by Layla
Having left you in an internet cafe in Achrafieh, we didn't seem to find another internet source, thus the gap in communication. After our internetting we proceeded to the local ABC Mall to have lunch on the roof terrace in a restaurant called Waterlemon where Roz had a halloumi sandwich and iced coffee drink... and I had a big plate of chips, with a giant chocolate milkshake. The shame. I'm afraid I was having a Western food craving. Satisfied, we headed off with plans to visit Sioufi Garden, a really lovely sounding park that Google Maps claimed was a mere 11 minute walk. Half an hour later, with the heat of the sun blasting upon us as we walked along a motorway, we had to concede we'd missed it and took a service taxi to the Corniche.
We were fast bonding with the Corniche - such a lovely idea to have a seaside promenade in the middle of a city. It was full of people wandering along, running, cycling, swimming, and generally hanging out. Having strolled along for most of its length, we decided to go to another cool, artsy/intellectual Hamra cafe. This one was even more obscure than the last, inside a dodgy-looking shopping centre, and involved me getting us extremely lost in my doomed zeal to walk through the American University Beirut campus, as enjoyed by the author of a book about Lebanon's political and religious tensions, Paradise Divided by Alex Klaushofer, that Roz and I had both been reading. Alas we could not find the entrance and eventually found ourselves in the quirky t-marbouta. Furnished appropriately with beer, mint lemonade, and chocolate muffin, we settled down for some competitive domino playing to while away the rest of the afternoon. On our way back to the hotel, we strolled past the headquarters of the Lebanon gay association, but it looked completely anonymous and unmarked, and there were random men lurking at the entrance, so we didn't dare to proceed. It is a little uncomfortable holidaying in a place where being gay is illegal...
That evening, after a stop-off at our hotel, we dined at Margharita's, a pretentious but tasty Italian restaurant on Rue Gouraud, in our district of Gemmayzeh. The price clearly wasn't intimidating anyone else - it was crammed full of all sorts of people, from glamorous groups of party people to families. After dinner we returned to the lovely Bar Godot for some more exemplary cocktails.
It had to be home to bed fairly early, for a challenge was upon us: we had to be up and ready at an early hour for an all-day hike in the Adonis Valley run by a company we'd read about in Roz's guidebook (she was smug) called Esprite Nomade. This rather lovely valley, nestled in the mountains of north Lebanon, is where Aphrodite and Adonis first kissed, and where Adonis was killed, apparently. We bought a picnic lunch and joined up with a group of about 30 hikers, all locals, and headed off in two minibuses into the mountains. After some rather hair-raising bends, we eventually stopped in the middle of nowhere, and started our hike. I had been a little concerned about a 17km hike in the mountains, given my previous ankle injury, but it had improved, so I set off with my elasticated bandage firmly in place. I need not have worried. While the hike took us up hills, and deep down into the valley, the group moved at snail's pace. And it is not often that I find a hike too slow! Indeed it has never happened. More intriguing, there was zero macho competitive behaviour. Everyone just pottered along the vague track, enjoying the sun and the scenery and chatting peacefully to each other. It was all rather serene. Lunch was at the bottom of the valley, sitting in the sun next to a lovely waterfall and a gushing river. And after lunch, and a hike up into the mountains again, and past some tiered farms, apparently quite common in these parts, we jumped into the minibuses and headed back to Beirut via a fantastic ice cream shop. I love the style of these people!
Home and showered, we headed out again, this time to a bar called Time Out, that we didn't quite know whether was part of the famous Time Out brand or not. Having sampled it, we are none the wiser. In an old Lebanese house in a quiet Achrafieh street, furnished with comfy sofas, we arrived at 8pm to find ourselves the only people there, save the owner and a cat (a much more healthy looking beast than our own dear Nelson). Thirsty, we had some beers, and then as the place slowly filled up, stayed for dinner. Which alas was the worst we had had in Lebanon (particularly the microwaved mini-pizzas), and grossly overpriced. The atmosphere was odd - we couldn't quite figure out what type of people favoured the bar, and at the end, the owner approached us to find out how we had heard about the bar, as it was never advertised, and advised us not to tell our friends about it. Strange...
