Read Online Avoiding Prison & Other Noble Vacation Goals by Wendy Dale - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Wendy Dale
Tags: Fiction
Ads: Link
Christian country, it should be left out of this religious bickering. And then there was the ever-popular international view that Americans were to blame for all the worldâs problems.
Maybe this excursion hadnât been such a good idea after all. The men up ahead were brandishing huge firearms. Just the sight of these weapons terrified me.
We stopped in front of a barbed-wire fence that had been strung across the road and a grim-faced soldier peered into Peterâs car. I held my breath and tried to look as Muslim as possible.
âYou speak English?â he asked in a strange accent.
Peter nodded.
âThatâs a real spot of luck. We do too. Weâre from Ireland,â the soldier said.
These were not Hezbollah guerrillas; they were UN troops and this was one of their checkpoints. This didnât quite put us in the clear. After all, we were in the country illegally. What did the United Nations have to say about that?
âWelcome to Lebanon!â the soldier said, extending his hand for Peter to shake. Then they cheerily raised the bar blocking the road and waved us on through.
I spent the rest of the day awed and amazed. We steadily made our way through a barren and monotonous landscape with few people, few structures, and very little to see. Had this been the Sonoran Desert, I would have been apathetic and bored, but this was Lebanon. I was driving through thousands of years of history; not only that, my life was in peril. Nothing of note was going on outside, but there was the constant threat that this calm could be disrupted at any moment. In Lebanon, life could be changed in an instant.
Visit a friend abroad and itâs nearly a given that at some point you will take part in an expatriate gathering. This highly ritualized event consists of you sitting in a room with lots of alcohol with people who all grew up speaking English (although most of them speak it with a funny-sounding foreign accent). The conversation always includes the same three topics: (1) international politics, (2) sex, and (3) boy, you sure got the wrong end of the deal when you had to be born an American.
The night always starts out with Topic Number 3. The first thing all the Brits have to do (believe me, there will always be at least one or two Brits) is imitate your accent. âGolly gee whiz guysâ and âlike totally awesomeâ are the two phrases that invariably will be chosen to demonstrate the fact you do not speak English, you speak American.
After youâve cleared this hurdle, they will ask if you have ever met any movie stars and, if so, do you have any gossip to tell? After racking your brain for sordid tales about the people you watch on the screens in dark movie theaters and brush elbows with occasionally as theyâre walking down the streets of Los Angeles, your host Michael (well, he wonât always be named Michael) will then top your stories with âreal dirt.â For instance, if you come up with a story about a famous male artist who has sex with boyish looking twenty-year-olds while theyâre wearing football uniforms, Michael will give you an in-the-know, step-by-step, detailed account of the sex act in question, right down to the number on the uniform.
Then itâs on to international politics, which tends to overlap a bit with the âAmerica sure is a lousy countryâ category. We begin with âAmerica sure has a lousy foreign policy,â move on to âAmerica sure has a lousy president,â and top the topic off with âAmericans sure have a lousy knowledge of other countriesâ affairs.â Which is just the point youâve been waiting for all evening. Now is your chance to strike.
You dazzle the guests by quoting verbatim from the latest tome by Chomsky, drone on intelligently about a recent editorial in the New York Times, and roll off subjects like Sinn Fein peace talks and the possible opening up of Cuba when the room becomes
Maybe this excursion hadnât been such a good idea after all. The men up ahead were brandishing huge firearms. Just the sight of these weapons terrified me.
We stopped in front of a barbed-wire fence that had been strung across the road and a grim-faced soldier peered into Peterâs car. I held my breath and tried to look as Muslim as possible.
âYou speak English?â he asked in a strange accent.
Peter nodded.
âThatâs a real spot of luck. We do too. Weâre from Ireland,â the soldier said.
These were not Hezbollah guerrillas; they were UN troops and this was one of their checkpoints. This didnât quite put us in the clear. After all, we were in the country illegally. What did the United Nations have to say about that?
âWelcome to Lebanon!â the soldier said, extending his hand for Peter to shake. Then they cheerily raised the bar blocking the road and waved us on through.
I spent the rest of the day awed and amazed. We steadily made our way through a barren and monotonous landscape with few people, few structures, and very little to see. Had this been the Sonoran Desert, I would have been apathetic and bored, but this was Lebanon. I was driving through thousands of years of history; not only that, my life was in peril. Nothing of note was going on outside, but there was the constant threat that this calm could be disrupted at any moment. In Lebanon, life could be changed in an instant.
Visit a friend abroad and itâs nearly a given that at some point you will take part in an expatriate gathering. This highly ritualized event consists of you sitting in a room with lots of alcohol with people who all grew up speaking English (although most of them speak it with a funny-sounding foreign accent). The conversation always includes the same three topics: (1) international politics, (2) sex, and (3) boy, you sure got the wrong end of the deal when you had to be born an American.
The night always starts out with Topic Number 3. The first thing all the Brits have to do (believe me, there will always be at least one or two Brits) is imitate your accent. âGolly gee whiz guysâ and âlike totally awesomeâ are the two phrases that invariably will be chosen to demonstrate the fact you do not speak English, you speak American.
After youâve cleared this hurdle, they will ask if you have ever met any movie stars and, if so, do you have any gossip to tell? After racking your brain for sordid tales about the people you watch on the screens in dark movie theaters and brush elbows with occasionally as theyâre walking down the streets of Los Angeles, your host Michael (well, he wonât always be named Michael) will then top your stories with âreal dirt.â For instance, if you come up with a story about a famous male artist who has sex with boyish looking twenty-year-olds while theyâre wearing football uniforms, Michael will give you an in-the-know, step-by-step, detailed account of the sex act in question, right down to the number on the uniform.
Then itâs on to international politics, which tends to overlap a bit with the âAmerica sure is a lousy countryâ category. We begin with âAmerica sure has a lousy foreign policy,â move on to âAmerica sure has a lousy president,â and top the topic off with âAmericans sure have a lousy knowledge of other countriesâ affairs.â Which is just the point youâve been waiting for all evening. Now is your chance to strike.
You dazzle the guests by quoting verbatim from the latest tome by Chomsky, drone on intelligently about a recent editorial in the New York Times, and roll off subjects like Sinn Fein peace talks and the possible opening up of Cuba when the room becomes
Similar Books
