Certainly the Beirut airport is a good place to be welcomed. Lori's wave to us, reaching above everyone's heads when we came through the door from customs, was a welcome relief. Anyone getting one of Pam's big hugs feels right at home too. We've been meeting people for days now: Being introduced to the campus hostess on the sidewalk outside the girls' dorm as we were unloading. Scouting out the administrative offices early Thursday morning and being discovered...with big grins and strong handshakes. Meeting more new faces on Friday evening. Being introduced at church. We've been welcomed officially, unofficially, personally, in a crowd, out of a crowd.
But my real welcome came at the grocery store our second day in town!
Aside from experiencing worship in another culture, the grocery store--whether in Ireland or Mexico, Brazil or Austria--has always been my favorite tourist stop. That's where I've always learned the most about a country, it's people, their tastes, necessities, preferences.
Like any museum visit, my first stop at a Lebanese grocery store required time and patience. First, I had to find what I came for. "Peanut butter." "Nutella?" "No, peanut butter." "Peanuts?" "No, peanut butter." "Butter?" "No." "Oh, marshareen." "No." The conversation all made sense when I learned that peanut butter is not an item. It is something I make myself from peanuts.
When I spied a box of Weetabix, I almost yelped and instantly knew it's well worth anything, even $2 above Apple Valley's price. It would cost me more than that to fly back for a supply or to pay for overweight luggage. Weetabix are the flavor of familiarity. They're a family tradition. And they're available in Lebanon! I feel at home. Without peanut butter Weetabix are naked mush. But we're halfway there...
When I didn't recognize a single brand of soy milk on the shelf, I decided to buy the smallest container of several kinds, just to find our preference of texture, flavor, color--a process we'll go through with a few other products as well. Some things even with the same label can be different on one side of the Atlantic than on the other.
And does anyone carry the only brand lotion that helps my eczema? This one's good, that one smells nice, this kind leaves you with a great feel. But I see no Curel. Anywhere. Oh well, I brought a few month's supply from Michigan to allow for what I call my "search margin," the time I need to scout out every corner of Beirut for the essential goods and prices.
I don't mind the time involved or the tradeoffs of the supermarket culture. It's worth it to amble up and down every aisle, looking for the familiar, noticing the unfamiliar: Wondering what it is. Trying to figure out how it's used. Daring to try something new. And even concluding with satisfaction that other countries know how to do some things better than my home country! The olive inventory is impressive. I could set up a chair at the end of the spice display and fall asleep in the aromas. And feta cheese is soooo much more reasonable.
This first visit Lori was my personal guide; she explained the fruit seasons, the choice of bread flours, the different kinds of lentils, the cost of Campbell soup and labneh, the substitute sour cream.
At the checkout counter Lori asked if I'd found any tomato sauce for my pasta. Nope. Only paste. (Americans do sauce, the rest of the world prefers paste.) She offered a jar of her favorite, showed me the label and added it to my cart. Who knows what else she explained or shared or revealed as we stood there. Would anyone have guessed we were tourists and tour guide?
With our produce bagged, Larry fumbled through his bills. (They use dollars as readily as the lira: LB1,500 to one dollar and the exchange rate never changes!) We looped the bags over our arms and headed out to Lori's little Suzuki, which is just right for four passengers and a week's groceries.
Just as we stepped out of the store, I heard a pleasant "Welcome to Lebanon!" It was so well-modulated I thought it must be a new marketing technology. Perhaps a recording that is triggered at the door when someone walks through with a U.S. chip in their passport. Or something like that. I didn't even turn around, certain it wasn't directed at me.
But as we were walking down the ramp to our car I noticed two beautifully groomed young Lebanese women close behind me, smiling at us. I paused and smiled back. OK. How did they possibly know to welcome me? A few unlikely reasons flipped through my mind. But I knew better. How could anyone miss me and my tour guide at my first Lebanese food museum! DUH.
But even more disarming, the one closest behind me stepped back with a knowing smile and exposed her friend, "She said it!" The friend, with an embarrassed grin--probably a mix of "OK, I couldn't help myself" and "Oh dear, I wish I hadn't done that"--nodded shyly as they moved away from us. There was no chance to respond. Only to appreciate.
It was enough for me. I was welcome in Lebanon! Spontaneously. By someone who had no reason to bother. By a perceptive, open-hearted neighbor. I don't know how much the two of them had observed or overheard as we made our way through the store. They could probably tell I was half lost and half enamored. Maybe they'd visited another country themselves and knew a food museum tourist when they saw one. Perhaps they'd felt the same at a Meijer's in Detroit. However it happened, they were pretty certain I was at the very beginning of my Beyrouth Journey...and I was worth a kind welcome!