The next day started with breakfast at Paul, i.e. the French bakery chain. Apparently all the glamorous folk of Beirut breakfast at Paul on Sundays. And us... Very tasty. And then off on our next expedition: Jeita Grotto. These famous caves are nominated to be designated one of the new 7 wonders of the natural world. They were a tad tricky to get to though. Of course the glorious Lebanon public transport system started us off nicely. As we approached the main road, a minibus immediately drew up and agreed to take us to the highway turn off, from which point we could take a taxi (they also obligingly offered to take us the whole way, but for more money than we wanted to pay). One minibus and a taxi into the hills later, we found ourselves at an incongruously Disney-esque tourist attraction. It started by us taking a cable car up a small hill, which was quite pleasingly picturesque, if not especially necessary. Then the Upper Cave. This massive cave is absolutely full of beautiful stalactite and stalacmite formations in pinks and yellows. They have a nicely designed walkway, along which we wandered slowly, admiring the sight. And then it was down to the Lower Cave, which has an underground lake, so it is explored by a fairly brief boat trip. Apart from the rather long queue for the boat, and children screaming to enjoy the sounds of the echo, it was a magical experience, floating down into the amazing cave and imagining being the first person to discover it.
After the caves, we took a taxi and minibus back to Beirut and indecisively tried a few places for lunch, before choosing one that was not very good. Feeling disgruntled, we couldn't figure out what to do, until we realised we were mainly sad at the thought of leaving Lebanon. Roz came up with the good idea of taking a service taxi back to the Corniche. We settled ourselves in the pretty seaside restaurant that we'd found on our first day in Beirut and had mint lemonade and hummous and gazed out at the sun dancing on the sparkling blue sea and tried to preserve it in our minds for our return to the greyness of London. Wondering how to keep ourselves cheery, we called the glorious Mayass Restaurant, where we had had our most beautiful meal in Lebanon, and convinced them to squeeze us in for our last supper. After a last stroll down the Corniche in the sunshine, and popping home to change, we took yet another service taxi to the restaurant and enjoyed a glorious meal. Albeit an overly extravagant one. The lovely staff kept recommending dishes, and we felt powerless to decline. By the time we had finished, we could barely breathe from being so full. And lamented that this holiday has likely done nothing for our diets... Resting between mouthfuls, we were interested to overhear a conversation between a gay-looking man and a waiter, which sounded rather as though the latter were advising the former of the location of a gay venue. Or maybe not, but if so, this was the first sign of anything gay in Lebanon...
After finally having to admit defeat with the beautiful dinner, we walked down to Gemmayzeh, and, having rapidly rejected our plan of trying the reputedly exclusive cocktail lounge called Behind the Green Door, due to the clientele looking like ladies of the night, we found a really lovely little bar called Gem where we had some excellent cocktails. And a barman tried to pick me up, haha!
After drinks we reluctantly headed back to our hotel, along Rue Gouraud, feeling sentimental about the area and really hating to say goodbye. When we woke up this morning, the brilliant blue sky taunted us as we sadly packed our bags, caught a taxi, and headed back to London.
Monday 5 April 2010
Friday 2 April 2010
Some ruins, a creepy hotel, an ambassador, and some Beirut nightlife
by Layla
After finishing off my last blog in a Baalbek internet cafe, Roz and I headed to the main attraction: the ruins. These ruins date back to the 3rd millenium BC but most are Roman, and quite a fantastic example of them. Lots of temples were almost intact, with massive towering columns, and bright courtyards. We were able to climb amongst the ruins as we chose, which was lovely, and they were almost deserted. As we lay on huge slabs of stone, gazing up at the brilliant blue sky, we decided we really must go on holiday more often...
