No.385 Of Journeys Long and Eventful

Finally, I managed to get a tour last night of the Hezbollah area of Beirut where Terry Waite was held hostage for five years. Previously, two (presumably Christian) taxi drivers had refused to take me there on grounds of their own personal security. It actually looked a lot better than some parts of Beirut and certainly better than I was expecting. After the Israelis bombed the district 6 years ago much of the housing has been rebuilt or redeveloped. I couldn't help but draw parallels with the IRA's bombing of Manchester which actually led to substantial redevelopment and improvement of the town centre.

This morning we arrived to Beirut bus station at 7.30a.m. to start our journey back to Syria. The day did not go well. The bus we were waiting on broke down so we transferred to a mini bus. This dropped us in an unknown part of Damascus and not the bus station we were hoping for. We then took a local bus which we were assured would terminate in the bus station. It didn't. It terminated half way there after it pranged a pickup. Picture if you will a bunch of Arabs in the midday sun gesticulating and blaming one another for what has just happened while passengers wait to see whether they're getting a bus journey after all or a long walk on foot.

We then took a taxi to the bus station only to be told that there were no seats available on the bus today to where we wanted to go due to the Ramadam festival when everyone wants to travel to be with their family.

We then chartered a taxi for 5,000 Syrain pounds (about 50 quid) to take us to Palmyran. This is in Eastern Syria about 100 kilometers from Iraq and features some of the oldest buildings in the world dating back two millenium.

Last full day tomorrow before heading back to Damascus and then London.

No.384 Of The Lebanese Shimmey

We spent much of today at the coast soaking up as much of the sunshine and relaxation to be had before beginning our journey back to Syria tomorrow and then the UK after that. There are beautiful cafes and restaurants dotted along the Beirut coast line with terrific views as the sun sets over the Med and we managed to bless three of them with our presence at various points today.

I love this country and I have just two complaints about Lebanon. The first is the service which is not great. Locals tell me that this is because the Lebanese tend to tip better than foreigners so the former get the best of the attention while the latter get whatever is left. The other complaint is the driving. It's just a highway free for all. I don't think I've ever seen anyone here use an indicator and there are so few roads with lines anywhere to be seen. Few too seem to observe traffic lights (where there are any). You just drive, you toot and you shimmy for position. Bonkers but a whole load of fun...

No.383 Of Hubble Bubble and an Awful lot of Trouble

I went to dinner last night at a restaurant overlooking the Med. I have to confess that I was led astray by a Lebanese woman who proved to be a bad influence on me. She had me break a twenty year abstinence from fish by ordering shrimps and then another by ordering some "hubble bubble". This is the Arabian pipe that they smoke a lot here. It sounds and looks innocuous enough but some health expert has just reported that a session of hubble bubble is the equivalent of 100 fags. The flavour of the smoke was grape. Maraijuana flavour wasn't available apparently.
The shrimps tasted just as I remembered them all those years ago rather rubbery as I washed them down with some great local wine hoping there were no Veggie police in the locality ready to get me into an awful lot of trouble.

All I can taste now is the guilt.

vour

No.382 Of Beirut & Party time

We tried attempt No.2 last night to get in THE nightclub in Beirut. This time it worked. The doorman remembered me and apologised for knocking me back the night before for wearing shorts (and Crocs at a guess) and he explained in very good English that he was just doing his job. I explained I had my trousers shipped in specially from the UK to make sure we got in this time and he very politely smiled in response to such a rotten attempt at humour.
In my 20s I used to hate nightclubs but always pretended that I liked them and was having a good time. By my 30s I didn't bother with the latter bit and as I headed toward my 40s would even make a point of being miserable in the hope that my company would know not to invite me again. But last night something strange happended. I actually had a really good time. The nightclub had five live bands on stand playing anything from Reggae to Spanish and Arabian to Cuban music. In between the re-setting of the stage they played some of the best 80s music going. And golly was my dancing the best? Probably not come to think of it.

The Arabs I learnt are even more precious about the space around them and how you should not encroach upon it than the English. As soon as they as much as touch you lightly on the dance floor they come up to you apologising and offering something which I'm supposing is like "Allah be with you" and they expect the same back (or English equivalent) if the same happens in reverse.

