Beiteddine, Tripoli, and Other Encounters in Lebanon

We started our day with a healthy dose of manakish, which is sort of like a small pizza with zaatar on top (or a variety of other toppings). Then we took a stroll through downtown to Maghen Abraham synagogue, which Miriam had heard about because it is apparently being restored. While it was technically on one of the big tourist map billboards, it was tucked away in a hard-to-access pedestrian-only zone in the middle of a construction site. We could only peer in from the road, and were told by a nearby guard no photos, but indeed there were restored Hebrew inscriptions in the process of restoration. From there, we went a short ways to the gut of the old Holiday Inn, once a flourishing (though heinously designed) highrise hotel near the Beirut Corniche, now a relic of the quickly disappearing violent past sandwiched between glass-encased office buildings and new hotels. Only the shell remains, and much of that is covered in holes. The army had parked a row of olive colored tanks inside the ground floor, as if ready to defend this ghost of a place if the need should arise. (The other building we saw with an equally ominous presence was the gutted half of an egg-shaped movie theater downtown: until we asked, we couldn't tell if it was a war relic or a building marked for demolition. At residents' request, it has been left as a kind of monument.)

Thinking we'd go hiking amongst Lebanon's famous cedars, we took a bus south to the mountainous area known as Chouf. When it proved logistically impossible to get to the official cedar reserve, we spent the afternoon instead at Beiteddine Palace, itself nestled in a quiet wooded corner of the hills. Formerly a palace of the Ottoman governor, it is know the president's summer palace -- evident from the fax machine, laptop, and telephones stationed around the compound. Although Italian influence was obvious in the design of the grounds, the Ottoman-style meeting rooms were accented with stained glass, plush divans, and exquisitely painted ceilings, and there was a lovely mosaic collection in the basement. 

Back in Beirut, we met up with the lead singer of the popular Lebanese band Mashrou3 Leila, who is a friend of Adam's, for a walk through appropriately hip Gemmayzeh. This was following a hilarious miscommunication earlier in the day, when after forgetting to save my number, he thought I was his Canadian producer for several hours and was giving me the details for the band's production meeting. Hamed pointed us in the direction of an equally trendy cafe-bar called Internazionale, where Miriam and I watched the bartender chop mint with imaginative gusto. As we were returning, we stumbled across the Armenian Quarter, or at least street. This was where we had our best meal of the trip -- at a lovely restaurant called Mayrig. I had succulent kebab meat covered in sour cherries and thin bread crisps. For dessert, we shared giant maamoul cookies stuffed with warm cheese. More content than ever, we then met up with Ali, a Lebanese friend of several of my Egyptian friends. He took us to a place called Harissa where there is a giant statue of Our Lady of Lebanon stationed high on a mountain -- a modern but extremely popular shrine. From the top, we had a nighttime view of what seemed like the entire coast of Lebanon. Afterward, since Lebanon is so small, we decided to check out the Byblos port just a little bit to the north. The alleys of the restored old souk surrounding the port were packed with partygoers in tight miniskirts and stilettos: at night, chairs, tables, and thumping beats come out and the entire area becomes a giant bar sandwiched between the sea and the occasional ancient ruin. 

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Brief interlude from Cairo... reporting on my discovery of a new favorite treat from the corner bakery. It is essentially a giant, warm pig-in-a-blanket except less greasy. And of course no pork. This was after my somewhat failed attempt to buy a really great pillow at Tawheed wa Nour and before I solidly befriended the fruit man who was recently moved in right outside my apartment building. Not only does he have tasty-looking bananas for sale, but he offered his maybe 15-year-old son to me in marriage and gave me an exotic white pear for free to prove he meant it. Anyway, today I went downtown to the refugee services program at St. Andrew's church and signed myself up to teach high school history (world and U.S.) to a class of 20 teenage Sudanese refugees every Saturday. They are going to be taking the GED in the spring, so they have to do all world and American history in one year. More updates when I start teaching on Sept. 8.

And now back to Lebanon...

