The Cantina Scene
Returning to America after five years in the Middle East calls for a no-sleep jaunt back to Beirut for drinking, partying, and tying up loose ends.
Once Upon a Time in the Middle East
Driving from Lebanon toward Syria, across the Saudi Arabian desert to Dammam, in a taxi among the refugees of Beirut—quickly becomes the Wild West.
Flood-Tide Below Me
Seeking respite from a life lived in war zones—too many rebel factions, too many gunshots, too many backfiring motorcycles that sounded like gunshots—a family discovers temporary shelter in the outer edges of New York City. And then, the deluge.
The Boulevard of Broken Bones
Even through the prism of life in the tumultuous Middle East, the U.S. in an election year looks divided, fractious, frustrating. But there’s still a ray of hope—in Queens.
Jonestown, Naipaul, and Me
A boy asking for money. An editor yelling at him to go away. An author, a rising star, dying young from a heart attack. A group of followers ending their lives at the wish of a single man.
Inertia
This spring, I visited Faraya, the Lebanese mountain a few hours from what was starting to look like a war in Syria. We tried parking beside a BMW, which was disgorging taut specimens in wintry pleasure gear, but another car beat us to the spot. After three wars in as
I Didn’t See You There
The other night in Beirut, notebook in hand, I slowed to watch an old man part his curtains. Inside a building scarred by bullet holes, he worried his hands, standing beside yellow walls and a water-stained desk. I fumbled in my bag, trying to find a pen. A dog barked.
Tensions Run Through It
The other day, a Beirut river ran red. Stunned officials said it might be blood. Or a deadly chemical. People could be hurt. The color certainly wasn’t part of some celebration. Everyone was stumped—even scientists at the university—and then, suddenly, the river ran clear. At the same
Citizen of Somewhere
Before the memorial for the fallen journalist, I stumbled down the hill toward the church, hungover and hungry. Consider the falafel sandwich. At under $2, it was my obvious move. But I was sick and sad, and the kids behind the stove looked like 12-year-olds who should have been in
Good Knives
I leave the house with a bag of knives. My daughter, Loretta, holds my wife’s hand, and the three of us wait to cross a busy street. There’s something unpleasant ahead. “That's poop!” Loretta squeals. “On the sidewalk!” I tell her someone will clean it up.
Since the Last War
The reporter is wearing an eye patch. “And who do you work for?” she says, clearing her throat. “I’m retired,” I say. A grizzled tribe of Middle East correspondents has gathered at the Mayflower Hotel’s wood-paneled bar in Beirut. Wine is poured, mugs of beers are guzzled, and
Right Into the Fire
This week we’re debuting a new microfeature series, “Husband, Father, Writer, War,” in which Nathan Deuel recounts what it’s like to be an American citizen, young father, and supportive husband while he and his family settle down in Lebanon.
Beirut, Texas
Political candidates who want to burn down Washington, DC, perhaps should see what a country looks like with no effective government.