Steel Roots

I've been dying to see the Steel Roots by Steve Tobin exhibit at the Morton Arboretum since I found it was there in September... but I got caught up with work and never seemed to find time to go.

I coerced an IIT friend, Matt, to go with me on Saturday morning despite the bitter chill. So worth it. These things are amazing, and photograph beautifully. They are stunning in person, but somehow more moving (or maybe just -made-) to be beautiful in photos. The winter light was perfect! So here are a few from my picasa album.

Roman Holiday

Unbeknown to me upon my arrival in Beirut, Lebanon has an immensely rich Roman history. Ruins in various states of preservation and decay litter the country and are almost free for tourists to visit.

One weekend, we decided to take a road trip through the Bekaa valley (just on the other side of the first mountains), halfway between Beirut and Syria. We drove into forests and through clouds, creeping our way into the "fertile crescent" of Lebanon - the vineyard and farm-rich valley. There, we stayed in an old fashioned, very unique hostel (we slept on thin mats on the floor like travelers hundreds of years ago would have), went to a wine tasting, and climbed monuments.

I thought our first stop to be overwhelmingly impressive - imagine! climbing around unsupervised on Roman ruins!! Yasmina said just to wait... Balbaak would blow me away.


In Tyr, the old city crumbles and the new city creeps in.





The next set was in Anjaar, a walled city reused by nomads during the war; The peoples had converted Roman shops along the main road into a small village, with a day care and living shelters. They simply infilled the structure- patching concrete or building anew on top. It was impossible at times to tell what ended where- new or old - because there was the same layer of grunge coating it all. I guess it didn't matter, but I could only imaging the magnificence of waking each morning to the sun rising over arches two thousand years old.


Anjaar


The inner palace walls remain



And then Balbaak, like nothing I'd ever seen before. An immense playground of ruins and sculpture, carvings and temples. We caught a Chopin performance by a full orchestra seated at the base of the Temple to Bacchus.

This is Adil.


And this is the vista from the roof of his house.

I made friends with Adil through Yasmina, and ended up at his house in the mountains several times. It was our retreat from the overwhelming saturation of the city, and on one of my last nights in Lebanon, we sat on the porch watching fireworks, eating cheese, figs, and drinking local wine. It was lovely, and his house on the hillside was composed of endlessly beautiful textures.

A Lonely Pilgramage

We feasted on Lebanese bbq dishes - shwarma and kebabs and the like - one afternoon before taking the long road back to Beirut. It was a long, narrow, pot-hole ridden ride to begin with (a one lane highway snaking around a mountain without a guard rail or street light to protect you. Each turn warranted a loud honk before swerving around it, fingers crossed no farm truck would be ambling your way) and our detour added another hour.

But we came to a mountaintop monastery where bees gorged on lavender and produced the most flowery, rich honey I have ever tasted. The chapel was utterly silent. The walls were caked black with hundreds of years of smoke and incense. The farms and treetops cascaded down from the monastery like a green skirt trailing ruffles into the sea.

Floating in a haze

I will never forget my first trip outside Beirut, with Yasmina and friends to a small beach in Chekka. It is unpopular and unfrequented; we nearly had the place to ourselves.
If I remember nothing else, I hope I always remember the feeling of floating in salt water with the sun warming my face and the scent of wild flowers and vanilla hookah catching on a breeze and drifting over the waves. I think that might just be heaven.

And all I can think of now (as it gets cold and I begin to forget the sharper details) is how thankful I am to have been there.




Tamima and Yasmina share secrets

The Life and Death of a Hubbard Squash - and other cooking adventures

One afternoon, long past Halloween, Mr Hubbard the Grey wandered into my kitchen. I thought, "What a delicious dinner idea!" and snuck up behind the unsuspecting squash.




Mr. Hubbard meets his doom



The countdown commences



Mr. Hubbard knows* what will happen next...


Like a wicked witch, I baked him into a cake and ate his insides with cinnamon and sugar.



Little nougats of gold!


---------------------------+---------------------------

For Thanksgiving, I intend to cook the following:
+ bake french bread, extra thin loaves
+ roll goat cheese in cranberies and candied pecans
+ use crescent rolls to make small baked bries with onion and apple filling

Sin City

Big Sky


Amazing People


Silly Evenings


Fantastic Architecture


Sexy Silhouettes


Incredible Texture


Hazy Unreality

Real life work

I am trying to be a good sport and to find the bright side of this, my very first, Construction Doc situation:
I am beginning to understand the frustrations of real-life architecture: the maddening back and forth between "drawer" and "builder" who can never seem to communicate in the same language. The builder does not understand that drawings take time. The drawer does not understand the all of the realities of a job site. The homeowner doesn't understand the process at all, but demands what they want.
It is so classic.

I really dislike this "in between" position.. I either want NO responsibility (just let me do a rendering) or ALL responsibility (I will dig the first hole and pound the last nail). I would gladly pitch in on the building process in order to better understand the realities of my drawings (and perhaps have a more satisfying sense of ownership of the project?).


Maybe I can make that a stipulation of my fee: I'll charge less if you train me in construction too.

Arabian nights

It was a Thursday... the same day Yasmina and I snuck into the abandoned church, the same day we went souvenir shopping and suntanning at the military beach.

We picked up Raof, an outrageous lanky improv actor, and retreated back into the Druze mountains and Beit ed Dine. We passed a wedding parade, every car dressed up in flowers and ribbons, honking joyously as they slowly crept up to their mountain village.



Maybe their wedding reception was to be held here? A palace where even the pool has a carpet.



The sun set, and we ate slowly. The food was not nearly as good as the view.





We danced in the courtyard at the last rays of light. Roaf plucked yasmin flowers and crooned at Yasmina about her beautiful scent.





We left at dusk; the palace lit perfectly for the arriving wedding guests.



It was heartbreaking to turn away.

Into the deep

One Wednesday afternoon, Yasmina and I left Beirut in late afternoon. We traveled the world that day, breakfasting at a Parisian cafe, shopping in London boutiques, then climbing up this mountain and back in time.



Like inching along a time line, the high we climbed, the further archaic our landmarks became. We came upon villages, castles, a monastery, and the Ark.



At the top, we entered a cave, heading back down into the mountain. No pictures are allowed.



But the Jeita Grotto is a truly stunning piece of the earth and deserves to be a Natural Wonder of the World.







Sweeping along a delicate, winding concrete walkway, you are at times within a foot of a stone curtain that took millions of years to drape or staring face down into what could only be the pits of hell.
It feels infinite and sacred; its vastness a siren song luring you to the very end of the walkway, craning to peer around the last stalagmite, wanting to know how deep, how far, how high, how forever it goes.

[+ grotto fotos were found via google image search]