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Contributed by Far from home, surrounded by strangers, I sought solace through that which had provided so much comfort so many times before. Luckily, even living in a war zone, I discovered a love of music was universal. And so it was that one night in a bunker, the threat of bomb barrage absurdly real, an Australian, a Swede and an Canadian swapped some songs. Kibbutz Amir, nestled in the less-comfortable-than-you-might-imagine-cleavage between Lebanon and Syria, was the surrogate home to a disparate band of weary travelers, drawn from all corners of the globe, looking for a taste of an exotic culture. Or cheap beer and a few shags. The lucky among us managed to get a little from column A and column B. The bombs audibly exploding in the distance were real, the frenzied reports of knife-wielding maniacs prowling the compound never verified, the friendships borne from adverse (but Hell-exciting!) conditions and the mixing of music, long-lasting, like a 12" set on continuous loop. From three parts of the world, a motley collection of battered cassettes came out of three backpacks, and three copies of the same mix-tape constructed. Turned up real loud, the bombs exploding in the distance and bringing fear to families, could have been fireworks lighting up the sky and making a child laugh.
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