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Photo by Okinawa Soba

Tigers don’t care much for humor.

To be fair, most animals can’t really laugh; but if tigers could let out the occasional chuckle, it would probably fall somewhere in between a hiccup and a dying gazelle. I make that kind of sound as well, mostly when flawless Chinese women ask if I’d like an escort back home, and leave the option of post-coital marriage entirely on the table.

‘Home, now?’

‘Oh, sorry what? No, no; not tonight.’

‘You don’t like me? I can be better.’

Of all the illnesses that could befall a foreigner in China, lack of communication with the libido has to be the most frustrating.

‘Libido,’ said I, ‘did you just tell that pretty lady to leave without us?’

It was upon me; destroyer of worlds, bane of men, the force behind a woman’s chuckle, and Viagra’s entire marketing angle. I’d seen this in movies; none of them ended well. » Read more…

Photo by Gabriela Camerotti

Women scare me.

Ask me anytime, and I’ll argue the merits of bachelorhood with the eloquence of Arabian philosophers and the conviction of pack-mules; any time, except around Valentine’s.

And no, the Hallmark spirit doesn’t penetrate my quiet but callous façade and seep into my shrivelled heart, birthing an organ of hope and love – ‘cause that’s weird; it’s just that around Valentine’s, women get dangerous.

Cue childhood trauma music.

Enter Rhonda, my very first experience with obsessive love; thankfully, I was not the object of her affections.

Rhonda was part of the circumstantial baggage that came with my first girlfriend, and my roommate Rami was the only boy she could ever possibly love. Ever.

I’ve since learned to identify that particular glimmer of insanity in a woman’s eye, the one you should never, ever reject; but back in our naive teens, we thought that the world was a happy place where yes meant yes, no meant no, and smiling women did not secretly plan on slitting your throat while you slept.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

‘He doesn’t want to make out, what do I do?’

This was the first time my girlfriend and I got close, and that was Rhonda talking loudly through my locked bedroom door at a rather critical moment. I was exasperated.

‘Rhonda, if he doesn’t want you it shouldn’t be forced; give him space.’

I would’ve mentioned that it was an inconvenient time to be discussing this, but it would’ve made no difference whatsoever.

‘But it’ll be Valentine’s in a few days, what do I do?’

I was young, it was late, and I had less than an hour left with my topless girlfriend; I had to say something. I never did get the chance to apologize to Rami. » Read more…

Driven by nothing short of true love for St. Charbel, Roland Eid has taken it upon himself to faithfully reproduce the life of this Lebanese saint onto the silver screen, in the largest-budget movie in Lebanese history.

Sainthood isn’t the easiest of subjects to tackle…

This isn’t just a project, this is a promise I made to St. Charbel. My son, named Charbel, is now a year and a half old, and actually plays baby Charbel in the movie. When my wife had pregnancy complications I asked for his help, and this is fulfilling my promise.

I hear you launched a large campaign quite some time ago, why so far in advance?

I wanted people to anticipate it. We were still working on the script, and I launched a fifty thousand dollar advertising campaign. A lot of people have known about it for over a year, and a lot of people have waited for it. You have no idea how many people and magazines have asked consistently over this past year: is it out yet?

Why so far in advance though?

I knew that if the idea was leaked someone else would make the movie, and the problem with that is that they’d make it commercial. They’d write a cheap script and just use the name to sell their movie, and I wanted to nip that at the bud. And sure enough I soon found out that two other guys were working on the idea, and Charbel is important to me, more important than you can imagine, on a personal level.

And you couldn’t stand to see it commercialized…

The last thing I want is some low budget film to come out and commercialize his name. A bunch of guys could have gotten together, spent a hundred grand on actors and cotton beards and called it a movie.

But people are typically delicate with religious matters…

I know what they wouldn’t have done. They wouldn’t have tarnished his name, completely. So I took my loss, I knew the campaign was money to the garbage, but I got what I wanted and they backed off completely. And then we set to work on the script.

I’m sure it was difficult to find the right people for that…

To say the least. We searched long and hard for the person closest to St. Charbel’s spirituality, and we found that in the person of Father Youhanna Khawand. This hermit is the only person legally approved for translating Siriac to Arabic to Hebrew… the guy knows ten languages, he’s unbelievable. He lives the same life that St. Charbel did, and was more than happy to help. » Read more…

A legend in Lebanese theater, Rafic Ali Ahmad buys me a narghile at the notorious Rawda Cafe and talks about his life.

The bearded mother

You’re something of an icon in theater…

Well let me tell you, I act alone and people who act alone typically run three or four shows. It’s often an intellectual show. I’ve held four plays, one man shows, and with each one I’ve met with great success. I was able to carry them around the world with me. This makes me happy. I was able to create a popular theater out of this style. I like that my audience will have anyone in it from the highly educated to the everyday theater goer.

What do you feel gives you this edge?

They believe me. When I had the spot with UNIFIL [United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon], a lady came up to me and said: ‘UNIFIL chose well. It’s not that you’re an actor. It’s that people believe you.’ These are the type of words you hear with your heart, not your ears. When I have a play all the Lebanese come, irrespective of their religions. The topics I choose are heartfelt – the emotions of a father, the problems of the youth, the discrepancy between parents and children. My grandfather spoke to my father and my father spoke to me. But I can’t speak with my son. There’s a different education in place.

