Category Archives: Blog

Last night, I kicked off my birthday eve by seeing Tanjaret Daghet, a Syrian rock ‘n roll band, perform in Beirut. Due to the situation in Syria, many visual artists and musicians have been flooding Beirut, adding a new dimension to the arts scene here in Lebanon. One young Syrian man with whom I spoke said that he was making his way to France, having just fled Syria in his last semester of college.

“Where in France?” I asked.

“Nice,” he said, “because it’s nice.”

Behind me, during the concert, sat an ethnomusicologist, who has been busy making high quality recordings of all the alternative and underground bands performing here in Beirut…

After the concert, it was on to Mezyan, one of my favorite cafes in the city for some midnight snacks–like feta and green peppers–and best of all–fatteh–a vegetarian dish filled with chickpeas, yogurt, nuts, toasted pita, and hummus…

And that was just the birthday eve–come back tomorrow to read about my latest (bday) road-trip in Lebanon…you won’t believe your eyes…

Several days ago, my family and I set off for Sidon to see the Sidon Crusader Castle, after a marvelous trip to the ruins of Tyre…

The castle is located on a small island, which is connected to the mainland by a narrow walk way–in the facade, we spotted Roman columns used as horizontal reinforcements–just like in the crusader castle at Tyre. And after climbing up the top, we peeked into the Ottoman mosque perched above the fortress…

We also went to the charming Soap Museum to see how soap was made in Sidon for centuries…

how the soap was measured, and how the soap was cut…

For lunch, we dined at the Rest House–which is on the water right next to the castle…

Less than 48 hours after we returned to Beirut, I went back to enjoy the beaches near Sidon…but when we returned there, gunshots were ringing out in all directions, and we were temporarily stopped on the road…what was happening, we weren’t sure, but we would soon find out…

Last week, I stopped by Beiteddine Palace on my trip back to Beirut from Château Ksara in the Bekaa Valley. The 19th century palace, created by Emir Bechir Chehab II and designed by Italian architects, was built on the remains of a Druze hermitage on a terraced mountainside in the Chouf Cedar Nature Reserve.

When we arrived, the palace was being prepared for thousands to attend the ongoing Beiteddine Art Festival–which started this week. The festival was originally created in the summer of 1985, as a brave act of creativity and solidarity in the midst of a devastating civil war…

The hypnotizing geometrical patterns, towering arcades, stain glass windows, and impressive woodwork are certainly a delight to behold, especially on a breezy summer day.

Each time the light ricochets off the walls of the palace, it seems to carry with it an invitation to take a picture.

After viewing the vast courtyards, reception halls and private apartments of the Emir, we followed a few of the other visitors down a garden staircase to enjoy the spectacular Byzantine Mosaic Museum, which features mosaics from the 4th and 5th century.

If you come to Beirut, make sure not to miss Beiteddine–or the art festival held there–in the best of times, and in the worst of times, the music will just keep on playing…

Last week, I found myself on the road, taking some folks to visit Sidon/Saida, Baalbek, Jeita Grotto, Beiteddine, Zahle, Ksara, and a host of other spectacular sites in Lebanon. These photos were taken while peacefully visiting the extraordinary ruins of Baalbek, which is 10 miles from the Syrian border. Several days ago, organizers of Baalbek’s annual international music festival, which is usually held under the enormous columns of the Roman Temple of Jupiter, announced that they will be changing the venue to another location, since 18 rockets and mortar rounds fired from Syria have reportedly hit Baalbek this month.

But the show must go on! So the Baalbek Festival, which has featured the likes of Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone, and Sting will be opening on August 9th–possibly in Beirut. Other cultural festivals like the ones held in Byblos and the breathtaking Beiteddine Palace–a jewel of architecture perched in the pine forest of the Chouf Mountains–will go ahead as scheduled. The Beiteddine Festival starts on Friday, so get your tickets today!

I’ve been spending the beginning of this summer assessing the state of the saints–more specifically: the condition of Sufi shrines on the Silk Road.

At a time when Sufi shrines are being attacked from Mali to Pakistan, it is inspiring to see countries along the Silk Road investing time, money and energy into preserving these medieval monuments. Even though extensive restorations took place on these monuments in the Soviet and early post-Soviet eras, the harsh desert climate makes preserving these arresting vestiges of history and cultural identity a constant priority.

