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Ruth Mathewson

Almost 30 years have passed since the glitterati of the European and Arab worlds converged on Lebanon to ski, sun-bake and be seen by the shores of the azure Mediterranean.

  In the 1950s, 60s and early 70s, Beirut was a name which conjured images of elite hotels, Parisian fashions, wine, food and untroubled blue skies.

  Then, in the mid-1970s, the Arab-Israeli conflict erupted, raining bombs on the boulevards and fine homes and dividing the once-beautiful ancient city into Muslim and Christian sectors, divided by the central strip of Martyrs' Square.

  The word Beirut came to stand for terror and destruction.

  Now Lebanon wants to rebuild not only its blackened city heart, but its shattered image as a tourist playground.

  Arriving in Beirut with the dawn, after an all-night flight from Kuala Lumpur, the city appears to have some way to go in enticing the jet-set.

   A green-bereted soldier in camouflage uniform stands at the bottom rung of the plane's steps, his machine-gun slung casually across a shoulder and the headlights of an army jeep trained to dazzle bleary-eyed arrivals.

  Beside the current Beirut terminal, a new airport is rising slowly from the red earth, part of renovations now taking place across the city in an effort to recapture former glories.

  The skies are still perfect - Lebanon has 300 days of sunshine a year - the seas sparkle a clear and unpolluted blue and grape vines abound in the fertile Bekka Valley to the east.

   The famed Casino de Libon re-opened three months ago, new hotels are springing up along the long stretch of coastline between Beirut and Tripoli and designer labels have moved into new shopping malls.

  But in the city itself, facades are pitted and scarred with bullet holes and many buildings are being pulled down before their remnants crumble into the dusty streets.

  The Holiday Inn Beirut and Phoenician Hotel, once landmarks of elegance which gazed through a line of date palms to the seaside promenade, are soot-smeared shells.

  The taxis are all BMWs, but tired, dusty and damaged versions of the German status symbol. All vehicles - except the gleaming new models behind showroom glass - are weary survivors of an exhausting war.

   The dusty haze of Beirut, which comes from crumbling concrete casualties and the pace of new construction, coats everything in a veil of beige.

  But amid all this, nightclubs are flourishing, restaurants are full of diners raising a glass of the cloudy, aniseed-flavoured Arak, hotels report 100 per cent occupancy and Arab horses thunder around the Beirut race track.

  Many of the city's 1.8 million residents have survived by dragging Beirut further north. Lebanon is a long strip of land bordered on the west by the Mediterranean Sea, on the east by Syria and on the south by a still-disputed and hostile zone with Israel.

   Unwilling to move south from Beirut toward the no-go areas, people have rebuilt to the north of the city, in one elongated piece of urban and commercial sprawl.

  Resorts such as the Hotel Portemilio, with guest suites, private beaches, swimming pools and health clubs have opened, and the ancient fishing port of Byblos - meaning 'book' and responsible for naming the bible - is alive with souvenir shops.

  One hour's drive to the west, in the Jabal el Mnaitri mountains whose foothills start almost at the coastline, skiers are enjoying the winter snows on the Faraya slopes.

   European-style chalets are reopening and their patrons and staff appear to have shrugged off the weight of a generation of war.

  Further north along the same range is The Cedars, Lebanon's revered heart. On these snowy and thickly-forested slopes, Lebanese poets sought and found inspiration.

    Solomon is said to have used this sturdy and handsome wood to build his temple, and Egyptian pharoahs sought it to carve their sarcophagi and spectacular sunships. The Cedar, as the national symbol of pride, strength and dignity, also appears on the flag.

   The Lebanese Tourism Ministry has begun promoting its attractions heavily. Officials cite 1990s as the end of real hostilities, ignoring new bombing sorties over the city in April last year.

  In January, the ministry hit upon an idea to pump life into the slow month of February - an across-the-board 50 per cent price slash for restaurants, hotels, shops and tours.

   It was a bold and last-minute idea, but an overwhelming number of businesses responded and threw it into action. As a result, thousands more tourists have rushed into Lebanon to take advantage of '50 per cent off February'.

  Director-General of Tourism Mohammed Al Khatib says the government is so pleased with the result it is planning to do the same next February, and may launch a July saving spree this summer.

  'We are working very hard to change our image, particularly concentrating on the big tourism exhibitions worldwide,' Mr Khatib said.

  'We want to show everybody that Lebanon is coming back, and we are working very hard to renew our infrastructure.

  'Four years ago we didn't have electricity. Now we have 24-hour electricity all over Lebanon. We have telephones in every Lebanese village and our water problems are resolved.

  'In the five years since 1990 the government has been working hard. Hotels, roads, water, electricity; we can now say we're almost back to normal.

  'We do have a problem with a little zone at the [southern] border, but you're not allowed to go there. It is a fighting zone; it is occupied land and from time to time there are still clashes.'   The concerts, choirs, ballets and operas which graced Beirut until 1974 are also staging a comeback, Mr Khatib's office and proud tour guides insist, with Luciano Pavarotti tipped to sing in the heart of Beirut soon.

