Beirut Report III

Last night Jared, Trish, and I took a walk to visit the famous Commodore Hotel. That turned out to be a very upclass place, so much so that we didn't even go inside. I've never read "From Beirut to Jerusalem", which other students highly acclaim, saying if you only read one book about the Middle East, this is the book to read. Anyway, the Commodore is central in that book, but they think it might be a different location currently than it was during the civil war; I don't know.

Having seen that, just half a mile from A.U.B., we decided to walk downtown. As we approached central Beirut, we began seeing more and more buildings pockmarked by bullets, some ruined completely, others still inhabited. At the same time, we began seeing more and more brand-new, splendid stone buildings, results of the rebuilding programme which is being undergone by a French development company under contract from the Lebanese government. This dichotomy crescendoed as we approached le Place de l'Etoile, the breathtaking central city. This new pedestrian area is modeled after the style of the traditional Arab souk: little storefronts clamoring for space along the central walkway, and numerous cafes spilling out into the middle of the street. However, the new streets are wider, with attractive architecture and the sidewalk roof held up by majestic stone pillars. The view from the back of the cafes and some of the streets is onto a wide valley full of intact archeological findings from ancient Beirut. The Parliament, right in le Place de l'Etoile, is probably the most ingenious architecture I've ever seen, if London's Parliament was the most beautiful. The Parliament building is built, like the surrounding souks, of matching tan stone. However, halfway up the building, in the middle (but not on the ends), it segways to glass. At a first glance, you don't even notice the modernistic touch - it reflects the sky to anyone standing in the street. The border between glass and stone is done so as to look like the uneven roof of a building with varied heights, and blends seemlessly with the surroundings.

However, just meters away are once-splendid structures now gutted and misshapen by gunfire. The fist-sized impacts of small arms fire, and the occasional deep scar of an RPG or artillery shell leave a commanding reminder of the 1975-1990 civil war. Many of these marred facades are now covered by full-size banner advertisements, put up by the redeveloper to cover blemishes until they can be completely resurrected.

The walk home along the Corniche was a different type of dichotomy, mixing new and old Beirut. The 6-meter-wide sidewalk is crowded with Lebanese of all shapes and sizes. In the morning, you find the teeming thousands getting their American-style workout: powerwalkers, joggers, strolling mothers with infants, and older people trying to stay as young as their Western counterparts come out in varied garb: some can barely be seen, sweating through heavy flowing robes and conservative hejabs. Others are in shorts, and there's even the occasional sports bra - a sight unheard of in Amman, Ramallah or Cairo. The evening crowd, as one would expect, is out for a night on the shore, where the brisk breeze cools the elsewhere tepid air. They stop at little shacks for ice cream sandwiches, at fancy restaurants for Lebanese mezza, or at the Hard Rock Cafe for a few drinks. They move along slowly, savoring the Mediterranean night, and slowly because the sidewalk is too crowded to move any faster.

Eventually, we reach the foot of the A.U.B. campus, greet the security guard, and step out onto Bliss Street, where the shwarma stall owner apologizes to Jared that he has just one type of sandwich left to offer at 9:30. Jared is satisfied, takes his sandwich, and we cross the street to the gate near our dorm.