by Layla
Roz left us relaxing on the massive bed of the Albergo Hotel's lovely suite, using their laptop provided to us to update this blog. From there we have come far. But first a final piece of luxury: dinner in Al Dente, one of Beirut's fanciest restaurants. With some risotto to die for, and an amazing chocolate dessert, accompanied by much wine, we soaked up the decadence of the holiday.
Next morning bright and early found us lugging our suitcases down the hill from posh Achrafiye to less posh but more quirky Gemmayzeh, the neighbourhood of our rather less posh hotel, the Port View Hotel. En route I managed to slip down the hill and twist my ankle. Quite badly, it turns out. But it seems to be on the mend, thanks to Roz's conviction that it needs elevation and ice (as a doctor, I never have a clue about such things). So we found the Port View Hotel, dropped off our suitcases, grabbed some breakfast (accidentally in a pub that looked like a cafe) and hopped in a taxi to the Cola roundabout, transport hub to all places in Lebanon, it seemed. I spent the ride convulsed in silent backseat laughter as poor Roz, in the front seat, was subjected to a barrage of declarations of love and hand kissing from the driver until finally Roz,rather severely, started enquiring after his wife and children...
At the Cola roundabout, after a false start where the drivers misinterpreted our request to go to Zahle as being somewhere entirely different, they sent us to the right side of the road where our cry of 'Zahle' found us on a little minibus with a range of other passengers including police, tourists, and mountain dwellers. Off we went slowly out of the city (traffic in Beirut is shocking) and finally onto the open road of the Chouf Mountains. Great to see some mountain scenery, with snow in the distance and the air becoming fresher (and all Lebanese occupants of the minibus glaring at me for keeping the window open). Eventually we made it to Zahle, a Christian mountain town in the Bekaa Valley, hopped off the bus, and caught a taxi to our hotel.
Having checked in, and been too scared to comment on our single beds, we walked up the side of the river to Zahle's main draw, the Birdawni Cafes, riverside cafes known to have the best mezze in Lebanon. We rounded the corner to find that they were all closed with builders doing significant works to the place. Oh dear. Ah, but wait: one of them was open after all! Okay, so they may not have been expecting to have to cater, but they met our pleas and before we knew it, waiters were rushing from inside to set out a beautifully laid table by the river, with the clanging of workmen above us. The sun shone and we helped ourselves to some fantastic hoummous, vine leaves and Lebanese cheese, washed down with some local wine. And only felt a little bit odd in this otherwise deserted riverside area...
After lunch, we caught a taxi to the Ksara Winery, one of Bekaa Valley's biggest wine exporters. Ksara wines had featured on every wine list we'd seen in Lebanon so we were intrigued. We were directed to a video about the 150 year history of wine making in Ksara, followed by a wine tasting at an odd little bar. We favoured the Blanc de Blanc. After the tasting came a tour of the wine caves, huge lengths of cool caves lined by barrels full of wine. And piped Elton John muzak... Fun. After the tour, and walking past the 'Sauvignon blanc garden' etc, we caught a shared service taxi back into town. The other passenger, a local boutique owner, recommended a rather random cafe for us to drink mint lemonade (my new favourite drink) and read our books.
Later, I went back to rest in the Hotel AKL room, which was basic and pleasant, with a river view, but had become rather chilly... while Roz went to find a pharmacy to buy me an ankle support bandage. Mission accomplished and bandage in situ, we gazed around and eventually returned to the same restaurant that we had been in for lunch. Again we were the only guests, though in the chilly evening we settled ourselves inside with a nice bottle of Ksara Blanc de Blanc and a large pile of excellent mezze. As the evening wore on, the power cuts started, and as there were clearly to be no other guests, the waiters plied us with random food (including strawberries: mmm) and supplied a giant bag of ice for my ankle. I sat with my foot on a dining room chair covered with ice and we all watched part of a Meg Ryan film before we decided it was time to head home to bed.
