Sex in the Levant

When travelling solo through the Levantine countries it's hard to forget what sex you are. No matter how conservatively you dress you always seem to attract sideways glances which often turn in to stares, sometimes culminating a whistle or a few words to get your attention.

Of all the cities I've been to so far, Amman is the most laid back. Even on a street where there are no other single women, let alone Western ones, the local men don't give you a second glance. However, when the weather heats up, and the cardigan comes off, cars slow down alongside you and shop keepers' smiles' linger. There is no judgement in their stares, no disapproval. The Jordanians themselves say they are very accepting of other's customs and that is certainly how it feels. You just can't help feeling out of place.

The Syrian men are smooth. They bring roses out from their shops that take firm refusals. They call out 'Jamilla' and 'Hellouay' from their market stalls. In the small town of Hamma I covered my head in order to walk through the streets on a rainy night without my fair hair acting as a beacon to the street full of only men whose stares made me so uncomfortable I was afraid to leave my hotel alone. And don't even get me started on the taxi drivers (see previous post).

In the north of Lebanon, in Trablos (Tripoli) men grabbed my hands and placed unsolicited kisses on them with their mustachioed lips, pulling my arms around their shoulders. During the day, soldiers clicked their tongues at me. Again, I found myself confined to my hotel room at night.

Less then 50 kilometers away in Beirut women wear sequined minidresses on the flashy Rue Gournoud showing more than your average Melbournite would on a Saturday night. Women in Hijabs ride bycicles along the Corniche, some emulate the Japanese Harajuku style, stilettos and miniskirts and gaudy make up.

And yet, walking along the Rue Banque de Liban in jeans and a t-shirt, a security guard looked me straight in the eye and to my surprise exclaimed,

'Whoah, amazing'.

Still, after more than a month exploring this part of the world, I have never felt seriously threatened, merely mildly uncomfortable, and while I have striven to avoid danger, I haven't ever felt like I was in any.

Hitch-hiking in Becharre, drinking local wine after Souk hours in Aleppo, numerous solo cab rides and train trips and hotel check ins and I'm still in one piece, still wary of strangers, but still open to opportunity.

And I know it's culturally inappropriate and sometimes seen as encouragement, but when these men make their advances, I can't help but smile, and giggle to myself.

And walk just a little bit faster!