Ontop of buildings in Lebanon
My trip took a minor diversion to Lebanon to meet a dear friend. For the purposes of this article I will refer to her as Voldemorta (or Voldy, or Morty) as she-must-not-be-named. She does have a nose though. And she rarely drinks unicorn blood. I really did fall in love with this country, which seems to be somewhat unexplored by the more backpacker-hitchhiker type of traveler. The grounds for my profession of fondness for this little levantine nation are the food, the scenery, and the people.
I only hitchhiked for a brief spat from Beirut up to the minor settlement of Qoubaiyat which is around 5 km as the crow flies from the Syrian border. I got up early, and fortified myself with two za'atar manaqish and took a microbus out of Beirut, and was quickly picked up by a chain-smoking trio in a battered old Mercedes (an ubiquitous vehicle in these parts). They were very happy to meet me, despite our minimal ability to communicate with one another - so far I've found Levantine Arabic the most divergent from the little Arabic that I know. They took me as far as Tripoli, where, again I needed a bus to get out of the city. I was dropped off in a small town called Miniah, where I walked through the town and was invited into almost every cafe that I passed.
There is a genuine consensus among locals that hitchhiking does not work in Lebanon - "Mafi autostop!" However, after three rides, two of which were in beautifully painted trucks I made it to Voldy's digs in Qoubaiyat.
We spent a few days in this idyllic little town, but that shall not be the focus of this post; instead we'll fast-forward to Tripoli. We made it back to Lebanon's second city at around 6 in the evening, and predictably we didn't have concrete plans for accommodation. There was a lovely fellow from couchsurfing who had agreed to meet up with us, however he couldn't host us. So, plan B was the beach which proved too rocky, too windy, and too crowded. Our blonde heads were like beacons to the locals!
I had a plan C, which Morty agreed to try - let's get on a roof. It relied on several factors, first of all roofs in this part of the world are almost invariably flat, secondly Lebanon is somewhat lax on home security and so the front doors to apartments are usually open, and finally we could probably get away with it even if we were caught. So, we walked through the not-quite-empty enough streets searching for a suitable location, but to be honest I don't think either of us knew quite what we were looking for. As we alighted the stairs of the first, rather squat building my heart felt like it might leap out of my chest. But I couldn't turn back yet. We got to the top of the stairs, but alas the door to the roof was closed.
Feeling somewhat disappointed but resilient nonetheless we went downstairs to the street. Our profile of suitable candidates developed with every building we checked out. Initially I had bet on abandoned places, but we soon learned that these were surprisingly difficult to access. In fact, after trying several buildings the best bet was older occupied apartment buildings. Finally we came to a building whose rooftop door was just standing open! Relieved I practically sprinted onto the terrace where I immediately tripped over a pipe, which proved to be my nemesis. Voldemort cursed nervously every time I inadvertently kicked the pipe - scared that I would wake the sleeping families below. There was a ladder of questionable integrity which led up to the highest point on the roof. After scrambling up to the top, we set up our sleeping area, and sipped vodka while we waited for our heart rates to go back to normal levels.
I'll admit it, it wasn't the best sleep of my life. Adrenaline still pumped through my veins as my adventure buddy dozed off peacefully next to me, and it was more than a tad windy. However, I woke up happy to a beautiful view and with a sense of accomplishment. We left while it was still early to get coffee and meze and bathe in the sea. Quite a charming morning all told.
Two days later, Voldy and I said a sad goodbye at Beirut airport. In the evening I had to find my rooftop home without her assistance. For some reason, I chose what is probably the most busy part of the capital but was surprised to immediately find the perfect candidate. This time, with experience I was much less nervous and bedded down, serenaded by the sounds of inebriated frolicking on the streets below.
I only hitchhiked for a brief spat from Beirut up to the minor settlement of Qoubaiyat which is around 5 km as the crow flies from the Syrian border. I got up early, and fortified myself with two za'atar manaqish and took a microbus out of Beirut, and was quickly picked up by a chain-smoking trio in a battered old Mercedes (an ubiquitous vehicle in these parts). They were very happy to meet me, despite our minimal ability to communicate with one another - so far I've found Levantine Arabic the most divergent from the little Arabic that I know. They took me as far as Tripoli, where, again I needed a bus to get out of the city. I was dropped off in a small town called Miniah, where I walked through the town and was invited into almost every cafe that I passed.
There is a genuine consensus among locals that hitchhiking does not work in Lebanon - "Mafi autostop!" However, after three rides, two of which were in beautifully painted trucks I made it to Voldy's digs in Qoubaiyat.
We spent a few days in this idyllic little town, but that shall not be the focus of this post; instead we'll fast-forward to Tripoli. We made it back to Lebanon's second city at around 6 in the evening, and predictably we didn't have concrete plans for accommodation. There was a lovely fellow from couchsurfing who had agreed to meet up with us, however he couldn't host us. So, plan B was the beach which proved too rocky, too windy, and too crowded. Our blonde heads were like beacons to the locals!
I had a plan C, which Morty agreed to try - let's get on a roof. It relied on several factors, first of all roofs in this part of the world are almost invariably flat, secondly Lebanon is somewhat lax on home security and so the front doors to apartments are usually open, and finally we could probably get away with it even if we were caught. So, we walked through the not-quite-empty enough streets searching for a suitable location, but to be honest I don't think either of us knew quite what we were looking for. As we alighted the stairs of the first, rather squat building my heart felt like it might leap out of my chest. But I couldn't turn back yet. We got to the top of the stairs, but alas the door to the roof was closed.
Feeling somewhat disappointed but resilient nonetheless we went downstairs to the street. Our profile of suitable candidates developed with every building we checked out. Initially I had bet on abandoned places, but we soon learned that these were surprisingly difficult to access. In fact, after trying several buildings the best bet was older occupied apartment buildings. Finally we came to a building whose rooftop door was just standing open! Relieved I practically sprinted onto the terrace where I immediately tripped over a pipe, which proved to be my nemesis. Voldemort cursed nervously every time I inadvertently kicked the pipe - scared that I would wake the sleeping families below. There was a ladder of questionable integrity which led up to the highest point on the roof. After scrambling up to the top, we set up our sleeping area, and sipped vodka while we waited for our heart rates to go back to normal levels.
I'll admit it, it wasn't the best sleep of my life. Adrenaline still pumped through my veins as my adventure buddy dozed off peacefully next to me, and it was more than a tad windy. However, I woke up happy to a beautiful view and with a sense of accomplishment. We left while it was still early to get coffee and meze and bathe in the sea. Quite a charming morning all told.
Two days later, Voldy and I said a sad goodbye at Beirut airport. In the evening I had to find my rooftop home without her assistance. For some reason, I chose what is probably the most busy part of the capital but was surprised to immediately find the perfect candidate. This time, with experience I was much less nervous and bedded down, serenaded by the sounds of inebriated frolicking on the streets below.
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