The lovely woman at Hotel AKL told us smilingly that she had put on the heater in our room. 'Thank goodness!' we thought, until we entered the room... With no sense of smell, I sat down in happy oblivion, while Roz incomprehensibly flung open all the windows. Apparently our heater had filled the whole room with gas! We turned it off and I spent the night in my single bed, waking up regularly to make sure we were both still alive.
This morning,after breakfasting in a nice Lebanese bakery, we hopped on another minibus, this time to Baalbeck, a site of ruins dating back to the 3rd millenium BC and one of the most important ruins of the middle east. Rather misguidedly, we checked into a mad hotel called the Palmyra, which exudes faded glamour (Lonely Planet says 'One of the most wonderful colonial era relics dotting the Middle East')and is in fact rather run down. A bit like the Addams Family, complete with a Lurch-esque butler who checked us in for quite a large sum of money. The curse of the twin beds again... We debated checking in elsewhere but lost our nerve and went out to find lunch.
Baalbeck is a small town with limited lunch options. We found a random little garden where people seemed to be eating, and stationed ourselves at a table. Eventually a man came and offered to bring us food. It did seem to be a restaurant, and certainly we did receive the food, which was delicious. But we couldn't help fearing we were sitting in somebody's garden! Nevertheless, the sun shone, and we basked with our books.
Now it is off to the ruins for us...
Wednesday 31 March 2010
Monday 29 March 2010
Candyfloss for the road...
by Roz.
Layla and I have a habit of taking two guidebooks on holiday, and each of us adopting one of them, and extolling its virtues to the other. Thus, I was very glad that the Hedonists' Guide to Beirut (which I had initially been sceptical of adopting, given that I lack the clubbing zeal - and wallet - of the true hedonist) led us to the lovely De Prague cafe in Hamra. We'd not previously bonded with the area, but here was a true rival for Bean Scene (of Scotland) and Grey Dog (of NYC) - a cool place to hang out, read, and while away a few hours whilst sipping a beer or nibbling a cake. Or indeed two chocolate biscuit cakes in Layla's case...
Fully sated, we returned to our marvellous hotel, where Layla discovered the real reason why her parents discouraged her, when a youth, from using bubble bath in a jacuzzi... Having removed the majority of the bubbles from our flooded marble bathroom we escaped to dinner. I'd consulted my guidebook (naturally) and led us to the lovely Mayass restaurant, one of Beirut's best. We persuaded them to squeeze us in and contemplated the menu. Originally they'd said we'd need to be gone by 9 (no hardship given my current inclination for sleeping at least 11 hours), but once we'd ordered the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu (pleasingly only twenty-five pounds) and amazed them by our water drinking capacity (my view being that a large bottle of water is a challenge) and (presumably) winning ways, they weakened and said we could keep it till 9.30. Of course this meant that our indulgence with the mezze (hummous, vine leaves and halloumi obviously, but also a nice Armenian salad (strange but true) and an amazing baked feta dish) meant I was uncertain about dessert. Fortunately Layla had no such qualms and tucked into a strawberry and cream dish (in fact, pure cream and 8 strawberries), whilst I had another glass of wine. The restaurant manager approved of my choice, though presumably less so when I told him that he and I were "on the same page", a colloquialism which, in retrospect, I realise may have been a little challenging. Whilst having our dessert and wine, a lovely Armenian guitar player seranaded diners with a selection of songs from local folk to Sinatra's Fly Me to the Moon. We were sent on our way with "candyfloss for the road" (which in fact turned out to be boiled sweeties, which were very nice) and Layla congratulated me on my excellent choice of dining establishment. I was smug.
I was, however, less smug when I failed to find the Time Out bar recommended by my guidebook - which I had suggested we visit for a nightcap. On the other hand, I persuaded myself and (I think) Layla, that in fact the stroll was even nicer than a drink would have been and we made our way back for another long sleep in our fabulous four-poster bed.
