Although the act which led us to candlelight moments and much more with a real and very warm Lebanese family was disputed by many retrospectively, it would not have been the same if we were at the Crowne Plaza Hotel (as per card) or the New Talal’s House (as per LP).
We learnt simple Arabic, ate very tasty home-made food, got offered Arak, tried street snacks, had “doudou”s amongst others, got the real and consistent gentlemen treatment, admired the perfection of the Downtown and the contrast with the war-damaged buildings, heard the old man shouting "Beirrrrut!", felt Hariri's presence in the architecture and beyond, sat outside in the sun at a café at Hamra and countless other places, admired Raouché, checked out shiny Gemmayze, and ended up happily ever after at Lancelot more than once. The contrast was vast; Beirut was very different yet familiar with all the fast cars and imaginable chains, past overlapping present and the consequential aspiration, ego and pride.
The ending caused by mere co-incidence became the tale but those 16 hours were only a very small part of it all. Even then so watching the live stream of the Patriarch with “Dory”, the blindfold and confiscation, the repetitive questions about names and religion, the photos and prints, the pages of Arabic handwriting, the cell and the “teeea”, and the final race for searching for a flight to fly out were memorable, and more than worth it.