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So the next day we decided to see a different side of Lebanon: the country's second city, Tripoli. Unlike Beirut with its many Christians and laidback ambience, Tripoli is 98% Muslim and clearly much more conservative. We saw no other foreigners the entire day, perhaps because they've been discouraged by the ongoing reports of violent clashes around the edges of the city (where there are many refugee camps and spillover from Syria has exacerbated existing tensions). First things first: we visited one of several Hallab Brothers sweet shops. The counter that stretched the length of the entire shop was filled with platters of freshly made Ramadan pastries. See below:

Hallab Bros. Sweets, Tripoli

We then wound our way through the streets of Tripoli up to its citadel. The ticketbooth was unmanned, and the people strolling around inside the ruined castle were soldiers, not tourists. In fact, there were several tanks stationed at its base, enjoying the view over the city. To get from there to the great mosque, we had to walk down past stone homes and souks that looked to have been continuously inhabited for hundreds and hundreds of years. The Great Mosque, built in the Mamluk period, was much simpler in design than most in Cairo. Inside, even though a sermon was being given, dozens of men were fast asleep on the carpets. (Ramadan life is tough.) We were approached by a friendly art professor named Jamal who -- since, as he said, had neither a wife nor a mother -- offered to take us for the afternoon around the other historical highlights of Tripoli. We visited the madrasa of the Great Mosque, and then the oldest hammam in the city, which may have been built as well by the Mamluks in the 14th century. It is now (but not long) out of use, covered in cobwebs and peeling paint, but nearby was another, newer one in the same style which was still in use (as evidenced by the enormous men in towels lounging in the corner).

One of my favorite corners of Tripoli was the Khan al-Saboun, the quiet old caravanserai where soap of every shape and scent is manufactured and distributed all over the world. Many of the soaps were molded into cute shapes - cookies, tomatoes, stars, etc. Jamal then walked us to an art emporium where he sells some of his own work. If you have ever been to a family home in the Middle East and wondered where they got that massive black painting in the Louis XIV gold frame with the Qur'an verse in shiny gold calligraphy, you now have your answer. In addition to the calligraphy, the store sold  the paintings of many local artists for popular consumption. Jamal took us upstairs, asked for a calligraphy pen and paper from one of the associates, and proceeded to write our names as calligraphic flowers. After this lovely stop, Jamal took me and Miriam to the Taynal Mosque. We waited at the gate as Jamal secured for us the required modesty cloaks with the pointy hoods. In the inner sanctuary, a sermon was just beginning, so we lingered in the first room of the mosque for awhile and listened.

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In my modesty cape inside the Taynal Mosque, Tripoli

In the early evening, we left Tripoli by bus for Byblos. Unfortunately, the archaeological site was closed by the time we got there. Instead, we ate a dinner of fresh fish (something called farideh) at a restaurant overlooking the marina in the old port area. Like clockwork, the lights went out halfway through the meal - the electric company was still on strike. Back in Beirut, we met up with Ali and his friend came to pick us up in their Mercedes for a night on the town. Lebanon is full of shocking contrasts over a very small area: one moment you're cruising past strip clubs with flashy neon lights, the next you're surrounded by women in abayas. While the massive rooftop nightclubs for which Beirut is famous require reservations in advance, Ali and Samer led us to first to Fame, a Gemmayzeh bar that pounded with Pitbull and J-Lo, then to the slightly more low-key Prague, in Hamra, which alternated between the Egyptian classical singer Abdel Halim Hafez, Edith Piaf, salsa, and rock just to keep things surprising. By 3am we were out in the Beirut suburb Jounieh at an Irish-inspired pub called Hooligans. Yes, Beirut has a little of everything. 

One thing I thought about during this night out was how much easier it seems to be a foreigner in Lebanon than in Egypt, or at least to blend in. In Cairo, for better or for worse, I am constantly aware of sticking out. This manifests itself in both good and bad ways: people are typically extraordinarily hospitable to foreigners on the one hand, and on the other, I constantly feel conspicuous while walking in the street, and therefore subject both to more harassment and to people looking to make a buck off me. In Beirut at least, I never felt conspicuous as a foreigner, perhaps in part because of dress there, but perhaps also just a different attitude. 

The next morning, a Sunday, was my last in Lebanon. Our attempts to go shopping were foiled because apparently everything is closed in Lebanon on Sundays -- I guess the Christians won that one. So after a last Beiruti snack at Cafe Younes, I headed to the airport for the next phase of my journey.