blogtcs.com

J.D. Long-Garcia, managing editor of The Catholic Sun, reported on the Church’s work in the Middle East earlier this month. The Catholic Relief Services-sponsored trip brought seven journalists from around the United States to witness Catholic outreach in the region.

Flights and layovers

I leave for my trip to the Middle East on Sept. 30, having layovers in Houston, Texas and Paris, France before arriving in Beirut, Lebanon on Oct. 1.

J.D. Long-Garcia in his Beirut hotel room. Self-portrait. I wasn't in a bad mood. I just wasn't thrilled with the photos.

I’d intended to go to confession before leaving Phoenix, but with packing, family and work, I just run out of time. But God provides. I run into a priest in the Houston airport who is happy to hear my confession. He seems to have a bit of an Irish accent, so I ask him where he’s from. I usually ask people with Irish accents where they’re from so that I can tell them that my wife is from Belfast.

The priest says he’s from Louisiana and is leading a pilgrimage to Medjugorje. (I didn’t tell him, but I will tell you: Rebecca Bostic wrote an interesting article from the Marian city a couple months back that’s well worth the read.)

Anyway, so feeling “spiritually lighter,” I continue on the long journey to Beirut. On the flight from Paris, I sit next to a Muslim woman named Fatima. Islam has a profound respect for the Blessed Mother, and this woman tells me all about it. Mary is often mentioned in the Quran, the sacred book of Islam. What’s funny is that my travel companion, Fatima, doesn’t speak English, but Arabic. I learn, somehow, that she speaks Portuguese, so I speak to her in Spanish. We understand each other. Somewhat.

When I get to Beirut, one of the things that strikes me immediately about the city — and the Middle East in general — is the tolerance for smoking. While I wait for my suitcase, two guys light up near an ashtray in the baggage claim area.

I’m meant to get a van to the hotel from the airport — something set up by Catholic Relief Services, the trip sponsor  — but when I walk out of the airport, suitcase and carry-on in tow, I can’t find anyone with a little “J.D. Long-García” sign. I wait a good long while because I have this fear of taxi drivers in foreign countries ripping me off. Anyway, I eventually take a cab and spent $40, plus tip. The driver is adamant about the tip because I arrived just after Ramadan — a religious custom that marks when Muslims believe the Angel Gabriel revealed the Quran to the Prophet Mohammed. Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset — not eating or drinking anything.

So the taxi driver, between cursing other drivers on the way (I’m assuming he was cursing), he makes a big deal about the big tip. Really wished I’d found the van to the hotel.

When I get there, I meet Amanda Finnegan, who won the Eileen Egan Award for work she did as a student at Cabrini College. She worked on her submissions with Meghan Hurley, her peer at Cabrini. (Actually, Hurley wrote more of the stories in the series — something she teased Finnegan about during the trip. The two won for “Series with Regional/Local Circulation,” competing against other diocesan papers with seasoned writers. So, that college kids won the award… well, it’s a big deal.)

We walk around Beirut with other members of Catholic Relief Services. We pass American University, which has a large campus in the city. So that you can get a good picture of it, Beirut is a lot like Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic. The drivers are crazy and the streets are dirty and when you walk around, you feel like you’re constantly inhaling car exhaust. Maybe that’s why they’re OK with smoking.

At one point, led by our guide, Vivian Manneh, we cross a somewhat busy street. There are no stoplights in Beirut, or at least, no one pays attention to them. Red, green, yellow — they all mean the same thing. Be careful, because the other drivers won’t stop.

After waiting in vain for the traffic to slow, Manneh walks into the street and just holds up her hand. “STOP!” her hand seems to say. What’s even more amazing is that the drivers actually do. Manneh lives in Cairo, Egypt, where I’ve never visited. But I hear it’s Santo Domingo drivers times eight.

We wind up at this little Middle Eastern restaurant (they have a lot of Middle Eastern restaurants) that’s like Beirut’s answer to Baja Fresh. We eat the typical dishes — hummus, baba ghanoush, taboule — followed by this delicious chicken, lamb and beef combo dish. Only it’s better than anything we get here. Manneh recommends we eat a lot of onions and tomatoes, things that are good to eat while traveling. She also has us eat a healthly amount of the strong garlic spread.

I tried to learn a few Arabic words that night, but only one stuck. Shukran. Not sure what the English spelling is, but that’s how it sounds. Shoo-CRAN. It means thank you.