Travel Files: Debacle in Beirut

I've had some great opportunities to travel over the last few years. The worst vacation I ever took in my entire life was to Beirut, Lebanon. This is the story of that unforgettable debacle.

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I'd always heard a lot of great things about Beirut; well, post-war Beirut. In January of 2012, my boss encouraged me to take some vacation time, so I scheduled a trip that included three full days there. I wouldn't say that I regret going there... But I also hope never to go back, and wouldn't dream of recommending it to anyone else.

An acquaintance of mine, Michael Totten, lived in Beirut for a few months during the Cedar Revolution. I consulted with him, and he recommended the Palm Beach Hotel. My first clue that Beirut might prove problematic was when their online booking system didn't work, forcing me to call to book. My second clue was when they called me during the first leg of my trip to inform me that my card had been "declined". I assured them that we could handle it once I arrived in Beirut, and went about the first leg of my trip. I also got a copy of the Hedonist's Guide To Beirut, which proved to be almost entirely worthless.

Once I landed in Beirut, I was flagged down by a cab guy. He hustled me into a cab driven by an intimidating Lebanese kid who spoke no English and, upon depositing me at the hotel, demanded $40 - twenty for the ten minute cab ride, and twenty for his "tip". I wasn't thrilled. Next up was attempting to settle the bill at the hotel. I figured that the card would work in person, but it didn't. At this point, I started to get a bit nervous. They sent me around the block to an ATM, which also wouldn't dispense money for me. At that point, I was really nervous. I pulled together all of the cash that I had on me, hoping that I'd be able to at least pay for one night to buy myself some time. I was able to come up with the money, in something like six different currencies - one of these being Iranian currency that I'd gotten from a money changer in the Gulf as a souvenir, and which the hotel wouldn't take because, and I quote, "That's Khomeini!" With the expectation that I might have to end my vacation early, I tried one more cash point at the Phoenicia, and was finally able to get cash without any issues. (Interestingly enough, although Lebanon has its own currency, it's apparently so unstable that they use and prefer American currency to their own.)

On my first full day in Beirut, I wanted to see Beirut's Roman ruins. Despite the worthless maps in my guidebook, I was able to find the Roman ruins of the Cardo Maximus, which are not only entirely inaccessible, but actually strewn with rubbish. Next on my agenda was the Roman baths, which were supposed to be fairly close. Unfortunately, most of the streetside maps had been destroyed. I ended up walking right past the street I needed to walk up, and probably walked a good mile in the wrong direction, then another mile or two in the wrong direction, and then began trying to get back to where I'd started from once I started seeing posters of Bashar al Assad, right around here. I finally made it to Khalil Gibran Park, where a guy offered to help me find what I was looking for. When I told him I was looking for the Roman baths, he said - and I quote - "I've lived in Beirut for thirty years, and I didn't know we had Roman baths." That turned out to be pretty pathetic, because they were about five minutes' walk from where we were standing, right where I'd passed by about two hours before. The baths turned out to be gorgeous, and extremely well preserved after having been buried for at least a millennium and a half. I took some pictures, and at that point I was pretty beat from the unexpected walking, so I ended up hanging out at a Starbucks for a couple of hours. I walked back to the hotel at that point, and I can't for the life of me remember whether I did anything else that night.

When I woke up on the second morning, I had horrible shin splints from all of that extra uphill walking the day before. As such, I wasn't really up for a lot of extra walking, so I decided to take Michael's advice and go to Monot Street. I took a cab, and had a lovely dinner at Le Relais de L'entrecôte, a French steak-frites restaurant. I can only assume that it wasn't that particular meal that had me defecating my guts out in a hastily located bar's lavatory less than ten minutes after leaving the restaurant. Feeling none too great, I made my way back toward my hotel, and eventually just got another cab. I spent the rest of that night watching movies in my hotel room.

On my last full day in Beirut, I wanted to see the American University of Beirut, and specifically the AUB Archaeological Museum. The museum was really cool, and I enjoyed a stroll around the campus. (The book shop was fairly disorganized, but I grabbed a few souvenirs just the same.) I wandered back to the hotel, recouperated in my room for a bit, and then went to Gemmayze per Michael's recommendation. After wandering around for quite a while looking for a particular restaurant that was listed in my travel guide (but which I learned later had closed up shop quite a while earlier), I ended up eating at a pizza place before flagging down another overpriced taxi and heading back to my room for the night.

One of the hotel's taxi drivers was a former boxer whose name I think was Abu Saif, "Champion of Lebanon". His English was non-existent, but I was able to strike up a cordial relationship with him using my Arabic skills. We were able to arrange that he'd be the driver to take me to the airport, and after the number of fiascos I'd run into up to then, I was ready to leave. He got me to the airport, and I handed him a fifty dollar bill, expecting that he'd make change. He just looked overjoyed and hugged me, and at that point, I was done even fighting it, so I just let him take my money and made my way into the airport.

There was basically nowhere to sit, and nowhere to check in for my flight for the better part of an hour after my arrival. I kept asking, but nobody had any clue. It finally turned out that my airline shared a counter with some other carrier, so they finally opened the counter and I was able to check in. I went through the second security checkpoint, had lunch, and then went to sit near my gate. My attempt to read was eventually interrupted by some American guy who decided to tell me all about his life as a teacher in Saudi Arabia. Once it was finally time to board my flight, I did so. I was long since ready to make Lebanon an uncomfortable and fleeting memory.

Alas, that's not the end of my story. Upon arrival at my final destination, I grabbed my bags at the airport, only to find that my three knives, and only my three knives, had been removed from one of the pouches on my rucksack. I suppose it's possible that the security folks at my final destination confiscated them, but having flown through that particular airport a number of times, I highly doubt it. The Hezbollah jerks who operate Rafic Hariri International Airport stole my knives, including my original Leatherman PST, which they no longer manufacture. Can I prove they were knicked in Beirut, instead of my final destination? No. Can I do anything about it? No. Is that absolutely what happened? Of course it's absolutely what happened.

Beirut's a mess. There's a company called Solidere that's trying to redevelop parts of Beirut, and there are people who are protesting it for no good reason. There are perfectly fine buildings next to bombed out wrecks that ought to be knocked down and carted out. Nearly everyone I encountered was unhelpful, unfriendly, uninformed, or a combination of the three. The best things I can say about Beirut is that there was a smoking hot girl working the counter at the hotel, a smoking hot girl at that pizza place in Gemmayze, and a great archaeological museum and some beautiful Roman ruins that ultimately aren't worth visiting Beirut for. I can't recommend it to any other tourist when there are so many other great places in the Arab world to visit. It was the worst three vacation days I've ever spent. I should have stayed in the vacation spot where I'd come from for another three days...

But that's another story entirely.