This morning we sprang out of bed (well Layla did - I sadly seem to have been crippled by yesterday's walking and am most stiff) and went to the cafe on our road, Tribeca, for a bagel and coffee. The majority of this was taken up by discussion how we should spend the day plus me screwing up the courage to call the UK's Ambassador to Lebanon who I have been emailing and who I'd promised to ring on my arrival in the UK. Fortunately for my nerves, I was able to leave a voicemail, and during the course of the day we emailed to work out when to meet for a coffee. We also resolved to stick to Layla's original plan of heading to the ancient town of Byblos, home of the alphabet.
Being a wuss, I'd originally secretly hoped to persuade Layla into getting a cab. However, when even our fancy hotel told us we should get a service taxi (ie a shared one), I resigned myself to this. Having hailed a cab, however, he told us most defintely to get a bus - but obligingly drove us to the bus stop for not much money. The trip turned out to be most pleasant (as well as cheap) and quick (it being an express bus) and after not very long we found ourselves in a random town in Lebanon walking in the wrong direction (Layla's map reading skills not being what they might be). Having established that a 180 degrees turn was in order, we shortly found ourselves on the tourist trail, much to our disgust and relief. Before tackling the ruins (crusader castle, ancient temples and the like) I felt the need for a light snack. Leaving the cafe, we spotted the holy grail: a snow globe. Not, I should clarify, because either of us has a love of such things, but because Hugo (my best man at our wedding) does. We'd thought it an impossible dream, but we clearly underestimated Lebanon. Hugo: I hope you are excited!
After our snow-globe purchasing, we wandered round the ruins. I had a brief moment of enthusiasm for climbing, until Layla displayed an equal enthusiasm for taking pictures of me clambering ungainly over ancient bits of temple / ancient ampitheatres. It was all very nice, though there were a few too many tourists (even if not western) for our taste.
From there we went for our second lunch, in a cafe overlooking the harbour. We nibbled vast amounts of tabbouleh, and read our books and I felt very pleased to be here, and not dealing with the joys of my job.
Heading home, a local bus hailed us to ask if we were going to Beirut. On learning we were, he insisted we get in. Alas this bus turned out to be very far from express. However, the slower pace was enjoyable (for the first hour or so), coasting along by the sea, with the windows open and only locals on the bus. We precipiously launched ourselves off the bus, having seen signs for Achrafieh, which is where our hotel is. Finding ourselves completely lost, some local men took pity on us, and found us a service taxi which took us home.
From there, we went to the hotel's rooftop bar for some pre-dinner drinks on our last night in this very very lovely hotel. Sipping a gin and tonic, and listening to the call to prayer, it all felt very wonderful. But not as wonderful as taking Layla to a lovely restaurant tonight will be: nothing can beat the smugness of a good guidebook recommendation.
Layla and I have a habit of taking two guidebooks on holiday, and each of us adopting one of them, and extolling its virtues to the other. Thus, I was very glad that the Hedonists' Guide to Beirut (which I had initially been sceptical of adopting, given that I lack the clubbing zeal - and wallet - of the true hedonist) led us to the lovely De Prague cafe in Hamra. We'd not previously bonded with the area, but here was a true rival for Bean Scene (of Scotland) and Grey Dog (of NYC) - a cool place to hang out, read, and while away a few hours whilst sipping a beer or nibbling a cake. Or indeed two chocolate biscuit cakes in Layla's case...
