BEIRUT: Under the water, you can be a child again. No longer does the constant stream of messages and alerts from social networks or the incessant din of an office space distract you.

Every nook can be explored, every rock upturned; you chase curiously after rainbow-colored fish, the impulse to investigate the world you have suddenly discovered takes hold.

Then a tug on the flipper. It’s Walid Ghotmeh, the scuba diving instructor, and he motions you to slow down and enjoy the show. Relax and keep your eyes open.

The easy swim is held off the coast at the American University of Beirut, about 10 meters out for the beginner divers who are just testing the waters with the “Discover Scuba Diving” program set up by the Calypso Diving Club, based at the Movenpick Hotel in Raouche. The expert divers are farther out at sea, having been dropped off earlier, flawlessly slipping under the calm waters.

Riding out to the diving spot on a clear summer day is cause enough to fall in love with water sports. The din of the boat engine drowns out the conversations around you, and there is nothing but the salty sea breeze. The sun-kissed Mediterranean Sea embraces the sky on the horizon, and Beirut lies a seeming world away, its skyline belying the traffic jams and buzz of life.

The waters off of AUB are surprisingly clean. Visibility is a few meters in all directions, enough to entice you on to the next curiosity.

The Discover Scuba Diving session, about four hours in all, begins with a theoretical introduction to the sport and basic scuba diving gear, including how to breathe underwater or inflate and deflate your diving suit.

Next, the instructors take you on a brief test drive of the equipment at the Movenpick pool. It’s quickly evident why the test run is necessary, because breathing underwater and getting used to the pressure gauge can be counterintuitive to a first-time diver who might panic if a little water gets into the breathing regulator (the water can be expelled with a small push of a button).

It’s easy to tense up and panic, said Mohammad Azzam, another driving instructor.

“That’s why we do it in the pool first,” he said.

Next is a trip out to sea by the AUB wall, where the staggered depths allow both beginner and advanced divers to explore.

Bassam Oud, the club manager at Calypso, said scuba diving was growing in popularity in Lebanon because the sport had become safer as a result of a growing understanding of the science of diving and improvements in the equipment. He added, however, that would-be divers should seek out diving centers with experienced trainers and proper safety procedures.

He said parents were now bringing their children in to learn the sport at an early age.

“We have divers from all ages and genders,” he said, adding that every year the club saw 200 “new faces.”

In addition to Discover Scuba, Calypso offers full courses where divers can get internationally certified to pursue the sport anywhere they travel, as well as rescue and first-aid classes and cave-diving sessions, among others.

The main open-sea diving course includes a series of lectures on diving science, how to use the equipment, how pressure and being underwater affects the body and so on. This is followed by a few sessions at the swimming pool and then five dives in the sea.

Calypso’s program costs $500, including equipment rentals. After that, Oud said, divers can try out specialized experiences such as night diving to decide if they want to pursue more advanced courses and eventually even become certified as a diving instructor.

Many make use of their training on travels to tropical locations. But most stay in touch with the center and continue diving, he said, even becoming instructors sometimes, teaching their close friends or family.

“That link stays,” he said.

Many of those flocking to the center now are university students on summer vacation and professionals looking to de-stress from the office.

Oud said would-be scuba divers should do their homework and research courses before taking them, comparing them to what international dive centers offer. Quality courses ensure that divers are taught proper safety procedures.

“If you don’t follow the standards, you are going to have an accident and either get hurt or lose your life.”

Oud said the regular dives occurred in Beirut, between the Movenpick’s marina and Ain al-Mreisseh. Outside the city, locations span from Batroun to Khalde, where a Vichy French submarine sunk in 1944 – a popular haunt for divers.

The center takes occasional longer trips as far south as Sidon, which has deeper wrecks to explore.

Oud said he did not have a favorite personal diving spot, given that it was his job to dive, but added that each one had a different “fragrance.”

But he sounded in awe of one particular site in Tripoli – a British frigate sunk in 1884 that stands pointing upward underwater, from a depth of 70 meters to a staggering 144 meters.

The site is off-limits to scuba divers now due to a government order to prevent theft and claims by rival dive centers. But Oud calls it the “Everest of scuba diving.”

BEIRUT: Ambling along the narrow streets of Beirut's Mar Mikhael and Geitawi neighborhoods on a balmy morning, master's students from Balamand University's Academie Libanaise des Beaux-Arts lead groups of design enthusiasts on a heritage-esque tour of the areas' famous stairs.

One guide tells stories of the family who built the well-known Vendome Stairs – named after a long-gone theater at their base – and another recounts tales told by residents about a large stone in the middle of a flight north of Roum Hospital. The story goes that a drunken man comes every night to try to move it to the top but to no avail.

From secret steps tucked into the entrances of old buildings to short, wide flights shaded by webs of cables and serving as the only outlets for some apartments, the stairs are a defining feature of the capital's hilly eastern areas.

The guided stroll, led by students Honeine Laeticia, Kallab Cyril, Salamoun Elias and Rouhana Joyce, and their instructor Diala Lteif, was intended to raise awareness of the imminent threat to the steps created by a slew of new developments.

"The main problem is a lack of preservation. None of the buildings along the tour or in that neighborhood are classified as heritage sites by the government," said Lteif, who taught a semester-long course focusing on the stairs as part of ALBA's new global design program.

Letif added that the students had conducted onsite research by interviewing residents in preparation for the tours, which were part of last week's Beirut Design Week and were accompanied by an open workshop to brainstorm ways to protect the neighborhoods' traditional character.

"In the program at ALBA, we look at design as a process to solve a problem ... and the users [of the design] are the main focus," she explained. "Since we are contextually embedded in the city around us, it made sense for us to look at the design problems we face in the city."

Lteif's students hit the streets to talk with residents of Mar Mikhael and Geitawi, many of whom were older and had lived in the area for decades, about the stairs and the lack of heritage protection.

She said what the students discovered as they began to explore the neighborhoods outraged them. Seemingly on every corner, towers were being built, causing real estate developers to seek new outlets for the additional vehicular traffic such apartments bring.

The draft rent law recently passed by Parliament, under which old rents would be raised incrementally and tenants could be evicted with no compensation after nine years, threatens more upheaval, as does the controversial Fouad Boutros Highway project. The proposed road would pass from Ashrafieh to the port, with at least one flight of historic stairs, several traditional buildings and a large public garden being demolished in the process.

Additionally, as the stairs were mostly built as outlets for buildings located on the areas' steep hills, all but one flight in the area are divided into sections that are privately owned by the landlords of the buildings immediately fronting them.