We left about 2.30a.m. when others were still arriving. Boy, can Beirut party.

No.381 Of Barry on Byblos

We were in Byblos last night which lays claim to being the oldest continually inhabited town in the world. It was also the playground of the rich and famous in the 60s before the civil war and you can see why. It has an idyllic harbour, gorgeous restaurants over looking the Med and some of the most beautiful old cobbled streets and markets you're ever likely to see. At night it comes alive and the place just buzzes. It reminded me of some parts of Ibiza but without the Brits or the drunks. I wonder if the two are at all connected?

After Byblos we headed back into Beirut to try a local Lebanese nightclub. We were knocked back on grounds of my shorts. I guess I should have known better having been refused entry to the Beirut Mosque for the same reason earlier that day. I feigned disappointment being glad to get back to the hotel as energy levels were plummeting. We plan another attempt this evening assuming Youngen has recovered from his own dose of the Trots. He's confined to the hotel bedroom room at the moment or put another way confined to the vacinity of within 50 metres of a loo.

No.380 Of Taxi No Bus

Golly I was grumpy today. But I was allowed to be. I think. You see the day started with a dose of the Inca Trot which had me going back and forth to the loo for much of the early hours. When I finally got to sleep and awoke at 6a.m. I found the hotel was clean out of water which meant no more loo, no shower and no brushing my teeth before heading north to the Syrian border and onto Lebanon.

The taxi driver was having none of the idea that we would want to take a bus from Damascus to Beirut rather than a taxi straight from the border. "Take Taxi" he said. "No we prefer bus" I replied. "No taxi". "No bus" "No taxi" "No bus" it continued for far too long. For three hundred kilometres he coughed over me, smoked over me and played that blooming awful Syrian monotonal music at full belt. Why would anyone not want to sit in a nice air conditioned coach in preference to this I thought?

Soon we were sitting in said air conditioned coach and over the two borders we got on and off a full 8 times as they first checked passports then visas then demanded you paid an exit or entry tax. Each time you're working in a different currency, watching your bags, your wallet, your passport. I'm learning Arabic quick because it seems to be a constant fight to keep those at bay who are trying to make some money out of you. I don't blame them. I'd do the same. It's just hard work being on the end of it.

Anyway, we're now in Beirut and a friend of ours is about to give us a tour of the city. I must try a bit of Anthony Robbins "reframing" and see if I can snap out of this "mal humor" of mine. Afterall, we're in a hotel with a loo, a shower and water and best of all no Syrian music. What more could a traveller ask for?

Beach tomorrow and the day after and the day after that too.

No 379 Of Petra, Shirley and Johnny

Wow! A full day in Petra and did we do some walking today or what?. As I write it's 6p.m. and youngen sleeps in our room upstairs exhausted from the many kilometres and hundreds of steps we ascented trying to see the most of Petra in 8 hours and the scorching heat.

Think of the Cheddar Gorge and Caves, the Grand Canyon and the Indianna Jones film set mix them all up and you get something like the astonishing place that is Petra. In fact, at times it was all so spectacular and there was so much of it that by lunch time I was sick of seeing it - or at least seeing sights that you knew you would have to explore because you'd likely never get a chance again.

The climax to Petra is a visit to the Monastary set some 800 steps up in the hill side which you can either walk to or get to on a donkey. We walked which is why I'm aching and plan a swim and a massage and youngen is dead beat upstairs. "We'll think it the right decision in a few days time" he declared as we clocked the exit gate earlier and trudged wearily to where our guide was to pick us up this afternoon. The donkey ride salesman wasn't so convinced however. In the half a mile it took him to accept that we really weren't going to hire any of his donkeys he told me that he was a Bedouin and that Bedouin were "very popular with the ladies". He told me his current girlfriend is 42, from Switzerland and 12 years older than he was. He'd found his own Shirley Valentine on a donkey in Petra.

The Jordian Bedouin it has to be said are handsome folk. The females have lovely smiles backed up by beautiful white teeth. The guys with deepset dark eyes shaded by scarves all resembled Johnny Depp to me. The more I looked around the more I saw Johnny Depp lookalikes flying by on camels or whipping the hell out of uncooperative donkeys. At least I think I did or may be it was the heat...