December 1997/January 1998
Wednesday December 24th - stop over at Vienna airport, Austria
Thursday December 25th - Vienna to Beirut to Damascus
The Austrian Airways connection to Beirut left on time at 10.30am. Nice Xmas dinner with cream cakes and excellent Austrian beer (Gosser). Arriving about 3pm local time, the small airport was relatively deserted. There was a ugly arrivals hall with nothing in it - not even a money exchange. We checked out departures to Damascus but none were going there today. A few taxi drivers offered us rides. I had heard that if you left the airport grounds and walked down the main road, you could get a taxi for half the usual airport fare. Consequently we were able to get a taxi for $5US for the 5km ride into town.
Outside the airport, the landscape was a disaster. Everything flattened. Syrian soldiers sat astride tanks and guarded the entrance. Mounds of rubble everywhere. It got no better as we approached the city. Roads were potholed, flooded or being rebuilt. We would make horrendous U-turns and double back on ourselves along tiny lanes through construction sites. It was like taking a Sunday drive through the local rubbish dump. It was also the ugliest place I could ever remember visiting. The taxi driver was friendly enough, talking in broken English, telling us that the Syrian and Israeli occupations were the major problem. If only they would leave and let the Lebanese get on with it. We had asked for the Cola bus station, with an aim to get out of Beirut as soon as possible. Cola turned out to be a roundabout under a flyover where buses stopped and taxis hung around. We asked around and were told to go to the new bus station. A local bus took us there in the north east of the city, through more ugly areas. Nothing stood out. We caught glimpses of bombed out buildings. Supposedly the city was being internationally financed to rebuild itself, but all I saw was a new Sports Stadium in the middle of the rubble.
The bus station was also obviously new and even had proper western toilets. Ignoring a taxi driver who offered us a ride to Syria for a small mortgage, we found the ticket office. We had no Lebanese money, but American dollars seemed to function well. It cost $10 US for two tickets to Damascus. Thirty minutes later we were off on the 3 and a half hour ride. We left Beirut as it got dark. I was surprised to see so many Xmas decorations on the streets. As we drove up into the mountains, fog descended and it poured with rain. There were continual stops on the twisty road for either Syrian or Lebanese military checks or the driver dropping off or picking up people and goods.
Reaching the Lebanese border in about two hours, we filled in a pink departure card. We had been in the country for less than four hours. Then we passed through seemingly miles of darkened no-mans land to the Syrian border. After last year's rejection at the Syrian border, we were a little nervous (especially having shelled out another £35 each for single visit visas, and £25 each for multi visit Lebanese visas). This time, with clean passports we had no problems. Descending into Damascus, it was amazing to think that we had visited three different capitals in three countries all on Xmas Day. The bus dropped us in the centre. Asking for directions, we found the old Hejaz railway station ten minutes away and made for the Beruda Hotel on Said al-Jabn Avenue round the corner. For $23US we got a ensuite double room with hot water and heating. Nothing special but adequate. We explored the surrounding streets, and found a hamburger stall open where we haggled for 2 hamburgers for a dollar. Damascus seemed very quite and civilized after Beirut. Our adventures would start tomorrow just as soon as we could get some Syrian currency.
Friday December 26th - Damascus, Syria
The money exchange on Martyr's Square opened at 10am and I changed $200US which would last us the entire week. The official rate was 45 lire to the US dollar. There was a black market rate of 52 if you could find it, but since I had not seen any of the currency before, I played safe. We tried fruit juices for breakfast. I had a pint of freshly squeezed pomegranate juice and Jo had a mixture of mango, banana and strawberry. Overpriced at $1US each, it was still very affordable. Inside the central Post Office, it looked like a bomb site. Outside, locals sold pens and paper and envelopes from stalls. We headed for the old city which was originally surrounded by a Roman Wall. Now a 13C wall still guards most of it. The Citadel marks the entrance of the major covered market called 'Sour Al-Hamadiyyeh'. There were a few hustlers who were easily ignored. Since it was Friday, most of the souk was closed. The souk was a little disappointing compared against others we had visited. At the far end of the market, the vaulted roof gives way to two enormous Corinthian columns supporting a decorated lintel - the remains of the old Roman Temple of Jupiter built in 3C AD.
Opposite the end of the market is the entrance to the largest mosque in Syria - the Omayyad Mosque. The history of the site goes back 3000 years, but the present building dates from 705 AD. There was a service in the prayer hall and any tourists were banned until it was over. We strolled around the narrow back streets of the old city surrounding the Mosque and took in the local colour. Approaching the Mosque from a different gate, a caretaker let us in for 10 lire each. Jo had to wear a black hooded cloak like a medieval monk. The interior was a vast expanse of courtyard with families and kids running around. It was like the park on Sunday. You could see the old golden/green mosaics on the upper arches which would have originally decorated it. The prayer hall finally emptied out through two doors. Hundreds of people leaving and putting on their shoes. We took ours off and entered what appeared to be acres of carpets and hundreds of columns. The mosque is famous as the site where the head of John the Baptist is buried. The government had raised the price of museums in Syria to an expensive 200 lire ($4US). This caused us to be more selective.
We passed on the Azem Palace near the mosque but just around the corner we spotted some people peering through an opening. Following them inside, we found ourselves in the same building - the part being reconditioned. It was built by the Governor of Damascus in 1748 out of black basalt and white limestone in impressive alternating layers. Like a liquorice allsort. A janitor led us up to the roof for a view of Damascus with its golden sandstone hills looming in the background. The Street called Straight (Via Recta) was non descript. The remains of a Roman arch halfway down marked the Christian quarter. At the end of the street lay Bab Sharqui (East Gate). We turned right and followed the Wall to Bab Kisan (St Paul's Chapel) which marks the spot where the disciples lowered St Paul out of a window in a basket one night after her had annoyed the Jews by preaching in the synagogues. There was a small chapel of no interest.
Walking back to the Mosque, we found a market stall that did hummus and sheik kebabs for 120 lire. The chefs all demanded to have their photos taken. Lunch in the sun. Time was pushing on, so we made for the National Museum a mile away. It was closing as we arrived at 4pm. Next door lay the Army Museum which is part of the 'Takiyyeh As-Sulaymamiyyeh Mosque'. You can walk through the grounds for free and see a number of aircraft from the 1967 and 1973 Arab-Israeli wars, a Russian space capsule and large pieces of Israeli aircraft wreckage.
Saturday December 27th - Palmyra
We walked past the Army Museum again to reach the Karnak bus station. Not sure what was going where until we got there. You had to show your passport to get into it. Someone walked up and asked our destination. Palmyra. He indicated on his watch that the bus left in 50 minutes. Time for a cup of tea. I had just got it, when we were hustled onto a bus. The only passengers. We were not sure what was happening until we reached another bus station on the outskirts - much busier. Luckily we had inadvertently blagged a free ride there. In an office, we had our passports checked and paid 250 lire ($5US) for the three hour ride. The bus filled up and we had fun picking the right seats (all numbered in Arabic). Setting off out of Damascus - which was very lively after its rest days, I even saw an Arab girl with platform shoes. The video went on in the bus and some terrible Syrian film was shown. We drove through cultivable land into the barren desert which runs east all the way to the Euphrates River. The wide fringe of the desert gets sufficient rain to support enough vegetation to graze sheep and goats. The desert fringe dwellers build beehive shaped houses as protection against the sun. Ironically it was cold and cloudy outside. No sign of the sun. The Syrian desert proper extends southeast into Jordan and Iraq. Its Arabic name is 'Badiet es Sham'. It is not a sand desert, but consists of stony treeless plains stretching to the horizon. Rainfall is extremely irregular here. Dotting this desert are the oases - the main one is Palmyra - which used to serve as way stations for the caravans on their way between the Mediterranean and Mesopotamia. Half way along an endless straight road with trucks rolling past, we stopped at a garage in the middle of nowhere. Farmers, with their red kaffiyeh (headdress) and galabiyya (long cloaks) rode tractors in to fill up. Everyone passing stopped. It was obviously where the local gossip took place.
