Lebanese Stories
My friend Charles and his Lebanese wife Hind invited me to visit them in Beirut.
The year was 1995.
I knew little about Lebanon before my visit to Charles and Hind.
ARRIVAL / FIRST IMPRESSION.
My flight from Paris landed around 10 p.m. at Beirut airport. As I descended the stairs from the airplane, powerful floodlights were turned on the passengers. I had to walk with my head down, using my right hand to shadow the glaring lights. All I could see where military boots and gunstocks indicating the path to the arrival lounge.
The air was humid; more powerful spotlights lit up the passengers. A glaring clenched hand stamped my passport. I picked up my suitcase and went to meet Charles who was waiting outside in the darkened street.
I lifted my head and my eyes met Charles’ regard, the first face I saw since leaving the Boeing.
DOWNTOWN BEIRUT.
One day, Charles drove me to downtown Beirut or at least what was left of it.
The buildings which had housed 4 star hotels, upscale department stores, restaurants and cafes where now piles of rubble. All that was left was their cement structures punctured and scarred by bullet holes. People had squatted these abandoned buildings. Electric wires and plastic garden hoses where running everywhere in all directions from one building to the next. As Charles and I walked between the buildings, a fine mist created by the water escaping from the plastic garden hose joints sprayed us.
I took photographs.
A man dressed in military clothing walked up to us, I was sure he was going to stop me from taking photographs or worse, he was going to take my camera away. On the contrary, in a polite French he cautioned us not to get to close to the piles of ruble as their might still be unexploded grenades underneath.
THE FUTURE CITY.
A poster showed the planned renovation of the «new glass and metal downtown» Beirut. Next to the statue of La Place des Martyrs, there was a huge open gap in the broken asphalt. A rope circling the hole prevented people from falling. I peered inside. More that four floors below the street, I could see granite columns and marble sculptures. These were the ruins of an ancient Roman library. Beirut, I was told, is built on ruins of more than seven cities. This NEW BEIRUT will be built on the eight city; the one that was destroyed after 15 years of civil war.
«GET OUT OR DIE»
Charles told me the story of a friend who owned a beautiful and modern two story record store in Beirut city #8. One day, men carrying Kalashnikovs and machine guns entered his store. They ordered Charles’s friend to leave the premises immediately. The owner did as they instructed. Before he and his three employees had reached the sidewalk, they heard the sound of heavy gunfire behind them. The owner stopped, without looking back, he put his hands to his ears to muffle the sound of broken glass, hissing bullets, shelves being toppled, shouts and screams of mad vengeful human beings. All around him vinyl records where whizzing by; the intruders were using these as flying disks.
Charles’ friend never looked back. His heart was broken.
BAALBEK
Lebanon is a stunning country. The year I visited, the Baalbek ruins had just been reopened to tourists. It was the first time in my life that I saw Roman ruins. The guide brought me to the quarry where the slaves had cut, sculpted and carried huge blocks of granite to the temples and buildings of Baalbek. The quarry is more than one kilometer away from the building site. How did they transport these blocks weighing thousands of kilogram? how did they erect the columns that measured some 5 meters in diameter at their base and measuring more than 50 meters in height?
Memories of what I had seen in my early schoolbooks came to mind.
I was in awe.
Lebanon is a living memory of the past. Hopefully it will remain at peace so its habitants, its children and travellers can learn about history and about beauty.
SOUTH LEBANON. BEACHES AND BOMBS.
Charles who at the time was the cultural attaché of France invited me to visit the French Cultural center of the city of Tyre, South Lebanon.
After our visit we went picnicking on the beach.
The water was blue green and the sand was fine and white. Hind, Charles's wife is a great cook and as usual we had more than enough food. We found a protected place below a sand dune where the wind would not disturb us. All of a sudden I heard the sound of thunder. The sky was blue and cloudless. Seeing my bewilderment, Charles said « that is not thunder. That is the sound of rockets being fired by the Hezbollah on Israel». As I looked up, I noticed a half dozen armed soldiers walking on the dune above us. Hind, who had lived through the 15-year civil war, continued eating unperturbed.
THE END OF THE WORLD.
Later, Hind told me the story of an afternoon when she thought it was the end of the world; she meant: the end of HER world. Hind lived in an apartment block on the 10th floor on the West side of Beirut. Everyday, for more than 15 years, she would hear the noise of exploding shells and gunshots. One afternoon, she had invited her nieces and nephews over for a dinner party. They played in the living room while her and her sisters prepared the food. As evening was falling, she called the kids to the kitchen. Everyone one was at the table when all of a sudden there was a huge terrible explosion; a rocket had exploded in the living room, where the children had been a few minutes ago, fire broke out; everyone ran out of the building, no one was hurt.
The apartment was charred, the living room wall facing East had a huge gap where the shell had penetrated.
Later, Hind was told that the rocket had been a mistake. It was intended for the military that had set up position on the 20th floor of the building Hind lived in.
Hind continued to live in that apartment, she had nowhere else to go.
This is where I visited them in 1995. The living room had been repainted, the gap had been cemented and Hind fears had subsided, almost.
