Beirut - Epilogue
It’s only fitting that I capture the events and points that came out of the last few days in Beirut and the flight into Syria.
Cessation of activities during the one-day strike did not cease and as such the commotion that built up on Wednesday evening continued into Thursday.
During the night of Wednesday the fighting between the Shia and Sunnis of West Beirut continued with concentration of automatic weapons firing at each other as they tried to ‘land grab’. The offices of the Sunni Government supporters were attacked and taken in gunfights; even the pro-government TV station was captured and taken off the air. What TV news was showing highlighted the gunfights and grenade attacks that were taking place in West Beirut only a few blocks away. Al Jazeera TV was highly evident reporting on the events with their reporters fully kitted out in flak jackets and helmets.
All day the fighting continued and intensified. Going for a short walk across to Downtown seemed safe enough so I ventured out until it seemed the fighting was getting worse, so I hot footed back to the hotel where I discovered there were no longer any taxis or hotel cars evident. The streets were entirely devoid of any vehicles apart from the small military convoys.
Not aware of all the political ins and outs I couldn’t at first work out why the military didn’t step in and stop this chaos, but as they are made up of the different sides its evident that if they do get drawn in they too will end up taking sides and then its back to a civil war or major escalation which will be harder to stop.
Standing outside on the balcony of the 10th floor the fighting had increased with gunfire raging down one of the side streets. This was now too close for comfort and an exit route from Beirut had to be sought.
The hotel tried desperately to keep things calm and normal but when the pool had to be closed due to masonry becoming dislodged during the gunfights and the reverberations of grenades it was time to batten down the hatches.
Midday on Thursday was probably the worst point, but a reprieve came about when the leader of Hezbollah, the Cleric Nassareh took to the stage and for two hours berated the government and its supporters. The struggle would continue until their demands were met. This was the signal and immediately after this all hell broke out with more clashes.
One of the hotel guests Dr Saleh, a Saudi citizen close to the Saudi Royals, couldn’t get away from his meeting easily and got caught in the cross fire which his driver managed to get away from. I decided that night after the failed attempt to get out of Beirut by taxi that I had to try again and this time make it happen.
The attempt on Thursday night in a taxi that the hotel found was always going to be high risk and when we got stopped at the first road block and I witnessed the scale of weapons and people I knew this was a mistake.
That night a storm came and the mix of gun fire, thuds from RPG’s and the rain and thunder emphasised that we were moving more towards hell. In the morning I awoke early with a start after a RPG hit the hotel opposite and left a 10ft diameter hole in the fourth floor. It was at this point I was extremely frightened and concerned how I was going to get out.
The options were get out or stay in the hotel. My mind was made up when I appeared in reception to find this almost deserted. The hotel shops and jewellery showcases around the hotel were closed and the items removed. The skeletal remains of these display cases, which once had Rolex and other fine exquisite jewellery items, were in stark contrast to normality. The same taxi driver was hovering in reception but now instead of $200 to get to the border he was demanding $1500.
Just after 09.00 we made our escape from the hotel by car through an invite from Dr Saleh who I met in reception. He had organised his driver to use his own car, a white 318 BMW, which was going to take him and his Kuwaiti friend Armani, through to Damascus. The driver was Ramsi who I recognised as the driver that collected me from the airport on my initial arrival into Beirut.
The car was packed and looking like refugees we departed from the hotel. Security had now been stepped up and no longer in reception were dark grey suited men plus women manning the x ray machine but visible men wearing flak jackets, gun belts and the shoulder holsters with semi automatic pistols. Loosely they carried large Kalashnikovs, or whatever the American equivalent is. This is quite a frightening spectacle as first thoughts are where their allegiance lies.
Escorted from the hotel we made our way through the deserted streets of downtown Beirut into the Eastern side. This was relatively uneventful apart from my nerves, which were trashed when our driver got into the back seat and a heavily armed swarthy gunman with his plethora of weapons drove the car. Driving with his automatic rifle sitting across his lap and pointing into my groin I sat motionless staring straight forward not daring to flinch a muscle.
Once through the barriers and obstacles we settled into the drive north with Ramsi at the wheel, me in the front passenger seat and Dr Saleh and Armani in the rear.
From the introductions and the knowledge from Dr Saleh he was evidently high ranking in Saudi society. Knowing and advising different aspects of the Saudi family he was a Consultant in Law and other business areas. Based in Paris and travelling globally my understanding is that he represented multiple interests from the Arabic world in Europe and the US. He had met Sarkozy the French President and some of the British Government on Arabic matters.
Armani is Yemenis but she now lives and works in Kuwait City as a Financial Advisor and there was little she didn’t know about the financial climate, bonds and the ways of making money out of money.
We spoke English where necessary and when Ramsi and Dr S were talking in Arabic they kindly translated what they had been saying. The journey north took a couple of hours on a good highway with us all relaxed and talking until we reached the outskirts of Tripoli. This is Tripoli in Lebanon not Libya and is a large port but also no more than 10 – 15 kms from the Syrian border.
