Where's the Lebanese Delight?

As the bus crossed the Syrian border, a looming McDonald’s billboard greeted me. Ah, Lebanon. Gateway to the West.

Lebanon was not in my original plan. I didn’t think I had time, and was not swayed by the nightlife. But I did want to try the food.

My happiness varied daily based on my treatment by the locals. My overall impression: bad. Very bad. Would I return? Hell no. But there were good moments:

Jeita Grotto
This cave system is one of the most amazing things I’d ever seen, although I am very inexperienced with caves. Pricey at 18,150LL, and the first part is silly…rather than walking to the upper grotto, you take a 500m cable car ride. The view isn’t even good. But walking through the beautifully-lit cave is magical, as is the slow boat ride through the lower grotto’s gorgeous green lake. Jeita’s bizarre drippy salt formations are beautiful and eerie. I explored it with a sweet middle-aged couple from Bahrain, who enjoyed Lebanon but raved about Syria—no surprise.

Cameras are not allowed, so view photos at the official website.

Baalbek
After cramming many ancient sites into a short period of time, Baalbek still impressed me. The complex Roman and Phoenician ruins provides an excellent skeleton for imagining the site in its heyday. The carvings are exquisite, and the setting peaceful.

Tony Baddour
Another Hospitality club find! He was the kindest man I met in a sojourn filled with bad men. Generous to a fault, he did everything he could to show me the good side of his country.

The food
A pleasant break from Middle Eastern food, I could eat delicious crepes every day if I so chose. Chicken shwarmas were super-moist and heavily studded with garlic. Pastries, stickily sweet. And that ice cream! A gooey cross between Syrian and Turkish versions, generally sold by "how many flavors do you want to cram into that cup?"

I did enjoy people-watching in Beirut. The clothing in particular is trashily fascinating. The Lebanese women who believe they're hot stuff go for mesh or fishnet over exposed midriffs, white capris, platform shoes, and dark exposed roots. Lebanon’s guidebook cliché is that it’s "legendary for the beauty of its women." This beauty is severely diminished by the lack of style and class presented. And speaking of beauty, which countries are legendary for the beauty of the men?

Quick Tips:

If you plan to visit both Lebanon and Syria, fly into Lebanon. You do not need to get a Syrian visa beforehand to cross this border, and it only costs .

Coming from Syria, the visa options at the border are a free 48-hour transit visa and tourist visa. Evidently, precise wording matters. If you ask for the "free 1-month tourist visa," that’s what you get. If you hem and haw and say you’re not sure how many days you want to stay, you will be charged for the tourist visa. You cannot opt for the 48-hour visa and exchange it in Beirut as I foolishly hoped... I was charged the full when leaving the country.

Lebanon is much more expensive than the surrounding countries. Expect to spend around /day even on a budget.

Lebanese lira are WORTHLESS. Try to get as much changed out as possible before leaving the country.

A student ID is also essentially worthless, supposedly. Lebanese sites and museums do not provide student discounts… but I got discounts by simply asking for them.

Visa information may no longer be valid after 2005.

Best Way To Get Around:

There is no "best way," there are only "ways." Traffic is painfully slow and the options are confusing.

Beirut has a spiderwebby nightmare of a minibus system, and if you only have a few days, you will not learn the routes. The only method I grasped was constantly asking about my final destination. The bus drivers and other passengers generally knew where I should transfer.

Some minibuses have set prices of 500LL (approximately 30 cents) to drive to a bigger intersection. Buses I took from this intersection often involved bargaining. I didn’t really understand the rules.

Taxis are worse. There are service taxis (for groups going along a set route) and regular taxis, and sometimes it’s hard to tell which one you’ve chosen. The drivers are definitely making the rules up as they go along, and there’s no good way to stop them. There’s a tendency to suddenly forget how to speak English once you are in the taxi, or possibly they were pretending to know English before… whatever the driver's ploy, you lose money or lose your way. HobWahid covers this best in his Taxicab Confessions entry.

