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.