Rules of the road

The prospect of driving in Lebanon evokes a keen sense of panic among visitors to the country. It’s loud, chaotic and generally an intimidating experience for the first few days. However, when you get used to it, it’s actually a straightforward exercise, case in point: the roundabout (rondpoint) I drive through every day was initially christened by my father as the “Roundabout of Death”. My wife tells me it’s a form of organised chaos … I fail to see the organization part…

However, there are some cardinal principals to remember and rules to follow:

1. Indicator lights are for the weak. Do not expect your fellow drivers to use them. If they do, it’s done to lull you into a false sense of security whereupon they’ll promptly turn in the opposite direction to which they’re indicting.

2. While driving at night, lights are optional. Consider yourself lucky if the service coming up behind you has a single operational light.

3. Lane markers operate on along similar principles to those in the rest of the world, however instead of driving between the two lines, in Lebanon you should aim to drive along the lines.

4. Learn to change a tire / wheel.

5. Speed bumps are myriad in all residential areas. The optimal distance between speed bumps is about five meters.

6. The local residents will ignore rule 5 in order to practice their off-road talents.

7. Cars with red plates are not cruising for hookers, they’re trying to pick passengers … preferably stupid foreigners.

8. It is considered the ultimate courtesy to roll down your window and play your music as loud as possible, especially in a residential area after 10 PM.

9. Holes in the road breed overnight. You might well be familiar with the potholes on any given road however, come morning there will, without fail, be another. Refer to rule number 4.

10. Learn to drive in the dark (because of this), training with a blindfold might help. 

11. Forget all rules of personal courtesy, it’s a jungle out there. It’s cut-up, or be cut-up. Abide by common decency and you’ll never make it to your destination.

12. Grow a set of eyes in the back of your head. That way you’ll have time to brace for the hit.

13. Scooter / mobilette riders are the Devil. Their favorite game is to ride along on your blind spot and then overtake on the wrong side while cursing at you. Remember, you are bigger than they are.

14. When in a confrontation with another car, judge the value of each vehicle. The person with the more expensive motor has more to lose.

15. Beiruti traffic police are the most ineffectual people I have ever met. Where there’s a long queue of cars, there will be a policeman at the end of it.

*This rant was brought about through losing two tires in the last two months after losing only one in the previous 7 years of driving here.

Roma

The wife and I recently took a short break to the wonderful city of Rome.

Now, I’m not a travel writer by trade, so I’ll skip the recommended itinerary and avoid a list of things to see. The only suggestion I’ll make is to pick up the Lonely Planet, everything else will take care of itself.

However, I will offer some cultural observations, none to serious.

From now on I shall judge every city by the glamour of their municipal workers. Walking along the street one day we came across what could only be described as the most attractive garbage collectors I’ve ever seen in my life - Sukleen in Gucci.

Across from our hotel we saw something that caused me no end of amusement. Condom machines attached to the outside (streetside) wall of pharmacies… Inspired.

Never get caught short again..

Water fountains – Rome was always traditionally blessed with an abundant water supply, which resulted in fountains being built all over the city. People drink from these all the time and one of the most entertaining aspects of people watching is to sit next to a fountain and see who or what turns up…

Let's face it, it's better than the toilet bowl

I thoroughly recommend Rome. It’s a wonderful city. We did a whole host cultural activities beyond dog spotting, checking out municipal workers and laughing over condom machines like twelve-year-olds. Hopefully this shot of the light cast by the oculus in the Pantheon will suffice: 

Yes, I can occasionally take a proper photo

Dinner with Momo

I recently had the pleasure of dining at Downtown’s Momo at the Souks. A friend and I had dinner there earlier in the week. Thankfully, she’s one these vegematarians so, despite being a committed carnivore I was able to “enjoy” some herbivorous items from the menu.

The terrace, overlooking the souk

I’d been before but was a little reluctant to post about it for two reasons, firstly, it was during my hiatus from Brit in Beirut, secondly, the experience wasn’t all that (it was just after it opened, so I was willing to cut them a little slack).

This time however, everything was great.

Pastilla, essentially a pigeon pie, is one of my favourite dishes and Momo’s was second only to La Mamounia in Marrakech and possibly the Momo’s in London, so I was off to a good start. I followed that with a lamb tagine. I figure that the best baseline test for any Moroccan restaurant has to be their tagine and I wasn’t disappointed. This isn’t to say that it was the best, my wife’s tagine approximation is better, but it was pretty damn close.

