Bodrum Doldrums

Bodrum, Turkey
21 July 2002

The beach in Bodrum, Turkey with it's distinctive 'sugar cube' architecture, a favorite get-away for Europeans.


I wanna go home!

I WANNA GO HOME!

Are we there yet?

Its official. I am burned out on travel... ...for now.

I slog through the motions here in Turkey - ambling aimlessly along at the semi-posh Mediterranean beach resort of Bodrum. I am tired of beaches, buses, hostel breakfasts, cold showers, hot stuffy rooms, and looking at stupid ruins.

Holed up in my hotel, in vain I searched the satellite TV for a broadcast of the British Open. Instead I sleep off my hangover and avoid the midday sun.

Catering to upper-class Turks and middle-class Europeans, this famous beachside resort boasts the Halikarnis disco (the largest outdoor open-air club in Europe) which cranks along till 5am. The crowds don't even show up until midnight. With my convertible pants and tevas - I don't make the velvet rope hurdle; even if I wanted to pay the $20 cover charge. I feel like I'm back in New York trying to get into some Meat-Packing chichi spot...and getting thrown out. So I stick to the $2 local Efes beers at a breezy beach bar.

Resistance is futile. The bars and restaurants and promise of meeting some of the tanned, string-bikini clad partygoers pulls me out of bed at 10pm. I cruise the narrow street along the beach, both sides clogged with bars, restaurants, and stores - all beckoning for hard currency sporting tourists - Euros welcome, Dollars not.

I chill out at Lodos, a popular but easygoing bar that opens onto the beach; actually everything lies along the beach and therein lies Bodrum's appeal. A dual bay and yacht harbor bisected by an ancient crusader castle jutting up between the twin harbors filled with masts, like something impaled on a bed of nails.

During the day, the beach resembles the typical nightmare Mediterranean resort; every inch of the rocky strip of land called beach covered with lounge chairs, umbrellas, and red Northern European bodies; juextaposed among the drak chocolate tan of the Turks. Cigarettes in evidence everywhere tell you this ain't Santa Monica.

I perk up in a conversation with Kata, short of Katarina, a beautiful blond German woman at Lodos. Maybe going out was a good idea afterall. Tagging along with her friends for a nargila (waterpipe) on the beach, things go well. Near 3am we still chat and sip beers when I ask Frank, a guy looking roughly my age who he came with. He gestures to Kata, "My daughter and I..." DAUGHTER!!! DAUGHTER GOES MY MIND. UH OH.

I ask Kata a few moments later, "So, how old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"DOH!!!!" My Homer squeal echos off the castle walls and over the water. Time to call it a night. I excuse myself and retreat to my shabby room. I'm getting too old for this shit. The next day my hangover reiterates that point. Too old.

So I hang in and watch TV and eat some greasy Burger King lunch to soak up the ethanol. Instead of the horror of Tiger Woods' impossible collapse Saturday at the (British) Open at Muirfield; BBC World brings me non-stop coverage of the sýnking ship called the US stock market.

All I think about is home. I imagine walking down West Broadway, window shopping; I see myself dining at Asia de Cuba, wearing all black and Gucci; I want corned beef hash and scrambled eggs at the University Restaurant near my old studio; I want to hit golf balls out on Long Island like the old days.

I want to drive my Boxster... whoops, sold it. I miss the service in the US. I miss holding a sophisticated conversation with a native English speaker. I miss driving a car and listening to my own music. I miss soooo much.

One thing I've learned on this trip is to listen to your heart and soul. It'll tell you what it wants - if you know to LISTEN. Sometimes we can't get what we want right away - like Kata and satellite TV. But as the song says: 'sometimes, you get what you need' and I need to just relax a little and create a comfort zone around me - a little bit of home. So I dine at BK and Mickey D's, and browse through 'Entertainment Weekly' at the bookstand, and surf the net.

It's enough and on this last day in Bodrum before heading to Ephesus, the famous Roman ruins up the coast, I feel like laying out on the beach, playing in the water, and drinking a couple beers in my last night in Bodrum; no longer in the doldrums.

The doldrums will return someday, as they always do, but I know just the prescription to ease the pain...listen to your heart and do something for yourself and like that silly 'dance as if no-one is looking,' eat what you want, sleep when you want, and have a beer if you want.

Or not.

Born Again Beirut

Beirut, Lebanon
1 July 2002


Car horns honk outside my hotel room as people scream and shout celebrating Brazil's victory in the World Cup final over Germany this afternoon. A line of Mercedes convertibles and Audi's and Volvo's drive down Bliss Street in front of the American University of Beirut, across from where I am staying.

