A Treatise on Middle Eastern Driving Habits

The following text deals primarily with the norms of traffic and driving in the Republic of Lebanon, however, examples are also taken from Iraq, Syria and Jordan where noted. Driving in the Middle East requires a select set of skills, the most important of which is awareness. Traffic functions differently in this region, and one should take note of some of the many differences explained herein.

- Most roads do not have painted lines, and when they do, they are merely suggestions of lanes, not regulatory markings meant to be followed. Two lane roads can easily become three or even four lane roads with a little precision driving. This is particularly important to note during heavy traffic when extra lanes are most likely to appear in order to increase the slow yet smooth movement of vehicles.

- Much like painted lines on the highway, most regulatory signs are also merely placed for encouragement. One-way roads are two way as long as there is room for two cars to fit. Going the wrong direction on major highways is perfectly acceptable if it is the closest route to your destination - stay as far to the left as possible and flash your lights at every passing car just to ensure their awareness of your position.

- The use of car horns is obligatory as an aid to other drivers. If someone is nearing your position on the road, give two gentle toots to alert the approaching driver. When driving past the home or workplace of a friend or family member, give a toot as a friendly greeting. On blind curves, it is advisable to honk once, especially if you are towards the center of the road or even completely within your own ‘lane’ - this is a warning for opposing drivers to merge slightly to the correct side of the road. Short blasts of the horn are always helpful tones with no negative or confrontational connotation whatsoever. One long loud honk, however, is a sign of anger and frustration - you are advised to remedy the situation immediately.

- Speed bumps can appear with little or no marking at the most random of locations. Always be prepared to brake suddenly or gain some minor degree of air time. In the case of Iraq, pay attention to other drivers for signs of an approaching speed bump - any speed less than 160 kph (100 mph) probably means there is either traffic or a speed bump.

- Military checkpoints should not be frightening, and they certainly don’t indicate a significant delay in your journey. Approach the soldier slowly with your window down and interior lights on if driving at night. A general greeting, wave of the hand and a thank you are all that are required of you for a quick pass through the checkpoint. Only prepare your ID or documents if asked. Even if your hosts demonstrate otherwise, it is always inadvisable to threaten to run over a soldier at a checkpoint. If the checkpoint has no barricades, no flags and no uniforms, it is probably not a checkpoint at all, rather militia members offering propaganda in exchange for donations - feel free to engage in conversation and/or negotiation.

- In Jordan, it is perfectly normal to see a smiling camel riding in the back of a pick-up truck.

- Popular opinion, or at least that of my cousin Mounira, suggests that having to stop for a herd of sheep or goats crossing the road is good luck, and one should unroll the window and inhale the scent of real life.

- Do NOT, however, inhale the air from any tunnels. Air circulation is not common and fumes can be noxious.

- Most cars in the Middle East are programmed to start an electronic beeping from the dashboard when the speed of the vehicle reaches 120 kph (75 mph). This appears to be more for the annoyance of all passengers than a warning to the driver of dangerous speeds. The exception to this appears to be in Jordan, where traffic police are abundant, and speed limits appear to be strictly enforced. If renting a car in the region, avoid Volvos if you have a lead foot, the high pitched tone of the warning is loud and ear-piercing - damn Swedes.

- One must always watch for the heads of customs officers popping out of the ground at border crossings. At the Syrian-Jordanian border in Jaber, customs agents stand in holes in the ground in order to tap the bottoms of automobiles as they pass over head to make sure nothing is hidden in one of the underside tanks. Don’t drive too fast through the border, lest you inadvertently decapitate a state official (something that certainly can’t be good). It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it… I guess.

- If a road appears to be just wide enough for a golf cart to pass through, it is probably still meant for two way traffic, unless it is located in a city, in which case there will probably be too many cars parked on the sidewalk to allow two way traffic.

- The following are the expected best practices for crossing through an intersection with a traffic light. Green means slow down and check for people running red lights. Yellow is just a color added to the signal for excitement and has no real meaning. Red means slow to an almost complete stop but accelerate again if there is no cross traffic. When turning right on a red light, it is possible that you will cause an accident if you stop completely; proceed slowly into the oncoming traffic.

- In most countries, traffic circles are used instead of traffic lights to allow smooth transit through an intersection for traffic approaching from all directions with the simple rule of yielding to traffic already in the circle. In the Middle East, however, traffic circles are often an excuse to install even more traffic lights, as lights are needed for entering the circle as well as proceeding around the circle.

- Pedestrian crossings are few and far between, so pedestrians seldom use them and cars seldom respect them. Always watch for pedestrians in the road. If you see an outstretched palm facing you with a slight incline, this is a polite request to slow or stop for the crossing pedestrian.

- To signal another driver to slow down or stop, clinch the finger tips of one hand together with your palm facing upwards and move your hand slightly in a downward direction.

