Beirut on wheels

Until recently, the only wheels I had been on in Beirut were my car's.

Beirut is not what you would call a bike-friendly place (and by bike I mean bicycle, not a motorbike. There are plenty of those in Beirut).

First of all, the driving in Beirut is not what you would call, hum, disciplined. As soon as there is a little room on the side of the road, it is occupied by a car, or a vespa (or both). So an attempt at biking in the city would be basically a death wish. And trying to introduce anything remotely resembling a bike lane would be a) naive and b) probably laughed at.

So, to my surprise, I saw an ad in TimeOut Beirut about a night ride in Beirut. Cool! I haven't been on a bike for... basically the time I have been here, and I love, love, love riding bikes. Plus, it's a different plan for a Friday night. So off I go, equipped with my helmet and blinking lights (and not my orange reflective vest, since my husband thinks it looks dorky).

After renting my bike (and arguing with the guy at the rental place who was trying to convince me that girls, according to him, don't need the front brake), I went to Cyclo Sport on Gouraud St. in Gemmayzeh. I meet there about 50 ciclysts in a parking lot. We are all crammed in a corner, since it is an active parking lot, and there are cars coming in and out. A lady is passing energetic drinks for free. People are chatting and showing off their super cool outfits and matching bikes (Of course! This is Lebanon. What was I thinking, bringing those old jeans for the bike ride?).

A whistle blows, and off we go. All very orderly, at first, following some professional looking riders that had lots of brands on their outfits, so they must mean business.

The ride through Gemmayzeh, down the Corniche and Hamra was frankly fun. I had never felt in Beirut the feeling of wind in my face that only a bike ride can give you. And the organizers were very good a stoping the traffic, so we could all pass. I would have never dared crossing some of the larger roads on a bike in Beirut, but in the middle of a sea of bikes, I felt safe.

Some of the areas in Beirut are definitely not meant for biking and going up and down the hills was pretty exhausting. So I wouldn't recommend this bike ride for people who are not in shape. Because you don't want to fall behind (that is what eventually ended up happening). When the group spreads out, it starts getting harder to manage for the organizers and more dangerous for the bikers.

By the time we reached the National Museum, everyone was super tired, and going at different paces. This left long empty spaces in the group between bikes that car drivers promptly took advantage of (dorky reflective vest would have come in handy here). The result was that by the end, the bike ride was quite dangerous, and not so fun.

But overall, I think the experience was worth it, and I would recommend it, if you are looking to bring a bit of an adrenaline rush to your life in Beirut. These bike rides happen quite often as I understand it (Check out their Facebook Page or visit Cyclo Sport). You can rent a bike with them for a whooping LL5,000/hour (includes helmet), or go to BeirutByBike and rent your bike there for the same price.

This, by the way, would not be an appropriate activity for kids. The route is long (3 hours) and the pace is rather fast.

Enjoy the ride!

Bullets over Beirut

One thing that I love about having visitors over is that they remind me of the things I used to find incredible about Beirut, and that I have grown accostumed to over the years.

So I was very "amused" at first when my family asked me to stop the car to see buildings filled with bullet holes. I guess it has become so common for me to see them that I barely notice them now. My family wanted to take photos.* They wanted to know what the story behind the building and the bullets was.

Little by little, I started remembering how impressed and scared I was at the sight of bullet holes when I first arrived to Beirut. Because of what those holes meant.  With my family here, every time we saw a building filled with little holes there was silence in the car for a moment and someone would ask me "Are those... bullets as well?"

That crazy egg stucture in downtown. The Holiday Inn. The tower as you go up towards Achrafieh. These are buldings I pass very often. And I have just stopped noticing.

Why did I get used to bullet holes?

Was it because there are so many? Was it because I never witnessed the actual moment when the bullet pierced the wall? Was it because I just stopped caring?

One of the highlights of my family's visit was the walking tour around Beirut with Ronnie. I never miss a chance to introduce my family to this fellow, whom so eloquently explains the history of his city.

One of my favourite parts about the tour is the bit about Martyr's Square. There is something about the place that is so moving. There is the history yes, this is a site of protest and where the Lebanese come when they want change. But there is something about the statue in Martyr's Square that just brings tears to my eyes.

Source: TripAdvisor

The lady with the torch represents freedom. The fellow she is holding represents Lebanon. You can see the statue is filled with bullet holes. It has become a symbol of everything that was destroyed in Beirut during the civil war. I think this statue represents the city, the country, so well. The fellow is filled with holes, has lost an arm, but keeps standing. And for one reason or the other his bullet holes haven't been "repaired". Like all the other bullet-studded buildings. Like so many other things in the country, including the people.

I have met so many people who walk this city with their bullet holes, real or metaphorical, still piercing, still acking. So many who have learned to live with bullet holes inside of them, and have forgotten, like me, to notice the bullet holes all around us.