  There is plenty of evidence of the uncertainty of peace in a country where almost everyone can tell of a cousin kidnapped and never heard of again, or deafness caused by the nearby explosion of a falling shell.

  Young men, except those who are their parents' only son, must still serve time in the Lebanese army. They can be seen throughout the country, checking papers at road blocks, guarding parliamentary buildings in Beirut and in tanks and heavy trucks which rumble through the Bekka Valley.

  In the valley - which lies between the Lebanon's two mountain ranges, both of which run north-south - are further reminders of Lebanon's place in the heart of a fiery region. Allied Syrian soldiers mount road blocks in the valley and base tanks, trucks and troops in the region.

  It is only 85 kilometres to the historic town of Baalbeck, but Beirut's Bangkok-style traffic jams can lengthen the trip to more than 90 minutes.

  The road through the valley is lined on either side with snow-capped peaks; Syrian desert lies over the western range.

   Layers of plastic sheeting on the nomadic huts of Bedouins, who drift without passports across the borders now separating their traditional lands, flutter in the breeze. Many make their way to the Bekka for the grape-picking season; the region is renowned for its red wines.

  Outside Baalbeck, the yellow flags of the Hezbollah portray a hand clutching a dagger. Baalbeck is the homeland of the nationalistic movement involved in anti-Israeli skirmishes at the southern border.

    Hezbollah members use roadblocks, marked by oil drums and a plethora of yellow pennants, to solicit donations from passing travellers. Their clear plastic donation boxes lend each holder the peculiar air of a swarthy and slightly menacing boy scout.

  'We are still in a state of war with Israel,' says archeology student and Rida Travel guide Elli Lebbos: 'But you don't have to be afraid of this. Tourism will boom when the peace is completely established.'   For years, few tourists have dared venture to Baalbeck, the home of some of the world's most spectacular Roman ruins. Now, in trickles, they are starting to return.

   Awe-inspiring columns, steps and alters remain of the temples built to the glory of Jupiter, Bacchus and Venus between the first and third centuries.

  Here, animals were bathed before being sacrificed beneath columns which rear 50 metres from the ground.

   In the well-preserved temple of Bacchus, the god of wine, locals compare its original activities to an ancient and debauched nightclub.

   Back in Beirut, where war has left the deepest scars, investors' cash is helping the ancient Roman city; the grace of the 1920s and the modernity of the next millennium rise in harmony from the ashes.

  The Lebanese government has commissioned the Solidere company to rebuild the city's central district, adding an extra 61 hectares of reclaimed land for parks, buildings, a marina and a new seaside promenade.

  To rebuild the roads, office towers, residential buildings, parks, museum, cultural centres, hotels and walkways, Solidere calculated it would need a budget of US$650 million (HK$5.025 billion), and called for investors.

   About US$900 million poured in from Beirut property holders, Lebanese residents and expatriate Lebanese throughout the world. Solidere gave back US$250 million.

  Work began in May 1994 and is expected to continue until 2008 or 2009, but some results are immediately apparent.

   Beautiful 1920s buildings destroyed by repeated bombing raids are being painstakingly rebuilt.

   Each building has its own 'reconstruction brief' which specifies details down to the colour of its shutters and the marble and carvings to be used for each balcony.

   Rubble from the city's dead buildings is carefully sorted, its contaminants removed, crushed to 30 centimetre blocks and used as filler for the new reclamation.

  An enormous area of old and dangerous reclamation, which began as a rubbish site for war-bound residents unable to venture across the city to dumps, is being dismantled.

   Much of the waste was household garbage which, as it rotted, formed pockets of gas.

   The land would constantly swell and subside, and the volatile gas occasionally exploded as it came into contact with oxygen.

  Solidere is picking away at the scraps of more than a decade of war, using suitable pieces as reclamation filler and composting organic waste to use as a fertile layer beneath its new parks and gardens.

  Solidere spokesman Tarek Kawa says the job involves more than reconstruction. Beirut's rocky promontory has been a settlement since prehistoric times, and was the site of a Roman stronghold since 15BC.

   It was an important port, and its law school rose to great heights during the Roman and Byzantine years. It has survived under the Muslim Arabs, Christian Crusaders and rebuilt itself after a devastating earthquake in 551.

  'This is the biggest urban archeology site in the world,' Mr Kawa says. 'And whatever is found here will be reconstructed in situ, or will be removed and rebuilt in a museum.'   Excavators have uncovered a section of the old Roman wall which surrounded the old city in the third century and an Islamic shrine from 1517.

   A government antiquities adviser determines whether each new find should be rebuilt as part of the park, walkway or building planned for the site, or moved elsewhere.

  The Lebanese are proud of their resilience and speak of their new financial centre of Beirut rising like the phoenix for which their land was once famed. The city is already reaching into its past to propel itself into the future. Malaysian Airlines flies to Beirut via Kuala Lumpur on Wednesdays and Sundays Travel pages edited by Mike Currie, tel 2565-2203, fax 2980-3140 



Beirut bites the bullet for tourism