After the ruins we sat in a little cafe where Roz had beer, I had ice cream, we wrote postcards, and considered our evening options. It seemed that Baalbek was not a bustling metropolis. Indeed, our rather mad hotel, which is supposed to have a restaurant, informed us that it was closed. On further questioning regarding where we might find a bite to eat, a vague muttering about a restaurant on the sixth floor of a shopping centre in a souq was offered. We retired to our room to plan. However our room was so very cold that our intention of a relaxing read was terminated by shivering, so we crept down the dark, marble hallways and staircases to the 'snug bar'. If anything was less aptly named, I would not like to see it. The snug bar was in darkness, but when we asked if it was open, a sinister, silent butler type man slowly turned on the lights. We sat down, alone, on a hard bench, and ordered beers. The butler plodded slowly off and eventually returned with the beers on a tray. Having given them to us, he vanished, leaving us in silence. Soon we reverted to a game of 'I Spy' to keep our spirits up. Having polished off the beers, we elected to skip a next round and proceed, at rather an early hour, to the mythical restuarant on the sixth floor...
A little hunting around the souq and it seemed as though the restaurant was not to be found. Then Roz spotted a sign. We followed the signs into a weird and darkened shopping mall, and to a lift that looked as though it had not worked for a hundred years. We tried to retreat to the stairs, but as we mounted, a random man halted us and ushered us helpfully back to the lift. Under his enthusiastic gaze, we pressed the button and eventually it arrived.
Six floors later and we arrived in a neon-lit, deserted restaurant-cum-giftshop. We gazed around, dazed, and were soon ushered to a table by a lonely waiter. Our table was next to the window with a fantastic view over the ruins, which were rather tastefully lit in the dark. We ordered our usual mezze and Blanc de Blanc wine, and tried desperately to spin it out. Alas, there is only so long that one can munch on hoummous and vine leaves to the sound of silence punctuated by an Arabic soap opera involving lots of guns and melodrama. Try as we might, we had finished by 8:30pm and braved the clattering lift back to street level, where no further entertainment presented itself. On our return to the hotel, the 'snug bar' was in eerie darkness, and we proceeded to our room. As Roz clutched the bannister to climb the stairs, it came away in her hand and she crashed against the marble stairs. Two silent and sinister butlers gazed on, dispassionately, as she clutched her elbow in pain. The one plodded off into the darkness and returned with a frozen water bottle. We grabbed it and fled to the sanctuary of our room. Which was still freezing. I called one of the butlers to help us with the mad gas burner, similar to the previous hotel's, except with the flaw that it didn't seem to work at all. After much fiddling with it, the butler disappeared, only to return with an electric heater. Phew! We procured a glass of wine to distract Roz from the pain (she is now fine) and then settled down to read. When I turned to ask Roz something at 9:15, I realised she was asleep. I persevered with my book for another 10 minutes, and turned off the light myself. A happening night in downtown Baalbek...
The next day was lovely and sunny and we returned to the pretty grassy location of our new favourite cafe where we had orange juice and falafel sandwiches and planned our return to Beirut. One of the glorious things about Lebanon is that wherever you want to go, there is no waiting around for transportation. After a potter in the internet cafe, we walked up to the main road, proclaimed 'Beirut' and within 30 seconds we were in a bus going to Beirut. However this bus wasn't due to depart for another few minutes, so it drove us to a second bus and we were off.
Another scenic drive through the mountains later, and we descended back into Beirut. Massive traffic left our bus driver depositing us on a random intersection, but the French-speaking woman next to him told us to take a number 4 bus home. We stood, staring hopelessly at the road. Within 5 seconds a minibus ushered us inside, where Roz promptly spotted its 'number 4' sticker. Hooray. It dropped us at the end of our road and we walked down to our new hotel, the Port View Hotel.
It wasn't the Albergo, but Port View Hotel was quite charming, and certainly friendly. We dropped off our things and changed, and headed out to downtown, and to the much-anticipated event of the holiday, Roz's meeting with the UK Ambassador to Lebanon. I drank mint lemonade and read the new edition of Time Out Beirut while awaiting her.
