A Visit to Beirut- The Capital City of Lebanon

Before Beirut became a synonym for carnage, it was part of a Mediterranean circuit for party hunters, which included Monte Carlo, the French Riviera and Alexandria- it was ‘Paris of the East’. In the 1970s, the Israelis began to attack southern Lebanon, where the PLO was located, and in 1982 launched Operation Peace for Galilee. Fifteen years of civil war followed.

However, Beirut is back with a vengeance.  Today, Lebanon’s ministry of tourism advertises it as “The City that would not die”. Relative peace has brought to the fore all the elements that make Lebanon a traveller’s paradise: a small country (150KM by 60KM) you can travel the length and breadth of in a few hours; pristine mountains; beaches set by the Mediterranean; ancient cities; the spirit of warn-torn people getting the most out of life. (The war did not really stop the Beirutis from partying—they just went underground and put the music on louder to drown out the shelling.) With low crime rates and political stability, Beirut is now safe, glamorous and very happening.

Situated at the eastern end of the Mediterranean, Lebanon is at a crossroad of three continents. It has always been strategic, with a history of unrest dating to Old Testament times. The rocks in Dog River Valley bear testimony to centuries of struggles- messages left by occupying armies down the centuries. It was also the refuge of minorities fleeing persecution between the 9^th and 11^th centuries—the Christian Maronites, Shi’ite Muslims and the Druze settled here. Thanks to the various peoples who occupied Beirut- the Phoenicians, Romans, Greeks, Arabs, French—Lebanon offers a long list of things to see and do. But what Beirut, and Lebanon, offers best is Atmosphere.

The first day we walk from our hotels to one of the many restaurants on the Corniche. After a leisurely gourmet lunch (after a few days, I wonder- whether there is another kind) followed by shisha and Turkish coffee, we walk along the Corniche. It carries on to the city’s central district, the approach to which is marked by the Hard Rock Café. By late afternoon, families start drifting in which stoves, backgammon, coffeepots and narghileh/shisha; others come to stroll or jog. Power-walking is very popular, especially with fashionably dressed Lebanese women. (You rarely see the Lebanese not dressed to kill; they even iron their workout clothes!) I noticed food carts draped with the Lebanese flag. 

Vendors and illegal, and they use the national flag so that the police will respect their patriotism and leave them alone. We watch the sunset over the famous Pigeon Rocks and take a cab downtown. Since 1997, the Lebanese have gone about rebuilding the city. Exquisite architecture stands next to glittering high rises and shell-shocked structures whose time has not yet come. The visual contrast is surreal around the national Museum, reconstructed to its previous glory, but surrounded by shelled buildings especially around the Green Line, which divided Christian East Beirut from the Muslim West.

The cab drops us off a Solidere, the city center. This area has been rebuilt in golden sandstone and pink marble- as it used to be before the war erupted in April 1975—complete with cobbled streets, pavement cafes, wrought-iron railings, Ottoman arches and terracotta roofs. You could be forgiven for thinking you were in Paris. The cobblestoned pedestrian streets are lined with shops selling traditional crafts, designer fashions, and jewelry. Solidere is also home to Roman ruins that have been uncovered and preserved, several notable mosques and churches, and the National Parliament Building.

There are over 50 restaurants, bars and sidewalk cafes, but it is hard to find a place to sit. The tables are filled, and men and women strut up and down the street in their finest. I’m not an expert, but it doesn’t take one to figure that everyone’s dressed in the height of fashion. It feels like the whole town is here. The war has taken its toll and there are 15 million Lebanese who live and work outside Lebanon, compared to a resident population of 5 million. The summer sees the Lebanese expats return. It’s also a popular holiday destination for Gulf Arabs who come for pleasures— bars, casinos and unveiled girls—they cannot sample at home (they like to call it coming up for ‘flesh air’).

After a few drinks and dinners, it’s time for Beirut’s legendary nightlife. The Solidere crowd heads for a night of revelry at one of Monot Street’s clubs until dawn breaks behind Mount Lebanon. Monot Street has a huge selection of nightclubs: BO 18 which use to be a refugee camp; Crystal, the current favorite of fickle Beirut’s; Zinc, a bar in a French colonial villa which was taken and retaken so many times during the war it was called the Bitch of Beirut. Casino du Liban has a floor-show that would give any in Parish a run for its money. At Crystal, there is no dance floor, but on the erstwhile dinner tables men and women are dancing—the men in designers shirts and jeans and the women in mini-skirts or artery-restricting jeans.

The next day we spend walking around town, exploring the shopping options. Street food is popular and essentially consists of stands offering shawarma (slabs of chicken or meat sizzling on vertical skewers, to be grated and stuffed into Pitta bread with tahineh and pickles) and, of course, the Lebanese favorite, falafel (fried grated chickpeas). When the war ended, the fast shop of to reopen in downtown Beirut was a falafel stand. The city had become an uninhabited wasteland of bombed-out buildings and overgrown streets, but once the shooting stooped, a small shop appeared in a bullet-riddled building. Sahyoun, the falafel stand, was back.

We end the afternoon indulging in a Turkish bath at the Al-Nouzha. It provides a real glimpse of old Beirut. Although not traditional in style, the scrubbed down is authentic.

In the next morning’s paper, I see a readers’ poll: “Are you a Metrosexual?” The word could have been coined as Crystal. Appurtenances are very important in Lebanon. 

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