This means that as developers buy up old houses and plots for new construction projects, they also acquire ownership of the stairs in front of them, which serve the greater public of the neighborhoods.

Lteif and her students predicted that most of the stairs would be demolished in 10 years' time.

However, the young designers found that many residents were unwilling to face the reality of the situation, feeling helpless to do anything in the face of the government and the real estate developers with their bottomless "wasta."

On the tour, one of the students spoke about a woman whose apartment, just off one of the large flights of stairs leading up from Armenia Street and surrounded by creeping vines and greenery, was soon to be dwarfed by a mammoth tower currently under construction. When asked if she had considered doing something or moving, the woman replied she couldn't even if she had anywhere else to go; having lived in the building for decade, it was the only home she knew.

Still, Lteif said, the students were able to establish trust with some older residents and discuss ways to fight back against the loss of historic structures. This was key, she said, as central to any design project is to "build empathy for the people you are designing for."

Proposed solutions to the problem of integrating the stairs into the area's design future include more cultural projects and festivals held around them as well as gardens and public areas incorporated along the steps to increase residents' stake in the flights as communal spaces.

Lteif added that she and the class hoped Paint Up, the group responsible for the stairs' colorful paint jobs, would continue bringing life to the steps with their initiatives.

"What we do is participatory design work, we want to reach out to the community. ... I always tell my students, a good designer is an engaged designer."

BEIRUT: Another summer season will soon start. As usual, the country’s several festival organizations are preparing to welcome the local and international artists scheduled to perform – whom they hope will lure capacity audiences to their various venues.

The Byblos International Festival announced its official lineup at a Tuesday morning news conference at Byblos-sur-Mer.

Chinese piano prodigy Lang Lang will open the festivities on July 3. A student of piano at the Shenyang Conservatory since the age of three, the pianist won Japan’s Tchaikovsky Competition prize for Young Musicians in 1995. His European fame began after his outstanding Carnegie Hall performance in 2001. Lang hasn’t stopped touring the world since.

Lang’s next destination will be Byblos, where it’s assumed his repertoire, blending classical standards with contemporary works, will amaze his audience as much as the talent and dexterity with which he performs it.

Lebanese musical patriarch Marcel Khalife will return to the Byblos stage on July 17. One of the country’s great masters of the oud and a fixture in the region’s summer festival circuit, Khalife first found renown for his politicized folk numbers. He then bent his mind to orchestral composition and, most recently, has allowed his career and songbook to be recast through his sons Rami and Bashar.

Two days after Khalife’s show, the hirsute Greek-born crooner Yanni will return to Lebanon to perform what is assumed will be a playlist of his most famous hits. A multi-award-winning talent, the Grammy-winning Yanni has been feted for his albums “Dare to Dream” and “In My Time.”

A decade or so ago, U.K. trip-hop pioneers Massive Attack stormed to the stage of the Baalbek International Festival. Their long-awaited reprise will be staged at Byblos on July 29.

Best known for such early-career releases as “Blue Lines,” “Protection” and “Mezzanine,” The Massive’s mutable ensemble has continued to tour and make the odd record, the most recent being 2010’s “Heligoland.” The band’s collaborated with a bevy of A-list talent, including Sinead O’Connor, Madonna and Horace Andy.

Those into hardcore may enjoy Epica’s performance in Aug. 2. This Dutch symphonic-metal band is known for its combination of female vocals, orchestral scoring and thoughtful lyrics.

For lovers of eurotrash dancehall culture, the highlight of the festival will fall on Aug. 5, when Belgian singer songwriter and Stromae will shake Byblos’ booty. The artist, whose name is “maestro” spelt backward, was catapulted into pop culture’s collective hard drive with his hit “Alors On Danse.” That tune’s success earned him the ambiguous honor of performing a one-night stand at Beirut’s Sky Bar in Aug. 2010. Despite this, his career hasn’t stopped accelerating, and he’s won numerous best artist awards.

A potentially interesting generational cross will be staged on Aug. 6, when the father of ethio-jazz Mulatu Astatke will take the stage with Lebanese trumpeter Ibrahim Maalouf, promising to alternate and combine their far-flung talents.

Another local hero, Lebanese-Armenian pianist Guy Manoukian, will return to the Byblos stage on Aug. 13 promising to perform the best-loved numbers of his four albums.

Last but not least, U.S. band Beirut will close the festivities on Aug. 19. The public discovered these indie rockers in 2007, when their song “Nantes” shot up the international new music charts. Having toured the world, this will be Beirut’s Lebanon premiere.

Byblos’ wide range of acts, from the Middle East to the United States, from electronica, rock, metal and jazz to classical, promises to satisfy at least some of its audience’s musical cravings.

The Byblos International Festival will take place from July 3 until Aug. 19. For more information, please visit www.byblosfestival.org. For ticketing, please call 01-999-666.

BEIRUT: Alongside the commercially packaged balsamic vinegar and vegetable oil in our kitchen cabinet is a 2 liter bottle of 7UP filled with fragrant golden olive oil so local that the anonymous maker, from somewhere outside Nabatieh, made do with whatever containers he had.

Local and delicious? Yes. Exportable? Absolutely not. One can hardly imagine rows of elegant canisters of Italian-made olive oil sharing shelf space with unmarked, recycled soda bottles. Enter Yousuf Fares, one of the country’s 17,000 olive farmers, who is trying to elevate the “made in Lebanon” brand in the global marketplace.

Lebanon is already the world’s 17th biggest exporter of olive oil, according to statistics from the U.N. Food and Agriculture Organization. Fares says he believes Lebanese olive oil could be more competitive internationally but, like the bottle sitting at home, lacks the marketability.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have the market yet. Only where there are Lebanese do they want to buy Lebanese olive oil,” he adds.

Advocating for one of the oldest and most traditional products in the country seems like an odd cause for a young man like Fares, who runs the olive oil brand Zejd. But he’s become an expert of sorts, one that’s attracted the praise of local food writers like Barbara Abdeni Massoud. And his brand Zejd is a model of how the country’s staple cooking oil could be turned into a delicacy that appeals to foreign gourmets.

One only needs walk by his shop, located on a side street in Ashrafieh, to be convinced.

Hung on the walls and neatly stacked on shelves is Zejd’s range of products made primarily from olive oil farmed and pressed at his family orchard in Beino, Akkar, in northern Lebanon. There are attractive wooden gift boxes, baskets of olive oil soap and a wall-mounted guide to Zejd’s varying products: certified organic premium, tapenades and flavor-infused oils.