.jpg)
But my real welcome came at the grocery store our second day in town!
 |
| The neighborhood museum--at El Khawli's Superstore |
Like any museum visit, my first stop at a Lebanese grocery store required time and patience. First, I had to find what I came for. "Peanut butter." "Nutella?" "No, peanut butter." "Peanuts?" "No, peanut butter." "Butter?" "No." "Oh, marshareen." "No." The conversation all made sense when I learned that peanut butter is not an item. It is something I make myself from peanuts.
When I spied a box of Weetabix, I almost yelped and instantly knew it's well worth anything, even $2 above Apple Valley's price. It would cost me more than that to fly back for a supply or to pay for overweight luggage. Weetabix are the flavor of familiarity. They're a family tradition. And they're available in Lebanon! I feel at home. Without peanut butter Weetabix are naked mush. But we're halfway there...
When I didn't recognize a single brand of soy milk on the shelf, I decided to buy the smallest container of several kinds, just to find our preference of texture, flavor, color--a process we'll go through with a few other products as well. Some things even with the same label can be different on one side of the Atlantic than on the other.
And does anyone carry the only brand lotion that helps my eczema? This one's good, that one smells nice, this kind leaves you with a great feel. But I see no Curel. Anywhere. Oh well, I brought a few month's supply from Michigan to allow for what I call my "search margin," the time I need to scout out every corner of Beirut for the essential goods and prices.
I don't mind the time involved or the tradeoffs of the supermarket culture. It's worth it to amble up and down every aisle, looking for the familiar, noticing the unfamiliar: Wondering what it is. Trying to figure out how it's used. Daring to try something new. And even concluding with satisfaction that other countries know how to do some things better than my home country! The olive inventory is impressive. I could set up a chair at the end of the spice display and fall asleep in the aromas. And feta cheese is soooo much more reasonable.
 |
| A world of olives--at TSC Mega Store |
This first visit Lori was my personal guide; she explained the fruit seasons, the choice of bread flours, the different kinds of lentils, the cost of Campbell soup and labneh, the substitute sour cream.
At the checkout counter Lori asked if I'd found any tomato sauce for my pasta. Nope. Only paste. (Americans do sauce, the rest of the world prefers paste.) She offered a jar of her favorite, showed me the label and added it to my cart. Who knows what else she explained or shared or revealed as we stood there. Would anyone have guessed we were tourists and tour guide?
 |
| Lori, chauffeur and tour guide |
Just as we stepped out of the store, I heard a pleasant "Welcome to Lebanon!" It was so well-modulated I thought it must be a new marketing technology. Perhaps a recording that is triggered at the door when someone walks through with a U.S. chip in their passport. Or something like that. I didn't even turn around, certain it wasn't directed at me.
But as we were walking down the ramp to our car I noticed two beautifully groomed young Lebanese women close behind me, smiling at us. I paused and smiled back. OK. How did they possibly know to welcome me? A few unlikely reasons flipped through my mind. But I knew better. How could anyone miss me and my tour guide at my first Lebanese food museum! DUH.
But even more disarming, the one closest behind me stepped back with a knowing smile and exposed her friend, "She said it!" The friend, with an embarrassed grin--probably a mix of "OK, I couldn't help myself" and "Oh dear, I wish I hadn't done that"--nodded shyly as they moved away from us. There was no chance to respond. Only to appreciate.
It was enough for me. I was welcome in Lebanon! Spontaneously. By someone who had no reason to bother. By a perceptive, open-hearted neighbor. I don't know how much the two of them had observed or overheard as we made our way through the store. They could probably tell I was half lost and half enamored. Maybe they'd visited another country themselves and knew a food museum tourist when they saw one. Perhaps they'd felt the same at a Meijer's in Detroit. However it happened, they were pretty certain I was at the very beginning of my Beyrouth Journey...and I was worth a kind welcome!
.jpg)
 |
| My museum experience at TSC Mega Store, one of the largest grocery stores in Beirut, with the same colors and flavors of the little produce markets in every neighborhood. |
1 comment:
Oh! I miss the hypermarkets in Bahrain so much. The cheeses, the spices, the dates, the fresh-squeezed juices, the fresh breads, and most of all...the incredible produce from all the Arab areas of the Middle East that we don't import here.
The souk I also miss :)
Post a Comment