Local Knowledge

So far as I can tell, the general philosophy of navigating Beirut (and Lebanon in general) is based on a single precept: if you can’t find your way, you should have been born here. Or, in my case, you should at least be able to pronounce the landmark closest to where you’re going. (My batting average is shamefully low on that count.) Streets, if they’re labeled at all, aren’t labeled according to the names on the map. Building numbers seem to be non-existent. I won’t give you my ever-expanding list of mishaps that have come as a result of this—or tell you how many items on that list have ended in tears—but the system does make you feel just a little smug once you finally (FINALLY) figure it out on your 5^th attempt.

Mary Pipher (author of The Middle of Everywhere, a book about refugees that I highly recommend) said, “Every day in a foreign country is like final exam day.” I have to say, I agree, and the exam is on local knowledge. Thus far in my stay, I’ve learned the following:

• the shortcut up the hill to avoid walking on the main road
• that buses from Beirut to Semqaniyeh don’t run on Sundays (this I learned the hard way)
• which vegetable stand sells swiss chard and beets
• that the Yago Roastery is a magical place that roasts and grinds coffee and all manner of spices
• that Safa Chicken is the preferred shawarma joint among the teachers, narrowly edging out Big Momma’s
• NEVER to get into an elevator around 2:00 pm or 6:00 pm, as the electricity often cuts off around those hours
• that saffron is gathered in the spring
• that I can order a beer while checking my email at the internet cafe
• there’s a series of roads that lets you circumnavigate the town, as opposed to one the one (super busy) main road

I have yet to learn:

• an easy way to get fuel for my stove
• at what intervals the buses to/from Beirut actually come and go. “Sit by the side of the road and hope” is not great traveling strategy.
• where to buy fresh olive oil and honey (everyone seems to have it in their homes, and whenever I ask where they bought it, they just offer to give me some)
• who the non-skeevy car rental agencies are

I’d give myself a 52%.

I love local knowledge. I don’t think I’m alone in this. In New York, I loved knowing which subway car to get on so that the exit was right at your feet at your stop. I loved deciding which bars would fit which mood. I loved jumping on buses without having to even glance at a map. I loved directing my parents to order this appetizer and that entree from the menu. Local knowledge makes us, well, locals, and the parts of our brain that once struggled to figure out every day tasks are now freed up for ennui and judging tourists (or helping them, as is the case more often than not both here and in New York).

But not having local knowledge is pretty thrilling, too. Where will I eat? Well, what’s around this corner and behind this door? How do I get there from here? Well, where’s the closest landmark that I can pronounce intelligibly? How long will it take me to get there? Damned if I know, but I’m along for the ride.