Still, the city is not particularly pleasant for walking so one of these methods must be used…

My talkative Mar Musa buddies recommended Talal’s New Hotel. Ala, my host from Amman, recommended Pension Al-Nazih. Both hotels cost $6/night for a dorm room.

From Damascus, I e-mailed Talal's. The owner seemed friendly and answered my visa questions (so I thought). Because we’d had contact, I decided to stay in his hotel.

The hotel is a 10 minute walk from the Charles Helou bus station in Beirut, easy to find. Upon entering, I felt an unwelcome vibe. The owner seemed creepy. The cramped hotel was up a couple flights. I was disappointed that the "free internet" consisted of a single office computer and 30 minute time slots.

The owner and I argued about my border issues… he told me if I spent more than 48-hours there I’d be charged the original $17 visa AND a penalty (he was wrong about that). Adding to my frustration, my room wasn’t ready. While talking to another traveler about the ridiculous visa situation, the owner heard me say "ridiculous" and ordered me to get out of his hotel! I explained, but was extremely irritated.

Eventually a room was ready. Standard issue, featuring four beds, looked very clean. The bathroom was next door, more spacious than most, with some separation of toilet and shower.

After an evening out with Tony and Ani, I returned to the hotel late at night. Clearly sleepy, the owner insisted I join him in the lounge. He apologized for trying to kick me out earlier. While stroking my arm, he offered me a drink from the cooler. I tried to leave but after he clasped his hands like a gun and pointed them at my head, I meekly chose a juice.

Perched uncomfortably on the couch. He suddenly stroked my hair. Before I could react, he grabbed my face and pulled me in roughly for a kiss. Shoved him and ran. Heard him call "wait, I’m sorry" behind me.

The bathroom next door was occupied, so I went to one down the hall. I noticed two doors… the second one led into the owner’s bedroom. I slammed and locked it.

The next morning my Japanese roommate told me he had harassed her as well. At the time I didn’t realize the hotel Ala had recommended was so near, so I decided to figure it out later.

I needed the owner's directions for Baalbek, unfortunately. The other travelers were unhelpful. Sullenly, he started a rambling explanation of the various busses I would take. Another girl joked "Are you getting that?’ I laughed, and once again he tried to kick me out. Further, he yelled I was WEIRD and everyone else APPRECIATED him and SERIOUSLY GET OUT. I snapped. I yelled back that I was only "weird" because he was a slimy ass. Silence fell on the various travelers. I edged out.

So ended my time at Talal's, although I didn’t know it yet. The official end came after I returned from Baalbek.

After a rough day, I feared the owner of Talal's had thrown my belongings out the door. I decided to check out Pension Al-Nazih first.

Inside, a large group of men was eating dinner. Barely entering, I told Michel about my problems at Talal's. I wanted to pay him to simply store my luggage in his hotel.

Michel was confused why I wanted to leave Talal's.

"Does the owner not like you?" he asked.
"He likes me too much," I answered, promptly bursting into tears.

Michel grabbed a box of tissues and quickly shuffled me to the stairwell. Stammering, I told him about my horrible day. Eventually he asked what I would do about my visa. For future reference, Michel said the wording mattered, and I should’ve insisted on the "FREE 1-month tourist visa." I would have to pay for the $17 visa now, but there was actually no additional penalty.

I said sadly I was ready to leave. $17 was too much when I was having a bad time. He made me an offer: to balance it out, I could stay in his hotel for free as long as I wanted. This set me off on a fresh batch of tears.

Later I called Tony. Michel hovered and fed his own coins into the phone whenever it ran low. He offered me free beers, food, and cigarettes. His kindness was incredible.

Tony couldn’t meet up, and I had to deal with Talal's first. I grabbed my stuff, and firmly told the owner I was leaving. He charged $6… no charge for the day my luggage spent in the room. Surprising.

The dorm room at Al-Nazih was very pleasant. Dark wood furniture, firm mattresses, sink, satellite TV, and large window. I was the only occupant the first night. The shower and toilet were completely separate! The air-conditioned common area was cozy. And while the free internet here was also a single computer, it was comfortable to use. The travelers were much friendlier, possibly because of Michel’s vibe. The cooler full of snacks and drinks worked on the honor system, as did the laundry service. Michel gave great advice for getting around.