Fully sated, we returned to our marvellous hotel, where Layla discovered the real reason why her parents discouraged her, when a youth, from using bubble bath in a jacuzzi... Having removed the majority of the bubbles from our flooded marble bathroom we escaped to dinner. I'd consulted my guidebook (naturally) and led us to the lovely Mayass restaurant, one of Beirut's best. We persuaded them to squeeze us in and contemplated the menu. Originally they'd said we'd need to be gone by 9 (no hardship given my current inclination for sleeping at least 11 hours), but once we'd ordered the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu (pleasingly only twenty-five pounds) and amazed them by our water drinking capacity (my view being that a large bottle of water is a challenge) and (presumably) winning ways, they weakened and said we could keep it till 9.30. Of course this meant that our indulgence with the mezze (hummous, vine leaves and halloumi obviously, but also a nice Armenian salad (strange but true) and an amazing baked feta dish) meant I was uncertain about dessert. Fortunately Layla had no such qualms and tucked into a strawberry and cream dish (in fact, pure cream and 8 strawberries), whilst I had another glass of wine. The restaurant manager approved of my choice, though presumably less so when I told him that he and I were "on the same page", a colloquialism which, in retrospect, I realise may have been a little challenging. Whilst having our dessert and wine, a lovely Armenian guitar player seranaded diners with a selection of songs from local folk to Sinatra's Fly Me to the Moon. We were sent on our way with "candyfloss for the road" (which in fact turned out to be boiled sweeties, which were very nice) and Layla congratulated me on my excellent choice of dining establishment. I was smug.
I was, however, less smug when I failed to find the Time Out bar recommended by my guidebook - which I had suggested we visit for a nightcap. On the other hand, I persuaded myself and (I think) Layla, that in fact the stroll was even nicer than a drink would have been and we made our way back for another long sleep in our fabulous four-poster bed.
This morning we sprang out of bed (well Layla did - I sadly seem to have been crippled by yesterday's walking and am most stiff) and went to the cafe on our road, Tribeca, for a bagel and coffee. The majority of this was taken up by discussion how we should spend the day plus me screwing up the courage to call the UK's Ambassador to Lebanon who I have been emailing and who I'd promised to ring on my arrival in the UK. Fortunately for my nerves, I was able to leave a voicemail, and during the course of the day we emailed to work out when to meet for a coffee. We also resolved to stick to Layla's original plan of heading to the ancient town of Byblos, home of the alphabet.
Being a wuss, I'd originally secretly hoped to persuade Layla into getting a cab. However, when even our fancy hotel told us we should get a service taxi (ie a shared one), I resigned myself to this. Having hailed a cab, however, he told us most defintely to get a bus - but obligingly drove us to the bus stop for not much money. The trip turned out to be most pleasant (as well as cheap) and quick (it being an express bus) and after not very long we found ourselves in a random town in Lebanon walking in the wrong direction (Layla's map reading skills not being what they might be). Having established that a 180 degrees turn was in order, we shortly found ourselves on the tourist trail, much to our disgust and relief. Before tackling the ruins (crusader castle, ancient temples and the like) I felt the need for a light snack. Leaving the cafe, we spotted the holy grail: a snow globe. Not, I should clarify, because either of us has a love of such things, but because Hugo (my best man at our wedding) does. We'd thought it an impossible dream, but we clearly underestimated Lebanon. Hugo: I hope you are excited!
After our snow-globe purchasing, we wandered round the ruins. I had a brief moment of enthusiasm for climbing, until Layla displayed an equal enthusiasm for taking pictures of me clambering ungainly over ancient bits of temple / ancient ampitheatres. It was all very nice, though there were a few too many tourists (even if not western) for our taste.
From there we went for our second lunch, in a cafe overlooking the harbour. We nibbled vast amounts of tabbouleh, and read our books and I felt very pleased to be here, and not dealing with the joys of my job.
Heading home, a local bus hailed us to ask if we were going to Beirut. On learning we were, he insisted we get in. Alas this bus turned out to be very far from express. However, the slower pace was enjoyable (for the first hour or so), coasting along by the sea, with the windows open and only locals on the bus. We precipiously launched ourselves off the bus, having seen signs for Achrafieh, which is where our hotel is. Finding ourselves completely lost, some local men took pity on us, and found us a service taxi which took us home.
