Sherrill & Bruce, Baalbek, Lebanon Sherrill and I visited more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 year marriage. This is number 73 of a series about our lives and travels, true stories of two people discovering the world, each other, and themselves through five decades of traveling together. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage and travels look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts are a previous series.
We landed in Beirut from Paris a day before our friends from the states arrived, so we began exploring on our own—discovering both the crazy traffic and the pollution it created, despite the winds from the sea. Rebuilding was still in progress after the two wars: the civil war and the war with Israel. We would get to know this constantly changing city because Lebanon was such a small country—wedged between the Mediterranean and Syria and Israel—that we'd start out staying in Beirut and seeing much of the country on day trips.
"It must have beautiful," I sighed, as we walked through the historic downtown area that, although recently devastated by war, still descended over gently folding hills to the sea.
"Must have been," Sherrill agreed.
We landed in Beirut from Paris a day before our friends from the states arrived, so we began exploring on our own—discovering both the crazy traffic and the pollution it created, despite the winds from the sea. Rebuilding was still in progress after the two wars: the civil war and the war with Israel. We would get to know this constantly changing city because Lebanon was such a small country—wedged between the Mediterranean and Syria and Israel—that we'd start out staying in Beirut and seeing much of the country on day trips.
"It must have beautiful," I sighed, as we walked through the historic downtown area that, although recently devastated by war, still descended over gently folding hills to the sea.
"Must have been," Sherrill agreed.
Little was left from the days of the French colony, when Beirut was called the Paris of the Middle East. New buildings of similar style in the same golden stone were rising, but they looked uncomfortably new and lacked the elegant details of the original buildings. At least, now, some of the narrow streets were pedestrian only and made room for sidewalk cafes. Many of the shops and restaurants, though, looked high end and expensive. Was all of this intended for tourists, we wondered, or were there Lebanese who could afford such prices?
Remains of Holiday Inn, Beirut Ah, but the food! We'd learned to love Middle Eastern dishes when we visited Syria in 1994 and had enjoyed them since in other countries from Iran to Morocco. Our first meal in Beirut was every bit as good as anything we'd had in Syria, especially the mezze: babaganoush, hummus, pita bread, tabouli, savory pastries, and more. The Lebanese wine was superb, too.
"We're going to eat well on this trip," I told Sherrill, waving a piece of pita bread dripping with hummus over my plate.
"Unfortunately."
We thought we knew what we were doing when we left the restaurant to walk back to our hotel, but became more and more confused. The street signs were in Arabic and French and we couldn't find any of the names on our map. We asked some people for help, showing them the map. They were very nice, but didn't have any idea where our hotel might be. The sidewalks and streets weren't easy to walk on, either, and traffic fumes were making us woozy. Finally, a battered taxi stopped next to us, so we got in and hoped for the best. The young driver and his pal with him in the front seat eventually managed to figure out where to take us. Maybe the route was longer than it needed to be, but at that point we would've paid anything.
"We're going to eat well on this trip," I told Sherrill, waving a piece of pita bread dripping with hummus over my plate.
"Unfortunately."
We thought we knew what we were doing when we left the restaurant to walk back to our hotel, but became more and more confused. The street signs were in Arabic and French and we couldn't find any of the names on our map. We asked some people for help, showing them the map. They were very nice, but didn't have any idea where our hotel might be. The sidewalks and streets weren't easy to walk on, either, and traffic fumes were making us woozy. Finally, a battered taxi stopped next to us, so we got in and hoped for the best. The young driver and his pal with him in the front seat eventually managed to figure out where to take us. Maybe the route was longer than it needed to be, but at that point we would've paid anything.
Women's clothing shop, Beirut The next day, we joined our old friend Hala and some other friends we'd traveled with over the years. Together, we embarked on a more methodical exploration of Beirut and its environs, including some beautifully restored mosques and churches. One imposing building that had not been restored was the old Holiday Inn, a gray concrete tower of 26 floors, once crowned with a revolving nightclub, built in 1974, just a year before the Lebanese civil war. Foreign journalists hung out there as long as they could, although it was said that a thousand people died during what became known as the Battle of the Hotels. It became a battleground again during the 1982 Israeli invasion. Now, it remained, a rocket-pierced, shot-out, burned shell, a reminder of those bloody days.
