In between the two-to-three second lulls and jam-ups of the assembly line of buckets winding their way up the rocky hill from the demolition site, I have just enough time to wipe my forehead and press my sunglasses back up my nose, which are perpetually taking gravity's lead, aided by the sweat pouring down my face. Just as quickly as I can accomplish this, it's back to flinging chunk of broken stone and concrete rubble from the buckets onto the growing mound just above us. And so the cycle goes. As a group, we've talked a lot about "moving mountains" over the last few days. Here, at Beit Arabiya, as the joke has been made several times, we're actually moving a mountain "from down there to up here."
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