Beirutis insist that you enjoy their city
Wed, Jul 07 2009
At a small eatery in Beirut’s Gemmayzah district, a Lebanese man asked me the usual where-are-you-from, what-are-you-doing-here questions as we waited for our takeaway hot dogs. The pleasantries became unsettling when he turned to leave and expressed his disdain for Christians.

Having learnt I was an American, he may have thought I was Christian and his remark would sting. I am not particularly religious, so I found his comment more bizarre than offensive. And in a week of wandering through Beirut and other parts of Lebanon, I also found this hostile stereotyping to be the lone exception to one of the most friendly-to-a-stranger places I have ever been.

Like most Americans older than a certain age, I recall the bombing of the Marine base in 1983 in which 241 US service members were killed. Three months after the attack in Beirut the US president Ronald Reagan pulled the US troops out of Lebanon.

It is probably fair to say that in the ensuing quarter century, most of my countrymen have seen Lebanon as a dangerous no-man’s land scarred by civil war, religious infighting, battles with Israel and Syrian influence. The images beamed into our homes have been ones of bloodshed and hostage-taking, not of bustling outdoor cafes, Los Angeles-like ultra-trendy dressed-to-impress nightclubs and browse-for-hours bookstores.

On the whole, we Americans know little about Lebanese arts or culture, the writing of Khalil Gibran the notable exception. But we certainly remember Terry Anderson, the former Associated Press reporter held hostage for more than six years in Beirut by members of Hizbollah.  

We might eat at a Lebanese restaurant if we are fortunate to have one in our city; however, relatively few among us have been interested enough in the country and its people to travel there. If I had not moved to Abu Dhabi a year ago, I imagine that I would still be among them.  

Having worked on the foreign desk of The Washington Post, I did know a bit about Lebanese politics, that Beirut had once garnered the image as the Paris of the Middle East and that in the past decade it had earned the reputation as the region’s party capital. I was aware that, like most places, it had to be much more than the stereotype.

But the night before I ventured to Beirut, an American who works in Abu Dhabi for Lockheed Martin warned me about being careful in my travels, and not becoming another Anderson, fearing that Lebanon was no place for a person who thrives on learning about the lives of strangers, even when on vacation. His fears proved to be as unfounded as those of people who put off visiting New York City because they think there are gun-toting drug dealers and muggers on every corner.

From the Gemmayzah pubs where a group of locals invited me to tag along for a night out bar hopping, to the taxi driver/tour guide Dido who kindly corrected my blunder with foreign currencies and returned the hundreds of dollars I overpaid him, the Lebanese locals shattered any stereotypes I might have had about  them and their land.

Dido took me to the airport for my flight back to Abu Dhabi, insisting that the fare was on him as a thank you for visiting his country and wanting to keep in touch. Beirut is indeed not the place to go if you don’t like the idea of a couple you have known for only a few hours inviting you to join them for dinner at one of their favourite restaurants, or where they might introduce you to local specialities such as Arak.

Nor is it where you should hang out if you don’t like people insisting that to have fun in their city, you must hit some of their favourite spots. When I told some women half my age that the beautiful people’s nightclubs were never my thing even when I was in my 20s, they insisted that to understand the new Beirut I had to spend time at clubs called Sky Bar and White. With their rooftop vistas, they are beautiful indeed.

Beirut is not the place for you if you don’t enjoy sharing conversations with a lawyer turned jewellery maker, dozens of artists showcasing their talents at an on-the-steps arts festival or college students discussing their plans for the future and hopes for the country in a local Starbucks.

In all of these encounters and dozens of others, I was not the American whose country’s foreign policies they might take exception to, but an American who wanted to learn about their country and them. That alone was enough for them to consider me part of the “gang”.

Yes, the large military presence in some of the tourist areas and outside important buildings had been what I had expected to see and the burial site of Rafik Hariri and some of the others killed in the 2005 bomb blast was a powerful reminder of the violence that has rocked the country.

But I never expected to leave the city with a visitors’ bureau slogan running through my head: Beirut, a great place to be an American.

I will certainly be back.
Copyright The National