The ground floor of my hotel, the University Hotel, houses a McDonalds, Starbucks, and Dunkin Donuts. Needless to say I don't walk very far for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Two soldiers in fatigues and carrying M-16's represent the only throwback to the Beirut of the 1980's; no doubt guarding the mighty symbols of democracy.

My first time hearing of Beirut came from watching the tragic news of a truck bomb which destroyed the US Marines headquarters and killed 271 Marines and sailors on 23 October 1983. I remember because I wanted to be a Marine at the time, though, I was still popping pimples in high school. I failed to understand the dynamics of the situation that my fellow Marines found themselves in; and I think the policy makers that put them into Beirut failed also.

Thomas Friedman's book on Beirut illuminated the situation and various factions fighting for control of the country, which eventually fell to Syria and Israel, who still control the Northern and Southern regions of Lebanon. I recalled anecdotes from Friedman as I wandered about the city.

I spent time walking down the infamous 'Green Line,' or Rue de Damas, the road to Damascus, which separated the Christian East Beirut from Muslim West Beirut. Things have changed. Now a Virgin Megastore stands astride this line of demarcation in the newly rebuilt marina district; some bullet pockmarks still scar the building.

The civil war ended in 1992 and Prime Minister Rafik Al Hariri initiated several projects to rebuild the war-torn country, especially the capital, Beirut, once called the Paris of the Mideast. The recent rebuilding focused on the city center, where new low rise office buildings in ochre Spanish Mediterranean style delineate a new business district, its streets lined with chic sidewalk cafes and downtown bars with names like Liquid, UV and Tribeca. Aside from the empty shell of the old Holiday Inn - a 30 story shell of bombed out hotel rooms, not much visible damage remains for casual discernment.

But further up the road, in the Achrafieh district, the contrast between old and new stands out starkly. A budding area with hip cafes and sleek bars stands next to war torn buildings, bullet and shell marks scarring the outsides. The narrow streets clogged with cars and ground level shops exude life, yet burnt out buildings, vacant lots, piles of rubble, and bullet holes remind us of the past.

But here, the Beirut nightlife as resumed, much less strictly Muslim than neighboring Syria or Jordan, young, uninhibited Beiruti's toss back imported beers and strut about in Gucci with Nokia phones and BMW's. The young women strut their stuff in spaghetti strap tops, miniskirts and hairstyles that would bring a public flogging from the Taliban.

Strolling from one end of Monnot Road to the other, about 400m, one passes about 35 bars and restaurants, reminiscent of the concentrated area of Lan Kwai Fong in Hong Kong. Like other Mediterranean countries, the nightlife only picks up around midnight as the streets fill with expensive cars and groups of young Beiruti's on the prowl.

The one throwback to the civil war days - red lights. Drivers never stopped for red lights, the fear of a kidnapping or car bombing calling for safety in movement. This has not changed in modern Beirut and one cringes in the old Mercedes taxis as the drivers shoot straight into intersections without so much as a glance at other traffic.

With just about 3.6mn people in an area about 70% the size of Connecticut; Lebanon's GDP per capita is estimated at $5,000, making it one of the wealthiest countries in the region. Fancy international hotels, multinational companies, and all the worldwide logos of Americana put Beirut on the road to recovery.

Appropriate that I happened to see the HBO Special on 9/11 while in this devastated, but recovering city. Tears streamed down my cheeks as the images from that fateful day flashed on the screen. Hearing Guiliani recount the events of emotions left me drained and numb once again. Yet the pictures of selfless firefighters, compassionate doctors, resolute leaders, and inspired citizenry remind of the strength of America.

Our strength lies not fleets of F-117 stealth fighters, nuclear weapons, nor the world's largest economy. Our strength lies in a country that welcomes open debate on the Pledge of Allegiance, flag-burning, abortion, and Enron. Our strength lies in freedom of expression, religion, immunity to illegal search and seizure. Our strength lies in a system that promotes individual rights which encourage each person to strive for excellence and realize their full potential.

As I travel, its these intangible virtues of power I hear others envy and aspire to; not the external trappings, but the internal foundations. As I observe others, I see the strengths and weaknesses of my home even more clearly. America is far from perfect, far from omniscient, far from omnipotent. Yet our way of life finds itself coveted and emulated in many places. Not just wishing for Mickey, Nike and Big Macs, but for the freedom to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."

As we approach the celebration of our nations' birth, I find comfort in the underlying strength and resilience of our way of life and our belief in the sanctity of individual rights and the right of all people to reach their life's potential. No-one can wretch this away from us and as others recover from even larger disasters and conflicts, so too, do I believe our nation can surmount the challenges confronting us.