In the picture below, you can see a streak along the middle of the shrine–a visible trace of the many pilgrims who have come and brushed their palms against the shrine for a blessing, as they circle it counter-clockwise three times–before reciting verses from the Qur’an. The visitation of these shrines and the unique rituals associated with them are alive and well on the Silk Road–plan a trip to Central Asia to go and see for yourself!

Marveling at the majesty of Merv, it’s easy to forget that it was once mercilessly sacked by the Mongols. Since the top of one of the walls I was excavating was covered in debris from the Mongol invasion, I recently became interested in gathering historical sources and references about the details of this calamitous event…

By God, we live in violent times:
if we saw them in a dream,
we should be terrified.
The people are in such an evil plight
that he that has died–
deserves to rejoice.

–Abdul Hasan Muhammad b. Muhammad/Ibn Lankak al-Basri

“Where should we go to watch the sunset?” everyone kept asking. But really, there was only one answer. To Erk Kala!

After excavating in a trench all day,
it isn’t easy
to make a steep journey
up
a
hill
to watch the sunset
But the thought of gin and tonics
at
the
top
certainly spirited some up–
and I couldn’t wait
to fly our kite,
as the sun
went
down
to take some pictures.

The sunset didn’t disappoint–on the horizon, sat the proud silhouette of the shrine of Sultan Sanjar. Where better to salute a successful season, than where the sunset casts a brilliant shadow over the ancient Silk Road…

While driving to a Sufi shrine on the Silk Road, which I never had the chance to visit the last time I was living in Turkmenistan, we stumbled upon the ruins of a crumbling medieval madressa, as shown above. Though our driver was in a hurry to get home after a long day on the road, he still gave us enough time to not only climb over the ruins, but to climb up them as well.

Last week, I curated an international poetry festival
in my spacious yurt
on the Silk Road.
As one of the participants pointed out,
centuries ago,
many travelers on the Silk Road
likely gathered in yurts
–just as we did that night–
to exchange poetry
in all different
tongues and tones.
By candlelight,
attendees to our event
treated us to poetry in English, Turkmen,
Serbian, Spanish, and Danish.
We were delighted by the selection
of original poetry,
as well as verses penned
by everyone
from Seamus Heaney to Omar Khayyam.

While walking through a village in Turkmenistan, I stumbled upon this baby camel. Of course, I’ve seen many young camels on the Silk Road, but never one quite this young and small.

Though I’ve looked many a young camel in the eye before, for this tiny babe, I had to crouch down just to say “priviet.”

This past month, I spent nearly every day excavating in front of the mausoleum of Sultan Sanjar, a sultan of the Seljuq Empire who died in 1157.

Turkic Seljuq rulers
like Sultan Sanjar
adopted and promoted
local Perso-Islamic traditions,
and Seljuq art is renowned
for its fusion of Persian
and Central Asian styles.
Sultan Sanjar’s mausoleum
is just one
prominent example
of the numerous
funerary monuments erected
by the Seljuqs
on
the
Silk Road…

It was a dream come true
to excavate at the base of this great
monument every day,
unearthing the history hidden in the sands surrounding it…

Last night, I had a truly lovely time celebrating the birthday of the Queen of England with ambassadors, diplomats and fellow archaeologists in Turkmenistan–and one of the best features of the evening, as you can see in the photo below, was the festive cake crowned with a red telephone booth!  Happy Birthday to Her Majesty!

While working in Turkmenistan, we went to see the buried ruins of a Buddhist monastery on the Silk Road…before the advent of Islam, Buddhism once flourished all throughout Central Asia…

Surveying the remains of the stupa and living quarters, I couldn’t help but flashback to the time when I had a most unusual encounter with His Holiness the Dalai Lama, which I have written up below…

===

THE DALAI LAMA NOSE

“Lick my nose!” the Dalai Lama said, placing his nose directly in front of my chihuahua’s snout—just three inches from my face.  But Anubis just turned his nose up and looked away.

For years, while wrestling with Zen koans to center my meandering mind, I’d always wondered: if I met a master of Buddhism, how might I be tested? What might I say? How might I act? I’d never contemplated that my chihuahua might be present. Or that the master might be His Holiness himself—the Dalai Lama.

Though I wasn’t wearing my glasses, I didn’t have any difficulty in recognizing the Dalai Lama when a number of monks spilled out from the green door onto Harvard Yard. Perhaps it was not my eyes that recognized him, but my heart.