We arrived in Palmyra around noon. The bus drove the middle of the spectacular ruins to get into town - which was an introduction. With about 40,000 people, Palmyra is a market town with a budding tourist industry. There were certainly more hotels there now than our book suggested. Our first choice of hotel refused to bargain down from $28US and we thought they were optimistic. A block away, we tried the 'Shams Motel'' - a smaller family run establishment. They had a decent ensuite room for $10US. At the time, we did not notice the lack of heating, but it would not take long to miss it. It was a ten minute walk to the huge Temple of Bel where we started our four hour scramble over the site. The ruined pillars and walls were spread out over acres. There was little detail to find, but the overall scale was what caused the imagination. An old man invited us for tea and attempted to sell us headgear. His asking price was obviously set to the tourist dollar. Nevertheless, we found the hard sell pleasantly lacking in Syria. They gave it their best shot and if you weren't interested, you did not get pestered. I was equally intrigued by the funerary towers which stood up in a valley like old disused industrial chimneys. These were used to bury people up to five levels high in small chambers which were covered in friezes. We clambered up some through tiny dilapidated staircases and could still see the sections where the bodies would have been stored.
Finally we climbed up the steep hill to see the 17C Arab Castle 'Qala'at Ibn Maan' which dominated the area. It was surrounded by a moat (in the desert? they were taking no chances). In the late afternoon, with the sun behind us, the shadows were long and the view of the ruins were spectacular. There was nothing much to see inside, so we descended to the town, with small children pestering us for pens, sweets and the almighty dollar. A hail of small stones rained down behind us as we ignored us. One little kid in Damascus had walked past us with a smiling face and said 'Hello fuck you' and walked on which amused us. We walked into the main market square which was full of fruit and veg stalls and whining trezeenas - three wheeler buggies that everyone seemed to use as public transport or to carry goods. The locals were dressed in long black winter cloaks and red headgear and smiled at us.
Back at the hotel, we discovered a freezing room. The shower was warm but you froze when you got out. Seeking food, we explored the main street and avoided the tourist restaurants. We opted for an empty (and cold) local place where chicken was roasting on a spit. We ordered a whole one, with salad, bread, hummus and tea and stuffed ourselves ($5US). At a small stall, we purchased mineral water and the small boy gave us a chocolate each. "Come and have tea tomorrow" he said. Everyone always asked us to have tea with them. Once we warmed up we slept soundly.
Sunday December 28th - Crac Des Chevaliers
We skipped the cold shower and headed to the Museum. The admission was the usual steep 200 lire each for what was an unremarkable collection of funeral tombstones and statues which had been dug up. We took a stroll back to the market which was alive and kicking. Many women out doing their shopping (headscarfs covering the tattooed faces), tradesmen had all their wares on the street or gathered around small fires in tin cans trying to keep warm. Other craftsmen worked - cobblers, welders. As usual, the trezeenas tore up and down the streets in clouds of exhaust fumes. Time to leave.
There were no Karnak buses going to Homs. We walked down to the 'microbus' station and climbed aboard a full minibus. 15 of us in five rows of 3 including the driver. It was cozy. We left immediately (60 lira each)and drove through the ruins for a last time and onto the dead straight road heading east for Homs. En route we saw many of the beehive houses, herds of goats and sheep and passed a military base in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by radar. Two hours later, after a pretty bumpy ride, we drove into the industrial city of Homs, Syria's third largest city. Straight off the bus and someone asked our destination. Hosn. He directed us to another minibus. We were the last to fill it and off we went (25 lira). We probably spent two minutes in Homs. The bus took us 60km to the village of Hosn which lay off the Homs-Tartus highway. It was a quick journey.
The renowned Crac Des Chevaliers crusader castle loomed up ahead on top of a hill overlooking the entire area. There were a couple of tour groups there, but the edifice was large enough for us to lose them. It was great fun to explore the different levels, tunnels and staircases in the dark. At 4pm, as the castle closed, we walked around it for a final view and wondered how we would reach Tartus. Microbuses were only going to Homs, but one offered to take us back to the motorway for 50 lira and it would give us a better chance of a lift. Within five minutes of trying to hitch, a local picked us up in his van and whisked us along the highway, tuning his radio so we could hear English speaking Radio 1 from Beirut. Our driver was the spitting image of Robert De Niro. Forty Kilometres later, he dropped us at the Tartus turnoff and we gave him our only change of 100 lira ($2US).
It had been well worth it to get there as darkness fell. We walked half a mile around the highway ramp and waited with a local for a microbus. One arrived five minutes later and took us to downtown Tartus. I couldn't believe how lucky we had been today. We were dropped at the bus/train station and had to ask locals where we were. Walking a few blocks we found the clock tower and 'Daniel's Hotel' just west of it. The hotel was warm and had hot showers ($10US). Later we walked around the streets looking for restaurants and ended up in a takeaway pizza joint at $1US a pizza. We had 3 Margarita pizzas followed by a pile of sticky syrupy cakes from a bakery.
Monday December 29th - Tartus & Aleppo
It was pouring with rain when we awoke - really lashing it down. We explored the fish market at the end of the street where the boats had just docked and were unloading the latest catch. The 12C Cathedral/Museum had a rather austere exterior of the but the 200 lira fee put us off. We just took it in from the doorway with its graceful curves and arches. Nearby were the remains of the old medieval town walls and ramparts awash in rain water. Locals splashing through the streets. Many houses had been built into the previously old vaulted structures. We could have spent longer there, but I was wet enough already. It continued to rain as we left Daniel's and walked to the bus station. We checked out trains but they seemed to be non existent. The Syrian government claims that the trains no longer exist and we certainly didn't see any, but they must. The railway lines are still maintained.
A bus was leaving direct to Aleppo and we booked seats for 150 lira. The bus station was chaotic and we watched it all from inside the battered but dry bus. For the first time, our bags were searched by the bus driver. "So sorry" he kept repeating. The three and a half hour journey took us back along the Homs highway, but bypassed the city. We joined the main Damascus-Aleppo highway, bypassing Hama too. About 80 km south of Aleppo we stopped and I had a nice syrupy walnut cake. We saw endless dead dogs by the side of the road and a dead donkey. It was raining as we entered the hectic streets of Aleppo - the second largest city and called 'Halab' by the locals. We were dropped at the Pullman bus station (the Karnak rival) and walked up Barons Rd to Baron's Hotel. It looked impressive and so were the prices. They wanted $40US tonight and $55US tomorrow (because of the New Year) and you didn't even get en suite. We decided to keep the money and tried a couple of cheaper joints round the corner on Al-Maari Street and settled on the Hotel Al-Zahra. A bit of a dump but there was plenty of hot water and it only cost 300 lira ($6US)
Aleppo has been an important trading centre sink Roman times between the countries of Asia and the Mediterranean. We took off for the Citadel which stood imposing on a hill overlooking the city. It was just closing as we got there. They still wanted 200 lira for the last 10 minutes so I waited until the caretaker went off to start to lock up parts inside and sneaked up over the drawbridge to take a look at the very impressive fortifications which were massive. You make a succession of five right angle turns though three sets of solid steel plated doors. Since it was raining and getting dark, views from the walls were non existent. Nearby, we entered the covered souks which Aleppo is famous for, and strolled around. We just got a feel of the place which stretched along narrow alleyways endlessly. There were sections for jewellery, textiles, meat, spices, copperware etc. We stopped for egg/ cheese/ salad sandwiches at a stall and talked to locals who all had cousins in England and supported English football teams.