Along a shelf, various local ingredients float in 100 ml baths. These are a line of flavored oils, one of Fares’ many creations born from the desire to infuse, literally, a very local flavor into his product. Tastes of thyme, Aleppo pepper, garlic, lemon and orange zest mingle with the pungent smell of olive.

Creating something uniquely local is part of the challenge. One of his most popular products, for example, is a fusion of pomegranate molasses and olive oil. It’s an obvious pairing to the Lebanese, but in places like the U.S. the innovation won Zejd accolades, he says.

“You know pomegranate is getting a huge hype, not only in Lebanon but everywhere,” he says. A foreign customer proves him right minutes later, when she walks in and heads straight for the pomegranate infusion.

“I’m a sucker for pomegranate,” she says before carrying her purchase out the door.

His interest in promoting the local olive also led him to create a line of tapenades, ones that include unorthodox but indigenous ingredients like figs and sumac. And for the health conscious, he’s imported the spray bottle trend to help Lebanese control the amount of olive oil consumed. “In France, [spray oil] has had a huge success,” he says. After all, “even though olive oil is a good fat, it’s still fat.”

The store’s concept is about more than promoting Fares’ Akkar-grown olives. Oil makers outside Nabatieh and Majdaloun will soon have a tanker in the shop, where customers can fill up on olive oils sourced from his fellow producers. In fact, The Daily Star first met Fares manning a stand at the HORECA tradeshow in early April, where he was dolling out tastes originating from Batroun and Koura in the north to Hasbaya in the south.

But getting Lebanese olive oil up to international standards requires more than a good marketing scheme. When Fares took over his grandfather’s olive groves, he and his uncle had to make the tough decision to replace the old, traditional presses and install updated equipment and modern storage facilities.

There are bigger challenges to regulating Lebanese olive oil, such as preventing fraud. Perhaps the biggest olive oil scandal made news several years ago, when it became known some Italian producers resold cheap Tunisian olive oil as an Italian product. Similarly, some Lebanese mix their product with the less expensive, and even less marketable, Syrian olive oil.

There’s also the challenge of education, which Fares is trying to tackle through cooking classes and tastings. “We teach the difference between a good olive oil and a bad olive oil. We bring some bad olive oil and ask them: Which one was bad? Which one was good? What did you taste? Then we’ll make some recipes with them,” he says.

For example, he suggested pairing a plate of couscous with orange-zest olive oil or coating a plate of roasted potatoes with a thyme infusion.

And despite the challenges, Fares says he sees a way forward into specific markets such as Brazil or the U.S. where a local expat community can help promote the product. “But this cannot be done by one person.”

BEIRUT: In the shade of luxury yachts harbored at Zaitunay Bay, more than 75 Beirut designers set up stands to showcase everything from furniture to fashion. As young designers and artisans increasingly launch their brands in the digisphere and promote their products on social media platforms, Beirut Designers’ Week has proven an invaluable opportunity to gain face time with clients, they said.

For Tiara Ghandour, who launched her clothing brand Gate26 just two months ago, exhibitions like Beirut Designers’ Week complement an aggressive social media presence. “I’m on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram, but when you’re starting you have to do every exhibition in town,” she said. “Physical [presence] is much better, because not everyone shops online. Some ... want to walk around, to see the products,” she told The Daily Star.

Carefully taking a subtle tiara out of a client’s hair, Sherine Natour said that while social media is important for promoting her brand, exhibitions are ideal for client feedback. “Exhibitions are nice because you can learn what people like, what colors, which styles,” she said.

And no place is better for casual product perusing than Zaitunay Bay, Nada Koussa Itani said from behind her jewelry stand. “People are eating, you don’t have to pay entrance, and you can come and go freely,” she said. “The [economic] situation in Lebanon isn’t very good, so when you do an exhibition at least the Lebanese will come out and look.”

Even more established brands, however, can benefit from exhibition exposure, Guida Khoury said. She sells her organic cotton products, under the label Mellow, at a small store in Mar Mikhael, but says only so many people pass by her storefront.

“Both social media and exhibitions are very important,” Khoury said. “From Facebook I can get clients from the States, but at here [at exhibitions], they can get to know the brand.”

Grace Akkaoui Hakim, whose brand Huggables specializes in children’s accessories, said that while she already has a functional website where clients can order online, exhibitions are the best way to make new contacts. “At exhibitions like this, I have gotten contacts from Dubai, and from Qatar,” she said. “I don’t really care if I sell ... mostly I focus on making contacts.”

Earlier this week, the organizers of Beirut Designers’ Week decided at the last minute to postpone the event by a day, after downpours Thursday broke through an unusually dry spring. For Claire Damaa, traveling from Paris to show off her line of high-end lingerie and lounge wear, Friday’s weather was just perfect. “Zaitunay Bay is such a nice location. I’m living in Paris, where we don’t have the sea or the sun,” Damaa said.

The event offered a convenient platform for Damaa to introduce her lingerie brand, Claire D, to the local market. Originally from Lebanon, Damaa works and lives in France, where her designs sell in major luxury retailers like Harrods department store.

Brightly colored, warm-weather items, like beach totes, sheer coveralls, sandals and sundresses, made this weekend’s open-air market a great destination for summer shopping, Damaa’s product included. For the slew of summer weddings fast approaching, Damaa’s display of elegant silk and lace intimate apparel offered a range of unique options for bachelorette gifts.

For the second season of Beirut Designers’ Week, organizer Sandra Ghattas Ferzli dedicated the market to its majority female business owners, titling the event “Women for a Better Lebanon.” Designers and artisans who spoke to The Daily Star, however, said that not only women, but all of the creative industries in Lebanon need better support.

Damaa, for example, is preparing her own event in June to bring together Lebanese designers who sell in Paris as a way to promote the “Made in Lebanon” brand abroad, she said.

Joumana Dagher, a children’s furniture designer, had a similar sentiment: local designers, regardless of gender, need better support. “I don’t feel the inequality,” Dagher said. “The challenge we face is to find people, men or women ... who really appreciate the work.”

Dagher’s tent displayed a range of extra-large pillows covered with vintage comic strips and quirky wooden furniture. Her workshop is one of the few locally that focuses on children’s furniture. Her concept emphasizes modular designs that can be customized, taken apart and rearranged.

