Summer’s end, two years later

Let me begin by addressing the obvious: it’s been a very, very long time since I’ve last written. The theme being the travels of an unemployed cook, I felt it dishonest to write while I was actually working—well, that’s the easier to mutter version anyway. Back in the US, I had so much to catch up with that I just couldn’t/didn’t make the time. I’m sure I failed to cover some important aspects of my return to the states two years ago, and hope that we can all move on.

My recent time off has been fantastic. I’ve had a chance to try getting a life, to visit friends, and to get some thoughts in order. Thanks in no small part to Sarah’s help, we somehow managed to can and preserve over 100 pounds of Massachusetts’s finest fruit in advance of my departure, even with the fiasco of moving into a new place on September 1.

Which brings me to the main event: Though I remain unemployed (by choice, lest you worry), and my finances are still somewhat a mess after the latest market crash, I’ve gone boldly where no Jew in my family has gone before: Beirut, Lebanon. Serendipity hit twice this time, in rapid succession. My friend Pedja, hearing of my (temporarily) aimless attitude suggested I meet his friend, Vladimir: perhaps I could work out something with him whereby I’d fly to work in Belgrade, Serbia, for a few months, he suggested. Never one to dismiss ideas out of turn, I listened, and when I met Vladimir, the ideas became a plausible way to spend my Autumn. Fast forward to Autumn, and I have been sold on the idea of a workcation in Eastern Europe.

Meanwhile, EB, planning a move to Beirut, called and asked if I’d join and help her in the move (those of you familiar with the first part of this blog may be sensing a theme). Opportunity, again! How could I possibly resist a free flight to a country (countries, really) I’d otherwise never have the opportunity to visit? My family, of course, balked at the idea. Not an hour after casually mentioning the possibility to my cousin by phone, my parents had respectively called me to voice their concerns (and by voice their concerns, I mean yelling and fear mongering—sorry Mom and Dad, but it was). I don’t mean to paint them in a bad light: I’m their son, and they are genuinely afraid of losing me out here. I let them cool off before I calmly explained my rational take on the situation, reminded them that I’m now thirty, and of course vowed I’d be careful.

And so I booked my travel (making sure to book a return in time for Sarah’s blockbuster birthday party on the first day of winter), and the adventure is now upon us.

(Those of you out of the loop, I am already in Beirut. It’s great, and I have stories to tell. I will post them, along with photos, shortly: look for these in the days to come.)