- Turn signals are a sign of earnest desire or necessity to move in a particular direction. They should not be used in occasions when you should be able to proceed with little hindrance, but will generally earn you either a warning toot or space to proceed with caution when used properly. If other vehicles do not seem to be respecting your turn signal, open your window and start flopping your hand up and down - this is a signal to other drivers that something drastic is about to occur.

- Beware of flopping hands.

Damascene Style

My flight was scheduled to depart Amman at 17:00, and at 16:00 we still weren’t quite at the airport. What was I going to do if I didn’t make the flight? It was the last flight of the day to Aqaba, and another 4 to 5 hours in the car after the already over 3 hour drive from Damascus did not sound exciting. Sitting in the back seat twiddling my thumbs and thinking about the tight schedule, Jordan was passing by my eyes. The occasional gust of wind brought clouds of sand around the car.

Damascus was nicer than I had expected, but I still have mixed feelings about Syria. With only one full day to explore the city, I decided it best to hire a guide to ensure I see all the important sites. It didn’t take me long to regret that decision. I was in the middle of the capital city of a Middle Eastern dictatorship that thrives on propaganda. In many ways, Assad’s tight control of Syria has saved it from the problems Lebanon has faced over the years. The roads are well kept, the city is pretty clean by Middle Eastern standards, large spotless government buildings stand proudly throughout the city, there is little crime, Muslims and Christians live side by side in peace, and political unrest is unheard of. Images of Hafez and Bachar al Assad are everywhere in the country, and I half expected one of them to appear on my computer screen shaking their finger at me when I tried to access facebook and couchsurfing, both websites which are blocked from Syrian internet service providers.

My guide was more like the assistant minister of propaganda than a well-versed tour guide. I was disappointed with his ill-informed history and his obvious over-Damacusization of everything he could think of, and even found his commentary in general very boring. He seemed thwarted when I shot down his statement that September 11th was completely staged with an eyewitness account. He had insisted that to this day, they had never found any evidence that a plane had hit the Pentagon. My nearly 6 hour tour of Beirut had seemed long, but it was enjoyable and informative. The 7 hour tour of Damascus was never-ending and tedious, and I was visibly annoyed with the guide by the time we made it back to the hotel. That said, I did like some of what I saw in Damascus, and the Ommayad mosque in particular was beautiful. I only wish I had chosen to explore the city on my own.

Damascus reminds me of a Middle Eastern Seoul - a metropolitan city surrounded by mountains. In this case, the city is believed by many to be the location of the Garden of Eden, and the surrounding hills are home to the first evil, the story of Cain and Abel. The city has an almost mystical atmosphere to it, particularly in the old town. So many stories by so many people have been told in and about this city; Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel, St. Paul, the Prophet Mohammed, and many others. Layer upon layer of history hides in the most unlikely of places. At one point, we went into a pedestrian tunnel full of low-priced clothing shops, much like the metro stations of many European cities - Budapest comes to mind. Daddy Yankee was playing on the stereo while young misled Syrian men stood in their slim-cut button down shirts with their hairy chests bulging from the mostly open buttons. Apparently, while women are encouraged to cover up (to a much more moderate degree than many Muslim countries), men use their chests like peacock feathers to attract the shy members of the opposite sex. We were there to see one of the few exposed portions of the old Roman wall surrounding the city because where else would it be hiding?

This morning, I had breakfast at the hotel and then waited for a driver to pick me up for the drive to the Amman airport. Leaving Damascus, the rest of Syria appeared much more like I had expected. Like the Bekaa valley in Lebanon, the area between Damascus and the Jordanian border is dry and dusty, yet fertile. One thing that stuck out to me was that while the Syrian soldiers spray painted every available surface in Lebanon with pro-Syrian slogans, there is not a spot of graffiti anywhere in Syria. The border between Syria and Jordan was much less busy and much easier to pass through than the Lebanese-Syrian border. Even still, it was definitely another example of a complicated and confusing Middle Eastern land border.

Once inside Jordan, I can’t explain how, but the entire atmosphere changed. Even visually, the fertile plains of Syria gave way to sandy desert hills. Lebanon is definitely the most beautiful country in the region from what I have seen so far, but I every place has its own charms. I did manage to check in and board my flight to Aqaba, and now I am at a brand new hotel on the Red Sea. The Kempinski hasn’t even had its grand opening yet, but I’m here enjoying the view of the white sand beach from my balcony, and I look forward to enjoying some sun and swimming tomorrow.

Taxi to another planet

I spent my last days in Lebanon enjoying life in Roumieh, talking and eating with family and hanging out a bit with some of the local couchsurfers. My birthday was on the 8th, and there was a bit of confusion around the whole thing, but it ended up being a couple great days of celebrating. Originally, I thought that we might do a dinner at Jean's place, but I later found out that Jean didn't know it was my birthday and was having poker night at his place. The girls all knew about my birthday and wanted to take me down to Beirut for Chinese food, but I had already invited a few Couchsurfers up to Roumieh, so I aked if they would join us at Jeddo Mike's restaurant. Unfortunately, a friend of the family had passed away a couple days earlier, and no one wanted to be seen at a restaurant in the village on the day of the funeral. When all was said and done, four couchsurfers came to join me for dinner, and we had a nice quiet evening.