Wedged in a corner of the exhibit among the many ladies who set up shop Friday was Tarek Thebian, co-owner and manager at Taj Hindicrafts, which specializes in home accessories bursting with the color. The Oriental-style cushions and embroidered upholstery are handmade in India, he said. His store is among the new businesses participating this year, and Thebian said he hoped Beirut Designers’ Week would allow him to network with people who could expand the business outside its showroom in the Chouf. “It’s good for advertising and searching for franchisers,” he said. “Zaitunay Bay is a good place for that.”

"If you still look cute, you didn't train enough." The inscription on the box at the entrance of CrossFit B-Town summarizes the ethos of its namesake, high-intensity sport that is gaining a foothold in Lebanon.

Coach Abdel-Kader Heraki stands atop the wooden boxes, CrossFitters gathered around, sweating and panting. They had just finished a workout of hill sprints, rope jumping, handstands, squats, planks, box jumps and flipping large truck tires.

"This was a little present to warm your hearts up," Heraki said, smiling. "It was by no means your workout."

The actual workout, a string of kettlebell swings, high pulls, box jumps and knee-to-chest pullups, scrawled on a whiteboard, draws a whistle from the crowd. They all get to work.

"All the stress of work and daily life goes away in this one hour," Ahmad Abbas, 23, said at the end of his workout, visibly exhausted, face reddened and sweating.

Chiseled, with nary a visible ounce of fat, coach Heraki seems to embody the CrossFit ethos. He speaks animatedly and with enthusiasm to a group of newcomers attending an introductory workout meant to familiarize them with the principles of the sport. He wears a T-shirt that says "Respect is earned."

An exercise philosophy and company founded in 2000, CrossFit has many adherents worldwide who swear by its mix of high-intensity exercises that combine running, Olympic weightlifting, gymnastics and bodyweight exercises like pushups and squats. Thousands of affiliated gyms have opened worldwide, one of which is CrossFit B-Town.

Heraki first discovered CrossFit during a visit to a gym in Montreal in summer 2009.

"I was mesmerized," he said.

He was hooked on the mix of exercises on display, having long eschewed the traditional notion of bodybuilding that exercises isolated muscles and gives primacy to physique over fitness. By the second day, he said, he felt like part of the gang at the gym, a common refrain among new adherents to the sport, who often find the alternating camaraderie and competitive spirit a refreshing change from a solitary jog on a treadmill with the earphones on.

When he came back to Lebanon, Heraki said he would get together with friends at his local gym to do CrossFit workout routines. The intense and frantic nature of the routines drew a few strange looks.

"They would look at us like maniacs," he said.

But Heraki flips it around. CrossFit, he said, is "training for life."

Many advocates of the sport say it combines natural movements that strengthen the body and adapt it to physically challenging situations in real life, a form of "functional" training. Isolated weightlifting exercises, by contrast, are not as useful for overall physical health.

Another advantage over traditional gym workouts is the constant variation in training routines. Workouts are never the same from day to day – the organization that founded CrossFit posts a new "WOD," or workout of the day, on its website every morning.

"It prepares you for everything," he said. "It's not sport specific. We're not just training for a marathon, but you can run a marathon if you also CrossFit."

Now, Heraki has his own CrossFit gym on Australia Street near Raouche, which opened nearly three months ago.

There, he does beginner, intermediate and advanced CrossFit classes three days a week. It costs $75 for access to 12 classes a month, and a lot of sessions, he said, are packed with the maximum of 25 people of varying fitness levels.

Heraki, a certified CrossFit trainer, also has background in martial arts, with a black belt in kickboxing and a blue belt in Brazilian jiujitsu.

To build the gym, Heraki converted part of an underground garage in the building into a brightly lit room where pumping music, his own shouts of encouragement and the occasional roar of a car engine enhance the desire to soldier on with the workout.

He designed the pullup rig on AutoCAD, and the wood exercise boxes that you jump on in some workout routines were built by hand.

"No one ever drowned in sweat," says the inscription on one of them.

That sort of unbridled attitude and the high-adrenaline nature of the workouts can be off-putting to outsiders, who often mock the sport's adherents for having cultish tendencies.

Many new converts to CrossFit preach its creed with zeal and bear blisters from frequent pullups as battle scars on their palms.

The competitive nature of the workouts, which are often timed and the performance recorded, can also be intimidating.

But those who take part in the sport often instead praise its camaraderie. At a recent workout, trainees gathered to cheer on a comrade who was last to finish her set of workouts.

"You're always making friends," said Maya Mirey, who has been training at CrossFit B-Town for a month and a half.

"You don't feel intimidated."

Workouts are also often scaled, with beginners doing fewer rounds or carrying lighter weights than the more seasoned crowd.

When she found out about the sport online and decided to try it out, Mirey said she was concerned about getting too "buff" or muscular. But after training about three times a week, she said the effect was more one of increased fitness. The adrenaline rush from the high-intensity workouts is somewhat addictive, she said, bringing her back for more.

Heraki agrees. He wants to change what it means to work out, to build a community. At the end of the session, the gym slowly empties out, faces flushed but enthusiastic after a few minutes of meditative stretching.

"What you will see [in a traditional gym] is a guy standing five feet away from the mirror doing bicep curls and then texting his girlfriend," Heraki said.

At a CrossFit gym, you won't find that, or a solitary treadmill run.

BEIRUT: Wine producers throughout Lebanon are getting ready to showcase their drinks in Germany for the “Lebanese Wine Day in Berlin.”

The all-day event, on May 5, will gather 33 Lebanese producers and around 50 government officials at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in the German capital, where they will hope to land contracts with European distributors and raise the profile of Lebanese wine.

“It’s important for people to know about and discover Lebanese wine,” says Elie Maamari, export manager for Lebanon’s largest winery, Chateau Ksara, which has been exporting to Germany since 1991 but is looking to get a greater foothold in the market beyond the Lebanese diaspora.

“Most of what we now sell is to Lebanese restaurants.”

The inaugural annual Lebanese wine fair took place in Paris last year, helping to boost awareness about the product in Lebanon’s second biggest wine export market after the United Kingdom.

It is part of a larger combined effort to put the country’s internationally acclaimed $50 million wine industry on the mainstream map. In March, 11 of Lebanon’s producers showcased at ProWein in Dusseldorf, Germany, as part of a separate Wines of Lebanon campaign. With its Central European location, Germany is considered a hub for distribution across the continent.

Lebanon is already gaining a foothold in the German wine market, having exported around 130,000 bottles to the country last year at a value of $600,000, more than double the $275,000 for which it exported 80,000 bottles in 2010.

Still, it lags far behind Lebanon’s two top European wine markets – France and the United Kingdom – which import an approximate annual value of $4.3 million and $2.4 million respectively.

