Awake in the small hours of Beirut

It's 2:00 AM, and the city outside my window has finally quieted. Not completely - Beirut never seems to fully sleep - but the sounds have shifted from the daytime bustle to a gentler nocturnal rhythm. The occasional car passes by, voices drift up from late-night conversations, and somewhere in the distance, music plays softly.

I've been lying here for over an hour, thoughts swirling. Sleep eludes me tonight. Maybe it's the coffee I had too late in the afternoon at that café in Achrafieh. Maybe it's knowing I only have one more full day left in Beirut before my flight to Istanbul on Monday. Or maybe it's just one of those nights where the mind refuses to settle.

There's something intimate about experiencing a city during these quiet hours. During the day, Beirut shows its public face - the busy streets, the commerce, the social interactions. But at night, especially these deepest hours, you glimpse something more private.

I opened my window a crack earlier. The air feels surprisingly warm for February - around 12°C according to my phone. There's a gentle breeze carrying the scent of the Mediterranean, reminding me that I still haven't made it to the Jeita Grotto. That's tomorrow's plan, assuming I can manage to book a tour in the morning. I've learned my lesson about planning ahead after missing a few opportunities on this trip.

Being awake at this hour has me thinking about time. I'm 159 days into this journey, with 341 days remaining. Almost at the one-third mark. In exactly 11 months, I'll be turning 51 and heading back home. The thought brings a mix of emotions I can't quite sort through right now.

I've been keeping a mental list of all the trees I've seen on this journey. The ancient cedars of Lebanon are still on my must-see list, though I'm not sure I'll manage it before leaving. There's something about trees that grounds me, especially when everything else is in constant motion.

My thoughts drift to the elderly bookshop owner I met yesterday. He recommended a novel by Elias Khoury that I started reading tonight - perhaps another reason sleep isn't coming. The story pulls you in, much like Beirut itself. Layer upon layer of history, joy and tragedy intertwined, resilience in the face of hardship. The city holds its contradictions without apology.

I should try to sleep. Tomorrow I want to visit the Jeita Grotto, and if I manage to book it, I'll need to be ready by 8:30 AM for pickup. That means being ready by 8:20, of course. I've got the Mohammad Al-Amin Mosque on my list too, with its stunning blue dome that I've only seen from a distance so far. And I want to revisit the Corniche one last time before leaving.

Through my window, I can see clouds drifting across the night sky, occasionally revealing stars. The weather report says tomorrow will be hazy sunshine - perfect for a final day of exploration. The temperature should reach around 21°C.

I'm setting my alarm for 7:00 AM. That should give me enough time to have breakfast and make arrangements for the Jeita Grotto tour. If I'm lucky, I might even catch a few hours of sleep before then.

Good night, Beirut. Or rather, good morning. We still have one more day together.

Posted at 02:03 AM local time