Election Season

This year three key elections are taking place, following in the footsteps of our own recent history making election that resulted in a liberal, black man, taking over the office held soley by white men since the inception of our country.  I voted early as I was scheduled to be flying to Afghanistan on election day.  I watched in Dubai as the results came in and arrived in Kabul to the news that Obama had been declared the winner.   Never had I been so personally invested in my own country’s electoral process and outcome. 

The first of the three key elections of the year, possibly the decade, came last month in Lebanon – the democratic and multi-cultural jewel of the Middle East.  A country that has work steadfastly to put together a patchwork representation of its diverse religious and ethnic foundation.  Shite, Sunni, Maronite Christian, and Druze all hold political positions.  Different factions within that including Hezbollah run for office, despite being labeled terrorists, because they are allowed to take part in the process if they play by the rules and those that support them will cast their votes in their favor.   Conflicts and 

With a 54% voter turnout, Hezbollah lost the election and the pro-Western Hariri’s coalition claimed victory.  Did this cause Hezbollah to denounce the elections and cry foul?  Quite the opposite.  Having won 58 seats, Hezbollah’s leader, Hassan Nasrallah graciously accepted defeat, and congratulated the winners in both the majority and the opposition.  Would the West been as accepting had Hezbollah come out the victor?  

Next up was Iran.  We find ourselves in the middle of history unfolding as this country’s citizens dared to make themselves heard despite crackdowns in free speech and media.  This election did not go as smoothly as Lebanon’s.  When Ahmadinejad was declared the victor in a landslide victory, fraud was called and supporters of the opposition took to the streets demanding    What began as stunningly moving peaceful and silent demonstrations have turned violent as the clerics move to silence the opposition and when that didn’t work, to take aim.  Literally.  Now we are looking at full scale demonstrations and violent clashes that leave innocent men and women gunned down in the streets while they give their voices to change.  

Stories and photos of a young woman, Neda Agha Soltan, have flooded YouTube and the web after she was shot clean through the heart by Iranian militia.   She has become the poster child of the opposition movement and humanizes the opposition to those following the demonstrations in the West, as the heartbreaking video flooded the media.  One innocent among the many that died a senseless death simply trying to speak out.  www.bloomberg.com

Today’s headlines turned my stomach when I read how another nineteen year old boy, Kaveh Alipour, was shot in the crossfire over the weekend.  Upon learning of his son’s death, the elder Mr. Alipour was told the family had to pay an equivalent of $3,000 as a “bullet fee”—a fee for the bullet used by security forces—before taking the body back.   www.wsj.com

As one Iranian stated, “Democracy is a long way ahead. I may not be alive to see that day. With eyes full of tear in these early hours of Tuesday 16th June 2009, I glorify the courage and bravery of those martyrs and I hope that their blood will make every one of us more committed to freedom, to democracy and to human rights.” 

All of this sets the stage for the elections in Afghanistan this fall.  An incumbent in the form of Karzai, deemed corrupt by the citizens, and catering to the ultra conservative Islamic vote, despite coming onto the world stage as a moderate, modern thinking leader supported by the West.  If the elections do happen, will they be free of corruption, will they move Afghanistan forward, will the results be respected by the people and by the international forces that influence the country?  Will the people of Afghanistan that have endured over thirty years of conflict have a say in the course of their country’s destiny?  Only time will tell, and as we continue to watch Iran’s election results unfold and hope that those that wish for peace, and hope for freedom, can find both in the upcoming years.

Bliss at the Balthazar

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hi pressure steam hisses, glasses clink, voices murmur, each adding their own notes to the French jazz playing over the speakers.  I sit back with a grin and a bowl of cafe au lait, content to stop racing around the streets of Soho and be transported back to my previous life.

Its been five years since I returned to live in the country of my birth after a ten year absence.   I spent my entire twenties living in Europe and my return has been dotted with visits to work in Paris, Beirut, and more recently Afghanistan.  I decided to move back to the States on the condition that I could move to the mountains.   I love the laid back lifestyle of mountain living.  Globally minded communities with small town neighborhoods.  No need for wearing make up and the abundance of hats means I can leave the house without using a mirror – something not advisable in Paris and Beirut.  I have incredible views everywhere I look.  I run and bike endless trails that crisscross the mountains that surround the town.

But my little mountain town is missing something integral to my happiness, and the Balthazar makes me acutely aware of that void.   Espresso.  The common thread that weaves through all the places I’ve called home since age nineteen is espresso.   Creamy, rich, caramel colored espresso.  It is at the heart of many of my best memories.  As someone who links her travel memories and nostalgia to the tastes and smells of the food around her, espresso is the only constant.  

I remember the thinnest pizza margherita in the hole in the wall in Rome, the freshly breaded Jagerschnitzel and pomme frites at the little hut at the top of the tobaggon run in Austria, the chewiest brioche au chocolate in my neighborhood bakery in Paris, the steak and ale pie with homemade crust in the village pub outside Coventry, and the first time I tried sushi in Amsterdam, the risotto nero turned black from squid ink in Croatia, and the falafal stand I stopped at on my to work every day in Beirut.  

I’m notorious for ordering the same thing at a particular restaurant, once I find a favorite I stick to it – and looking back it probably works to solidify my memories.  My best girlfriend in Darmstadt still emails me to remind me of our evening strolls together to my neighborhood turkish kebab shop despite neither of us having lived there for six years.  This is a kebab shop I snuck out of a hospital to visit when I was desperate for some real food (luckily for me the hospital was only three blocks away).    I returned to visit Darmstadt three years after I had moved to the States to visit old friends.  I arrived into town at 11pm and the first thing I did was drop my luggage and walk into town – making a beeline for the kebab shop.  It was the same guys working the counter when I lived there and when they saw me, they placed my kebab order as if I had never left.  

Yet despite all these tastes and memories that transport me back to my favorite places, or perhaps helped create my favorite places in the first place, espresso was the one thing that was enjoyed in nearly every city, town, and village I’ve visited.  Espresso, cafe au lait, cappuchino, latte…each drink signifies slowing down and the enjoyment that comes from just sitting, watching, and taking in a place.  I found enjoyment in my own company when I moved to Europe and discovered the contentment of sitting alone in a coffee house reading the paper or simply watching the world pass by.  Its something I’ve never outgrown and even now, given a choice, I’ll spend my free time with the New York Times and a coffee in a cozy coffee joint with a view to the world outside.   A morning stroll to a coffee shop to linger over a giant bowl of cafe au lait is pure heaven!

The Balthazar brings that all back.  The whole deal – the smells, the sounds, the taste.  I’m transported back to every delicious cup of goodness I’ve enjoyed.  Foreign cities.  Strange languages.  Meaningful conversations.   The fact is, whether its the lack of patience, the lack of knowledge, the lack of desire, or simply the lack of oxygen – I’ve yet to have the creamy, bliss in a bowl, coffee experience in my entire five years of mountain living.  You will still find me at the coffee shop, but now its more for the atmosphere and the community connection than for the actual enjoyment of the caffeinated beverage itself.  For THAT, I need the Balthazar.

 

photo by Christian Ghammachi