Along with apples, honey and olive oil, wine is regarded as one of Lebanon’s best agricultural exports, making it a point of pride for many. At a conference last Thursday to promote the Berlin fair, both producers and the Agriculture Ministry suggested that each bottle could serve as an ambassador for Lebanon.

Lebanese wine has long been known among international connoisseurs. It made its first big splash at the 1979 Bristol Wine Fair in the U.K., where it received rave reviews from wine writers who highlighted the perseverance of serious production during hard times.

Since then, Lebanese wines have won prestigious prizes, such as a Decanter bronze medal for Kefraya in 2009, a lifetime achievement for Serge Hochar in 2010 from the German gourmet magazine Feinschmecker, a Green Buildings Award from CNN for IXSIR winery, in addition to consistently high praise from world-renowned wine writers.

But even with its hard-earned reputation over the past three decades among experts, Lebanese wine still hasn’t managed to penetrate the international market or consciousness in the way that the “new world” wine exporters, such as Chile, Argentina, South Africa and Australia have.

Confident that they can join the ranks, Lebanese wine producers – who, though relatively new to the modern commercial market, can in fact claim to be from one of the world’s oldest winemaking countries – are hoping to attract distributors looking for something new, no doubt a long process that will require sustained efforts.

“It is very rare for a winery to get a distributor the first time they exhibit in a new city,” says Beirut-based wine writer Michael Karam.

“Marketing is a long-term project. They shouldn’t assume that if they don’t land a distributor that they’ve failed.”

“This will be one more advantage Lebanon will have on the international awareness scale. Once they can remind people of Lebanon’s strong winemaking tradition, then they can hold their own among other winemaking countries of the world.”

BEIRUT: Some 20 years ago Lebanese food in America consisted of thick pita passing itself off as Khibiz Arabi, falafel sandwiches paired with romaine lettuce and carrot shavings, hummus scooped directly out of a dusty, imported can of mashed chickpeas.

“It was Lebanese but very, yani, Tex-Mex,” recalls Philippe Massaoud, owner and chef behind Manhattan’s acclaimed Lebanese restaurant ilili.

Since his days as an overambitious hospitality undergrad, Massaoud has dreamed of revolutionizing the state of Lebanese food in America. He spent his late teens and 20s antagonizing Lebanese restaurant owners, attempting to buy a chain of lackluster falafel joints in upstate New York and watching several projects for his own place fall through.

Opened in 2007 in the Flatiron district of midtown Manhattan, ilili is the culmination of a life’s work pushing to elevate Lebanese cuisine from the equivalent of foreign fast food to its rightful place as a sought-after delicacy. Food critics and peers have not only lauded Massaoud as a fantastic cook but also recognized him as one of the essential matchmakers in America’s recent love affair with Mediterranean eating.

The menu is about 60 percent traditional Lebanese and 40 percent innovation derived from the cuisine’s flavors. Next to staples of Lebanese cuisine – kibbeh nayeh, chicken liver in pomegranate molasses, stuffed vine leaves and skewers of taouk – are inventive bites drawing on authentic flavors while pleasing discerning Manhattan palates.

“The concept fulfilled two purposes: one, to fill a void in what we believed to be traditional, authentic flavors. ... The second was to represent our interpretation of the future of the cuisine,” Massaoud explains.

Take the duck shawarma, for example, which Massaoud claims was the first of its kind. At brunch, classic American eggs benedict is on the menu, but in the place of round slices of Canadian bacon there is traditional Armenian basterma and black-truffle oil.

“I do a foie gras with carob molasses and halawa,” he says. He called his innovations “little things like that” many times. Those little things also included gnocchi clearly inspired by the flavors of shish barak, comprising potato pasta, yogurt and pine nuts. There’s also two versions of fattoush on ilili’s menu: one with kale and one with classic lettuce.

“We allowed ourselves to dream and take risks through combinations that were never thought of before,” he says.

After working or living in the business since he was 4 years old, Massaoud had piles of recipe cards, accumulated like merit badges, from all the restaurants he’d worked in before. He learned the trade in places such as Burj al-Hamam in Antelias, Lebanon, Paris’ Lebanese fine dining hit Diwan and another Paris spot called Nora, when “they were not as big as they would later become,” Massaoud explains.

It was the name, therefore, not the menu that posed the biggest challenge when Massaoud was putting together his business plan.

“We got hung up on the name. I mean what were we going to call it? ‘Baba Massaoud house of falafel?’ Or ‘Beiti Beitak?’ Or ‘Dounia.’ I didn’t want to give it that ethnic feel; I wanted it to be a true interface between cultures. I wanted New Yorkers to own ilili,” he explains.

Friends of his stumbled on the name by coincidence. “Tell me,” a friend of his wrote to another online in transliterated Arabic: “ilili.” The name appealed to Massaoud for its almost numerical aesthetic.

“I love numbers, I’m a number guy. Even the ZIP code for ilili is 10001; it’s also a palindrome, very kind of ‘Da Vinci Code,’” he quips. “Visually, I knew it had an appeal. It captivated me instantly. I knew also that I’m telling my story by opening ilili so the name was very fitting in the context of the restaurant.”

And what a story Massaoud has to tell. Massaoud’s flair for hospitality comes down to genetics, as the family is credited with jump-starting Lebanon’s hospitality industry.

Massaoud credits his grandfather with igniting the entrepreneurial spark in his family’s hometown of Dfoun in Aley, where a number of neighboring families went on to open some of Lebanon’s iconic businesses, such as Aziz deli, Roadsters Diner and, of course, the Coral Beach Resort in Jnah, the family’s hotel where they lived out most of the Lebanese Civil War.

Massaoud describes the chain of events that led the family to move permanently into their own establishment. “At the age of 4, when the Civil War broke out, we were in Aley and we also had a house in Kantari [Beirut]. So, we packed our suitcases really fast and went straight down to the hotel as sort of a waypoint,” Massaoud says. As they left Aley, the family could see men breaking into their home, then looting and destroying it.

“Then our home on Kantari Street also got destroyed and burned and looted. So here we were with one suitcase at the hotel and that’s how my life at the Coral Beach started,” Massaoud says. It was a perverse kind of blessing living at the hotel, where he could watch pastry chefs prepare creme patisserie in the morning and then help flip burgers at the beach cafe in the afternoon.

“I was able to see the entire operation at a very young age, from A to Z.”

Terrifying violence would finally move Massaoud’s parents to transplant their son to Scarsdale, a bedroom community outside New York City, to live with an aunt.