We couldn't get near the Holiday Inn, but did visit the square next to the classic 1920s St. George hotel down on the bay, a survivor of the Battle of the Hotels that was being restored when in 2005 a suicide bombing destroyed much of it and killed Lebanese Prime Minister Rafic Harari, who had been responsible for rebuilding the ruined city center, along with his body guards and five hotel staff. An elaborate shrine to Harari and the other dead had been set up on the square next to the hotel. It was still there nearly five years later, when we were there, but someday, we were told, the hotel would be restored and then reopen. We saw photographs of Harari all over Lebanon, rather like Kennedy after his murder.
Beirut: Temple columns & new construction Wherever we went, we were reminded of the never-ending conflicts afflicting this corner of the world. When we visited the National Archaeological Museum, which was in the middle of the war zone, we were shown a film about the efforts to save its treasures. Moveable objects and artifacts were taken away or moved to the basement, but the huge ancient statues that couldn't be moved were encased in reinforced concrete. Even so, shellfire destroyed the artifacts still in storage rooms. Then the badly damaged museum had to be repaired and its collection inventoried and restored before it finally reopened.
Crusader castle & ruins, Sidon History may happen in chronological order, but often that's not the way we discover it, especially in these ancient cities. The new and the incredibly old mingle incongruously, as if deliberately trying to confuse us. We encountered plenty of this in Lebanon, even in the center of Beirut: the scaffolding and concrete forms of a modern apartment building rose next to a row of ancient Corinthian columns, while over on the coast a crusader castle jutted up from ancient ruins, surrounded by blocky 20th century buildings.
Billboard for President of Iran's visit, 2010 Several times, Sherrill pointed out to me (discreetly) young soldiers carrying machine guns. If they noticed us looking at them, they aimed friendly smiles at us. We couldn't escape this constant military presence—in the city and throughout the country. On the outskirts of the city and on the roads beyond we saw billboards welcoming the president of Iran, who was coming soon on an official visit. Were these armed soldiers because of this, we wondered, or were they always lurking nearby?
As we drove south to visit the ancient cities of Sidon and Tyre, we saw, behind a large fenced enclosure, a Palestinian refugee camp. More than 400,000 Palestinian refugees still were living in Lebanon. Questions being hotly debated at that time were whether or not they would be allowed to become naturalized Lebanese citizens or would have to return to the Palestinian territories—and what would be the impact of either option on them, on Lebanon, and on the Middle East?
Phoenician city of Tyre, rebuilt by Greeks, Romans, Arabs, and others An astonishing number of civilizations had existed on top of each other here: Phoenician, Greek, Roman, and Arabic cultures, and certainly more. Some of the enormous archeological sites we explored impressed us with their beauty as well as their antiquity, rising out of the red cliffs and pomegranate bush-decorated hills next to the Mediterranean Sea. Ancient monasteries, terraced vineyards, forests and canyons, seemed to whirl around us, a carousel of colors and history. Although neighboring Syria, which is mostly desert, Lebanon's landscape seemed much more varied—but, we discovered, it could be dangerous. We were told not to wander off on our own, especially in the south, because thousands of landmines, cluster bombs, and rockets remained scattered there. In fact, more than 200 civilians had been killed or injured by them.
"Just like Cambodia and Laos," Sherrill commented.
"And Croatia."
Sometimes, it was hard not to become discouraged about human beings.
"Just like Cambodia and Laos," Sherrill commented.
"And Croatia."
Sometimes, it was hard not to become discouraged about human beings.
 Banner with cedar tree symbol of Lebanon |  Bartroum village, north of Beirut |
People told us that women in Lebanon were equal to men in terms of education and career opportunities, however, they admitted, there still was no civil marriage in Lebanon—only religious. It didn't matter what religion. Most women now worked, they said, but mostly in low paying jobs, although a few did manage to become successful in business, medicine, higher education, law, and other professions.
Sherrill with good friends at Byblos restaurant Our last full day in Beirut, just the two of us again, Sherrill and I visited the American University of Beirut, where a friend had spent a year nearly fifty years before. A student guide took us around the campus, which now seemed to have as many young women students as young men. Some buildings, our guide told us, including the original one from 1873, were damaged or destroyed during the recent wars, but now the campus seemed like a green paradise overlooking the sea.