As we returned to the hotel, past the Great Mosque, there was a powercut in rush hour Aleppo. In a blackened out downpour, it made for an interesting experience to find our home in a new city with thousands of headlights charging through floods in the road. It was the noisiest city I could remember visiting. The room was depressingly small and dirty. Despite the rain, we walked around the wet streets through screaming honking traffic. A nightmare of lights, noise and water flying through the air. We ended up in the quiet seclusion of the bar at the Barons Hotel for a beer. This is a famous hotel which opened in 1909 and soon had a reputation as one of the best in the Middle East. It became the base for T.E. Lawrence (of Arabia) during the Arab insurrections around the First World War. It still retains its character but looks rundown. I found one of Lawrence's bills and other memorabilia in the lounge. I think we were wise to save our money and avoid the tour groups now staying there. In the bar, we helped an Englishman plan a trip to Jordan. Walking around we had cheap falafel sandwiches and headed for a bed that was so uncomfortable we had both mattresses and all blankets on one. The things you do to save money.
Tuesday December 30th - Aleppo to Damascus
It was still raining when we got up and thoroughly depressing in the busy streets. The place never stood still. We left our bags and returned to the souks to do some serious haggling. Walking in from a different direction , we entered them through the old city walls and cobbled vaulted alleyways. There were many alcoves off them that revealed lovely courtyards and residences that must look great in the sun. Ramadan had started today, which meant no eating, drinking or smoking by Muslims until sunset. Many of the stalls were closed and opening up as we entered. In the winter months everything seemed to open up late. This was advantageous in that we could stroll around at our own pace without much interruption from the stallholders who would call out "Hello", "Guten Morgan" "Where you From?" "Lady Di" "Manchester United" "Liverpool" "Boy George 50-50". They always thought we were Germans. They were friendly people who were not overbearing with hard sell. We started back at the spices and bought a large bag of pistachio nuts which grow in Syria.
When you backpack, you tend to only buy a couple of souvenirs. I knew exactly what I wanted - red head scarves and possibly a long black Bedouin winter cloak. We browsed the alleyways, tentatively asking starting prices. After much haggling I got both my souvenirs. The souqs were bustling by the time we left. We had found what we wanted, explored them thoroughly but generally it was the same old stuff - only selling, not producing which I feel is the sign of a real souk. The Grand Mosque was closed today although we had peeked through the doors yesterday.
The rain was still falling and we desperately wanted to get out of this town. Collecting our bags we walked to the bus station and found a cheap battered bus heading to Damascus for 60 lira each. There was a mosque in the bus station where locals were praying, even in the grubby hallway when it filled up. We grabbed more Lebanese rolls and lemonade for 35 lira and boarded the bus which had a dozen large wooden chairs strapped to its roof. The trip to Damascus took nearly 5 hours down Highway 1 with only one stop less than 100 km from Damas at a grubby stop where everyone went into the desert to pee rather than use the facilities. The clouds disappeared and blue skies could be seen. We saw little of the landscape because the windows were so dirty, but we had already covered most of the same road on the previous journey.
Reaching Damascus, we got a microbus to the Hejaz railway station and started looking for a cheap hotel that had both heat and hot water. After about six attempts, we tried the Oasis Hotel by the station and found a decent room for 400 lira a night ($8US). This would be our home for the final two nights in Syria. That evening we splashed out on a decent meal at a decent restaurant - the 'Al-Araba'. Starting with chicken soup, two huge bowls of salad were brought over (pickles, beetroot radishes on one, another mixed with mint) and hummus. Shish kebabs followed. There was so much food on the table that we could not finish it all. After all the cheap snacks, it was almost shocking to pay 550 lira for one meal until you converted it to $11US.
Wednesday December 31st - Bosra
Bosra was our last destination out of town. Around 8.30am we walked to the Karnak bus station and reserved seats on the 9.30am bus. We discovered that the Army Museum was surprisingly open and it only cost 5 lira to enter. There were plenty of ancient Arabic swords and guns and memorabilia form the Arab-Israeli wars and we never got round it all before our bus left. We never saw it open again. At the bus station, we met a Japanese couple we had seen at the Mosque on our first day. They were the only other people going to Bosra (100 lira each), so we had the bus to ourselves. The trip lasted two and a half hours and they told us about travelling in Japan.
The town of Bosra lies between two wadis, forty km east of Der'a across fertile plains littered with black basalt rocks. Once important for its location at the crossroads of major trade routes, it is now little more than a backwater. Its a weird and wonderful place. Apart from having possibly the best preserved Roman Theatre in existence, (part of the later Citadel) the rest of the town is built in, around and over old sections of Roman buildings, almost entirely out of basalt blocks. We entered the citadel to find we had the place to ourselves. The black 15,000 Roman theatre was magnificent and after clambering around the different levels and trying out the acoustics, we explored the rest of the Citadel. It was very dark and very quiet. Outside, lay the old town which still seemed to have people living in it. We walked around the ruins trying to piece the place together. Lots of nooks and crannies. We stopped to buy postcards and the two boys invited us in for tea while they waited for Chuck Norris to appear on TV. They told us about Bosra and the current state of Syrian TV.
After exploring the rest of the old town, there seemed little to hang around for and we headed back to catch the 2.30 bus to Damascus. We were dropped at the south bus station and got a microbus back to Hejaz station. Since it was New Year's Eve and I had 40 postcards to write, we descended to visit a bar in one of the plusher hotels. One Syrian beer and I lemonade were ordered and I set to work. We were rather shocked to be presented a $6 bill and $1 tax. Staggering. Licking our wounds, and glad we hadn't made a night of it, we set off for the Citadel and old city. It was very quiet and generally locked up. After walking around the alleyways, it was back to the hotel. We were asleep by 10.30pm. So much for New Years Eve.
Thursday January 1st 1998 - Damascus to Tripoli, Lebanon
New Years Day and our last in Syria. We were glad to leave what had become a very smelly bathroom. Syrian plumbing is still lacking something. We popped into the Hejaz station which was built by the Turks in 1917 and used to be the major transportation centre. It was very ornate inside but now unused. There was a restaurant in train carriages on the old lines with a steam engine. Supposedly, the "Orient Express" terminated here. Walking down to the National Museum, we paid another 200 lira each and had to check in all luggage and cameras. In the Homs collection, we discovered an ancient red hologram ring where a naked man turned left and right. I didn't realise that these things had been invented thousands of years ago. It was an interesting collection - not too overbearing, but with enough diversity to keep your attention. Highlights for me were the old surgical instruments from ancient doctors' graves, coins from the Alexander The Great era, written cylinders from Uganit using the first known alphabet and a complete room decorated in the style of the Azam Palace in the 18C.