Roz's Ambassador Meeting Report:
And what a nice lady the Ambassador, Frances Guy, turned out to be! Helpful, funny, and interesting. And Scottish! We met in Costa coffee in the Downtown area (which is new and shiny and controversial with the locals, because it was rebuilt very quickly, and without any arts facilities at all) and within two seconds of saying hello, she'd already been approached by a passerby and this was a constant feature of our discussion. We speculated about whether this happened to ambassadors in all countries (I certainly couldn't recognise any of the ambassadors in the UK - despite having met a couple of them) and concluded that it was probably because of the particular circumstances here. But also, I would guess, because she sees a major part of being an Ambassador as getting out to meet local people. She was immensely inspiring and enthusiastic about her life and what she'd seen and done. It was interesting to find out the downsides (not being able to join a book club, for example) but all in all I was left all the more enthusiastic about a career as a diplomat. Layla was relieved to hear that doctoring is a fine profession for an Ambassador's wife. I was less relieved to hear that there is no escaping improving my language skills...
After Roz saw the ambassador, we met up and went for dinner at a nice downtown Lebanese restaurant. A bottle of wine later, we wandered back to Gemayzeh, our new neighbourhood, which under the cover of darkness had turned into an extremely cool nightlife district. We found our way to a sweet little bar called Godot, apparently frequented by the arty, intellectual crowd, and had an array of cocktails mixed for us by an enthusiastic barman late into the night. Well, late-ish. While the youth of Beirut prepared to club til dawn, Roz and I made our way, past a television show being filmed in the street, to our hotel and fell asleep to the sounds of revellers.
Up bright and early today, we had breakfast at the hotel and then explored a cool area of quirky boutiques and galleries called Saifi Village. We had mint lemonades at a very cool cafe, sitting outside and wishing we lived here. Aferwards, a grand quest for an elusive internet cafe commenced. We hopped into a service taxi (which appeared at our whim) and are now in Sassine Place in Achrafieh, planning a day of relaxation in downtown Beirut.
After finishing off my last blog in a Baalbek internet cafe, Roz and I headed to the main attraction: the ruins. These ruins date back to the 3rd millenium BC but most are Roman, and quite a fantastic example of them. Lots of temples were almost intact, with massive towering columns, and bright courtyards. We were able to climb amongst the ruins as we chose, which was lovely, and they were almost deserted. As we lay on huge slabs of stone, gazing up at the brilliant blue sky, we decided we really must go on holiday more often...
After the ruins we sat in a little cafe where Roz had beer, I had ice cream, we wrote postcards, and considered our evening options. It seemed that Baalbek was not a bustling metropolis. Indeed, our rather mad hotel, which is supposed to have a restaurant, informed us that it was closed. On further questioning regarding where we might find a bite to eat, a vague muttering about a restaurant on the sixth floor of a shopping centre in a souq was offered. We retired to our room to plan. However our room was so very cold that our intention of a relaxing read was terminated by shivering, so we crept down the dark, marble hallways and staircases to the 'snug bar'. If anything was less aptly named, I would not like to see it. The snug bar was in darkness, but when we asked if it was open, a sinister, silent butler type man slowly turned on the lights. We sat down, alone, on a hard bench, and ordered beers. The butler plodded slowly off and eventually returned with the beers on a tray. Having given them to us, he vanished, leaving us in silence. Soon we reverted to a game of 'I Spy' to keep our spirits up. Having polished off the beers, we elected to skip a next round and proceed, at rather an early hour, to the mythical restuarant on the sixth floor...
A little hunting around the souq and it seemed as though the restaurant was not to be found. Then Roz spotted a sign. We followed the signs into a weird and darkened shopping mall, and to a lift that looked as though it had not worked for a hundred years. We tried to retreat to the stairs, but as we mounted, a random man halted us and ushered us helpfully back to the lift. Under his enthusiastic gaze, we pressed the button and eventually it arrived.
