving technique comes into play. When approaching an intersection you just turn off your lights to see if any other headlights are coming, if not you just cruise on through. It’s a foolhardy practice at best when you consider pedestrians, but when you realise that the entire nation is doing it, the possibilities dawn on you. Knuckles … fluorescent … white …

Lebanon boasts remarkable sights. Baalbekis arguably the most impressive Roman ruins in the wild you can find; greater in scope and scale than Ephesus in Turkey, more intrepid and personal than the Colosseum in Rome. Sitting amongst the stones in solitude, imagining what the place would have been like thousands of years ago is uplifting.

Also impressive was the ruins of Anjar; arguably the world’s oldest shopping mall. Here amongst the sprawling columns of a long forgotten Arabic trading centre, thousands of pots and chests have been recovered showing it as a crossroads for rare and exotic goods from Africa, Asia and Europe. Quite simply superb to ruin hop through.

Somewhat surprisingly, nestled away in the beautiful Bekaa valley between the Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon mountain ranges, lay a few hidden vineyards that make incredible wines. A legacy from French occupation, the Lebanese people have continued this tradition with gusto. One such winery, Ksara, possessed a maze of natural caves underneath where years and years of future wines now lay in rest maturing. Much of it was taste tested, it helped mentally prepare for more excitement on the roads.

Sadly, time in Lebanon was limited due to the Heathrow debacle. This time was long enough to be able to identify a car purely by it’s exhaust perfume but certainly not long enough to see all this small land has to offer. Lebanon is modern and the people know how to enjoy life but at the same time has some issues with their southern neighbour that become apparent with a mere scratching of the surface in a conversation. It’s infinitely less dangerous then you would believe and a place to remember. I’d hoped to be ‘Phoenician’ on a witty double entendre here with a Lebanese context but nothing came to mind really.