Beirut

As the plane descended there was nothing but water, getting closer and closer in the way that makes you begin to hope that a runway, or even a bit of land, will appear soon. But a glance out of the window on the opposite side showed me city, small tatty blocks of flats flying past at a speed that made it hard tell whether the incomplete appearance of many was because they were half way up or half way down. Beyond, similar buildings stretched up onto the surrounding hills. Then beneath our wheels the runway appeared, bordered on one side by a breakwater, and I was in Beirut.

Arrival was quick and efficient, despite three different officials (the second only three feet away from the first) carefully checking every page of my passport, usually twice. I thought they might well be looking for any Israeli stamps, but decided against engaging in any conversation. The airport had a pretty visible military presence as well as this host of charming and good-looking immigration officers. I think it is also the first airport I have seen in 15 years where nicotine-deprived passengers are allowed to light up while waiting at the baggage carousel.

The short taxi-ride into town showed me more of the same sort of architecture, a stunning array of tired, basic buildings jutting over and around each other, somehow vibrant despite they tattiness, with beachy awnings blackened by dust or pollution flapping over every balcony. The road wound over aging flyovers and through an aging tunnel, then into a district of ordinary streets, where trees grew on pavements and people strolled with shopping bags. At a road named Rue de l'armee, we passed a neatly parked tank, its turret and gun snugly fitted with a made-to-measure tarp, and from there we overtook half a dozen jeeps carrying relaxing soldiers, a gun mounted on the back and strings of ammunition hanging inside. I began to think that the army were going to be very visible in the city, but further exploration told me that this is not the case everywhere. In my afternoon wanderings about the area near my hotel, the only other military presence I came across was the curious sight of armed soldiers overseeing the unloading of empty crates from a bakery van.

I'm staying in the Hamra area, where the streets contain a pleasant mixture of bustling activity and quiet leisure. Many buildings are pockmarked with bullet holes, others have been renovated and are freshly painted. The city seems to be staffed by good-looking and polite men - something I'm certainly not complaining about. My hotel is pleasant, though the rooms are what the Lonely Planet would call "tired" and I have a novelty shower where half of the water sprays sideways in a sheet out of the shower head. Oh, and one bedside light doesn't turn off. Not quite what you'd expect for the price I'm paying, but not unbearable either. So now, well rested by a long, if bright, night's sleep, I'm ready and eager to set off to explore the city a bit more.