The year was 1995.
I knew little about Lebanon before my visit to Charles and Hind.
ARRIVAL / FIRST IMPRESSION.
My flight from Paris landed around 10 p.m. at Beirut airport. As I descended the stairs from the airplane, powerful floodlights were turned on the passengers. I had to walk with my head down, using my right hand to shadow the glaring lights. All I could see where military boots and gunstocks indicating the path to the arrival lounge.
The air was humid; more powerful spotlights lit up the passengers. A glaring clenched hand stamped my passport. I picked up my suitcase and went to meet Charles who was waiting outside in the darkened street.
I lifted my head and my eyes met Charles’ regard, the first face I saw since leaving the Boeing.
DOWNTOWN BEIRUT.
One day, Charles drove me to downtown Beirut or at least what was left of it.
The buildings which had housed 4 star hotels, upscale department stores, restaurants and cafes where now piles of rubble. All that was left was their cement structures punctured and scarred by bullet holes. People had squatted these abandoned buildings. Electric wires and plastic garden hoses where running everywhere in all directions from one building to the next. As Charles and I walked between the buildings, a fine mist created by the water escaping from the plastic garden hose joints sprayed us.
I took photographs.
A man dressed in military clothing walked up to us, I was sure he was going to stop me from taking photographs or worse, he was going to take my camera away. On the contrary, in a polite French he cautioned us not to get to close to the piles of ruble as their might still be unexploded grenades underneath.
THE FUTURE CITY.
A poster showed the planned renovation of the «new glass and metal downtown» Beirut. Next to the statue of La Place des Martyrs, there was a huge open gap in the broken asphalt. A rope circling the hole prevented people from falling. I peered inside. More that four floors below the street, I could see granite columns and marble sculptures. These were the ruins of an ancient Roman library. Beirut, I was told, is built on ruins of more than seven cities. This NEW BEIRUT will be built on the eight city; the one that was destroyed after 15 years of civil war.
«GET OUT OR DIE»
Charles told me the story of a friend who owned a beautiful and modern two story record store in Beirut city #8. One day, men carrying Kalashnikovs and machine guns entered his store. They ordered Charles’s friend to leave the premises immediately. The owner did as they instructed. Before he and his three employees had reached the sidewalk, they heard the sound of heavy gunfire behind them. The owner stopped, without looking back, he put his hands to his ears to muffle the sound of broken glass, hissing bullets, shelves being toppled, shouts and screams of mad vengeful human beings. All around him vinyl records where whizzing by; the intruders were using these as flying disks.
Charles’ friend never looked back. His heart was broken.
BAALBEK
Lebanon is a stunning country. The year I visited, the Baalbek ruins had just been reopened to tourists. It was the first time in my life that I saw Roman ruins. The guide brought me to the quarry where the slaves had cut, sculpted and carried huge blocks of granite to the temples and buildings of Baalbek. The quarry is more than one kilometer away from the building site. How did they transport these blocks weighing thousands of kilogram? how did they erect the columns that measured some 5 meters in diameter at their base and measuring more than 50 meters in height?
Memories of what I had seen in my early schoolbooks came to mind.
I was in awe.
Lebanon is a living memory of the past. Hopefully it will remain at peace so its habitants, its children and travellers can learn about history and about beauty.
SOUTH LEBANON. BEACHES AND BOMBS.
Charles who at the time was the cultural attaché of France invited me to visit the French Cultural center of the city of Tyre, South Lebanon.
After our visit we went picnicking on the beach.
The water was blue green and the sand was fine and white. Hind, Charles's wife is a great cook and as usual we had more than enough food. We found a protected place below a sand dune where the wind would not disturb us. All of a sudden I heard the sound of thunder. The sky was blue and cloudless. Seeing my bewilderment, Charles said « that is not thunder. That is the sound of rockets being fired by the Hezbollah on Israel». As I looked up, I noticed a half dozen armed soldiers walking on the dune above us. Hind, who had lived through the 15-year civil war, continued eating unperturbed.
THE END OF THE WORLD.
Later, Hind told me the story of an afternoon when she thought it was the end of the world; she meant: the end of HER world. Hind lived in an apartment block on the 10th floor on the West side of Beirut. Everyday, for more than 15 years, she would hear the noise of exploding shells and gunshots. One afternoon, she had invited her nieces and nephews over for a dinner party. They played in the living room while her and her sisters prepared the food. As evening was falling, she called the kids to the kitchen. Everyone one was at the table when all of a sudden there was a huge terrible explosion; a rocket had exploded in the living room, where the children had been a few minutes ago, fire broke out; everyone ran out of the building, no one was hurt.
The apartment was charred, the living room wall facing East had a huge gap where the shell had penetrated.
Later, Hind was told that the rocket had been a mistake. It was intended for the military that had set up position on the 20th floor of the building Hind lived in.
Hind continued to live in that apartment, she had nowhere else to go.
This is where I visited them in 1995. The living room had been repainted, the gap had been cemented and Hind fears had subsided, almost.
