Henry Sitrodam

The city of Beirut, once described as the ‘Paris of the east’, is as paradoxical as a city can get. The incongruity of driving past every conceivable symbol of a radical brand of Islam, and into a night club full of late night revelers celebrating the sensuous rhythms of classical belly dancing, inspires a paradigm shift and establishes Lebanon’s culture in the context of its history.

Beirut wears a deserted look in the early morning. As I walk along the Corniche, Beirut’s coastal boulevard, to the resounding beat of the surging surf, I spy the Pigeon Rocks. These rocks are the most famous natural feature of Beirut.
 
 
Sitting on a seaside cliff, gazing at the rugged beauty of these offshore arches, I wonder what tales of mystery and adventure lie hidden in its folds. Over centuries, this rocky shoreline has been invaded by Phoenicians, Greeks, Ottoman Turks and generations of pregnant seals, and yet it has endured.

Modern Beirut, ravaged by 15 years of war, is finally on the mend. The green line, a strip of vegetation that physically divided the city into Christian and Muslim sectors, is a thing of the past and the 1.5 million Beirutis, who represent 18 different religious sects – Shiite, Maronite Catholic, Greek Orthodox, Sunni and Druze Muslims among others – have reverted to waving hands instead of AK-47s at each other.