“My father never wanted me to be in the business because he knew how hard it was. He knew how much of a toll it takes on your family life, your personal life because you have your one and only wife, which is your job,” Massaoud says.

His adolescence in the U.S. would help define the character of his food years later, as he dove headfirst into assimilating into American culture.

“I went to American high school; I played American football for the Scarsdale Raiders. For me it was like, I’m here I’m going to be as American as apple pie. I’m going to go for the whole experience.”

Massaoud’s father was assassinated in his final year of high school, the Coral Beach Resort subsequently sold by the time he was a second-semester freshman at Cornell University and his adolescent dreams of returning home and expanding the business were destroyed.

“Around the time I knew I wasn’t going into the hotel business, I took my first class in food and beverage management, and I discovered the blank recipe card,” he says. “I’m very mathematically inclined so I started writing things down and doing trial and error. Fast-forward to graduating in 1994, prior to graduating, I decided I was going to open a Lebanese restaurant in NYC.”

Before that dream was realized in ilili, Massaoud helped conceive and create Neyla, a Lebanese restaurant in Washington. “The Neyla concept, which was named after my sister and one of the daughters of one the investors ... became one of the big success stories in Washington.”

In 2006, Massaoud made his return to New York, where he brought together the team that would open ilili in 2007. It is the ultimate mixture of New York sophistication and healthful richness of Lebanese culinary traditions. Massaoud brings many of the traditional ingredients – the essentially Lebanese flavors like pomegranate and carob molasses – straight from Lebanon.

Manhattan’s flavors are present at ilili, too, however. The restaurant is located in the Asian-populated neighborhood of Koreatown. To honor his multicultural neighbors, he’s made Korean-inspired falafel. He’s also added foods popular among the city’s trendy gourmets, things like garlicky ramp greens and aged steak.

With seven years of success, Massaoud is set to take a step back from the daily grind to plan an expansion.

“I don’t want to use the word franchise. ... Franchise is an ugly word. It would be to branch out. We’re looking at other markets and we just launched a fast food concept called ilili Box bringing mankousheh to New York.”

With his plans for expansion is the possibility of a homecoming to the Beirut market.

“We’re looking at London and Miami and Dubai, and hopefully Beirut when the situation settles.”

One day, he said, when Beirut’s restaraunt industry is ready to start evolving and taking risks again: “Once there is enough stability I’m fully confident Beirut will take its place as a culinary capital in the world.”

BEIRUT: "Out!" The shout echoes across the sunny car park, and from the edges of a painted cricket field, clusters of spectators clap or shake their heads according to their nationalities. A Sri Lankan batsman walks off into a crowd of teammates eager to dissect what went wrong.On the outskirts of the crowd, Nour Haidar shuffles along in a line of people under a tent and scoops a spicy looking stew of various sized lentils onto her plate next to a vibrant cucumber and tomato salad.

"I don't normally watch cricket," she says with a sigh, "unless my boyfriend has it on the TV – which can be quite a lot."

She picks up a large dumpling-esque pastry filled with spiced potatoes and takes a bite.

"But this festival is amazing, I wish I had known about it before."

Cricket tournaments are hardly anything new in Lebanon among the country's largely Asian migrant community, most of whom work as domestic help or do other labor-intensive jobs. Almost every weekend, the Bangladeshi, Pakistani, Indian and Sri Lankan communities in particular gather to practice their national sport – both as participants and spectators.

This past weekend, however, saw something a bit different take place.

The St. George's Day International Cricket Tournament, held in a Université Saint Joseph parking lot in the capital's Monnot neighborhood, was the second iteration of the multicultural event that brings together sport and food and allows migrants and locals to mingle in a unique way.

The main sponsor of the event was Xpress Money, while XXL, Mike Sport and Caritas also gave their support.

"There should be more of these things happening," Haidar mulls. "Quite a large chunk of the population is just put on the side normally, Lebanese just don't normally interact with migrants in a social way."

"We need to break this mentality about these people all being domestic workers, we need to get to know them in a different way."

If there are two things that can level the playing field without the need for language skills, it's sport and food.

"Sport is such a leveler," agrees Briton William Dobson, the organizer of the event. "When you step on the field, nothing else matters apart from your sporting abilities. ... That's great for people in society who are on the periphery or who are made to feel second class."

"I also decided to make the food a big part of it this year because so few people in Lebanon actually know what cricket is, I thought it would bring in people who might not be interested in cricket."

"It's also a nice way to showcase the different cultures."

Apart from an independent Sri Lankan food stand, the bulk of the offerings came from a tent run by the indefatigable Souk el Tayeb.

"This is the first outing of a new project we are doing with the International Labor Organization," explains Pamela Chemali, Souk el Tayeb's manager. "It's all about 'al-tayeb shtegel bil beit,' or tasty homemade food, and we're working exclusively with migrant domestic workers."

Although the project doesn't officially launch until May 24, those at the cricket tournament were able to get an early sample of delicious Sri Lankan and Bangladeshi dishes cooked by people whose cuisine is hugely under-represented in a country of international gastronomes. The final project will also include chefs from three other countries in Asia and Africa.

Libi Khan, a 37-year-old cleaner from Bangladesh, proudly explains her five dishes to hungry customers as they line up with empty plates.

"This is chicken biryani, and this is biryani with beef," she says with a smile, pointing to mountains of rice dotted with chunks of meat.

"This is chopoty, it's made of different lentils, green peppers and coriander. Then there is salad, and finally singara – which is like a potato samosa – and peajeo, a fried lentil cake."

As the queue moves along, another woman takes over the commentary.

"This is the Sri Lankan yellow rice," says Anna Fernando, a 42-year-old domestic worker wearing matching purple earrings and dress. "This is chicken curry – very spicy."

"Also, there is cashew and peas with curry sauce, a fresh pickle salad and fish balls with potato inside," she said.

Fernando, who is also active in rights group Kafa and the Migrant Community Center, grins widely. "This is my first time selling food. I've asked many people if they have enjoyed it, and they all said yes, so I'm very happy."

She gestures encouragingly to one nervous looking customer hovering over the fish balls.

"Plus we have our games in the background, so it is a good day."

Cynthia, 24, said that she had never eaten any of this sort of food before, but liked it: "It was quite spicy, but I enjoyed getting to know some other cultures."

According to Dobson, each of the six women involved in the Souk el Tayeb tent made $100, a great boost for women who are often subject to poor pay and working conditions.

For Souk el Tayeb's Chemali, it's about getting people to see those who cook their meals, look after their children and tidy their houses in a different light.

