So, all of Beirut is hungover and haven’t got up yet or there’s going to be a terrorist attack that I haven’t been warned of. It’s like a scene from Vanilla Sky.
It’s eery. Could have a picnic on the main road through Beirut it’s that empty. Continue walking to the marina. Security on practically every street corner. Roads cordoned off with barriers and barbed wire. Stop at one military post to ask for directions. The soldier is very welcoming and speaks a little English and we have the craic. He tells me his name. I tell him mine. He introduces me to his fellow soldier. We’re all mates now. He shakes my hand as I leave and regrets it as it’s quite a strong handshake. A colleague calls me Crusher ‘cos of it. He laughs and makes me shake hands with his chum. They’re both laughing as I wave goodbye.
Finding the marina, glad to discover people without assault rifles and a bit of normality. There’s a “beach club” adjacent – outdoor swimming pool, bars, music and sunloungers. One of many. Recommended to walk along the corniche to the Pigeon Rocks. It won’t take long I’m told. That’s as may be but in the heat and humidity it’s a long, hot, sweaty walk. Sea breeze takes the edge off the heat. Plenty of fisherman again and lads diving off the rocks. One brave soul actually dives from the corniche’s promenade to the sea some 30ft below narrowly avoiding the concrete foundations.
A lone lad, about 10 years old, turns away from me to look at the sea.
Shoved down the back of his shorts is a pistol. Real or fake? You never know in this city. This walk to the Pigeon Rocks is a lot further than had been made out and after an hour’s walk in the sizzling heat need to stop for food and water.
Continue along the corniche and it’s clear I’m straying from the upmarlet end of Beirut and heading into the tower blocked suburbs – the sort you would see Hamas firing rockets from on the 6 o’clock news. More military vehicles patrolling the area – open sided jeeps, soldiers relaxing with rifles.
Young family walk towards me. The three young lads have pistols. They’re toy pistols and ask Dad if they’ll have their photo taken. He willingly allows me to shoot…..at least it’s me shooting them and not the other way around. It’s not the best city in the world to have kids brandishing toy guns is it.
Call me old fashioned…..but it isn’t…is it?!
Pigeon Rocks are like a detached Durdle Door, Dorset. They’re just off the headland and a popular local sight. Men with Polaroids patrol the promenade printing people’s photos.
Hail a taxi. Wanting to travel across the city to the National Museum and Hippodrome. Driver speaks no English but it’s OK I have a map. He’ll suss it out, surely. What is it with these foreigners and maps. I point where I want to go. Point where we are now. SImple. It’s like a foreigner turning up at Nottingham Market Square and pointing to Trent Bridge on the map. It’s all too difficult so a young couple are called over. They speak no English and they too can’t read a map of their city. Another bloke is called over. I’m pointing a major tourist attraction on the map. In the city centre. The man says, “Ah….Baalbeck.” Driver says, “Ah….Baalbeck?”. Baalbeck is miles away. It’s near Syria. It really is kidnap central. It’s not where I want to go. We try again. Eventually. They spout off in Arabic. Both acknowledging they’ve got it sussed. Jolly good. They look at me for confirmation. How the flip do I know – I don’t speak Arabic. Take my chance and give the thumbs up and off we go. Drive through the suburbs seeing tanks at road junctions.
Is this how it always is or just for Eid or just because of the current Middle East terror alert? Assume a combination of all three.
Taxi drops me off outside the National Museum and buzzes off. Except the National Museum is closed for Eid (despite being told it would be open). Quick waltz around the block and find an armed soldier who delights is repeating the same directions in his limited English ad nauseum. Put the topic down and step away.
Return to city centre in a clapped out Renault. It’s door won’t shut because the side bin fell off when I opened it to get out. Running repair required.
Pass the military post I’d been chatting with earlier this morning. The soldier calls out and waves me over. He shakes my hand again. He’s loving it. Calls two other new soldiers over and waffles on in Arabic along the lines of “This is who I was telling you about”. We’re introduced and am now on first name terms. He motions that I’ve to shake hands with his new chums. Deliberately giving that little extra squeeze they nurse their hands when done. He’s laughing at them as it’s exactly what he did when we shook the first time. We’re all laughing and joking. I have new mates.
See yet another kid with a toy rifle strapped across his back whilst riding his bike. It would look very real in the shadows of night time. What is it with this city and kids with guns?
City streets
Star’s Square
He’s only just bigger than that rifle
Like a scene out of Vanilla Sky
