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.