As an extra bonus, Michel had a girlfriend, which made me even more comfortable. Naoko was formerly a guest, but had been living in his bedroom for the last 8 months.

Naoko told me about the Filipino prostitutes in Lebanon, but also insisted she felt more uncomfortable in Syria. She said a hotel guestbook in Hama had warnings about Talal's, and that my former roommate also checked out (and into Al-Nazih) after hearing my story. Naoko stayed in to entertain me. We drank a lot—beer, Lebanese wine, arak, and even some infused vodka she had made.

I loved hearing Michel’s dreams for the future, and his previous work in turning his father’s locals-only hotel into the popular backpacker spot it is today. I cannot recommend Pension Al-Nazih enough; it was the bright spot of the country.

Pension Al-Nazih

The beautiful ruins of Baalbek are relatively near the Syrian border, so if you don’t plan to visit the rest of Lebanon, you can easily pop over for a day trip from Damascus or Hama. I came from Beirut, and detail the horrors of the bus journey in my entry So Where’s the Lebanese Delight? Haggle for the price, but in general most drivers will stick with 5000LL. Most likely, if an incredibly low fare is agreed upon, the driver will claim not to know English later, and demand the 5000LL.

When I arrived in Baalbek, the driver asked when I wanted to be picked up. I don’t know if he really planned to come back for me... there isn’t a real minibus schedule. Maybe he was just curious.

Other travelers assured me that Lebanon did not honor student discounts, but I figured it was worth a try. With a big grin, rare for me in a region where eye contact alone meant I was, uh...easygoing—I asked if there was a student discount. Returning the grin, the clerk said "Of course!" and didn’t even ask for ID. Regular price=10000LL, my price=7000LL. OK, it’s a small discount but I could buy lunch with my savings!

After climbing the grand stairway, I passed into the hexagonal courtyard, then the immense Great Courtyard, which features an altar and the base of the former Great Tower. But the temples are what I came to Baalbek to see.

In 15 B.C. Julius Cesar settled a colony in Heliopolis, the City of the Sun, and began construction on the massive Temple of Jupiter. It was to be the largest such temple in the entire Roman Empire, but after a century and a half of construction, it was still incomplete. Today, only a few columns remain, as the rest was destroyed by earthquakes or looted.

In far better condition, is the Temple of Bacchus. The best-preserved Roman temple in the world, with ceiling carvings so intricate, I walked along the temple staring upwards. The view of the remaining ruins is excellent from the temple’s height, as well.

There are also ruined remains of an Arab fortress, and a lovely small museum featuring treasures of the Roman Empire. A very popular feature are the lionhead carvings dotted around the ruins, where tourists gleefully pose with their heads between the lions’ jaws.

Out in the pleasant small town, I purchased an exquisitely delicious shwarma for much less than in Beirut, tried out some Arabic words on a confused but kind pastry shop proprietor, and people-watched until my bus returned. Maybe it was just time for all buses to return, I wasn’t clear on that because suddenly there were four minibuses and a bunch of shouting drivers and assistants grabbing me and promising prices they wouldn't stick to and tourists scrambling to avoid being stuck in the empty bus. It was a busy, often annoying day, but Baalbek is a fascinating site and an absolute necessity when in the

Byblos, or Jbail in Arabic, is supposedly the oldest settlement in the world, and has been continuously inhabited since Neolithic times. A major city of the Phoenicians, the city fell into the hands of the Romans, Arabs, Crusaders, Ottomans, and according to Tony, fifty years ago a family was still found living among the ruins.

I would love to detail the journey from Beirut, but I can’t explain it… it involved my usual technique of hopping onto various buses, hoping I was going the right direction, then pleading with the driver to take me there without really understanding what the route of my bus actually was. I was dropped off somewhere in town, and someone pointed toward the ruins.

This time, the stern clerk asked to see my student ID, but still gave me the supposed non-existent discount: 6000LL regular price, 1500LL for me.

