The streets of Beirut

Photo by David Lansing.

The traffic in Beirut is worse than Los Angeles. It is worse than Manhattan and London, Mexico City and Rio. The only city I’ve ever been in that is comparable is Nairobi. But I think Beirut is even worse.

The thing is, there are no cops in Beirut. There are soldiers—lots and lots of soldiers. There are tanks positioned along every major boulevard and military trucks parked on the streets, but the soldiers don’t give a rat’s ass about traffic. So things like traffic signals and highway lanes are just suggestions. Suggestions that are seldom taken.

If a signal if red and you think that means cars coming from the other direction will stop, you’re taking your life in your hands. A red light in Beirut is like a no smoking sign in Paris; nobody pays any attention. On the wide boulevards and freeways you’ll will find five or six lanes of cars scurrying over two or three lanes of highway. People drive on the shoulder. People drive on the sidewalk. People double park. People triple park. It’s crazy.

You have to be zen about it. You let go. You free your mind and stop speculating on your impending death. Yesterday I was in a taxi headed to the national museum and I realized that one way to let go of the fear that grips me every time I get in a car here is to not look ahead; look out to the side. Look at the sea. Look at the buildings. Look at the people walking around the neighborhood.

I was sort of zoning out when I suddenly noticed that there was a cacophony of shouting coming from the blue bus jostling along next to us. It was filled with teenagers and, like me, they were ignoring the road ahead of them and looking for something of interest beside them. What they saw was me. And so they started yelling at me. In a good natured way. When they finally got my attention, they did something very unusual; they smiled and waved at me. No funny faces, no obnoxious hand signs, just beautiful, beatific smiles and a wave. It felt like I was being blessed.