It was after midday and time to get moving. At the Karnak bus station we found a bus leaving for Beirut in 10 mins at 1pm. The bus slowly rose through the Anti-Lebanon mountains - the 'Jebel Lubnan Ash-Sharqiyah' - about 2000 metres high. It all looked very new because we had crossed them on the first night in the dark. About an hour later, we reached the Syrian border and piled out to hand over our 'yellow' immigration cards and get stamped out. There was a slight problem. I had kept mine in my passport all week and definitely had it this morning. Now it was gone. Probably removed or dropped at the bus station when we bought the tickets. Jo was stamped through with no problem. I was told to go back to Damascus. Just like last year, we were back to dealing with Syrian immigration. If they can find a problem, they will and they are the worst I have dealt with. Trying to keep my cool, I explained about the bus station and that I was returning to Beirut to fly home that evening. Then the bribing started. He wrote down 200 lira. I had none left. I offered him $4US. "No dollars. Return to Damascus". By now I was getting pissed off and the whole bus was waiting. Only one solution. Make some noise and get some attention. Finally, the bus driver came in and had a go at the official. The official tried to hold face and refused to budge. Someone offered to change my dollars for Syrian lira. Finally, the official relented and took the dollars. It took less than a second to stamp my passport and I was out of there.
Back on the bus, we drove through no mans land to the Lebanese border where our visas were stamped with no problem. Climbing across the impressively buckled mountains, we stopped at Chtaura for a break where we chatted to a South African travelling with a girlfriend living in Israel. Sounded like fun with the passports. Onwards to Beirut, we passed tanks, gun posts with sandbags and many buildings either gutted or pock marked with bullets. The Chouf Mountains saw some of the most serious fighting and is still the only route in and out to Damascus, so the occupying Syrian army like to keep it well guarded. Beirut looked quite attractive with the late afternoon sun shining over it and the Mediterranean sea. There was another terrible Syrian drama on the bus video with bad music, plot and acting. My ears popped as we descended the mountains. It was nearly 5pm and rather than stay in Beirut, we decided to head for Tripoli in the far north.
A bus was leaving the bus station in 15 minutes. I changed money at the bus station ($1US = 1500 Lira). The bus only cost 1000 each to do the 90 km. Ironically, the new Beirut bus station was the best we had seen all week. The bus took off along the highway which was in a flood of Xmas decorations. Whole avenues of trees were lit with rings of lights. Neon signs flashed everywhere. Every tunnel was lit up with white Xmas lights too. It looked a lot better at night than it did during the day. The bus video showed an old black and white Arab Laurel and Hardy comedy with occasional bad singing. We sat right beneath the screen so it was hard to ignore. The entire northern coast of Lebanon appeared to be an endless strip of high rises, neon lights and garages. Diesel was about 3 pence a litre, Petrol 6p. No wonder, everyone drove huge cars like Mercedes Saloons. The ride was very quick but the driving was horrendous - cars with no lights, people just pottering along so slowly that the bus driver was continually flashing his lights to get them to move over so he could keep up a reasonable speed. Noone indicates. Noone waits. They just pull out of a side road and expect you to slow down. Other cars overtook on either side of us, oblivious to slower traffic up ahead.
We arrived in Tripoli less than 90 minutes later and we were dropped right in the centre at 'Sahet-Et-Tall', a large square by the Ottoman clock tower. The streets were buzzing with honking taxi drivers. Every second car was a taxi and everyone used their horn a lot. It was known as the 'Lebanese Braking Pedal'. The horn is used frequently. When anything blocks the road. When anything doesn't. When anything might. At red lights. At green lights. At all other times. And these horns were LOUD. The place was deafening. It was not cold so we decide to explore with our packs and check out any hotels. Most hotels were destroyed in the civil war, so they are not numerous. Consequently, the prices are far higher than you would expect to pay for what you get. We tried one and were offered a room for 40,000 ($25US), but it was freezing. Another two were pretty shabby. Finally, the Francis Hotel right on the square had a decent ensuite room and not too cold. We got it for 25,000 which was much cheaper than we expected. The old place had character and even some stained glassed windows.
Tripoli is Lebanon's second largest city, and the main port and trading centre for northern Lebanon. Although it had its fair share of fighting during the war, it was not as badly damaged as Beirut. Exploring the busy streets, people seemed genuinely friendly, coming up, asking us where we were from, introducing themselves, asking if we needed any help, even offering telephone numbers. We also saw our first beggars including small Palestinian children looking for food. Outside a cafe, we tried beef sharwarmas (long Lebanese rolls) with chips that were so good that we had chicken ones too covered in garlic sauce (2000 & 1500 each). We would survive on these during our stay in Tripoli. There were also fresh fruit drinks available. People smiled at us. every taxi driver stopped to offer us a lift. It was a nice friendly, hospitable place, but the traffic was unrelenting. Even back in the room it went all night.
Friday January 2nd - Tripoli
Today we decided to explore the old town of Tripoli. Like other Phoenician cities along the eastern Mediterranean coast, Tripoli had a succession of invaders from the Romans to the Persians and Byzantines. After its occupation by the Arabs in the 7C AD, it became again an important trading centre. Then in the 12C it fell to the Crusaders who built the citadel overlooking the city. The Crusaders remained there was 180 years and the old city, built around the base of the Citadel, dates back to this era. En route to the Citadel, we passed through it. The usual alleyways of clothes shops, veg stalls, butchers, fish on barrows in the lanes. The Citadel (5000 lira each) had been renovated, but you could climb onto the unguarded walls with epic drops down the side. There were also secret staircases in the dark and underground vaulted rooms which kept us occupied.
From the Citadel, we could see a large street market in progress beneath us. Everything was for sale - furniture, electronics, caged birds, goldfish, old magazines, silver and brass, old scrap - anything. A Lebanese flee market. We ambled around and found nothing to buy. Despite the fact it was Friday, things did not start to close until lunchtime prayers at 1pm. We walked around the streets looking for artisans but only found cobblers and upholsterers, and attempting to spot some of the famous old buildings, khans and madrasses. The Great Mosque was packed at lunchtime. The service boomed out of speakers. The mosque itself was nothing special unlike the Taynal Mosque which was very stunning and ornate inside. We got the key to visit the old 1740 'Hamman Al Jadid' Turkish baths which was a secret find. Lots of small rooms off to where different practices took place and the doomed ceilings were full of holes to let the steam out, but not the sun in. It was interesting just to potter around to see what you could discover.
After late lunchtime sharwarmas, we strolled around the new part of the city - full of high rise flats on grid streets. But there was nothing of interest. We stopped for Lebanese coffee. Tiny cups of industrial strength coffee which you fill with sugar. A pick up which knocked us out more pricewise (2000 each). As it got dark, we walked back to the deserted old city and found the only functioning Hamman - 'Hammad El-Abed' near the Great Mosque and arranged (so we thought using bad Arabic) a visit tomorrow. Having walked for hours, it was nice to return to a decent room for a hot shower.
Saturday January 3rd - Ski Slopes and Cedar Trees
Time to visit Lebanon's famous ski slopes and cedars. Near the hotel, we found a service taxi to Bcharre (10,000 lira). The hour long drive up into the mountains in a Mercedes Saloon was very pleasant - through olive groves and small villages to some of the most beautiful scenery in Lebanon. We drove to Bcharre on the lip of the dramatic Qadisha Valley, 650 feet deep and only half a mile wide. This is the heartland of the religious recluses who set up isolated monasteries in the valley. The car wound around unguarded bends at unguarded speeds, continuously gaining in altitude and offer spectacular views of the gorges. Villages of red-tile roofed houses perched atop or clung precariously to the sides. Bcharre is a major market town supplying the skiing resorts further up. The snow line seemed to be drawn with a stencil along the valley side. Snow capped ranges dominated the horizon.