The entrance is through a Crusader castle, which provides excellent views of the ruins. In a very organized fashion, the ruins are well labeled with a clear path for a self-guided tour. There was one locked house I found, which was unlabelled, and after working the door a few minutes, I decided it was actually a private home. Byblos’ small Roman theatre is nothing compared to the more impressive Roman theatres found elsewhere, but it’s still a lovely setting and no Roman town is complete without one. The curved stairways inside the castle are the most fun, and the museum contained inside is beautifully laid-out and informative. A great deal of the rest is rubble, however, and no matter how many times I looked at the signs, I couldn’t really imagine what structures had stood there in ancient times.

The nearby old town contains some schools which are still in use and a market area which has the very “restored” look, perfect cobbled streets and small shops of unnecessary items, which charm me nonetheless. The most popular item appears to be fossils. Fossils? There’s also a small fossil museum but my stomach was growling by the time I reached it, and I couldn’t muster the interest.

The most beautiful thing about the ruins was the coastal setting. Unlike the desert ruins I’d been seeing, this site was infused with green and dotted with lovely flowers. There are small fishing boats in the harbor, couples strolling along the promenade, and pricey but lovely elevated restaurants with good views.

Before I headed back to Beirut (using a muddled combination of two buses and a furniture delivery man) I stopped for my daily allotment of ice cream. As I was leaving, the owner of the ice cream parlor asked me to stay.

"Don’t leave! I love you," he said.
"What?" I asked.
"I mean, I love Americans," he said.
"What?" I asked.

I struggled with the idea of writing a journal about a destination that so thoroughly disappointed me. For me, the turbulent history, the lovely landscapes, and even the glorious food were all overshadowed by the horrible treatment I received from the Lebanese men. I only visited Beirut for 3 days, but for 72 hours I fought men who wanted to either cheat me or violate me, and spent several hours my second night in tears.

My experience was wretched, but it was a valid one, so I eventually decided there was no reason not to share it. It was hard to be in Lebanon and I couldn’t wait to leave, but truthfully I can’t say I regret going. I would have always wondered about it, and its beautiful, almost magical reputation.

My first afternoon, through evening, passed pleasantly and uneventfully… meeting Tony and Ani for crepes, taking a night drive to Byblos, I had no idea what was in store. But then my hotel owner attacked me upon returning in the wee hours. The next morning, my Japanese roommate told me that not only had the owner leered at, and touched her, she had been getting it all over Lebanon. Neither of us could figure out why, but I knew I had to get out of there.

On the minibus ride to Baalbek the following morning, the bus driver’s assistant pleaded with me repeatedly to sit up front to make room for other passengers. The other passengers, including a couple of nice women who spoke English, encouraged me to do so. Thinking I shouldn’t jump to conclusions, I moved. For the next 2 hours, he barraged me with seemingly flirtatious questions in Arabic, and repeatedly asked me to lunch or dinner. He employed the few English speakers on the bus to help him translate, and plied me with many cigarettes. Once up in the front seat of a moving bus, it was difficult to make the switch back.

While this was happening, another passenger with poor English asked me in French to get off the bus early and go home with him. I tried to laugh him off, but after several times of him saying he would take me to Baalbek "after we finish," I faced forward and stopped responding.

Eventually the bus driver’s assistant made himself as plain as possible, using a scant few English words and broad gestures: he offered me $100 to sleep with him. I wasn’t sure if I should be more offended that he thought I was a hooker, or that he thought I was only worth $100!

The worst part was realizing that everyone on the minibus knew exactly what he had wanted all along and were all staring at me waiting for a response… and that I was still half an hour from Baalbek with no where to go.

At Baalbek, a young, handsome policeman guarding the small museum indicated he could secretly let me up to the closed-off roof area. Happy to get special treatment, I climbed up the steep steps and greatly enjoyed the view of the amazing ruins. Suddenly I noticed the policeman was enjoying a different view.

"What?" I said.
"I want kiss," he said.

Hello? I tried again to laugh it off, but he pressed closer insistently saying "kiss, kiss" until I backed into a wall. Finally I realized he wasn’t going to physically force anything on me, so I ducked under his arm and angrily stomped downstairs.

