Sudden detours: hello from Beirut

Sometimes travel plans change in an instant. Yesterday I was in Cairo, ready to explore the Egyptian Museum and immerse myself in ancient history. Today, I'm sitting at a café in Beirut, Lebanon, watching the Mediterranean sunset and wondering how exactly I ended up here.

It wasn't planned. But then again, the best parts of this journey rarely are.

This morning at 4:30 am, I found myself wide awake in my Cairo hotel room, staring at the ceiling. The combination of jet lag, the constant hum of traffic, and perhaps something deeper – that familiar restlessness – made sleep impossible. I opened my laptop and started browsing flight options, just out of curiosity.

Then I saw it: a morning flight to Beirut with seats available. Something clicked. I've always been fascinated by Lebanon – its complex history, its reputation for resilience, its position at the crossroads of Mediterranean and Middle Eastern cultures. And since I was already in this part of the world...

By 5:15, I had booked the ticket. By 7:30, I was at Cairo International Airport. By 11:45, I was landing in Beirut.

The immigration officer raised an eyebrow at my Norwegian passport and spontaneous arrival, but stamped me through with a nod. "Welcome to Lebanon."

First impressions

The drive from the airport offered glimpses of Beirut's famous contrasts. Modern high-rises standing beside buildings still showing scars from past conflicts. Luxury cars navigating narrow streets. Palm trees lining the coastal road as we approached the city center.

I checked into a small hotel in Hamra, dropped my backpack, and immediately set out to explore. The afternoon was cool but pleasant – about 18°C according to my phone – with clouds gathering overhead that suggested rain might be coming.

Hamra Street pulsed with energy – university students chatting at cafés, shopkeepers arranging displays, the occasional honk of taxis navigating the busy thoroughfare. I walked without a particular destination, turning down side streets whenever something caught my eye.

Near the American University of Beirut, I paused at a small café and ordered my first Lebanese coffee – thick, strong, and served in a tiny cup with cardamom. The barista smiled when I asked for recommendations on what to see.

"You should visit the Corniche before it rains," he suggested. "The sea is beautiful today."

The Corniche at sunset

The Corniche is Beirut's seaside promenade – a broad walkway stretching along the Mediterranean where locals jog, fish, socialize, and watch the sunset. I arrived around 4:30, joining the afternoon crowd of families, couples, and fellow visitors.

Fishermen cast lines from the rocky shoreline. Elderly men played backgammon on portable tables. Vendors sold corn on the cob and kaak (sesame bread). The famous Pigeon Rocks – natural stone arches rising from the sea – stood in silhouette against the darkening sky.

I walked the length of the promenade, stopping often to watch the waves crash against the rocks. The air smelled of salt and approaching rain. In the distance, I could see the lights of fishing boats heading out for the evening catch.

As the sun began to set, I found an empty bench and sat down, letting the significance of this spontaneous detour sink in. Yesterday Jerusalem, briefly Cairo, and now Beirut. The Middle East portion of my journey has taken unexpected turns.

The news behind the scenery

While walking back toward my hotel, I passed a café with a television showing news. Though I couldn't understand the Arabic broadcast, the images showed what appeared to be diplomats at a press conference. Later, checking news on my phone, I learned about Qatar's recent pledge to invest in Lebanon's struggling electricity infrastructure and the ongoing tensions following last year's ceasefire.

It's strange how travel can simultaneously disconnect you from and connect you to world events. The Lebanon I'm experiencing today – the friendly café owner, the families on the Corniche, the university students discussing their classes – exists alongside the Lebanon of international headlines.

Evening reflections

Now it's just past 5pm, and I'm back at a small café near my hotel, watching the street life while typing this. The clouds have darkened, and I can feel the temperature dropping – rain seems imminent according to the weather forecast.

I've made a rough plan for my stay: tomorrow I'll explore the downtown area and the National Museum, then perhaps visit the ancient ruins at Baalbek in the coming days if transportation can be arranged. I'm particularly curious to see the famous cedars of Lebanon – those trees that have been symbols of this land since ancient times.

This spontaneous detour reminds me of something I've been learning throughout this journey: sometimes the most meaningful experiences come from following that inexplicable pull toward the unexpected. I wasn't supposed to be in Beirut today. But somehow, sitting here watching the first raindrops hit the pavement, it feels exactly right.

I'm 154 days into this 500-day journey, and the middle chapters continue to write themselves in ways I never could have outlined. As the rain begins to fall more steadily outside, I finish my coffee and prepare to head back to my hotel. Tomorrow will be my first full day in Beirut, and I'm curious to see what it will bring.

Until then, Ruben