Trouble in the Lebanon — again

At the time it occurred I was twenty miles from Beirut, in my temporary lodgings in Jounieh, trying to get as much information as possible. In the distance, the Beirut sky was lit up with light beams, and transistors from neighbouring houses in Jounieh carried furious invective on the night air. It was apparently clear to the er, commentators, that Israel was responsible. I wanted to find out more about what was happening around me by watching TV, but then the power was cut again in the neighbourhood, and so I groped my way to bed in the darkness.

I rose early the next day (Sunday) and made way into Beirut. It was a brilliantly sunny morning, and a hushed one as I reached the streets of Centreville, the reconstructed French mandate era downtown. Church bells rang out, but aside from that a morning hush settled over the streets. So did I just imagine an extra ratchet of tension in the air? I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to me that the security factor had been stepped up, and there were even more camouflage wearing, machine gun bearing cops than usual. I made my way to Hamra on foot, a conspicuous pedestrian in my Hong Kong baseball cap, blue blazer and RM Williams boots. Wherever you go, there you are they say.

It was 11am by the time I got to Hamra, an attractively seedy neighbourhood that seems frozen in a time warp circa 1974, and is known also as a gathering place for intellectuals. If so, it was still way too early for them to be out and be seen. I looked in at the Mayflower Hotel, which according to their business card, has been exceeding expectations since 1957. It is here, the desk clerk informed me, “Robert Fisk and all the other writers stay”. The hotel’s Duke of Wellington pub was shut, so there were no writers about, but I made a memo to return another day with my drinking goggles on.

Back on the street, and the sound of ranting joined in with the constant – and I do mean constant – beeping of horns and cries of “taxi” (as in “do you want to pay an exorbitant price to be driven the long way around the corner?”) Transistor radios again, on street corners, broadcast what I think now must have been a speech by Hassan Nasrallah, the Hezbollah leader. He was describing his reaction to the fatal bomb defusion, in the smooth and even tones of a polished statesman and diplomat. Not really. He was screaming his freaking head off - as if screaming your head off was a long distance track and field event, and he was way out in front. I’d be lying if it didn’t send a chill down my spine.

Meanwhile another shoebomber makes international news and at least one person I spoke here to thinks it was obviously, wait for it, a CIA plot. The thinking being that the CIA stage these things to keep everybody scared. I told them that not even the CIA can screw operations as badly as the shoe bombers #1 and #2.

And I’m here to like, write restaurant reviews? Wish me luck folks.