From there, we went to the hotel's rooftop bar for some pre-dinner drinks on our last night in this very very lovely hotel. Sipping a gin and tonic, and listening to the call to prayer, it all felt very wonderful. But not as wonderful as taking Layla to a lovely restaurant tonight will be: nothing can beat the smugness of a good guidebook recommendation.
Sunday 28 March 2010
Lebanon adventures: our first day in Beirut
by Layla
Gazing out of the aeroplane window as we approached Beirut International Airport, Roz reading her book with the relaxed expression of one who does not specifically seek out worries, I gazed at the sea below and thought 'my goodness, we're flying so low we're about to land in the sea!' Nobody else seemed overly concerned and then just as our wheels were essentially skimming the waves, a runway appeared out of nowhere, and we landed safely. On to the airport, where we had heard that whether or not British people required a visa or not, or had to pay for it or not, depended on the whim of the day. As we were waved through passport control without so much as an untoward glance, we lamented the lack of new, fancy visa in our passport, but grabbed our luggage and headed for the taxi ranks. Where we encountered our first experience of haggling, Lebanon style. I'd already read that a taxi should cost about $25, so when the first man said '$40!', I replied "No, $20!", with which he said 'okay' and proceeded to convey us to our hotel.
My goodness our hotel is fantastic. Feeling extravagant and in desperate need of a bit of relaxing luxury after an extremely difficult few months at work, Roz had over-ridden my miserly tendencies and booked into the glorious Hotel Albergo, Lebanon's top boutique hotel. In an old French mansion, in the posh end of town surrounded by beautiful architecture and fancy restaurants and bars, Hotel Albergo oozes olde-world style. We were shown to our suite. Oh yes indeed, our suite, with giant four poster bed with lace canopy, multiple sofas, and fab bathroom complete with jacuzzi bath, decorated in impeccable 19th century French style, was made perfect when a man delivered a giant fruit bowl, turkish delights, and fruit juice on a big silver platter.
We changed and headed out where we found a lovely Lebanese restaurant in a pretty old building, filled with Lebanese people, which we took as a good sign. We filled ourselves with hummous and suchlike delights, before heading back to our room for a drink in our living room, a read of Time Out Beirut, and a much-dreamed-of early night. As we climbed into bed we found they had put two tiny chocolate macaroons by our bed, on a little saucer that proclaimed 'bon nuit' and an envelope with a letter informing us of the clocks going forward. I was very concerned about how I would convince Roz to a cheaper and less glorious hotel later in our holiday...
Today we woke up after a fantastic sleep and headed for nearby Tribeca for breakfast bagels. We then set off on an explore of the city. From our own fancy French area, Achrafieh, we walked down the hill to Gemayzeh, near the port, and got tangled up in the finishing post for a 111km race from Damascus to Beirut. Onwards to downtown, which was rebuilt after the war, and is all wide streets and fancy shops and outside restaurants. There is something excellent about most shops being closed on Sundays. Families wandered around the streets, blowing bubbles and flying kites in the sun.
We kept walking onwards to Hamra, the arty, intellectual quarter, where there are a clump of universities. Much older and less expensive, I'm not sure we quite bonded with it, but walked through to the Corniche, a lovely promenade by the sea frequented by Beirut residents. We strolled along with everyone else, and dined in a great outside restaurant right next to the sea. Fantastic hummous again. I love food here! Afterwards I lured Roz to Luna Park, the adjacent, somewhat run down fairground which has a ferris wheel which always excites me. I dragged Roz across the somewhat deserted ground to the wheel and before we knew it, we were soaring above Beirut. This was a bad moment for us both to remember we are a tad scared of ferris wheels... but the view was good and we were very entertained if somewhat alarmed. By the time we got off, we'd started a trend and the locals poured on.