Thursday night, I went down to Chopstix for Chinese with the girls. The restaurant had relocated and was very nice, and I enjoyed the food, but Mounira wasn't so easily pleased. I agree that the restaurant was a little chilly when we came in, but Mounira insisted that it was colder than her refridgerator inside, and that she was going to need Panadol all night long. She also didn't like the food, but that's no surprise. The last time I went to Chopstix with her, she said she hated Chinese food, Lebanese food was the best and she was never going back to that restaurant again. The story goes much the same way this time around. She said, "In 10 years, when Chris is 50, maybe I will come back." I don't know when she decided I was 40, but we had a good laugh and made bets on how many days Mounira would be saying the same things about the restaurant.

On Friday, I stayed in Roumieh all day, and then I went down to say hi to Raymond, Rita and whoever else might be around before heading to Beirut for the evening. The couchsurfers had arranged an evening out in Ashrafieh for my last day in Lebanon, and we had a great time. Several of the Lebanese CSers showed up, along with a girl from Italy, her boyfriend from Denmark and about 4 or 5 Germans. I decided that the Charlotte CS group needs to up their productivity when the Lebanese started posting for their next events while still sipping beers at the current event. It was a fantastic evening, and Mazen gave me a ride home and offered a lullaby for the price of a taxi - I forgot to pay him, so no song for me.

Louis joined Jean, the girls and me for lunch on Saturday, and then we waited along with some more cousins for my taxi to Damascus to show up. A round of goodbyes, and I was off with my driver Emile to Syria. I helped Emile with directions to the top of the mountain, and then he took over saying he knew a faster way to the border. Emile didn't speak any English, but we managed just fine in Arabic. There was a wedding in Fallugha that afternoon, and it took us a while to get through the traffic, but eventually we made it down to the valley, past Aanjar and to the border. On our way down the curvy mountain roads, however, Emile already had me filling out my exit card for Lebanon and entry card for Syria, which is probably the closest I have ever come to getting car sick. I managed though.

Crossing land borders in the Middle East is very different from what I am used to in Europe. There was a lot of traffic at the border, so Emile told me to jump out and go inside to have my passport stamped. Apparently, I'm not quite Lebanese enough to know how to get my passport to the front of the foreigners line at the border, so when he found a parking space, Emile ran in and pushed me forward until my passport was stamped. Back in the car, we had our IDs checked one last time before we officially left Lebanese territory.

In the past, I've always left Lebanon by plane, and I missed my opportunity at the airport to sit in the Cedar Lounge and reminisce about my time in the country of my ancestors. I still feel a special connection with Lebanon, and it was just as emotional leaving by the road over the anti-Lebanon mountain range as it is flying over the lights of Beirut in the early morning. The longest border crossing I have ever seen by far, they give you a good 2-3 miles to reconsider before officially entering Syria. I kept looking around, and Emile told me, "No more Lebanon," and I told him simply that I love Lebanon.

Just in case you were wondering, there is, in fact, a Dunkin Donuts between Lebanon and Syria, and they must do a decent business because every taxi that crosses the border stops there to shop at the adjacent duty free store. When Emile asked me if I wanted to stop at the Duty Free store, I said no, but he stopped anyway and left me in the car. He came back with multiple bags full of cigarettes and a smile.

Up the road at the Syrian border office, I went inside to wait in another ridiculously long and unorganized line. This time though, my Lebanese heritage stepped forward, and I squeezed past all the Kuwaitis that kept jumping pointlessly from line to line, and I forced myself up to the window where held my passport firmly in place on the counter until the border officer finished with the six other passports that had already been shoved in his face. The Syrian entry card is the length of a short story, and I had filled it out in detail. Rather than read this obnoxious piece of bureaucracy, the border guard asked me every question on the card again, double checked my Syrian visa and then sent me on my way. Emile was relieved that I had a visa because he said recently the Syrians have been holding Americans trying to get a visa at the border for 6 or more hours, and then you still only have a chance of getting through.

Across the border, Syrian flags fluttered wildly in the fresh breeze from the mountains of Lebanon. The angular faces of Assad, senior and junior, stared into the distance frequently from billboards and signposts. It was immediately obvious that the roads in Syria were better than in Lebanon, but I guess that's the benefit of not having to endure 30 years of war. I pulled up to the Four Seasons in Damascus and was almost pathetically excited. Life in the village is fantastic, but it's no Four Seasons. Emile overcharged me for the taxi ride by $40, but I pointed out the discrepancy to him, he said I was wrong, and I dropped the issue. He was a very nice guy, so I just wrote off the extra charge as three hours of conversational Arabic lessons.