Beirut, Lebanon

Beirut, Lebanon. Just typing those works evokes images in my mind from years past. Flashes of a Marine barracks blowing up, Sabra and Shattila, Civil War, Hizbollah, all conjure images of blood and danger. Yet, despite those feelings that come when reflecting on war and destruction, bloodshed and banality, there is an allure that I have felt about coming here. It has been that way with every place in the Middle East. I pull and tug that I need to be in that specific place, and Beirut has been no exception.
I came to Beirut Sunday, with some fear and trepidation. Catherine had indicated that perhaps she should come, but I had nervousness about that. She stated that if it was safe enough for me, it ought to be safe enough for her. Sound reasoning, but sound reasoning doesn’t hold much water in the Middle East. It might be safe enough in Beirut for a day, but it also may turn around with no warning. Presidential elections were supposed to happen last Friday and didn’t, so the country is without a President, and tensions are high. The last time there was a Presidential vacuum was in 1988 and there was a civil war that erupted and shut the country down for several years. It has only just begun to recover from. Yet despite that foreboding, it felt right to come. In fact, when the offer was extended to come and do executive coaching in Lebanon, I jumped at the opportunity. After all, it was Beirut.
I was fortunate that as we flew in, the sky was cloudless and as blue as the sea. Indeed, as we came in, the sea on my right and the coast on my left, I was breathless at the beauty and beauty of each. Lebanon’s coast flows down into the sea with a sense of grace. That same flow continues up into the mountains. From the flight in I stared out as we traveled from a bird’s eye view and was able to see why Lebanon in reality evokes such passions and feelings in its citizens. The tranquility of the landscape was worthy of so much more than just my naked eyes looking at. It seemed almost a spiritual experience as I contemplated the recent and ancient history that worked along the shoreline. I seemed to see ancient Phonecians building their boats to sail away and explore, or the early Christians working their way along the coasts preaching the gospel, or the Muslim armies liberating the land from the Christian invaders, or so many hundreds of other stories, both told and untold, that have unfolded across the landscape. It was a spiritual feeling of sorts as I also felt the sadness and pain that in recent years have so pervaded the hearts of the people of Lebanon. Yet just the beauty of the blue sea flowing into the white and smooth sands shading into the greens and browns of the coast and rising up into the grace and beauty of mountains topped with snow, brought peace back to my heart.
I sat caught up in the view just drinking it in and wanted to just go up and down the coast from this perspective and not get caught up in what might be a dangerous situation on the ground. I could see the villas and homes, big and small. There was just enough detail to see the beauty, but not enough to see the destruction. One could imagine that nothing untoward had occurred in Lebanon in many years, and that it was truly what one could see from the sky, a land of peace and beauty.
At some point and time though, we had to land, and when we did, order was restored. One could see the craters in the ground from the bombs of 2006 when the Hizbollah – Israeli war was in its frenzy. There were bullet holes and shards missing from buildings surrounding the airport. And then there are the soldiers. Right now, they are the only source of security in the country. They are ubiquitous, but there is a sense of quiet peace in them, unlike some of the other soldiers one sees in other countries. They have a ready smile, and yet don’t appear as defenseless and wimpy as the soldiers in some of the other Middle Eastern countries. It’s an interesting contrast. There is also not a feeling of panic or intimidation from them. They appear to be bystanders, just trying to keep the peace, and one gets the feeling that they are pure in their intent. Just young men trying to do the right thing.
The driver was waiting for me, a Christian fellow, and he drove me from the airport to the hotel. The drive itself left me wondering at my fortune. It continued to be a beautiful day with the weather being just warm enough, and yet not too hot. I marveled at all the modern buildings, yet loved the mix of older homes and mosques and churches. Beirut is a wonderful mix of the old and the new. Of order and confusion. Of Christian and Muslim. There was no sense of order in the driving or in the placement of anything. While the driving was not the mass confusion of Cairo, neither was it the order of the United States. It is somewhere in between. There was no anger or urgency as we came to the hotel, and I had a lovely conversation with the driver. He idolized Hariri, the former President who was assassinated some 3 years ago by a bomb. There was even a big billboard of him, with a LED sign over it indicating the number of days that had transpired since his death. He is Lebanon’s Kennedy. It remains an unsolved murder that has furthered deepened the mood of the country. My driver was clearly saddened by this event, and complimented Hariri’s accomplishments for the city, essentially crediting him with its rebuilding. Interesting coming from a Christian, because Hariri was Muslim. In Lebanon, the President is a Christian, a Maronite Christian. The Prime Minister is a Sunni Muslim, and the Head of the Parliament is a Shiite Muslim. That is spelled out in the Constitution, in an attempt to blend together the three different sects that comprise most of Lebanon. The Parliament is then an equal representation from these three groups. Compromise is challenging for them, and that is one of the reasons for so much discord and fear.
The hotel turned out to be nice enough. I was able to get a 10th floor room overlooking the Meditteranean. It is a spectacular view that only affirms Beirut’s place in one of the most beautiful cities I’ve been too. It had a bit of a Parisian feel to it, which is only natural due to the French colonization of it. Most of the people speak at least three languagues (French, Arabic and English), while most speak a few more. They jump back and forth between them with ease. The feel of café’s and small pubs bespeak a different style than every other Middle Eastern country I’ve visited. There is almost a ‘western’ feel to it, but a positive western feel, never losing the fact that it’s a Muslim country. Well, that may not be true. I’m sure the Christians would argue that point.
As I sit here at 8AM in the morning, looking out over the Sea, directly beneath me is a French Art Institute full of cedars and other trees so thickly that I can’t see the ground. It flows down into the apartement buildings beneath it, and then just beyond is the deepest blue sea. That sea then fades into the distance merging with the sky, both as blue as blue can be. There is a feel, different than in Kuwait or Cairo, it’s an eclectic feel. There is an energy, but also a latent tension as if a coiled spring is waiting to unload. Hopefully it will wait for a couple of days. I can hear a call to prayer, but it’s not pervasive, and I can see a Christian Church with the cross. Indeed, a crossing of many cultures here, but I am drinking it in, and feel like I just can’t get enough. This is a wonderful place.