Unbeknownst to me before my trip, Filipino prostitutes are prevalent in the Middle East, particularly in Lebanon—in Syria, I was told the prostitutes were Russian, and in Egypt apparently the preference is for locally-grown talent. It explained a lot. After that, any time ANYONE asked me if I were Filipino I flipped out.

When I was in Syria, I met a horrible girl who told me that Lebanese taxi drivers are scum who cheat tourists every chance they get. I dismissed her as a rude, ignorant tourist. I was extremely disappointed to find out she wasn’t completely incorrect.

The favored ploy seemed to be agreeing—with a huge grin—to any price I named, then later claim to not speak English. Suddenly, it’s not their fault anymore, it’s mine, the dreadful tourist who couldn’t be bothered to learn some Arabic taxi-speak.

Hand-signals for numerals did nothing to increase understanding. All that was understood is that I nodded in agreement… to something. Once I entered the taxi, the rules were free to change.

Lost with a cab driver who drove in circles, clearly taking me no further unless I paid more, I ended up grabbing his arm in frustration because he wouldn’t stop jabbering and caused him to scream bloody murder. He claimed no understanding of the earlier agreement, that my fellow rider wanted to be dropped off first and then I would be taken to my hotel. Basically he suddenly didn’t understand English, and I only knew English/French words for the area my hotel was in.

We argued and argued, and eventually I ran out of the cab without paying. It was wrong, but I was STEAMED. The cab driver ran after me, grabbed me in the middle of the sidewalk, yelled at me, and all the men in the area jumped to his defense.

At this point it was obvious that I needed to return to Syria, I had no further desire to explore Lebanese nightlife on my own, and be mistaken for either stupid or a whore.

It wasn’t all bad of course.

Once when I was apparently on the wrong minibus, the driver, obviously frustrated with me, still stopped several English-speakers on the street to find out where to take me, driving far longer than my fare was worth.

I took a taxi service to Jeita Grotto and it turned out to really be a regular taxi ride… no one else got in, and when I said "Jeita," I didn’t realize there was a part of town called Jeita, where the driver first stopped. He ended up taking me all the way to the caves, protesting mildly but also agreeing that it was a misunderstanding that wasn’t my fault.

When I got confused after getting off a bus somewhere in the city, I stopped in a furniture store to ask directions and the kind delivery man drove me home.

In the few moments when I felt comfortable, I loved the natural beauty of Lebanon and the cosmopolitan vibe of Beirut.

And Michel from Al-Nazih and Tony from Hospitality Club treated me like a queen.

I would not recommend traveling in Lebanon to anyone. At the same time, I would never discourage anyone from visiting, as everyone’s experiences differ.

Men in particular LOVE Lebanon, and I met a great many women who say they felt more harassed in Syria or Egypt. Although in comparison, what most of these women faced in other countries was the usual staring and occasional inappropriate touches. My fellow female travelers were never propositioned in Jordan or cornered in Turkish ruins. I felt like most travelers I met in other countries assumed Lebanon would be the most easy-going because it was so Westernized and untraditional. In my eyes, that was what made it more morally corrupt.

Still, plenty of women say they would be happy to live there long-term. Even the Asian women brushed off the harassment, although most I met had not visited any other Arabic countries for comparison. I can’t guarantee that any traveler would feel uncomfortable there, in fact the stories I heard tended toward the opposite. But for me, Lebanon was a nightmare-inducing and I would never willfully push any woman to experience it for herself.

Because my visit to Lebanon was a last-minute decision, and the hotels seemed cheap and trustworthy, I opted not to seek out a Hospitality Club host for Beirut. However, before I left Amman, Ala recommended I contact Antoine Baddour, who according to Ala, was extremely sweet, knowledgeable, and fun—and knowing it mattered to me… he assured me Tony had a girlfriend.

We exchanged a few e-mails, with Tony kindly telling me he couldn’t wait to meet me! I called him once I arrived at Talal’s, finding out that Tony had been waiting for my call at his brother’s apartment nearby. Too kind.