We walked onwards along the Corniche to the famous Pigeon Rocks, essentially some big rocks in the sea. We were not as overwhelmed as we had hoped, so headed inland, back to Hamra and a cool arty cafe that Roz has identified in a guidebook. Though we happened upon this internet cafe, so thought we should take the opportunity to tell you about our trip so far... watch this space for the next episode.
Gazing out of the aeroplane window as we approached Beirut International Airport, Roz reading her book with the relaxed expression of one who does not specifically seek out worries, I gazed at the sea below and thought 'my goodness, we're flying so low we're about to land in the sea!' Nobody else seemed overly concerned and then just as our wheels were essentially skimming the waves, a runway appeared out of nowhere, and we landed safely. On to the airport, where we had heard that whether or not British people required a visa or not, or had to pay for it or not, depended on the whim of the day. As we were waved through passport control without so much as an untoward glance, we lamented the lack of new, fancy visa in our passport, but grabbed our luggage and headed for the taxi ranks. Where we encountered our first experience of haggling, Lebanon style. I'd already read that a taxi should cost about $25, so when the first man said '$40!', I replied "No, $20!", with which he said 'okay' and proceeded to convey us to our hotel.
My goodness our hotel is fantastic. Feeling extravagant and in desperate need of a bit of relaxing luxury after an extremely difficult few months at work, Roz had over-ridden my miserly tendencies and booked into the glorious Hotel Albergo, Lebanon's top boutique hotel. In an old French mansion, in the posh end of town surrounded by beautiful architecture and fancy restaurants and bars, Hotel Albergo oozes olde-world style. We were shown to our suite. Oh yes indeed, our suite, with giant four poster bed with lace canopy, multiple sofas, and fab bathroom complete with jacuzzi bath, decorated in impeccable 19th century French style, was made perfect when a man delivered a giant fruit bowl, turkish delights, and fruit juice on a big silver platter.
We changed and headed out where we found a lovely Lebanese restaurant in a pretty old building, filled with Lebanese people, which we took as a good sign. We filled ourselves with hummous and suchlike delights, before heading back to our room for a drink in our living room, a read of Time Out Beirut, and a much-dreamed-of early night. As we climbed into bed we found they had put two tiny chocolate macaroons by our bed, on a little saucer that proclaimed 'bon nuit' and an envelope with a letter informing us of the clocks going forward. I was very concerned about how I would convince Roz to a cheaper and less glorious hotel later in our holiday...
Today we woke up after a fantastic sleep and headed for nearby Tribeca for breakfast bagels. We then set off on an explore of the city. From our own fancy French area, Achrafieh, we walked down the hill to Gemayzeh, near the port, and got tangled up in the finishing post for a 111km race from Damascus to Beirut. Onwards to downtown, which was rebuilt after the war, and is all wide streets and fancy shops and outside restaurants. There is something excellent about most shops being closed on Sundays. Families wandered around the streets, blowing bubbles and flying kites in the sun.
We kept walking onwards to Hamra, the arty, intellectual quarter, where there are a clump of universities. Much older and less expensive, I'm not sure we quite bonded with it, but walked through to the Corniche, a lovely promenade by the sea frequented by Beirut residents. We strolled along with everyone else, and dined in a great outside restaurant right next to the sea. Fantastic hummous again. I love food here! Afterwards I lured Roz to Luna Park, the adjacent, somewhat run down fairground which has a ferris wheel which always excites me. I dragged Roz across the somewhat deserted ground to the wheel and before we knew it, we were soaring above Beirut. This was a bad moment for us both to remember we are a tad scared of ferris wheels... but the view was good and we were very entertained if somewhat alarmed. By the time we got off, we'd started a trend and the locals poured on.
We walked onwards along the Corniche to the famous Pigeon Rocks, essentially some big rocks in the sea. We were not as overwhelmed as we had hoped, so headed inland, back to Hamra and a cool arty cafe that Roz has identified in a guidebook. Though we happened upon this internet cafe, so thought we should take the opportunity to tell you about our trip so far... watch this space for the next episode.
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