I really hope we won't see any new bullet holes anytime soon. But I mostly hope we won't grow unsenstive to what they mean. They are not trivial. They are not to go unnoticed. Those holes mean someone or something was killed. Slowly or instantly, phisically or metaphorically. Those bullets were meant to anihilate something. A person's joy, freedom, feeling of safety, compassion, or even life.

Those little holes are reminders. Of what has happened, and might still happen in Beirut. And when fighting might seem like a good idea, I wish we will all look around and see the bullet holes. And remember that they could so easily happen again.

*Thanks to M for letting me use his gorgeous photos from his trip to Beirut!

The Lebanese Scooter Diver (or LSD)

Lebanese Scooter Drivers, otherwise known as LSD- because you think you are hallucinating when you see them- are some of the most common individuals you encounter in your everyday life Beirut. They are everywhere and deliver all sorts of things.

They are the first thing that scares you when you first get here, especially when you cross the street. You curse them for a while, but in time, you learn to appreciate their bravado (or stupidity depending from which angle you choose to see them). You just get used to them coming from all sides. And I must admit, they make me smile at least once a week.

You see, the LSDs have some special characteristics that make them fascinating individuals to me. Please allow me to recount them so you get a sense of their uniqueness:

LSDs are artists: they just don’t drive around a scooter in the streets of Beirut. They create their route. This can include driving on the sidewalk when there is too much traffic (zigzagging among pedestrians if necessary), doing a 3-point turn in between cars in a traffic jam or driving in the opposite direction of traffic on a highway. Pure talent.

LSDs are practical: If they have 2 kids and need to get somewhere, they’ll squeeze them in the front. If their giant German shepherd needs to go to the vet, they’ll squeeze it in the front (I have seen this with my own eyes). If they need to deliver an arguileh (water pipe) to someone’s house, they just squeeze it between their legs, drive the scooter with one hand while holding the burning coals on the other. Anything can be transported on a scooter. The sky is the limit.

LSDs are renegades: if someone wants to pass them, they go faster. If you are on their way (on the sidewalk) they’ll honk. If someone asks them to wear a helmet, they wear it without the strap (which makes me wonder why they are wearing it in the first place). If it rains, they’ll build a metal roof on their scooter. If there’s a little space to squeeze into, they’ll take it. They leave by the motto “You snooze, you loose”.

LSD defy the law: Nature’s, reason’s or traffic’s . No rules apply to them. If they need to deliver a sheet of glass during rush hour, they’ll bring it on their legs, it won’t cut them. If a car comes to a crossing, they’ll speed up, it won’t hit them. If there’s a red light or a do not enter sign, it doesn’t apply to them. They don’t follow rules. They make them.

It takes some ballsy dudes to be LSDs (and sorry for the “dudes” but I haven’t seen any scooteryet in Beirut so far). Not any-one is allowed in this very selective club. I guess some of us just prefer the lameness (and safety) of our cars.

So here’s to all LSDs out there. May the road keep them safe.

PS: This blog post is dedicated to my beloved C and his month-old scooter (and his safety).

Once a Lebanese, always a Lebanese...

This Mexican went to Mexico, that is why there were no blog posts.

So after a couple of days at the beach, visits to Mayan temples, a lot of tacos and everything you can put inside a tortilla, and some good tequilas with friends, I have many things to report.  Which in a way have given me even more motivation to write this blog. Because Mexico and Lebanon are so connected. They really are.

During this trip, and to my surprise, a lot of people approached me to tell me about their Lebanese roots. I had no idea. And these are people I have known for years. But I guess people with Lebanese roots are so integrated in Mexican society that the question just doesn't come up. What is funny is that I ran into my friend Ziad, my friend with last name Karime (I am guessing Karam at some point), or my friends whose mum's a Khoury (Kuri in Spanish)... I know now that these names are from Lebanon, but when I was in Mexico I just didn't consider this.

But what I wanted to write about is our very own Carlos Slim Helu. The richest man in the world. A Mexican of Lebanese origin. Not that I particularly care about the man, but you can't help "bumping into him" while in Mexico. Indeed, there is a saying in Mexico that "we all contribute daily to his pockets", and this is not far from the truth. The guy owes the telephone company for the whole country after all, just to name one of his businesses.

One of the things Mr. Slim did recently was opening a museum to display his art collection. He called it "Soumaya" in honor of his late wife. I visited the museum and was at first not impressed with the design of the building. I didn't think it really matched or harmonized with its surroundings.

Source: Fodor's

Once I was inside, I was happy to see that the museum has no entrance fee. The museum's interior design reminded me of the Guggenheim in New York, with its spiral corridor. But the museography was poor, unfortunately. There was not a very clear narrative; it felt just like someone with a lot of money had bought a lot of stuff and had displayed them matching them by... color (or some random logic like that). I am not an expert, but this was my experience.

What really called my attention was the upper room. This is were the Lebanese in Carlos came out (with all respect to my Lebanese colleagues and friends for this broad generalization).

Man, this room was a display of wealth.  This room was an in your face "I am ridiculously wealthy".