He gave me the quick tour, pointing out gutted apartment buildings and churches all over downtown. This was my first experience in relatively recent war zone, and I spent most of the time mutely nodding. What was amazing is that Tony was so nonchalant about it, gesturing toward some rubble and saying "this used to be such-and-such building, but it was destroyed in the war. And this is a mosque." Moving right along! I regret not having the courage to question him about the war, since at 34 he must have vivid memories.

We meandered around the lovely Solidere district, with cobbled walks, and outdoor cafes. It was pretty, but sterile; I think the aim was Paris, but the impression was more Santa Monica. The area felt rich, studded with banks, expensive shops, and pricey restaurants. I was delighted to see nargileh formed out of various fruits… here you could smoke out of pineapples if you chose.

It was still early evening, so Tony intrigued me with the idea of eating small amounts at various places, basically doing a food crawl—my kind of guy. We settled on a vaguely French-esque place for some light crepes. Tony ordered in a mix of English, Arabic, and French. Soon, his girlfriend Ani joined us, and explained that the mix was common throughout Lebanon. So many people are trained in French schools, and some find Arabic "too hard," although it is the national language. So, a common greeting might be "Hi, kayfik, ça va?" "Merci" is preferred to shukran. The mish-mash was really charming.

The crepes were delicious, and Tony refused to let me pay. They were much bigger than I expected though—Tony kept asking where to eat next while my stomach was bursting.

Ani suggested we tour around some more. First we stopped by the Roman Baths Garden, a popular gathering place and venue for plays and concerts. It was interesting to see a tiny piece of ancient Rome surrounded by the modern city.

Next we drove up to Our Lady of Harissa. If I’d had more time in Lebanon, I would’ve loved to re-visit during the day and taken the gondola ride, but instead we zoomed up with Tony at the wheel. At the top of the hill was a massive glass cathedral, as well as the lovely Virgin Mary statue with small chapel in the base. This was Ani’s favorite church in the city, and she took the opportunity to pray. The view of Beirut lit up at night was beautiful.

After that Ani decided we had time to drive to Byblos, which I planned to see during the daytime anyway. It was great getting the night view, quiet and eerie, almost completely empty. Then we stopped for kabobs… Tony was serious about his food crawl. I was pleased that the "spicy" kabob I ordered actually WAS.

The next day was the worst day I would experience in Lebanon. Tony was too tired to meet me that night because we’d stayed out until 2am the night before. But he made every effort to guide me by phone when I was lost, and talked me down when I was crying at Pension Al-Nazih, promising we’d meet up the following day.

I hadn’t even expected to have another day, but the kindness and generosity I met at Pension Al-Nazih gave me more time. After going to see Byblos by day myself, I once again met up with Tony at night. We took a lovely drive… after my bad experiences, Tony wanted to show me the beauty of his country. He kept talking about the diversity, the range of landscapes, the various religions… but at this point I was a hard sell. We visited another small church along the way, then went to Zouk.

Zouk, about 14km from Beirut, is a lovely old market town renovated to reflect traditional Lebanese architecture and products. This was Tony’ favorite area, and it was really quaint and lovely. We walked along the cobbled streets and low archways, stopped to watch an elderly weaver in the middle of a months-long garment. Then after running into an old friend at his restaurant, Tony and I sat down to enjoy some crepes and the lovely sunset. From up here the view of the lush, green Lebanese coast made the city look almost appealing.

Once again Tony refused to let me pay, but mentioned he was in the mood for ice-cream. He agreed I could pay for that, at least. Of course he snuck around me and it didn’t happen, but I couldn’t be bothered to care when the ice- cream was SO DELICIOUS. I got a mix of almond, mango, hazelnut, raspberry, and avocado… nothing really went together but the counter person kept asking, "What else? What else?" Pile it on, bro!

On the drive back to Pension Al-Nazih, Tony told me quite seriously that he was so sorry I had been treated badly, and hoped that I saw the good in his country, and that we would always be friends. He asked if I would ever return to visit. As sweet as he was, I couldn’t say yes. Tony was one of the sweetest people I’d ever met, and even though I still have no interest in revisiting Lebanon, I’m so glad I had him as a friend while I was there.