Six floors later and we arrived in a neon-lit, deserted restaurant-cum-giftshop. We gazed around, dazed, and were soon ushered to a table by a lonely waiter. Our table was next to the window with a fantastic view over the ruins, which were rather tastefully lit in the dark. We ordered our usual mezze and Blanc de Blanc wine, and tried desperately to spin it out. Alas, there is only so long that one can munch on hoummous and vine leaves to the sound of silence punctuated by an Arabic soap opera involving lots of guns and melodrama. Try as we might, we had finished by 8:30pm and braved the clattering lift back to street level, where no further entertainment presented itself. On our return to the hotel, the 'snug bar' was in eerie darkness, and we proceeded to our room. As Roz clutched the bannister to climb the stairs, it came away in her hand and she crashed against the marble stairs. Two silent and sinister butlers gazed on, dispassionately, as she clutched her elbow in pain. The one plodded off into the darkness and returned with a frozen water bottle. We grabbed it and fled to the sanctuary of our room. Which was still freezing. I called one of the butlers to help us with the mad gas burner, similar to the previous hotel's, except with the flaw that it didn't seem to work at all. After much fiddling with it, the butler disappeared, only to return with an electric heater. Phew! We procured a glass of wine to distract Roz from the pain (she is now fine) and then settled down to read. When I turned to ask Roz something at 9:15, I realised she was asleep. I persevered with my book for another 10 minutes, and turned off the light myself. A happening night in downtown Baalbek...
The next day was lovely and sunny and we returned to the pretty grassy location of our new favourite cafe where we had orange juice and falafel sandwiches and planned our return to Beirut. One of the glorious things about Lebanon is that wherever you want to go, there is no waiting around for transportation. After a potter in the internet cafe, we walked up to the main road, proclaimed 'Beirut' and within 30 seconds we were in a bus going to Beirut. However this bus wasn't due to depart for another few minutes, so it drove us to a second bus and we were off.
Another scenic drive through the mountains later, and we descended back into Beirut. Massive traffic left our bus driver depositing us on a random intersection, but the French-speaking woman next to him told us to take a number 4 bus home. We stood, staring hopelessly at the road. Within 5 seconds a minibus ushered us inside, where Roz promptly spotted its 'number 4' sticker. Hooray. It dropped us at the end of our road and we walked down to our new hotel, the Port View Hotel.
It wasn't the Albergo, but Port View Hotel was quite charming, and certainly friendly. We dropped off our things and changed, and headed out to downtown, and to the much-anticipated event of the holiday, Roz's meeting with the UK Ambassador to Lebanon. I drank mint lemonade and read the new edition of Time Out Beirut while awaiting her.
Roz's Ambassador Meeting Report:
And what a nice lady the Ambassador, Frances Guy, turned out to be! Helpful, funny, and interesting. And Scottish! We met in Costa coffee in the Downtown area (which is new and shiny and controversial with the locals, because it was rebuilt very quickly, and without any arts facilities at all) and within two seconds of saying hello, she'd already been approached by a passerby and this was a constant feature of our discussion. We speculated about whether this happened to ambassadors in all countries (I certainly couldn't recognise any of the ambassadors in the UK - despite having met a couple of them) and concluded that it was probably because of the particular circumstances here. But also, I would guess, because she sees a major part of being an Ambassador as getting out to meet local people. She was immensely inspiring and enthusiastic about her life and what she'd seen and done. It was interesting to find out the downsides (not being able to join a book club, for example) but all in all I was left all the more enthusiastic about a career as a diplomat. Layla was relieved to hear that doctoring is a fine profession for an Ambassador's wife. I was less relieved to hear that there is no escaping improving my language skills...
After Roz saw the ambassador, we met up and went for dinner at a nice downtown Lebanese restaurant. A bottle of wine later, we wandered back to Gemayzeh, our new neighbourhood, which under the cover of darkness had turned into an extremely cool nightlife district. We found our way to a sweet little bar called Godot, apparently frequented by the arty, intellectual crowd, and had an array of cocktails mixed for us by an enthusiastic barman late into the night. Well, late-ish. While the youth of Beirut prepared to club til dawn, Roz and I made our way, past a television show being filmed in the street, to our hotel and fell asleep to the sounds of revellers.
Up bright and early today, we had breakfast at the hotel and then explored a cool area of quirky boutiques and galleries called Saifi Village. We had mint lemonades at a very cool cafe, sitting outside and wishing we lived here. Aferwards, a grand quest for an elusive internet cafe commenced. We hopped into a service taxi (which appeared at our whim) and are now in Sassine Place in Achrafieh, planning a day of relaxation in downtown Beirut.
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