Byblos, inhabited for 7000 years We both had the feeling that we were doing so much walking on this trip that we must be developing new leg muscles. At least, Sherrill told me, her calves no longer hurt the way they had at the beginning. North of Beirut, we visited the coastal village of Batroun, originally Greco-Roman, but—as in so much of the country—other cultures had crept in over the centuries. Byblos, one of the world's oldest continually inhabited towns, dazzled us with its kaleidoscope of centuries: Roman remains, a crusader castle, a restored souk, Ottoman-era stone houses, and the dramatic terraced harbor crowded with new fishing boats and yachts—and those cruel cobblestones everywhere. It was no wonder that our legs were stronger, although we still worried about breaking an ankle.
As we often did when traveling, we encountered several weddings in Lebanon, including one in our Beirut hotel, where the wedding party posed for photos in the lobby. Some of the women wore evening gowns and a couple of young women were in miniskirts and very high heels, but others managed to be elegant in outfits that completely covered them, even over the head. The men ranged from formal outfits to Mafia-mod—and most of them needed a shave.
"I told you," Sherrill reminded me, "wherever we go, we run into weddings."
"I don't think it's our fault."
"I told you," Sherrill reminded me, "wherever we go, we run into weddings."
"I don't think it's our fault."
Temple of Bacchus, Baalbek, the best preserved Roman temple in the world Then there was Baalbek. Trying to describe Baalbek is like trying to wrap the Grand Canyon in words. It has been called the most important Roman site in the Middle East. Its temples were built on a scale that surpassed anything in Rome. The more Sherrill and I had learned about Baalbek, the more eager we had been to see it. In 36 BC, Marc Antony gave Baalbek to Cleopatra. What could be more romantic than that? Emperor after emperor, including Nero and Caracalla, devoted massive resources to the city. As fascinated as we were by the rest of Lebanon, Baalbek was the magnet that originally drew us there.
Once again, the Roman city and temples had been built on top of Neolithic, Phoenician, Greek, and other ancient settlements, and was surrounded by later Byzantine and Moslem buildings, as well as a few pathetic modern structures.
"This puts us in our place," one of our friends on the trip commented. "Hardly a blip in history."
Once again, the Roman city and temples had been built on top of Neolithic, Phoenician, Greek, and other ancient settlements, and was surrounded by later Byzantine and Moslem buildings, as well as a few pathetic modern structures.
"This puts us in our place," one of our friends on the trip commented. "Hardly a blip in history."
Whoever was already living in that area when the Romans came had to have been impressed by this great show of Roman civilization and power. Our feet and legs were given a good work out with Baalbek's monumental staircases, immense courtyards, and gigantic temples. We spent hours hiking over, on, and among the ancient stonework, the hot sun reflecting into our faces. The only comparisons we could think of were Manhattan and the Grand Canyon, but it was foolish to compare Baalbek to anything else. It was its own magnificent thing and it was remarkable that so much of it had survived so well for more than two thousand years.
Temple of Jupiter, Baalbek.
The tallest columns in the
world and once the biggest
Roman temple in the world.
Temple of Jupiter, Baalbek.
The tallest columns in the
world and once the biggest
Roman temple in the world.
Getting home from Beirut turned out to be more of an adventure than we expected. Air France and other French workers were on strike, protesting changes to their pension plans. We didn't know even that morning if our plane would leave on time. Then it turned out that the arrival of the Iranian president on the same day was causing record traffic jams. We left early enough to get to the airport before the worst of the traffic, but the plane was delayed anyway because the flight crew couldn't get through the traffic. The flight, itself, was okay. The French cabin crew kept passing out wine.
The next morning, after a night at Charles de Gaulle, as our British Air plane for London was taxiing to the runway a man across the cabin from us had a heart attack. The crew sprang into action, bringing out all kinds of equipment, but the plane returned to the gate and medics came on. They worked on the man for about an hour. Eventually, they took him and his companion off the plane—and their luggage, too. The plane left an hour and a half late. Passengers with connections were upset, but fortunately we were staying overnight in London before flying to San Francisco. Besides, this trip had given time a new perspective for us. In the great scheme of things, what did a few hours or days matter?
To be continued....
The next morning, after a night at Charles de Gaulle, as our British Air plane for London was taxiing to the runway a man across the cabin from us had a heart attack. The crew sprang into action, bringing out all kinds of equipment, but the plane returned to the gate and medics came on. They worked on the man for about an hour. Eventually, they took him and his companion off the plane—and their luggage, too. The plane left an hour and a half late. Passengers with connections were upset, but fortunately we were staying overnight in London before flying to San Francisco. Besides, this trip had given time a new perspective for us. In the great scheme of things, what did a few hours or days matter?
To be continued....
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