5/07/2010

Beirut at Last

A second minibus dropped me in Hamra, one of Beirut's upscale cafe districts. I'd been in Lebanon for just under an hour. High-heeled young girls with expensive-looking bags were strolling up and down the main drag in tight jeans, all swinging long dark hair deliberately like shampoo commercials. Perfect bodies and bandaged noses everywhere. Stylish young dudes in completely unnecessary scarves and shades leaned against the glass of trendy cafes to enjoy the bouncing views while sipping nargilehs and cocktails. 


The bearded guy sitting behind me in the bus jumped off as well, introducing himself as Hani and pointing out the bar where he was the DJ. I nodded and wandered off, excited by the thousands of new possibilities that a new city offers. I dumped my bag at a fancy hotel and the sweat felt heavenly against my back as I wandered the district down to the waterfront. Even in the dark I could make out the bullet holes in all the older buildings. I hiked back up the hill, spent my daily Egyptian budget on a snack and ended up at Hani's place, right where the minibus had stopped. 

A couple hours later I paid a fake cab 6000 lira to get me up the mountain to Sabtie, the district of my couchsurfing host, Marcelo. From the entrance to his place high on the hill, the lights of Beirut glimmerred up and down the mountain and a dozen miles along the coast. This would be my base for the next couple days.


But it wasn't long before I had to get out of Beirut, a city in which I'd once hoped to settle. I picked up my camera from a repair shop in the afternoon, unfixed and unpaid for, and reached the Charles Helou station under the bridge. Within half an hour the coast disappeared behind the mountains and I was rolling towards the Syrian border, hoping they'd let me into their country this time.

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