I struggled with the idea of writing a journal about a destination that so thoroughly disappointed me. For me, the turbulent history, the lovely landscapes, and even the glorious food were all overshadowed by the horrible treatment I received from the Lebanese men. I only visited Beirut for 3 days, but for 72 hours I fought men who wanted to either cheat me or violate me, and spent several hours my second night in tears.

My experience was wretched, but it was a valid one, so I eventually decided there was no reason not to share it. It was hard to be in Lebanon and I couldn't wait to leave, but truthfully I can't say I regret going. I would have always wondered about it, and its beautiful, almost magical reputation.

My first afternoon, through evening, passed pleasantly and uneventfully...meeting Tony and Ani for crepes, taking a night drive to Byblos, I had no idea what was in store. But then my hotel owner attacked me upon returning in the wee hours. The next morning, my Japanese roommate told me that not only had the owner leered at, and touched her, she had been getting it all over Lebanon. Neither of us could figure out why, but I knew I had to get out of there.

On the minibus ride to Baalbek the following morning, the bus driver's assistant pleaded with me repeatedly to sit up front to make room for other passengers. The other passengers, including a couple of nice women who spoke English, encouraged me to do so. Thinking I shouldn't jump to conclusions, I moved. For the next 2 hours, he barraged me with seemingly flirtatious questions in Arabic, and repeatedly asked me to lunch or dinner. He employed the few English speakers on the bus to help him translate, and plied me with many cigarettes. Once up in the front seat of a moving bus, it was difficult to make the switch back.

While this was happening, another passenger with poor English asked me in French to get off the bus early and go home with him. I tried to laugh him off, but after several times of him saying he would take me to Baalbek "after we finish," I faced forward and stopped responding.

Eventually the bus driver's assistant made himself as plain as possible, using a scant few English words and broad gestures: he offered me $100 to sleep with him. I wasn't sure if I should be more offended that he thought I was a hooker, or that he thought I was only worth $100!

The worst part was realizing that everyone on the minibus knew exactly what he had wanted all along and were all staring at me waiting for a response...and that I was still half an hour from Baalbek with no where to go.

At Baalbek, a young, handsome policeman guarding the small museum indicated he could secretly let me up to the closed-off roof area. Happy to get special treatment, I climbed up the steep steps and greatly enjoyed the view of the amazing ruins. Suddenly I noticed the policeman was enjoying a different view.

"What?" I said.
"I want kiss," he said.

Hello? I tried again to laugh it off, but he pressed closer insistently saying "kiss, kiss" until I backed into a wall. Finally I realized he wasn't going to physically force anything on me, so I ducked under his arm and angrily stomped downstairs.

Unbeknownst to me before my trip, Filipino prostitutes are prevalent in the Middle East, particularly in Lebanon—in Syria, I was told the prostitutes were Russian, and in Egypt apparently the preference is for locally-grown talent. It explained a lot. After that, any time ANYONE asked me if I were Filipino I flipped out.

When I was in Syria, I met a horrible girl who told me that Lebanese taxi drivers are scum who cheat tourists every chance they get. I dismissed her as a rude, ignorant tourist. I was extremely disappointed to find out she wasn't completely incorrect.

The favored ploy seemed to be agreeing—with a huge grin—to any price I named, then later claim to not speak English. Suddenly, it's not their fault anymore, it's mine, the dreadful tourist who couldn't be bothered to learn some Arabic taxi-speak.

Hand-signals for numerals did nothing to increase understanding. All that was understood is that I nodded in agreement...to something. Once I entered the taxi, the rules were free to change.

Lost with a cab driver who drove in circles, clearly taking me no further unless I paid more, I ended up grabbing his arm in frustration because he wouldn't stop jabbering and caused him to scream bloody murder. He claimed no understanding of the earlier agreement, that my fellow rider wanted to be dropped off first and then I would be taken to my hotel. Basically he suddenly didn't understand English, and I only knew English/French words for the area my hotel was in.

We argued and argued, and eventually I ran out of the cab without paying. It was wrong, but I was STEAMED. The cab driver ran after me, grabbed me in the middle of the sidewalk, yelled at me, and all the men in the area jumped to his defense.

At this point it was obvious that I needed to return to Syria, I had no further desire to explore Lebanese nightlife on my own, and be mistaken for either stupid or a whore.

It wasn't all bad of course.

Once when I was apparently on the wrong minibus, the driver, obviously frustrated with me, still stopped several English-speakers on the street to find out where to take me, driving far longer than my fare was worth.

I took a taxi service to Jeita Grotto and it turned out to really be a regular taxi ride...no one else got in, and when I said "Jeita," I didn't realize there was a part of town called Jeita, where the driver first stopped. He ended up taking me all the way to the caves, protesting mildly but also agreeing that it was a misunderstanding that wasn't my fault.

When I got confused after getting off a bus somewhere in the city, I stopped in a furniture store to ask directions and the kind delivery man drove me home.

In the few moments when I felt comfortable, I loved the natural beauty of Lebanon and the cosmopolitan vibe of Beirut.

And Michel from Al-Nazih and Tony from Hospitality Club treated me like a queen.

I would not recommend traveling in Lebanon to anyone. At the same time, I would never discourage anyone from visiting, as everyone's experiences differ.

Men in particular LOVE Lebanon, and I met a great many women who say they felt more harassed in Syria or Egypt. Although in comparison, what most of these women faced in other countries was the usual staring and occasional inappropriate touches. My fellow female travelers were never propositioned in Jordan or cornered in Turkish ruins. I felt like most travelers I met in other countries assumed Lebanon would be the most easy-going because it was so Westernized and untraditional. In my eyes, that was what made it more morally corrupt.

Still, plenty of women say they would be happy to live there long-term. Even the Asian women brushed off the harassment, although most I met had not visited any other Arabic countries for comparison. I can't guarantee that any traveler would feel uncomfortable there, in fact the stories I heard tended toward the opposite. But for me, Lebanon was a nightmare-inducing and I would never willfully push any woman to experience it for herself.

<   previous      •      next   >