We started to walk up away from the town past tiny butcher stalls with goats heads suspended from hooks up towards the Cedars Ski resorts. Within minutes, a tatty old van hauling vegetables around the area stooped. An even tattier, unshaven local offered us a ride up the 11km lane to our destination. En route, we went throughout Arabic vocabulary and he attempted us to count to 20 in Arabic. He was very taken with Jo (all the men were) trying to steal a kiss. He took us all the way to the ski resorts where the road to Baalbeck is blocked by snow until April. He asked us to take his picture with Jo with the snow backdrop and launched his lips at her cheek. She was non plussed.
The snow capped mountains lay all around us with clear blue skies behind them. The ski slopes were well populated with skiers and it looked very inviting. We could see a grove of the famous cedars. Once the country was forested with them, a hundred feet high at full growth and forty feet in circumference. It was from these the tall masts of the Phoenician galleys were made and the roof beams of Solomon's temple. Now they are few and far between. Those that are left seem to be divided up into a billion tiny wooden keyrings for souvenirs at tourist shops. We ambled back down the road to Bcharre, taking in the views, fresh air and occasional 4 wheel drive with skies on the roof either coming or going.
A couple of hours later we were back in town. Someone offered to take us back to Tripoli in a battered Fiat Uno which had no suspension. Five of us piled in and the car moaned around every bend. Once again Jo was subject to Arab male seduction practices of a 'loose' western women. Back in Tripoli, we went to the old city to see a couple of things we had missed. There was a powercut as it got dark which lasted a couple of hours. We walked to the Hamman in darkness to discover that Saturday night was boys night in town. Come back tomorrow morning and you can have one together when noone uses it. No problem. More sharwarmas. We were now being treated as regulars and being fed free falafel balls. The evening was spent researching the rest of the trip.
Sunday January 4th - Byblos & Baalbeck
Our attempts to visit the Hamman were thwarted by a locked hotel front door and inability to wake anyone. Finally we escaped, but needn't have worried. When we arrived at 8.30am, the staff at the Hamman were all asleep too. We were led to a room to change into shorts and given towels and taken to a warm arched room covered in wood to relax while the steam room was geared up. We could hear the scratching of embers and banging of pipes to get it going. The steam room was a 10ft by 6ft tiled affair with a bench on either side. A metal pipe on the floor would splutter out boiling water which turned to steam. In a few minutes you could see nothing and it became hard to breathe. Ten minutes of that and I was taken to a room (leaving Jo to melt) where the man donned a large brillo pad on his hand and scraped me down. a lot of dirt came off my back. I returned to the steam room while Jo got the same treatment. Then I went to the massage room where I was thoroughly soaped down and massaged. after rinsing, it was back to the steam room. Jo had the same. Finally after a last steaming, we rinsed ourselves off, changed and drank tea in the spacious lobby full of couches and carpets. We were there for two hours and felt thoroughly refreshed. Well worth $10US for the treat and experience.
Collecting our bags, we headed for a bus which left at 11am for Beirut. We had asked for Byblos, but an hour later, as we zoomed past Jbeil on the Highway, I sensed that we were not going to stop. The bus driver let us out on the Highway about a mile south from the ruins. We could see the Citadel. It was a miserable walk along the road while cars hurtled past us, honking their horns. 6000 lira entry each. The ancient city of Byblos, (modern Jbeil) with its impressive ruins is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world. Excavations have shown that Byblos was inhabited during the Neolithic period 7000 years ago. Around 3000 BC, it became the most important trading port in the area and sent cedar wood and oil to Egypt in exchange for gold, alabaster, papyrus rolls and linen. It continued to be the major Phoenician centre until the 10C BC, and developed an alphabetic phonetic script which was the precursor of modern alphabets. Byblos came under successive invasions, from the Persians to Alexander The Great, the Romans, the Byzantines, the Arabs and finally the Crusaders who built a castle and moat using the large stones and granite columns of the Roman temples. Following the Crusaders departure, Byblos fell into obscurity. Exploring the complicated ruins, we found an Arab fortification atop a Crusader castle constructed with chunks of Roman temples which had been built over a Phoenician town that was established on the foundations of a Neolithic village - quite a pile of historic vandalism. There was a Persian fortress on the site too.
Walking into town afterwards, we found a Pullman bus going to Beirut (500 each) along the coastal road off the Highway which gave us a chance to see the seaside resorts which looked pretty ugly. The beaches were also covered in litter. Hint. Seaside holidays in the Lebanon are not recommended from what I saw. The bus dropped us at the Cola station which was perfect. We found a service taxi going to Baalbeck for 8000 each. We had the Mercedes to ourselves and left the Beirut traffic behind to climb back over the familiar hills to Chtaura. As we passed through each town, the driver would yell out the name so I could trace the trip on the map.
At Chtaura, we were told to switch cars. I thought we might have made a mistake with the price - but they split the fare between them. A battered Arab in a battered old American Pontiac raced along the road at breakneck speeds. He only overtook when it was completely unsafe to do it (ie when a car is approaching you, being overtaken by another). It was pretty hairy. At 5pm, Ramadan ended and he offered us some bread. He would hold his bread in one hand, tune the radio with the other and drive with his knees and still continue to overtake. There was also the small point of having to clear a dozen Syrian and Lebanese military checkpoints which were sandbagged with obstacles so that you zig zagged past. He barely stopped as a soldier would wave us on.
Baalbeck is in the Bekaa Valley, controlled by an extremely radical pro Khomeneini Shiite group called Islamic Amal. The leader of Islamic Amal is Hussein Mussawi. He has close ties to Iran and many people believe he personally ordered the suicide attacks on the American Embassy and more recent bombings. The area is known as a stronghold of militants who hide out there. Consequently the military profile is very high to monitor who comes in and out. Obviously we were not on the suspects list - yet. We arrived in Baalbeck around 5.30pm in the dark, but the magnificent ruins were all floodlit. We were dropped outside the lovely old Palmyra Hotel. The best in town. Checking the price, it was $50US. Affordable, but we decided to check out the town first. The streets were deserted. Everything was shut. Including the other hotel. Someone offered us a room, but it was pretty dingy. We spotted an entrance to the ruins and sneaked in. The site was empty. In the dark, spotlit with white lights, the six pillars of Jupiter's Temple and the Temple of Bacchus, looked amazing. They were the most impressive ruins that we'd seen during our trip.
Returning to the Palmyra Hotel, we were welcomed by the manager (I'm not surprised - we were the only people there), who gave us a room with our own oil stove. A porter bought up our luggage along with a complementary pot of Lipton's tea. It was a wonderful old traditional hotel built in 1875 and used by Royalty and the international aristocracy on their Grand Tour of the Middle East. There's an air of twilight and deliquescence to the place. The lounges are full of old furniture with Roman antiquities. After hot baths (another first on the trip), we ventured back into the quiet town and found a snack bar open. We ordered three pizzas and a large salad. (20,000 lira) and gorged ourselves. The owner who could speak English and had lived in the US was very friendly. Back at the hotel, I interviewed the manager - Nicola Sal'ba who had been there ten years and a tour guide in the Middle East for 43 years - about the history of the hotel for a prospective travel article. It had been built on the Roman theatre. If only we could afford or find such a place every night.
