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Photograph: Mohammed Zaatari/AP |
Arwa Mahdawi
Wed 27 May 2026
There are various reasons why, at 43, I still don’t know how to drive a car. Clumsiness is one. I can’t even walk straight half the time, so I don’t think it’s a good idea that I take control of a 2-tonne vehicle.
Another reason is that my first driving lesson was in Beirut and the experience scarred me for life. The car was falling apart, Lebanese drivers ignore traffic rules and the lesson was in Arabic, which I barely speak. After I had veered on to a busy road the wrong way, my teacher made me get out of the car and yelled at me. I didn’t understand exactly what he was yelling, but it wasn’t good.
Despite that unfortunate incident, Lebanon – chaotic, beautiful, unique Lebanon – has a special place in my heart. When I was 18, my parents moved to Beirut for several years and I visited regularly. We’d go to the ancient ruins in Baalbek; drop by wineries in the Bekaa valley; eat man’oushe in the mountains. We’d do organised hikes, on which there would always be a glamorous woman in heels, full makeup and a designer nose (the Lebanese take grooming and cosmetic surgery very seriously).
Things were never completely calm. Coming home from a swim one summer, my mum narrowly escaped a car bomb intended for a politician. In 2006, my parents were stranded overseas for months because Lebanon and Israel were at war. In 2008, there were a couple of days of clashes that meant my mum and sister couldn’t leave the house.
Still, this was a relatively good time; there was investment, tourism, hope. In January 2009, the New York Times named Beirut its No 1 place to visit that year. With luxury hotels and restaurants opening, the Times said “the capital of Lebanon is poised to reclaim its title as the Paris of the Middle East”.
You may have heard that stupid phrase before: whenever a writer wants to convey to a western audience that Beirut is not some backwater, but a real place full of real people, they reach for it. It’s cringe and orientalist, but it’s also an effective shorthand. And maybe I should have adopted it myself, because what I’m trying to say here, with my walks down memory lane, is that Beirut is not fundamentally different from Paris. People who live in Lebanon, or the Middle East more broadly, are not born with thicker skin. They do not grieve their children less than Europeans do. They may have more experience of war, but they do not get used to having their houses bombed.
Many people seem to think otherwise... READ MORE https://www.theguardian.com/world/commentisfree/2026/may/27/chaotic-unique-beautiful-lebanon-reduced-rubble-israel-bombardment
[AS ALWAYS PLEASE GO TO THE LINK TO READ GOOD ARTICLES (or quotes or watch videos) IN FULL: HELP SHAPE ALGORITHMS (and conversations) THAT EMPOWER DECENCY, DIGNITY, JUSTICE & PEACE... and hopefully Palestine]








