Coming out of Syria, a stunning yet underdeveloped country, across miles of flat desert into a sea of mountainous green, with cooler air, a more relaxed atmosphere, was breathtaking. The contrasts between the two countries did not end there - Lebanon is full of banks, one on every corner it seems, this after a country where it was impossible to get money out of a bank (my Norwegian friend and her Spanish friend were coming to Beirut to get cash). Commercialisation and modern living in the form of neon and the Golden Arches were everywhere.
A Cultural Contrast at Every Turn
And just as I was taking that in, the contrasts hit me one after the other - BMW convertibles speeding past battered Datsuns that would have been condemned on any Western road (yet you can be fined for not wearing a seat-belt in Lebanon - your car might only have one wheel and run on cow dung, but you must wear a seat-belt, unlike most other places I have been so far); a brand new five-story penthouse next to a bullet-ridden shell; a commercial bank with ATM facilities next to a makeshift camp consisting of tents made of 50kg coffee bean sacks sewn together; girls in low-cut tops and tight pants sharing the same pavement as women in chadors. We stopped to buy some food and wine (Lebanese wine is excellent, with Chateau Musar very sought after on the global market) and one could pay in dollars or lire, or a combination of the two.
I was not sure what to expect when we approached Beirut, but it was spectacular. Descending the Chouf Mountains via some winding roads, the tall buildings of rebuilt Beirut glistened far below. Behind them, a setting sun immersed the Mediterranean into a sea of orange. Car horns blared - welcome to the Mercedes capital of the Middle East. A brand new sports stadium next to a shanty town, whose streets were full of portraits of Khomeini. Lebanese friends told me that you either love it or hate it - I was entranced.
The Beirut Corniche
After checking into the hotel, I wandered down the Corniche, an impressive coastal strip, where people like to stroll and pose at sunset. Overhead planes crossed the city on their way to land at the airport and military helicopters made their way south; oil tankers in the distance were contrasted with speedboats nearer the shore; all along the Corniche people were jogging, doing fitness routines, fishing or diving into the sea; children were playing badminton, or roller-blading; cyclists were travelling at impossible speeds while still avoiding pedestrians, street sellers and shoeshine boys were trying to eke out a living; young lovers walked hand in hand. And the endless roar and honking of traffic. It was hypnotic.
Paul Bradbury - Author of Hvar: An Insider's Guide to Croatia's Premier Island, and Lebanese Nuns Don't Ski
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