Monday January 5th - Baalbeck and Tyre
The town was covered in mist when I arose and the ruins were barely visible. I took a walk along the damp streets with every taxi driver yelling for my custom as usual. The ruins were closed and fenced off. I spied a hole in the fence that allowed me to walk around the walls. The original Roman ruins had been turned into an Arab fortress at a later date, and the place was impregnable. Behind the ruins lay litter and sewage - away from tourist eyes - but there just the same. The town was a beehive of activity. Children going to school, people opening shops, the small market in full flow. The bank did not exchange money, but a woman cashier took the time to lead me down the street to a jewellers that doubled as a money exchange office. I returned to the room pretty frozen to find Jo ready for the attack on the ruins.
We walked to the entrance and paid 10,000 lira each. For the next two hours, we had the place completely to ourselves. Not a tourist in sight. Baalbeck's acropolis is one of the largest in the world. The complex is about 300 metres long and has two temples with porticoes, two courtyards and an enclosure built during the Arab period. The temple of Jupiter, completed around 60AD, is on a high platform at the top of a monumental staircase; only six of its 56 colossal columns (22 metres high) remain, giving an idea of the vast scale of the original building. The nearby temple of Bacchus, built around 150 AD was the best well preserved (except for its roof), I had ever seen. The size of the temples were staggering Outside the acropolis stands the temple of Venus.
We returned to pick up our bags and found a service taxi to Chtaura for 3000 lira each. The army checkpoints that we had seen last night were much larger and more comprehensive in the daylight. Up to twenty soldiers standing around in the cold. Tanks were also dotted along the road. You wouldn't escape this area very easily if they were looking for you. At Chtaura, we expected the transportation hub to have regular taxis going everywhere. But a driver was adamant that it should cost us 7000 lira each to go to the Beiteddine Palace. This seemed outrageous to us after we had paid 8000 each to get us from Beirut to Baalbeck. Admittedly, we were only talking about £3.50 each if you converted it. but it was the principal. If we paid it. Everyone would get charged that. He even dragged out the owner to confirm the price "not enough people" he kept arguing. We stood our ground. In the end, we told them to shove it and grabbed another serviced taxi to Beirut for 5000 each (and twice the distance of Beiteddine). We would get there another way.
The mountains were covered in mist and visibility was zero. It was a torturously slow journey and with no views it was just as well that we had avoided crossing the Chouf mountains to Beiteddine. There had been an accident (surprise! - I counted three accidents on the way to Baalbeck) outside Aley and the traffic was seriously backed up. Our driver took a shortcut and avoided it. But entering Beirut, the traffic was a nightmare and we crawled our way to the Cola Station. Lebanese drivers are the pushiest and worst I can ever recall. Noone gives way. Noone gives a damn. You just push in regardless of what is coming and NEVER let anyone in. I'd love to see these people without cars and let them fight it out on donkeys. Road rage is a national hobby.
At Cola, we found the bus stop for Saida and decided to make for there. We knew that hotels were pretty much non existent, but we thought that at worst, we could come back to Beirut. The bus stop was packed and with our backpacks, we couldn't force our way in. Fortunately, without us knowing, someone had climbed in and reserved our seats for us. What a lifesaver. (1500 each). With another video playing, the journey followed the coastline. It was very sunny and a world away from the mountains. Predictably, there were traffic jams leaving Beirut.
Arriving at Saida around 4pm, there were fruit markets everywhere. We started to explore the streets for hotels and drew a blank. It was only the largest town in southern Lebanon. Jo stuck her head into a taxi office. An ex Dutch woman told us that there were no hotels in town. But there was one further south. She waved us down a service taxi who took us 30 minutes south to a huge empty hotel in the middle of nowhere. One of the passengers was a young friendly Lebanese boy and he told us that there was a hotel in Sour (Tyre). We drove south for a further 30 minutes, through more security checks to the most southerly town in Lebanon. We were dropped outside the Elissa Beach Club on the south shore of the Tyre peninsula which may be one of the few ocean side hotels anywhere in which none of the rooms face the sea. But it was clean and the hot water was not actually cold. The price was the expected $50US. We had no choice. At least we had reached the most southerly point in Lebanon. Exploring the small town, we found a cafe serving sharwarmas for $1US. Someone walked in and asked Jo if she would write a letter in English for him. After a page, she wanted her dinner. He returned later with a cassette of music as a thank you. Jo immediately suspected a bomb or propaganda - which I suppose disco music is.
Tuesday January 6th - Tyre, Saida, Beirut
Jo had requested breakfast in with the price. About 8.15am the caretaker brought up a huge tray which took us completely by surprise. There were four hard boiled eggs, cream cheese and cucumber, cheese, butter!, jam, a plate of bread and a pot of tea. A great way to start the day. I opened the curtains for the non view of the sea. A UN truck passed by. The sun was shining and things looked up. You could see the ruins from the balcony. Sour, or ancient Tyre, was founded by the Phoenicians in the 3rd millennium BC. It originally consisted of a mainland settlement and an island city just off the shore, but these were joined in the 4C BC by a causeway which converted the island permanently into a peninsula. Its most famous king was Hiram; it was to him that Solomon appealed for cedars to build the temple of Jerusalem and his palace. For a long time, Tyre had a flourishing maritime trade and, with colonies in Sicily and North Africa, was responsible for Phoenician expansion in the west. It was also famous for its purple dye (made from sea snails) and glass industries. Tyre came under successive invasions that left their mark. Alexander the Great besieged the town for five months. He was so annoyed he had most of the population sold into slavery. another 10,000 were butchered by his soldiers. A final 2000 were crucified by the sea.
We walked along by the coast and I saw a small fishing boat unload its catch. Mostly sardines. Entering the UNESCO protected ruins (1000 each), it had a colonnaded road surrounded by about two acres of foundations which were great to scramble around and try and piece together. We found the large bathing pool, cisterns and tiles for underground heating. Marble and mosaics lay in pieces everywhere. It was much more interesting than I had anticipated. Next door lay the crusader ruins which were nothing special and you could only view them from the road. Then we walked half an hour to the second major site (asking a soldier outside the entrance for his photo - he declined). There was a well preserved Roman road leading to the ancient settlement, made of large blocks of paving stones. The straight road stretches 1.5 km, passing through a monumental archway. On both sides there were hundreds of ornate stone and marble sarcophagi of the Roman and Byzantine periods. The sarcophagi were intricately carved with the names of the occupants. They had all been looted, and piles of bones and dust often leaked out of the holes. Some were huge family casks. I'd never seen a Roman graveyard before. Off the Roman road lay the remains of a huge hippodrome built in the 2C for chariot racing. It was one of the largest ever built, seating 20,000 spectators. A couple of grandstands had been rebuilt where we sheltered underneath when it poured with rain.
After picking up our bags, we caught a Pullman bus to Saida (500 each). There were bad traffic jams in the new part of town which took some time to clear. There were more military checks and at one point, a soldier boarded to check everyone's papers. At Saida, we made for the Crusader sea castle for a photo and explored the old city with its vaulted souks. It was on a smaller scale to Tripoli, but worth a ramble. Furniture makers made chairs, but mostly it was the usual fare. Quick visits to the Grand Mosque and the Khan-el-Franj which were both locked up. We caught another Pullman to Beirut, through horrendous traffic jams. The roadsides were littered with wrecks and cars with smashed fronts or rears.