It was midday when we finally pulled over on the outskirts of Tripoli. Here were many vehicles stopped by the side of the road around a couple of police cars. The reason was that Hezbollah sympathisers had now blocked off the border. Stuck there was no way of going back of even going around. Dr S went off with Ramsi to enquire with others and I met a couple of HSBC senior execs also attempting to flee.
It had been on the Thursday when contacting the British Embassy that I knew I had to make my own decisions on what to do as they couldn’t advise me of what to do apart from sit pretty and wait.
In contrast amongst the pool of vehicles pulled over were 3 grey 50 + seater coaches with their own army. This turned out to be the Kuwaiti contingent made up of students from the American University in Beirut and Embassy staff. They were in negotiation through channels back with the militants to get safe passage through the blockade. In addition there were a number of large 4 × 4’s with an Iranian contingent. A few Clerics walked around the vehicles with multiple gunmen accompanying them.
Stuck for about an hour we got the signal to move off, following the Iranian contingent who had organised safe passage. Tripoli town centre was in chaos with roads closed and local traffic trying to get about its local business, whilst this throng of ‘refugees’ from Beirut attempted to pass through and leave the country.
Even stuck behind the Iranians did not stop other cars from getting between us and eventually we got pushed further back in the queue.
As we approached the road blocks with their burning tyres spread across the road it was evident we were not going to make it through as the blockade had now been pulled back across the road. Following the other vehicles we attempted to circumnavigate the blockade up side streets but the throng of cars was too intense. The partially unmade road was giving the poor ‘Beemer’ a good pounding with the exhaust scraping no matter how slow we went.
For the next hour amongst the traffic, the rain, the noise and the smell in the air of burning rubber we tried every way to get through Triploi until Ramsi pulled over by the main access road which was blocked by the army and we waited. He and Dr S got out ascertaining options and both continued to talk on their mobiles. Suddenly back into the car and through difficult manoeuvring we were back into the flow of traffic as the Kuwaiti coaches came through the traffic. To get the positioning right we circumnavigated the roundabout amongst the chaos just edging forward slowly into a small gap then forward again, stop, forward until we were closely behind the coaches; even though there were twenty/thirty cars in front.
Slowly the pace picked up and we threaded our way through the burning tyres, maintaining a steady pace to ensure that the remaining burning tyres on the road did not stick to our tyres. What with the rain and the smoke from the burning pyres it did feel a little like damnation. That’s my view in any case. At some of the blockades the locals pounded on the cars and attempted to pull the blockade back over after the coaches had gone through, but the heavily armed secret police with the convoy appeared and the issue was resolved. I remember at one point looking ahead and a face appearing at the window. Contorted and fuming this guy was livid that we were going through and setting his gaze upon me and screaming completely freaked me out. I never thought we were going to make it though and then it cleared and we were in open countryside heading for the border and across into Syria.
It’s hard to describe the melee and throng of people at the border. Cars, buses, vans were now stuck all facing the border with thousands of pedestrians carrying or pulling their luggage.
This was real refugee escape from war torn country images.
The flood just continued for hours whilst we waited. Back up the road there were no further vehicles getting through so the blockade had started again and we were some of the lucky ones to get through.
Ramsi collected our passports and some money and went off to the offices to attempt to get our exit Visas agreed and sanctioned.
Hours went by and in that time local kids appeared selling snacks and chocolates. Might describe them as scruffy urchins but they were friendly and open without being too pushy.
Dr Saleh got me to drive the car, or rather push through the throng closer to the border gate whilst Ramsi was still getting papers sorted. Nudging and edging forward, spotting a gap and just getting in was the only way to do it. Dr Saleh guided pointing out I still had inches of space on some points. Eventually we managed to get no more than 50 yards from the border gate.
We were out of the car talking at the point when someone in the crowd started shooting skyward. Immediately everyone around dropped to the ground to reveal a suedo military type in the midst of us firing an automatic weapon into the sky. The panic was immeasurable, as I had no clue as to what was happening. My heart was in my mouth as I had never been so close, less than twenty feet, to an incident like this. Apparently this was merely a reminder to the crowds to calm down and it did the trick.
Shortly after Ramsi reappeared with all the passports and documentation signed and approved for our exit out of Lebanon into Syria.
Continuing to nudge forward with people banging on the car we get to the gate, which is effectively a barrier and loads of barbed wire. The crowds, cars and buses are right up against the gate and although no evidence of any real military there does seem to be a small number in charge. Lifting the barrier and the barbed wire with the butt of their guns we push through into no mans land.
We now have the delights of getting Syrian visas, payments and approval. The complexity is that we are four nations and as such different desks. Between different office blocks Ramsi goes back and forward until he just can’t do all of them so he gets me standing or rather holding my place in a queue if you call it that. Pushing and shoving I have never been in such chaos, but I am resigned that if I need to do this then this is the only way. At one point the pushing and shoving with hands holding papers and passports is intolerable and people push back thereby creating tension, which is only alleviated when a uniformed Syrian appears pointing his pistol at the protagonist.
After four hours of this we have our papers, visas and approval to pass through into Syria, but not until another bribe to the soldier to ensure he doesn’t stop and check the belongings in the car. Now we are free of the melee and heading on the road to Damascus.