"As ever, we are trying to make the change we want through food by integrating the communities around us," she says.

"In the U.S., domestic workers are usually Hispanic or Mexican, and Americans eat a lot of their food. Lebanese people don't do this, but maybe this will be the time for them to start."

BEIRUT: It seems security tensions in Lebanon and the region are not so serious as to keep well-known international performers from coming to perform at Lebanon’s summer’s festival.

The curtain will open on the 16th edition of the Beiteddine Art Festival June 26, when Lebanese diva Majida al-Roumi will take the princely palace’s main stage. The vocalist is expected to perform a selection from her best-loved tunes, such as “Bakeer Falayt,” “Lebnan” and “Nashid al-Hob,” among other favorites.

More than just a pop culture figure, in her role as U.N. Goodwill Ambassador Roumi has also made numerous public appearances in aid of various humanitarian campaigns. Over the past few years she has performed with such international artists as Spanish tenor Jose Carreras and Senegalese singer-songwriter Youssou N’Dour.

With her 2003 debut album, “The Soul Sessions,” U.K. soul singer Joss Stone was credited in certain circles with having revived soul. Beiteddine will host the singer-songwriter’s first show in Lebanon, providing a perfect opportunity for those who don’t know Stone’s work to discover her groovy and rhythmic voice.

Turkish musician and musical archaeologist Kudsi Erguner will return to the festival to lead a tribute to the masters of historic Sufi music and the muwashahat. He will be accompanied by Waed Bouhassoun, Fawaz Baker and two orchestras, one from Aleppo and the other from Istanbul. Vocalists, nai and oud soloists will mingle to immerse the festival audience into a classical musical tradition even older than the stones of Beiteddine itself.

Beiteddine will host another Lebanon debut with Katie Melua’s July 18 concert. Recipient of 56 platinum awards, the singer-songwriter is among the most prominent young jazz and blues talents on the circuit today. She will perform a repertoire of tunes that propelled her recordings up the charts. Songs like “The Closest Thing to Crazy” and “Nine Million Bicycles” promise to enchant her audience.

The Chouf festival is not afraid of dance, nor tributes to blockbuster movies. This year, on July 25-26, Marseille’s National Ballet Troupe will revisit the story of the unsinkable cruise liner, which James Cameron cashed in on almost 20 years ago. “A Titanic Triumph” is a contemporary dance performance that may well make you wish that you too were sliding into the depths aboard the famous ship.

Another frequent visitor to Beiteddine, Iraqi crooner Kazim al-Saher, will return to the festival for a pair of dates on Aug. 1-2. Described as the “Caesar of Arabic Song,” Saher’s shows have tended to thrill Arabic pop music lovers, and will likely do so again this year.

Award-winning Lebanon-born playwright and director Wajdi Mouawad also returns to Lebanon this summer to stage his adaptation of Sophocle’s “Antigone,” to be staged Aug. 7-9. The play will be given a pop-culture edge thanks to the presence of Bertrand Cantat, lead vocalist of the French rock band Noir Desir, in the cast. This unusual collaboration promises to be a unique theater experience.

Additional facets of this year’s festival include LeBAM Orchestra’s tribute to Zaki Nassif and a visionary installation on the theme of the metamorphosis created by the students of ALBA, the Université De Balamand – Académie Libanaise Des Beaux-Arts.

For several of its recent editions, Beiteddine’s concerts have played out within the context of an exhibition or two.

This year “Al Kawanin wal Manakel” is an exhibition comprised of Mohamad Barakat’s private collection of braziers, which promises to shed light on this item of Arab material culture. In multiple designs, Barakat’s braziers will suggest something of how these items were an integral part of the region’s legacy.

Nearby, “Hidden Treasures of the Higher Chouf” is a photo exhibition featuring work by Eddy Choueiry, Walid Rachid, Alsan Joumblatt and Fadi Baddour, which explores the abandoned heritage sites of the region.

The Beiteddine Art Festival will run from June 26 until Aug. 9. For more information, please visit www.beiteddine.org or call 01-373-430.

BEIRUT: For some, a vacation means a fully catered luxury getaway to an exotic location, or perhaps it’s an adventure with a backpack and the chance to meet other travelers at a hostel. For others, the appeal can be the opportunity to feel at home in a foreign country – or in some cases in another region of the same country – with the expert hospitality of a knowledgeable local.

In Lebanon, where large luxury hotels are often touted to attract big-spending tourists, the small but charming bed and breakfast – or boutique hotel – model is growing in popularity in the shadows of shiny high-rise accommodation. The standard ranges from simple rooms in a proprietor’s home to suites fit for a king – or a tourist with an appreciation of architecture – in fastidiously restored grand houses.

“I prefer small hotels with stories,” says Samar Youssef, a travel blogger staying at Villa Clara, a boutique hotel in Mar Mikhael – one of the few Beirut neighborhoods left with Ottoman- and French Mandate-era homes lining its streets.

“It feels like home. I get the chance to get to know people.”

Villa Clara was opened by a French-Lebanese couple, chef Olivier Gougeon and his wife Marie-Hélène Moawad, who has a doctorate in business. They purchased the dilapidated 1920s building two years ago, originally for their own use, before deciding to put their professional backgrounds to work and open a hotel with an authentic French restaurant, naming it after their daughter, Clara.

This was in the midst of the Arab Spring, when Gulf states were issuing Lebanon travel warnings to their citizens – still in effect today. The Moawads weren’t too worried about attracting guests, however.

Being a niche hotel with only seven rooms to fill, they have had a steady stream of customers – including European artists and writers, many of whom have become repeat visitors as well as close friends – since they opened their doors in 2012.

“Each room has a different identity,” Moawad says, pointing to the difference between a small hotel in a home and a generic chain.

“Guests can have breakfast at any time of the day. We can manage that because we only have seven rooms.”

Khalil Arab, founder of Al-Yasmine Guesthouse – also named after the owner’s daughter – located in the mountains of southern Lebanon, just above the coastal city of Tyre, was never intended to be a hotel.

A farmhouse that had been in Arab’s family since 1973, it has survived the Civil War, the Israeli invasion and most recently has been used as an observation outpost by UNIFIL. When the proprietor finally reclaimed it in 2007, his daughters suggested that he turn the old family farm into a hotel.

“Little did I know that this would be the greatest idea they came up with,” says Arab, sitting in the garden of the renovated family house and horse stables – now turned into bungalows for weekend travelers.