Pastilla...

My poor little veggie friend, when she found the energy to express emotion, claimed that her aubergine starter and veggie tagine were both good. I can’t claim to the veracity of her statement regarding the aubergine dish, but the tagine certainly tasted vegetablely and thus, I presume, was satisfying enough to one unused to the taste of proper food.

And now we get to the real reason why Momo’s got a reprieve the first time around … they serve port. Port, for the uninitiated among you, is God’s drink. It’s a fortified wine originally from Portugal but also consumed in vast quantities by certain types of Brit. I am of that type. The list at Momo’s isn’t extensive, but it’s serviceable. I went out of my way to sample several varieties and was pleasantly pleased, and slightly inebriated.

Mmmmmm...... port........

All-in-all, a good night, good ambiance, good food and great staff. It was pretty reasonably priced, and without my port indulgence would have come to around 45 USD per head without wine, which is OK in my book. Plus, as my friend said, the wallpaper’s pretty.

My, look at the pretty pink walls

(Disclaimer: I am not a meat Fascist. I believe there’s a time and place for vegetarian options, when you’re too old to chew for example, or when you’re dead.)

Margarita Hunt

This Friday I descended on Hamra with a couple of close friends. One of them was leaving to go back to work in the Gulf (my commiserations, Hesham) and we soon ended up on what I’ll term “a margarita hunt”.

Now, a margarita isn’t difficult to make. Let’s face it, it’s the first rung on the cocktail / mixed ladder. Lime juice, tequila, salt, ice and a little triple sec and you're done.

The liver is evil and 

must be punished

However, it never fails to amaze me how badly people can screw up the simple margarita.

In any case, we headed to a small handful of bars and, in the interest of community service, here are the findings:

Dany’s – Too strong. I like my generous bartender as much as the next guy, but margaritas are supposed to be either a little sour, or a little sweet, you pay your money, you take your choice. Regardless of your personal preference, you’re not supposed to taste the tequila … or rather… you’re not supposed to scrunch up your face like a grandmother sucking on a Werther’s Original.

OK, you win, we should have

started him on gin...

Bricks – So, we arrived in Bricks, took up our usual spot and were about to get started when one of us called for a bathroom break. I wandered over to find that the men’s room was taken so I stepped into the ladies, whereupon I was shocked to discover that the girls have different comic strips on the walls than the guys … What the Hell? I’ve been going to Bricks since it opened and I’ve gone over every inch of the strips on the wall … I’m bored out of my mind. Now I find the women have different ones? Lord. I’m going to have to spend more time in the ladies. Anyway, back to the margarita … Not too strong, this time, far, far too bitter. Seriously, it was like someone had taken a lime and pulped the entire bloody thing in there… Not good. On to the next bar…

No Chadi*, I swear, they'll never 

notice, go for it.

Neighbours – OK, the music, at least on Friday, was by far the best of the bars in our little test. I’m not normally one for reminiscing, but Karma was playing a collection of mid-to-late 90’s tunes that were really hitting the spot … Granted, the José Cuervo  had kicked in by then (we only left Neighbours after trying to sample their lychee Bellini and having to settle for some watermelon / vodka abomination), but there were some real blasts from the past there. There was Charbel*, singing along to “What’s Going On?” by The 4 Non-Blondes, only to have his night ruined when some bitter old soak turned to him and said, “You know she killed herself, right?” Talk about a downer. Anyway … the drink … There’s triple sec and there’s triple sec… And then there’s Neighbours… Sweet doesn’t describe it. It was saccharinesque torture on the palate… hence the watermelon / vodka thing…

Ahh, Toploader ... where did it 

all go wrong?

Colon – (Disclaimer: OK, I know the name’s pronounced Cuhlon, I get it … but, as a Brit, I can’t help but think of a part of the gut. Which doesn’t really work when you’re talking about a bar.) That said, their margarita was, by far the finest tasted on the night, perfect, right on the ball. A bit of sweet and sour, a little hint that the demon tequila is lying in wait … Yes, the bar is named after a piece of the intestinal tract, but they mix a good drink.

Great name guys, great name

So, there’s the first set of testing done… Rabbit Hole, Ferdinand and anywhere else that doesn’t think Vodka-Redbull’s a cocktail are next…

*Some names have been changed to protect the dignity of those involved.