Lebanese Holiday in Hamra

Lebanese Holiday in Hamra

I arrived in Beirut jetlagged, needing a shower, and without luggage, but, upon landing, I was instantly awake and excited nonetheless.  It’s called the “Paris of the Middle East”: a renewed city, with neighborhoods, restaurants, history, and a vibe and culture unlike anywhere else.  I was in great spirits, even if my clothes were a bit smelly.  I had only four days, but I was determined to do my best to see it all.  

Sans suitcases (lost by the airline), settling in to my hotel room at the Riviera Hotel was quite easy.  In a prime location on the oceanfront Corniche in West Beirut, adjacent to the Hamra and Ras Beruit neighborhoods, the nicely-appointed lobby decorated for the holiday season greeted me pleasantly upon entering.  However, I was increasingly disappointed, each step I took away from the main entrance.  For a supposed-four-star accommodation, the room was outdated at best, dingy, and even unsanitary at worst.  Stains were scattered over the hunter green, late 1980s or early 1990s-era rug.  Most noticeable was a water-stained ring, emerging from the bathroom. I attempted to comfort myself by thinking it probably was from the shower (due to the large rusted out hole in the tub wall), and hopefully not the bidet or toilet…. Unfortunately, I didn’t really believe these wishful thoughts.   The sheets were visibly dirty.  I brushed off the hairs and tried to fend off nightmarish thoughts of what a black light would have revealed.  The balcony was large enough for only one patio chair, which was covered in dirt and mold (not that I would have opted to lounge there overlooking the water tanks and parking lot in the back of the building anyway).  The Riviera’s signature upscale characteristic is, supposedly, the beach club, which was unfortunately closed during my winter holiday there.  But, given everything else, it very well may have been open, and I still doubt I’d consider the Riviera Hotel an ideal spot.  Additionally, it should be noted that the building is undergoing renovations.  I am unsure of the extent or schedule of the construction, but I highly recommend those who are considering the Riviera during a visit to Beirut to wait until it is complete. 

I accepted these accommodation injustices with the thought that I would be in the room very infrequently, as there was too much else to see and do in 96 hours.  However, as an unforgivable parting shot from the Riviera, my travel companion (who had equally awful surprises in another room) left his wallet when we checked out a few days later.  Having almost immediately realized the error but with a flight waiting, he was forced to call the front desk and ask someone to pick it up and send it to him.  The wallet was returned to reception much, much lighter than he had left it.  At a hostel? Of course; even to be expected at a Holiday Inn.  But in “Four-Star accommodations”- one hopes not. 

The neighborhood just slightly up the hill from the Riviera was a good one to explore:  Hamra is home to American University of Beirut and two other universities and the neighborhood mood is young, vibrant, and, if it is possible, even more Westernized (or, more specifically, AMERICAN-ized) than the rest of the city.  US brands, such as Abercrombie and Fitch and token baseball hats abounded everywhere.  With lots of cafes and busy streets, this area is less known for the stereotypical Beirut night life, made up of dance clubs packed with posh designer-clad Beiruties.  I wandered down the two main thoroughfares , Rue Bliss and Rue Hamra (Virtual Tourist refers to Rue Hamra as Beiruit's answer to London's Oxford St) before settling on a small packed eatery on one of the nameless side streets (I found out later that this was Mahatma Ghandi St. that intersected Rue Hamra, though there were no signs to indicate it as such).





Ferdinand’s is recognizable by its location adjacent to the Hamra Tabkah and from its unique silver hand-shaped door knob, which the opener must ‘shake’ to enter the establishment.  I stepped into a very dark lounge.  It was almost too dark to see the menu, but it complimented the mood perfectly. It was crowded and smoky .  Groups of friends seemed to have been comfortably parked on the narrow couches next to the red brick wall for hours with no intent of moving, so I waited for a seat at the bar.  Beginning with an Almaza, local pilsner, I was disappointed in myself for actually having eaten the terrible airplane food on each flight and was therefore not hungry enough to order a full meal.  I ordered a small feta salad and continued to take in the atmosphere: the 70’s easy listening rock of Carly Simon, and Fleetwood Mac was somehow oddly fitting.  The bartender was casually able to multitask, while catching up with a crowd that appeared, from the level of familiarity with the staff, to be regulars.  I noticed the specialty julep menu behind the bar and wished I could stay awake for a second round before crashing in bed.  I sipped my pilsner musing a moment over that specialty cocktail menu before I realized why it was odd – it was a reflection.  A chalkboard sign on the wall  behind me that I barely noticed upon first glance, I realized then, it wasn’t in Arabic, but in English, written backward so that the customers could read it in the reflection of the mirror behind the bar.  I appreciated this small, quirky touch as I attempted to write my name backwards on my bar napkin in vain. The barbacoa chicken sandwich that was brought to the person next to me at the bar had me salivating, and between that and the julep list, I vowed to return when I could savor Ferdinand’s a bit more.  But, at least for that night, my 36 hours traveling had caught up to me.



St. George's Yact Club

 As I walked out the door I paused to look at (and admittedly lean over and touch) an old wrought iron candelabra with years worth of white wax drippings that left the display looking like a melting weeping willow covered in snow. I thought about how to recreate that neat piece at home without creating an unbelievable mess and slowly trudged down the hill, looking out on the dark ocean view through the labyrinthine alleyways and stairwells leading down to the Corniche.