In contrast to the monks before him, the Dalai Lama passed slowly through the ivy threshold. Planting his feet near the small crowd, he scanned the sea of expectant smiles, and waved gently, inviting us to come closer–but the crowd stayed frozen, even the devotees draped in black scarves and bodhi beads. As I felt my heart swell and leap towards him, I bowed deeply in his direction.

“Greetings and peace to you, Your Holiness! Happiness, peace, and joy to your open heart!” I said. The crowd, suddenly unfrozen at last, all turned in my direction, embarrassed by the spontaneous outburst of a crazy lady holding a chihuahua like a baby. Oh gosh, I thought, what had I done?

Pointing at Anubis in my arms, His Holiness laughed and whispered something to his security guards–who promptly called me over. Nervous that I’d done something wrong, I considered absconding to Harvard Square—or my office. But since the Dalai Lama himself was waving me over, I shuffled slowly through the disapproving crowd, my head hung in shame.

“His Holiness would like to have a private audience with you over there,” his chief handler said, pointing to a spot on the grass about twenty feet away.  As we walked side by side, all of my anxiety melted instantly away.

“What’s his name?” the Dalai Lama said, settling his sandals in the shade.

“Anubis,” I said.

With each question, he leaned in excitedly for the answer, and with each reply, he giggled with delight and took a contemplative step back. In this dance of childlike wonder, he seemed to glide above the grass, the hem of his saffron robes fluttering in the wind.

“How old is he?” he said.

“Six,” I said, as the Dalai Lama shook his paw.

While I had always spoiled Anubis with nauseating amounts of love, the Dalai Lama delivered more love in one glance than I had in six years combined. Entranced with the strange little creature before him, it was as if he had never seen a dog before–and, since he was a master of the moment, he never had.

From the moment we met, he treated me like an old friend. Not just a friend–but an old friend–and there is a difference. As we played with Anubis on the lawn, a number of thoughts appeared like puffs of smoke before me. Touch his robe. Take a picture. Ask for a blessing. But in his presence, these desires to dictate the moment were carried away by the playful spring breeze.

Each time we tossed our heads back and giggled at Anubis’ curious and comical nature, I noticed that the sky had never seemed so blue, nor the trees so green. I could see the outline of each leaf, and the wisp of each cloud.

“Lick my nose!” the Dalai Lama said again, scrunching up his nose, as if egging him on.

“Anubis, come on, lick his nose,” I said, nudging him in the Dalai Lama’s direction.

“He won’t lick my nose–why won’t he lick my nose—come on, lick my nose!” the Dalai Lama said, laughing with delight.

This coy game went on for several minutes, until Anubis finally—but just barely—acquiesced, and swiftly licked his nose.

For years, I had contemplated how I might encounter a Buddhist master, and yet when that moment came, I realized that I didn’t need to do anything at all. There was nothing to do, and nothing to say. I was merely there to serve the moment by being fully present. The Dalai Lama, with his open and attentive heart, had guided us all into sharing a blissful moment of togetherness, as I felt all markers of my identity slip away.  I wasn’t a professor, a woman, or a seeker.  I was nothing and no one. Between our three communing hearts, there had been no me, but instead, a powerful and timeless we.

When I felt that the moment, on its own accord, was coming to a close, I bowed to him and wished him peace, happiness and joy. Turning to walk back towards the stone path, I realized I’d completely forgotten we’d had onlookers. But instead of returning to the crowd, the Dalai Lama walked straight through the gates to the car waiting for him, and sped away.

“Oh my God, the Dalai Lama just like blessed your dog—that’s awesome—can I pet him?” said an enthused undergrad, as a number of students gathered around Anubis to ask for an indirect blessing.

As Anubis played on the grass near Widener Library, I couldn’t help but look at him in a completely different way. Who was this mysterious sentient being, and who, I wondered, might he have been before? After all, the Dalai Lama, the most famous reincarnated being of all, hadn’t just been playing with a chihuahua—to him, he’d been connecting to a soul with many past–and perhaps future–lives.

Later that day, as I began to contemplate the numerous spiritual lessons the Dalai Lama had tendered to my heart, I realized that he’d bestowed upon me a brilliant new mantra. “Lick my nose” is a pretty hard mantra to beat, and it’s serving me quite well, as I wander from heart to heart, and from this land to that.