Source: Atlas Obscura

You see, Mexicans like to display their wealth, but we are a bit more discreet (or subtle) with it. Out of need (because of high crime rates) or just because overwhelming displays of wealth are considered of bad taste. Walking through this room felt like walking in Beirut, in front of LeGrey Hotel next to someone in his Ferrari and LV outfit.  This was like the botox lady with diamond rings in each finger. This was the Swarosky studded Tag Heuer mobile phone.

Indeed, all those black things on white pedestals you see in the photo are actually Auguste Rodin's originals. And Dali's. Yes, you read it right. This man OWNS not one but dozens of Rodins. Like you and I own socks.  And the way the art was displayed was such a slap in the face.

Don't get me wrong, the pieces are gorgeous. But the feeling you get in the room is "Wow, this man is loaded". It's almost overwhleming. It has almost nothing to do with the art itself. So I guess Mr. Slim has remained a bit Lebanese at heart. He likes to show he's got money. He likes to show who's boss.

50th post

From Mexico to Beirut is celebrating its 50th post!
And in doing so, I write this blog post in memory of Withney Houston. May she Rest In Peace. 

Not my Beirut

An image speaks more than a 1,000 words.
When I was walking last night and saw this image, I confirmed it.

The image shows a billboard on the side of the street, with the plans and sketches of a new and modern appartment building that is being built on a street in Mar Mikhael. This is a very cool area, full of old-style shops, buildings and restaurants. But older buildings are being slowly replaced by newer ones as the area gets gentrified.

What I liked about the image was the desperate move of a pedestrian who, seeing that his/her neighborhood is getting a "face lift" (like everything/everyone else in this city), took out a permanent marker and voiced his/her protest with a "Not my Beirut" scribble.

I liked this because I think it depicts, first, a very clear trend in this city to get rid of old, many times historically significant buildings, to replace them by some modern, stale and pseudo european looking constructions. Second, this image depicts two sides of society that I have encountered in my 18 months in Lebanon. There are the people who want to hide, facelift or upgrade Beirut. And there are the others, which this urban protester probably belongs to, who celebrate, cherish and try to preserve their heritage.

I wonder if after the horrors of a civil war (and forgive me for this very broad and generalizing assessment), one would want to forget the past, erase it, pretend it didn't happen to make it hurt a little less. In this context this modernization impulse would be more of a denial or self-healing mechanism, depending on whom of the two abovementioned categories of Beirutis you ask.

But in this impulse of wanting to be modern, to erase what happened before, Beirut is loosing little by little its soul. Take a walk on the new Zeituna Bay (which, by the way used to be famous back in the day as a place to find prostitutes), and you will feel in Miami. You will be surrounded by Chanel and plastic surgery. And it will be soooo Beirut, that you will feel you are not in Beirut.

Does that make sense? Beirut is aiming at not being Beirut.

As an outisder, an observer, a passer-by, I just think this is a pity. This place has so much to offer as it is.  I would take Bourj Hamoud 100 times over ABC. It is alive. And it is not trying to be something it is not.

Afraid of the unknown

Being from Mexico City, I have always bragged about being "street smart" and  knowing when an urban area is safe or scketchy.

In my mind, places are divided into 2 categories: safe places, meaning well-lit, clean and modern-ish looking, and sketchy places, with a dirty, dark or packed feel to them.

Sketchy places are to be avoided, because they are unsafe and God-knows-what can happen to you when you drive through them. Safe places are big avenues, where there is plenty of space to run in case of an emergency. 

In a way, this is not entirely crazy, as criminality in Mexico City IS high, and the probability of being jumped in the street (knock on wood) is there.

When I moved to Lebanon, I brought myself along with my suitcase. And with me came all my ideas, opinions, and perceptions of the world; what I know to be true and untrue, right and wrong.

So, using my Mexico City standards, I started avoiding places like this one like the plague.

Jam-packed. Nowhere to go. No functioning street lights. Bullet holes on the walls.

 Decaying buildings... And trash everywhere!

***

A couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine took me in her car through this street.
As a matter of fact it is near my office, and as it turns out, it takes me directly to where I live. She told me she goes though it all the time, as it helps her avoid the most congested streets and the crazy rush hour traffic. I was a bit nervous at first, but since I was not driving, I got a chance to pay closer attention to my surroundings.

And I was very surprised when I realized that we were going through an antique shop district!

Note: Pardon my photos, as they were taken from the car...

As I was saying, I start realizing that this is actually an amazing area. Can you see the gorgeous lamps in that store?

 And those chandeliers back there?

 Look at that gorgeous balcony up there!

Since that day, I take this road all the time, and sometimes hope the traffic won't move too fast so I get to see something new in the stores. And Beirut gave me yet another lesson: sheckty and safe are very restrictive in terms of what I allow myself to experience in Beirut (and in life).

This place is different, with different rules, and different standards. And I guess the only way to learn the new rules and experience this place is to step out of my comfort zone and allow myself to go to places that I normally wouldn't have gone to. 

After all, Beirut has been pleasantly surprising so far... Why not be open to what it can offer?