Living A Fairytale

We have been at our serviced apartment/hotel for over a week and we're all getting very comfortable with the ‘service’ part of the deal. The room is cleaned daily and my heart skips with joy when the housekeeper delivers our package of pressed laundry. I'm all excited like a princess twirling in my heavenly-scented snow whites.  The thought of loading and (reloading) the washing machine is now a distant memory.

Even Mateo is happy with his digs. I caught His Highness waving from our balcony to a group of children playing at a nursery opposite our building. Seizing the opportunity, I hand him over to the nursery to play with the kids. Waltzing away I kiss my little prince goodbye “See you at 4. Ta ta!”.

What a difference a week makes. Everyone is LOVING their new found freedom! But our self-eviction had arrived all too soon and the ‘suite’ life had to come to an end. It was time to find our own apartment to call ‘home’- washing machine and all. 

After a disappointing week of apartment hunting around Hamra we realise we’re out of our league. Two factors are against us: (1) there’s a rental squeeze gripping Beirut, especially Hamra, and (2) high season is upon us which means an influx of foreigners moving in for summer. Unless you’re willing to pay a princely sum of $2000US per month (and over) the area is not worth a look. Anything under that amount apartments are either the size of a shoebox or plain shabby.

The DIY approach to renting in Beirut is time consuming and having no success on our own we opted for an agent to help us. Thankfully, he was a real find. He let it slip that he lived in Switzerland for over a decade and Mikey’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. The two hit it off instantly. “Don’t worry I’m going to help you find just what you’re looking for. Have you thought about moving to Achrafieh? It’s a family neighbourhood, safe, less expensive” he explains.

He was right. The second apartment we inspected was The One. We actually saw it advertised online however looking in awe at pictures of its grand views, big rooms and large kitchen we thought it was way out of our budget.  Thanks to Mateo, he sealed the deal for us. Laying his charm on thick with the landlady, she made us a deal we couldn’t refuse and the next day we had the keys to our very own palace.

View from apartment looking out to Journieh Bay

Like a happy fairytale ending we bid our farewells to the hotel staff and housekeeper. Life is bliss until...

When it came to settling the bill I almost dropped dead from shock. The laundry fee came to (gulp) $200US. I nervously handed back the statement “Oh no, no, no there’s a mistake, see there’s one too many ‘0’s, it should read $20”. The concierge - now turning into The Joker from Dark Night sneers “No mistake Madam, that’s how much your laundry cost”. For FIVE lousy loads of laundry!?!  Frozen in disbelief I felt the tiara slip off my head. Silly me for not asking the price for a bag of washing at a 3 Star hotel in Beirut. Oops lesson learned. “OK...” I regretfully respond throwing crisp $20 dollar bills down the gurgler “...its back to the washing machine I go heigh-ho, heigh-ho”.

Taking Our First Steps

"The best way to see colourful Beirut is on foot" I repeatedly read in travel blogs. What no one tells you is "...if you use a kiddy stroller you may as well have one foot in the grave."

On our first walking expedition, we get off on the wrong foot. At 10am it’s already a scorcher outside, Mateo is having his morning sleep in the stroller while Mikey and I struggle to dodge potholes and fleeting cars. Ploughing through jagged pathways and absent mined pedestrians, we’re working up a sweat just trying to refrain Mateo from catapulting across the pavement. We make our first 50 metres in 50 minutes. Lovely. Both in a stitch, wet from head to toe, we’re ready to call it a day. Bystanders gawking at us say nothing but their faces said it all: “Ha! a stroller in Beirut?!?! Goodluck!”

Our map is useless because street names don’t correlate to street signs (a mind boggling topic for another post) so we vaguely make our own way to The Corniche. The waterfront esplanade is a popular destination where people stroll, strut their stuff, and socialize. We see ageing, overweight men jog and stop for cigarette breaks; teenage boys throwing fishing lines into the rocky waters below; young men smoking nargileh on their car hoods, combing their hair to catch the attention of speed-walking women wearing Ray-Bans and visors. 

 I soon realise The Corniche is the only pram-friendly pathway in Beirut but as our week rolls on the more stroller-savvy we become. 

Venturing further afield we cross the Green Line that divided the city between Christian East and Muslim West during the civil war. We weave and wind our way from Ras Beirut past St Georges Yacht Club to the flashy new Beirut Souk (mall) in Downtown. We take a pit stop at Place de l’Etoile and refuel on sickly-sweet lemonade. We leg it across Place des Martyrs and lunch in Gemmayzeh Street at Le Chef (no-frills kitchen serving the best Molokhia in town). In the blazing afternoon sun, we drag our feet to the air conditioned ABC (mall) in Achrafiyeh...ahhh.

To the untrained eye, one half of the city is rubble the other half is a mall. On closer observation you can pick up on the distinct architectural renderings of the urbanscape. Between the dilapidated buildings peppered with bullet holes you will discover the remains of Roman temples; marvel at centuries-old Mosques & Churches standing side-by-side; admire refurbished French-style mansions, and gaze up at multi-story apartments towering above. 

It’s a city under continual re-construction and I can't help but admire the Lebanese people not only for what they’ve been through but what they always seem to do after a crisis: they dig themselves out, dust themselves off, and start building once again. 

At the end of each field-trip we'd return to our apartment tired but feeling enriched from our expedition. The three of us would huddle around the bidet to wash  our tired, blistered feet (previous post explains the bidet story). Watching the sunset from our balcony, the sky paints a pretty picture with hues of pink and orange. The call to prayer from the mosque drifts through the air. The muezzin sounds melodically peaceful, offering time to reflect.

Getting around Beirut is definitely no walk in the park but well worth the experience. Together with discovering new sights, sounds and smells of the city we learnt about Lebanese hospitality which transcends age, class and religion. Pedestrians and shopkeepers alike would stop us on our tracks to wish Mateo the warmest of welcomes. Accompanying  handshakes, high-fives and pinched cheeks people would shout “MARHABA!” “KAFAK!” “AHLAN YA HABIBI!” It’s a wonderful Middle Eastern gesture that universally means ‘hello fellow friend!’ 

Being on the receiving end of so much kindness Mateo never failed to warmly respond. Although he is yet to speak a coherent word of any language he is still able to return the greeting with great joy: a big grin from ear-to-ear, uttering ‘eh! eh!’ eh!’ and a tentative twist of his little wrist. A gesture that would make anyone fall head over heels.