Finding Our Feet

Everyone is welcome in the Western neighbourhood of Hamra, it’s well known as Lebanon’s secular haven, playing host to people from all walks of life. It’s a central hub for students & expats, Christian & Muslims alike to mingle at sidewalk cafes, posh hotels, restaurants, bars and bookstores.

We spend our first weeks in Hamra, but to clarify, we’re not living a diplomat’s lifestyle, no 5-star hotels and no silver service, just good old fashioned DIY expat living.

Before landing in Beirut, in trepidation I booked our 3-Star accommodation online, which had no reviews so we were either in for a shocker or a winner. It’s neither. Our modest one-bedroom self-serviced apartment off Rue Hamra is basic but clean. Everything is at our doorstep - including traffic. Even though we’re a block back from the main thoroughfare, the traffic noise from the 2nd floor is so intense we may as well be lounging in our pyjamas in the middle of the road.

Sleep? What sleep! Never mind the clamor outside, we requested a cot for Mateo but the rickety old thing couldn’t hold itself together let alone my son, so the three of us piled into the small double bed. Mateo was the only one waking up fresh as a daisy. Mikey & I ached all over convinced our son was a ninja in his past life. His erratic/impulsive sidekick to the ribs and karate chop to the face are LETHAL.

Thankfully, we were kindly given an upgrade to a two-bedroom apartment on the 10th floor. What a difference 8 floors make! The lounge is spacious, kitchenette is well equipped & the master bedroom has a queen size bed. I’m in Heaven. Our little ninja moved into his very own headquarters converting his bedroom into a giant crib by jumbling together our suitcases, pieces of bedroom furniture and dining room chairs.

From our large balcony we had panoramic views across Ras Beirut, the Mediterranean Sea and Lebanon Hills. Elevated so high up felt like we were on top of the world. Truth be told, I nearly gagged from vertigo every time I looked down, nonetheless, relieved to have more breathing space from chaos down below. 

Reminiscent of the ocean views back in OZ it felt comforting to look out to The Med and recognise our small but significant achievement in finding a suitable temporary home. “We have found our feet in Beirut” I acknowledge to myself.

I was about to put mine up on the sofa when I heard a hullabaloo in the toilet - sounded more like spurting water followed by squeals of laughter - so I went to inspect. And there I caught Mateo’s head deep in the bidet bowl fascinated by his dad’s demonstration of the porcelain throne. I cry out “Mikey, why have you got your FOOT in the butt washer?” His response was priceless “It’s for washing your feet…no?” he innocently replies.

I wonder what other innovative uses the bidet can offer? I’m sure my fellow travel buddies have some ideas, I’d love to know.