You’ve succeeded where other actors failed…

In one of my plays I say I don’t have a tribe. We’re a bunch of tribes, aren’t we? No matter how educated we get, or how far we travel, we’re all just a bunch of tribes. I have no tribe. I’m from a village and in my village we plant an olive tree for every child that is born. I have a lot to talk about – why should I play Shakespeare when there’s so much here to talk about? People still believe me and I still have a good name. This makes me fulfilled.

I’ve noticed that people always associate your name with one particular play, The Bell. Why is that?

It was shown at the right time. I staged it in ’91, as soon as the east and west border fell. I didn’t talk about the war as such – I talked as a Lebanese citizen who lived in the south, a father who lost his son during the civil war. I lived in west Beirut and staged it in the east. When I took on the role of a woman and cried over my deceased son, the women in the theater cried along with me for their own sons. They loved this woman, with her white beard – even makeup is a lie sometimes. I get up and say :‘I’m Rafic Ali Ahmad and this is my white beard. But this woman I’m playing, she’s hurting.’

What is your favorite place in Lebanon?

Wherever I’m sitting down and happy. Anywhere that gives me a moment of clarity. And Beirut is life and civilization, a meeting place of humanities.

Photo by by Tania Traboulsi

Armenian rocker Eileen Khatchadourian has managed to blend traditional Armenian rhythms with rock, and more rock. Here’s how she did it.

Why Rock? Do you feel it talks to people better?

I love rock! Many kinds of rock, and I wanted to adapt Armenian music to a style suitable and accessible to teenage Armenians, or simply to Armenians of a certain age, and of course a style my musicians and I would enjoy composing, rehearsing and performing. There is a gothic touch in my music, but it can be generally categorized as Alternative Rock . I am not the one who arranges the songs, my arrangers are Miran Gurunian and Mazen Siblini, I give the go-ahead after debates and discussions, I get to say the final word, isn’t that cool? Traditional Armenian songs have never been given a good rock before! This might be one of the major reasons why people enjoy it.

Don’t you feel this limits your crowd?

Definitely not! The crowd and listeners are Armenian youngsters, Armenian adults, and non Armenians who like world music, rock, and mostly good music. Music is universal; do you really need to understand the lyrics to appreciate a song? Do you need to be a musician to feel the music?

So what’s the point then?

I’m trying to introduce traditional Armenian songs that might very well disappear in time. I want the young Armenian generations to feel their roots, to abide by them if need be. Also, I’m trying to introduce Armenian music to the non Armenians.

We need a drink; what’s your favorite?

Fernet Branca!

What she said, and a Jack please. So how about those flashy outfits?

I design my own outfits sometimes, and I’ve been a stylist for many yeas now, so I put them together. But since I came back to Beirut Krikor Jabotian, my friend and fashion designer, designs my concert outfits. His style is just what I like. It’s as if his clothes were made for me

Do you like feathers?

Feathers? Mmm… Now that’s the most interesting question I’ve heard. It depends where and how I am using them. » Read more…

Michel Elefteriades – guerrilla fighter, artist, musician – doesn’t even consider himself Lebanese, rather the Emperor of Nowheristan, a state with no land and where everyone is welcome. Provided they pass the test. Where do we sign up?

The folks back in the office kept calling you the gypsy, why is that?

It might be the look that I used to have when I came back to Lebanon after my exile, or maybe it’s the fact that I don’t really have a home country. I’m as much Cuban as I am Lebanese. I’m French in my thoughts and writing. I used to move around a lot, with a plane as my caravan and I just changed countries as soon as I get bored of a place.

And professions I hear; you’ve been everything from an artist to a guerrilla fighter, really? Have you managed to find yourself?

It’s not like that. I’ve been all those things all the time. When I was fighting with a machine gun in my hand I was still a musician. After the fight, the machine gun was replaced by a guitar. I’m into music, sure, I have had projects lined up for ten years. Music for me is the best way to express my ideas and make money.

And it seems you’re passionate about it.

Yes, of course. I inherited that from my father who’s a great musician. My mother also plays piano. But it only became a viable career in my late twenties, when there was little else to do. I’ve wasted a lot of time and only got into politics in my early teens.

And you’ve held many successful events…

I have. I remember my Wadih al Safi and Jose Fernandez tour was a huge success worldwide. We sold so many albums, it was almost a shock. The press-book was huge. People for and against the combination had a lot to say about it. I love contrasts – in food, in relationships, aesthetics. I love surprises: whores who look like saints and saints who look like whores, bankers who wear earrings and artists who dress up as bankers. A gypsy and a conservative singer is a lovely contrast, and we traveled all around with it. People loved it. » Read more…

Frem’s F1 prototype, his first step towards a life-long dream, is set to open the doors for the Lebanese car-making industry and prove that we too can create.

You’ve been something of a local hero for over a year now, how does it feel?

The first thing you need to understand is that this isn’t about me. My pride is that through my achievement, I’ve helped push Lebanon’s image into the international scene. Today someone in America might be reading about the car built in Lebanon. Under impossible conditions, under siege, the Lebanese managed to be constructive.

This is more than just a car then…

It is. My slogan is: ‘only your dreams can build your country.’ This isn’t an individual’s project. I didn’t want it to be about my work. My launch was on the highway, with real people around me, not ribbons and politicians. This was built for them, to open the door for Lebanese car-making.

It isn’t a normal car anyway, is it?

It’s what you call a supercar. The design and aerodynamics are somewhat out of the ordinary, as they should be. This was born of a dream and is meant to give hope. I didn’t give it a diminished status, I parked it next to Class A cars, right from the start. The Frem F1 challenges any other car. » Read more…