Dropped at Cola, a service taxi pulled up with two women passengers. Rue Hamra was our destination. Once he had dropped off the women, he started the patter about hiring him for the day etc. When we got out, he attempted to charge 5000. I knew the rate was 1000 each. Gave him 2000 and told him to bugger off. We checked out a couple of the mid range hotels which were $26US per room. So moving up a scale, Jo put on her best Western Woman act and haggled at the some more. At the 'Embassy Hotel' which also looked beyond our means, she bargained and got a good room for $30US. This was our last home in the Lebanon. A good hot shower, quiet and clean. In the evening, we explored the eating places on Rue Hamra. At 'Chez Andres' we found 'lahm bi ajin' (thin meat pizza) which when heated was tasty, but at 3000 a throw, it would have taken twenty to fill me. Beef Sharwarmas were 2500 which seemed expensive against Tripoli (ok £1 is not exactly expensive). We walked around the backstreets and found Falafel sharwarmas for 1500. They filled us up and we retreated to the hotel, fending off every taxi in town.
Wednesday January 7th - Beiteddine Palace
Our last destination in Lebanon was Beiteddine Palace. We left the hotel at 9am and walked a couple of miles south east to the Cola Station. When we reached the service taxis, there was one waiting to leave for Beiteddine for 4000 each. It was a lot easier and cheaper than we had predicted, since Beiteddine was in the Chouf mountains and supposedly difficult to get to. The taxi took us south to Damour and then took a twisting road up into the mountains. We were both crushed in the front seat and at the end of the journey, I could not walk for cramp.
The main attraction of the Chouf Mountains is the Palace of Beiteddine (House of Religion). Sitting majestically atop a terraced hill and surrounded by gardens, the palace was built by Emir Beshir Al-Chehabi in the first half of the 19C. when Lebanon became independent in 1943, the palace became the summer residence of the president. Following the Mountain War of 1983, the palace came under the control of the Druze militias who have transformed it into a museum and cultural centre, renaming it the Palace of the People. Although conceived by Italian architects, the palace incorporates all the traditional forms of Lebanese architecture. The gate opens onto a vast, 60 metre courtyard walled on three sides only; the fourth side looks out over the valleys and hills. A double staircase on the western side leads into the inner court, which consists of a smaller courtyard with a central fountain bordered by buildings on three sides only. Beyond this court is the Dar el-Harim, or women's quarters, with a beautiful Hamman. All the buildings have arcades along their facades. The inner court and Dar el-Harim contain vast, vaulted rooms decorated and paved with multicoloured marble or mosaics and richly decorated doorways with exquisite calligraphic inscriptions. The former stables display a large collection of Byzantine mosaic floors dating back to the 5th and 6th centuries.
The Palace was deserted of tourists but full of security guards. One led us around and unlocked doors to various presidential and VIP reception rooms. The interiors were very tasteful. The Hamman was also splendid. The mosaics were the largest and certainly the most impressive collection I had ever seen. They had been moved here from all over the country. But I am unsure of how much restoration work has replaced the original mosaics. The views over the valley were marred by rain and cloud.
From Beiteddine, we decided to walk the 6km along the valley to Deir Ei Qamar. It was a lovely walk overlooking the terraced valley. By the time we reached it around 2pm, it was pouring with rain. Seeking refuge in a cafe, we spent an hour sipping tea and coffee and watching the downpour. The owner spoke French and was very chatty. The picturesque town of Deir El Qamar was the seat of Lebanon's emirate during the 17C & 18C. The town square had some fine examples of Arab architecture including a mosque built in 1493.
We waited in the square for a service taxi. A travelling salesman - Elie Jabr offered us a lift in his van. As we descended, Jo made conversation in French. We asked where we could eat typical Lebanese food that evening in Beirut for our last night. The next thing we know, he has turned around and said told us that the best meals were in the mountains and he would take us to a restaurant. We returned to Beiteddine and took another road heading north, through the mountains, through Jabal Barouk (1820m) with its forest of cedars, through pine forests to Nebeh Es-Safa. Halting outside a plush restaurant with a blazing fire, he proceeded to order a tableful of dishes and a bottle of Arak (the national alcoholic aniseed drink. Like Pernod or Ouzo it turns milky when you add water). The dishes were platefuls of nuts (including almonds on ice cubes which you peeled the skins off to bring out the taste of the Arak) and 'mezze' (hors d'oeuvres). 'Marqouk' (a very thin mountain bread baked on a domed dish on a wooden fire), 'kebbe' (raw lamb meat mixed with 'burqhul' - crushed wheat), 'tabouleh' salad (finely chopped parsley, mint, onions and tomatoes), 'fatayer bi sbanikh' (small spinach pies), hummus, stuffed vine leaves and yogurt. I was in my element. Jo continued the conversation. She told me later he was making advances in French, but I did not pick any of this up. We were there for a couple of hours while the waiters continually served and removed plates. The Arak glass always stayed full. The bill came to $46US.
We tried to pick up the bill, but he paid for the meal and tipped the waiters. Absolutely stuffed, we drove up to the main Beirut-Damascus road and returned west to Beirut along the very familiar highway. We could see the lights of Beirut filling the coast. the traffic was very light (7pm). We had asked many questions about Lebanon. He was a Christian and very anti Muslim. As we drove through the city, he pointed out the bombed sites. He dropped us on Rue Hamra and still refused any money. Jo was glad to escape the innuendoes. It had been an outstanding day of good luck, excellent sights and wonderful food and a fitting way to finish Lebanon.
Thursday January 8th - Beirut, Vienna
Beirut is the capital of Lebanon and its largest city with a million population (one third of the national count). Once dubbed the Paris of the Middle east, Beirut suffered severely from Lebanon's 17 year war. Whole neighborhoods were destroyed by bombardments including the old city centre, and the influx of refugees to the capital was more than the city's infrastructure could deal with. At first sight the full extent of the destruction. coupled with uncontrolled building, overcrowding and a feeling of chaos, came as a shock to us. There is also not much to see here anymore. We walked in the bright sunshine west to the coast to see the Pigeon Rocks - a couple of sandstone remnants in the sea. There were no pigeons on them and the backdrop was one of western tourism - flash hotels and franchise fast food.
We checked out of the hotel and they tried to slap a $10US tax on us. We stood our ground, insisting that it had not been mentioned when we had paid in full when we arrived. They gave up and we left. Finding a bus going to the National Museum, it saved us a lot of effort with our packs. But the traffic was bad and it took an age. Nothing seemed to be moving.. The museum (1000 each) had only recently opened. It had some spectacular exhibits - but only a few rooms worth. There were Roman and earlier remnants from all the sites we had visited - Baalbeck, Byblos, Tyre including some wonderful sarcophagi from Tyre. The museum was full of Italian women in designer clothes and mobile phones (mutton dressed as mutton). Around the museum there were endless bombed out buildings. Some of them still have people living in them, if lines of washing were anything to go by.
Outside, we asked locals if there were any buses going to the airport. The consensus was that we had to get one from Rue Hamra. So back on the bus, retracing our route. We decided that it would be cheaper to have lunch in Beirut than dinner in Vienna so we had our final falafel sharwarmas and large expensive fruit cocktail ice creams. It was also the last of our Lebanese money. It turned out that there was no bus to the airport from Rue Hamra. Another bus driver said he was going to where we could get a connecting bus. We ended up retracing our route back towards the museum. But the traffic was in gridlock. after a stationary ten minutes, we had 75 minutes until the plane took off. There was no other option - walk a couple of blocks south and flag down a taxi.
