Richard Beeston has known Beirut for five decades, since the days when Kim Philby lived there. Here he recounts a recent visit to the city he loves
I first came to Beirut half a century ago, the year of the Suez War, driving from Amman across the Syrian desert, through the Bekaa Valley and over the mountains of Lebanon. In those days Lebanon, barely a decade after independence from France, was a confident, prosperous nation and Beirut a charming, elegant mix of East and West, Christian and Muslim, with red-tiled Ottoman houses, a delightful coastline of empty beaches and coves, unspoiled mountain villages and a modest ski resort from which you could view the blue Mediterranean.
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