Activities on offer include horse riding, cycling, tennis, hiking, swimming in the outdoor pool – all on a mountain with a view of the Mediterranean. And, of course, there’s the history lesson from the owner. When the hotel opened, it only served breakfast but quickly scaled up to three meals a day after it became clear that few guests wanted to go out for dinner, preferring the hotel’s home-style meals and atmosphere.

“Had I known how much fun it would be to meet different people, I would have done it long ago,” says Arab. Like the Moawads, he is unfazed worried about the country’s security situation affecting his business – especially given the farmhouse’s colorful history. He says most guests are repeat visitors from Beirut who go there to discover the south and learn about the place through word of mouth.

In a period of political instability, these venues offer the hoteliers a potentially more sustainable model that doesn’t depend on mass tourism, but instead on a certain type of traveler who values history over modern glitz and views of winding cobblestone streets over panoramic scenes. Perhaps most important and memorable of all, they seek conversations with the proprietor about the history of the house and the neighborhood.

For Jamil Azar, who opened two rooms of his early 20th-century apartment in Beirut’s Ashrafieh district to tourists in 2005, making lasting friendships has been a pleasant surprise to his small business.

Now in business for just under a decade, he has helped visitors plan trips to villages and ancient ruins alike. In two instances, he accompanied Lebanese expatriates – one from Europe and another from the United States – to the orphanage where they were adopted during the Civil War.

When the unrest in Syria in Syria broke out three years ago, the security situation actually helped his business, with several guests who were no longer able to tour the region deciding to extend their stays in Lebanon. With Azar’s detailed knowledge of Lebanon’s hidden treasures, he was able to keep them busy.

“I help people find their way, where to eat. It’s not like running a regular hotel,” he says.

It was with this growing popularity of independent cultural tourism that Paris-based Lebanese expatriate Orphee Haddad started his booking website business L’Hote Libanais in 2004, featuring guesthouses throughout Lebanon in traditional old homes, targeting Lebanese city dwellers looking for weekend getaways in villages as well as foreigners who want an authentic experience.

“I’m trying to get under the skin of the country,” Haddad says. He admits that it was at first a struggle to convince Lebanese – whom he describes as both hospitable and private – to open their homes to strangers. But once they did, he says they were surprised with the results.

“This is a global trend,” Haddad says, pointing to the diversity of Lebanon’s range of small-scale accommodation. “Luxury means you’re experiencing what no one else can experience.”

BEIRUT: Beirut International Jazz Day is back with a lineup of six acts, which were announced at a news conference Thursday.

Scheduled to take place on April 30 under the patronage of UNESCO, half a dozen performances will transform Beirut’s Downtown into an open-air jazz club.

The Lebanese Conservatory Big Band will open the festivities at 7 p.m., mingling jazz classics with newer tunes. The 18 musicians are set to thrill with rhythmic saxophone, trumpet and trombone solos.

Those whose taste runs toward the good old blues will be happy to hear that The Real Deal Blues Band – considered among the best Lebanese performers representing jazz culture in the country – are scheduled to immerse audiences in their smooth Chicago groove. Composed of Hani Alayli, Elie Farah and Issa Ghrayeb, the band will showcase the sound they’ve been working on together since 1997.

The Real Deal Blues Band will be followed by F.B.B. (aka “Funky Blues Band”), who will reinterpret classics by BB King and Elmore James, among other legendary jazz singers and musicians. Their set should prove a nice test for those who consider themselves aficionados of the jazz classics.

An alternative take on the jazz theme will be provided by Xango. This Lebanon-based band takes its inspiration from Brazilian music and will perform compositions by Toquinho, Sergio Mendes and Baden Powel, to name a few.

Called the “Dean of Jazz Musicians,” Arthur Satyan will also be on hand with his Organ Quartet to perform jazz fusion – both Satyan’s personal compositions and exceptional arrangements. Satyan routinely performs around the city several times a week and has released multiple albums. He is among Beirut’s most prominent jazz musicians, so for those as yet unfamiliar with his work, this could be a chance to discover his unique sound.

Jazzmine Bey Quartet will draw a curtain on this day of jazz grooves with their blend of tunes by McCoy Tyner and Abdullah Ibrahim, among others. Composed of four European musicians, this Beirut-based band promises to bring their own unique blend of jazz fusion to the mix.

BEIRUT: The industrial area of Karantina isn’t typically associated with recreation and greenery, and that’s exactly why it was chosen for a bicycle festival in Beirut.

“This part of the city is forgotten. We want to make an impact,” said Karim Sokhn, founder of the group Cycling Circle, one of the event’s organizers. Sokhn noted that most of Beirut’s festivals tend to take place only in one of three places: downtown, Gemmayzeh or Hamra. He thinks it’s time to put Karantina on the map.

“We can make bike lanes here. There’s lots of green space,” he said, pointing to the area’s trees and quiet streets.

The Baskil Bicycle Festival, the first of its kind in Lebanon, kicked off Wednesday afternoon in the public garden of Karantina. The event, which will wrap up Sunday, is expected to draw around 4,000 participants over five days.

A completely community-supported initiative that includes exhibitions, rides and workshops, the festival offers bicycles on loan from the sports shop Bicycle Generation, insurance sponsored by Commercial Insurance and the posters, done by the MENA Design Research Center, have been donated by the Danish Embassy.

Tucked away behind the coastal highway, about midway between Beirut Port and the Dora roundabout and around the corner from the Sukleen waste center, the garden is at the heart of one of the least desirable areas of Beirut – better known for industrial pollution than greenery. But inside the gates of the garden, the tall eucalyptus, palm and pine trees provide a welcoming oasis of shade and fresh air for festivalgoers.

Even before the festival began, neighborhood children home for spring break were riding bicycles around the garden, oblivious that they were on the ground floor of a grass-roots movement to make Beirut a bicycle-friendly city.

“There’s potential in this area,” Karim Attoui, an urban planner and an organizer of the festival, said as he sat on a park bench, relishing the buzz of children whizzing by on bikes and volunteers putting up colorful posters for the event. “This could be a prototype to show the potential for bicycle lanes and open spaces in Beirut.”

The urban planner is well aware of the potential hurdles that such a project could face – a stagnant government perhaps unwilling to engage with community grass-roots movements, hungry developers waiting to put their hands on the next trendy neighborhood, as well as a public whose hopes have been dashed too many times by their government’s broken promises.

That’s why he says he’s working with the local community to show them the value and potential of their neighborhood, urging them to get more involved and protect and sustainably develop what they do have.

“Instead of sitting and complaining, let’s learn to self-govern on a micro-community scale,” he said.