For two days, we had had hundreds of taxi drivers stopping for us and we had waved them away. We knew we'd have to haggle. $5 was our price - it was what we had paid on arrival. We flagged down a taxi - $15US - sod off. Another - $10US. Go away. Another one couldn't understand the word 'Airport' (bad move for a taxi driver). Someone else stopped and said $10US. I explained; look pal, we have been living here. We know it costs $5US. "No. no. Busy roads. All the school children are coming out". So? are they all catching flights from the airport? I don't think so. Five dollars. "For 8 dollars I take you short cut and avoid the traffic". There is no traffic jam going to the airport. The roads are deserted. By now, Jo had flagged down a taxi driver who was willing to take $5US. The other taxi driver came back from the garage he had been refilling. I waved bye bye and indicated in plain English that our taxi had $5US and he had none. By now I hated taxi drivers in Lebanon.
Predictably, we were at the airport within 15 minutes, through the wastelands and there was no traffic., Our driver, married to a German woman seemed to have a chip on his shoulder about having to work in Beirut as a taxi driver. " I have three children in Germany" he repeated. The airport was a haven of relative peace after the horrendous gridlock of Beirut. A million cars all honking their horns. Check in and lift off around 4pm with a packed plane. Chicken kebabs for lunch (made a change!) and strong cold Austrian beer. It was a long three hour flight and we arrived at 6.45pm local time in Vienna.
While I waited for my backpack, I changed cash into Austrian Shillings (£1 = 20) and bought two "Wien cards" allowing us unlimited travel in Vienna for 72 hours and some discounts on admission fees. This was to save us paying £1 each every time we jumped on an underground train or tram. We made the bus going to Westbahnhof with minutes to spare. After the Middle East, the bus was luxurious. The roads were silent. Thirty five minutes later we were dropped at the train station and five minutes away lay our hostel which I had reserved in November. "Hostel Ruthwensteiner" was a clean, tidy building. We had a double room and a small kitchen upstairs. £10 a night each and excellent value for expensive Vienna.
As soon as we had dropped our bags, we hopped onto the underground U3 line which was very easy to understand and emerged at Stephansplatz. The 'alte Steffl' - the spire of St Stephen's Cathedral (Stephensdom) loomed down on us from 450ft. The Cathedral, lit at night, looked spectacular. There were different architectural styles - a Romanesque western facade, Gothic tower and Baroque altars inside. From there, we walked to the Hofburg Palace - the original palace for the Habsburg dynasty. The streets were deserted and we had the place to ourselves. It was a real culture shock after noisy Beirut. The Hofburg Palace also looked magnificent in the artificial light. The clock face above the Kaiser apartments was bright orange. Massive statues of various historic figures sitting astride rearing horses were also highlighted. We could see other buildings and towers cascaded in light, but would only find out their identity the next day. It all looked a lot more impressive than I had imagined.
Friday January 9th - Vienna
I got up early and headed for the 'Mondo supermarket' nearby and purchased the necessary foodstuffs to keep our spirits up. The assault on Vienna started about 9am and for the next nine hours we roared around the major sights. An imposing and dominating metropolis ever since it ruled over a vast and heterogeneous empire, Vienna, the prima donna of Austria, governs a nation but inhabits a world of its own. Starting at the Hofburg Palace (the Imperial Palace until 1918), we entered the Kaiser apartments (the living quarters of Franz Joseph and Queen Mary) which we had to ourselves. Vast rooms of 19C furniture and a splendid dining room. The 'Wien cards' gave us a 10% discount in most places but student cards were not allowed for the over 25 years olds. We explored the oldest part of the Hofburg and saw the Burgkapelle (the chapel where the Vienna Boys' Choir sings mass on Sunday - which was overbooked and overpriced) and then visited the Lipizzaner Horse museum. There were plenty of videos and historical pieces of the horses, but only a glimpse of the horses in their stables. We were also banned from viewing the famous arena and felt a little cheated. The souvenir prices were extortionate.
We moved on to the Neue Hofburg (New Palace) built 1881-1913 which housed the 'Nationalbibliothek' (National Library) which had some outstanding baroque interiors. A real gem to find. Next door was the world famous 'Kunsthistorisches Museum'. the building is home to one of the world's best art collections, including entire rooms of prime Brueghels, and works by Vermeer, Rembrandt and Rubens. There was also an entire section of Egyptian artifacts. Walking through the Burggarten (Gardens of the Imperial Palace), we came to the Heldenplatz gate which presides over the northeast side of the Burgring segment of the Ringstrasse. In 1857, Emperor Franz Joseph commissioned this 187 foot wide and two and half mile long boulevard to replace the city walls that separated Vienna's centre from the suburban districts. On this boulevard we found the Staatsopera (National Opera House), BurgTheatre (National Theatre) , and the neo-classical, sculpture adorned Parliament building. The Rathaus was an intriguing remnant of late 19C Neo Gothic with Victorian mansard roofs.
We caught a red tram around the Ringstrasse and ventured up to Prater park to see the famous Ferris wheel which is 200ft high and one of the largest and oldest in the world. Most of the funfair rides were closed, but we saw a carousal with real horses pulling the carriages. Cheap pizzas at Swedenplatz refilled us and we returned to the hostel absolutely exhausted.
Saturday January 10th - Vienna
A train took us north west into the suburbs to Beethoven's House in Heiligen Stadt which was closed.. Then back to the centre to Mozart's House near Stephanplatz. Nearby, the Cathedral was very dark inside. At midday, we watched the Ankor clock's historical characters revolve around the clock to music. On Graban's pedestrian precinct, we found the 17C plague column. Platz Am Hof square contained some famous historical buildings. A few streets away was Cafe Central on Herrensgasse which is Vienna's most famous coffee house. It had a beautiful vaulted roof and old furniture, but a peek inside was better value than the £10 for two coffees and cake on the menu. Loos House built in 1910 was revolutionary at that time.
A tram took us to Belvedere Palace which was a secondary palace for the Habsburgs. It now contains art museums, but a walk around the grounds was adequate enough. Another tram took us to the Hundertwasser Haus - a municipal housing project named for the artist who designed it in 1983. the structure is a wild fantasia of pastel colours, ceramic mosaics and tilted tile columns. We attempted to get to a cemetery in the far south to see the graves of Beethoven and Strauss, but it got dark before a train arrived. Walking through the Hofburg Palace we were able to take more night photos.
Sunday January 11th - Vienna
We set off for the Schonbrunn Palace, a few metro stops away. This is Austria's most imperial palace having been developed by Maria Theresa in the 1740's and used by the Habsburg Dynasty until 1918. You enter a large courtyard to be greeted by a picturesque and very large yellow sandstone facade. This encompasses 1.6 sq km of space. Inside we took the 'Grand Tour' (110 shillings) in which we walked through 40 state rooms - bedrooms, reception rooms, conference rooms. Hand held audio guides were free and very useful. It was a very enjoyable (especially the Hall of Mirrors) and uncrowded walk through one of Austria's treasures. Strolling through the enormous gardens and up to the Gloriette on top of a hill, we could look back over the estate. The sun was shining and it was a lovely winter morning.
From Schonbrunn, we caught a tram to Karlplatz to see the Secession Building (an early 20C modern art statement) and the Karlskirke (the largest Baroque church in town). It looked immense from the outside. It was financed by a king after the 17C plague finally died a death. Finally we walked through the University district to see Sigmund Freud's house. It was closed like everything else on a Sunday in Vienna. We were down to our last £1 anyway. Jumping on trams around the Ringstrasse and walking through the Hofburg gardens finished off the remaining time. Returning to the hostel, we picked up our bags and walked to Westbahnhof for the 3pm bus to the airport. Vienna is a spectacular city to visit, but you need plenty of money to do its properly.