Thematic articles

Negotiations and compromises - kiss me, thrill me, kill me, build me Beirut

Maria Duda

Negotiation and compromise - kiss me, thrill me, kill me, build me Beirut

Beirut has a lot of poetry in it, derived from mixing oriental traffic and density with western glitz and formal antiseptic order.The oriental chaos is only found at the level of cars and buildings sprouting from every slope, every vacant spot: the density, to the eye, is three times that of Istanbul, extruded to an average of 8 stories and peaks of 30. You don't see many people on the streets, and, besides, it's easy to see why "pedestrianism" is not a civic sport: the sidewalks are blocked by barriers, check-points, fences, barbed wire, which negates any attempt to get straight from A to B. At the intersections are soldiers, carrying machine guns and Kalashnikovs, sitting on plastic chairs and playing on their phones, taking turns. It's peacetime.

Otherwise the rare pedestrians, surely tourists, are cause for rejoicing: taxis honk at every person they see, chasing customers, and this becomes a kind of traditional greeting. Infrastructure fits into the tradition of functional improvisation: public transportation

is actually Mitsubishi minivans, which have no set route. The first one on board commands the destination, and along the way others who have the same intentions join in - against the horn - and so on: community spirit born of common goals.

It's nice to hear the church bells and the muezzin's call in turn, that the locals speak in three languages at once, like a kind of dialect, but if they are taken to tell their stories in just one, they get shy and lose their shyness.
Read the full text in issue 6 / 2011 of Arhitectura magazine.
Beirut has plenty of poetry, derived from mixing oriental traffic and density with western glitter and antiseptic formal order.Oriental chaos mostly governs car driving and constructions: its density may match Istanbul's times three, extruded to an 8 floor blanket, with peaks of 30-ish floors. There are few people walking down the streets, and that is easily explained by the multitude of obstacles laid between point A and B: barriers, check-points, fences, barbed wire; a line is never straight in Beirut. Most crossroads are guarded by the military, carrying machineguns, sitting on plastic chairs and taking turns to playing cellphone games. It is peaceful.

The rare pedestrians though, mostly courageous and unaware tourists, are a reason for joy: cabs honk at each seen individual, hunting for customers. Somehow, poetically put, it is the city's greeting. Infrastructure follows the tradition of

improvised functionality: public transportation uses Mitsubishi minivans that have no predetermined paths: the first one on gives the destination and all that follow are taken on if meeting the intention: thus community spirit sprung from common goals is enhanced.

Beirut holds a special beauty in hearing both church bells and the call of muazzins, and also in the tongue of its locals: they rapidly mix English, French and Arabic as a dialect, but get confused when asked to only reccount in one language.
Read the full text in the print magazine.