Encounter with the "enemy"

Travelers go to Baalbeck for its impressive ruins – which I am the first to admit, having spent four hours admiring them, are well worth the detour – but few will venture out of the tourist quarters. I must confess, I was a little anxious at the thought of exploring the city. Afterall, the first thing that greets you when you enter it, is a giant billboard honouring Imad Mughniyeh, which doesn’t fail to remind you that Baalbeck is one of the most important Hezbollah area. In fact, the Lebanese army will avoid entering certain sectors of the town and of its surroundings, allowing for illegal activity such as pot growing to flourish. It is with these information in mind that I stepped out of the ruins site and headed for the heart of the city.

Yes, most women were wearing headscarves. Yes, I received a lot of attention and inquisitive looks. Yes, there were a lot of posters of martyrs, and of Nasrallah. But, I never felt unwelcome, hated or out of place. Like anywhere, women pay a lot of attention to their appearance. Their clothes although covering most of their skin revealed their nice silhouette and exuded their feminity. Their eyes, expertly outlined could hypnotize anyone. Few men sported the beard and none held inappropriate comments towards me. Afterall, I was far from being the most alluring women in town. Not only were the local women sexier, but there also was a young Asian tourist sporting a white strapless mini-dress, apparently unaware of the local convention. People were very responsive to my desire to take their pictures and rarely shied away from the camera. Photographing them often lead to an invitation to have tea or narguile with them. I spent an hour amidst a family on the outskirts of the town, wishing I was part of them. They seemed so happy to be with each other and were so genuine in their interest for me. They even begged me to stay the night. It was only upon leaving that I noticed that each girl was wearing a Hezbollah bracelet. Never during our hour-long conversation had I felt that they disregarded me for where I came from. People weren’t shaking their heads when they saw us approaching. Quite the contrary, they always greeted us with a big smile. An ice cream vendor, upon hearing that I was from Canada asked me who the President of my country was. When I answered Stephen Harper, he looked puzzled and said, with the utmost serious: “Well, if I haven’t heard from him, he mustn’t be too bad”. I did not want to correct him.

Most surprising remained the vendors we met upon entering the ruins. Rather than offer us ancient coins like they apparently did a few years ago, most of them approached us brandishing Hezbollah t-shirts, scarves, lighters and then would offer us to look at their coin collection. Apparently, Hezbollah paraphernalia has became one of the most sought after items by tourists becoming something like the Che Guevara frenzy. I wondered how the party heads took this new trend, and whether members of the party appreciated having tourists eagerly look for the latest Hezbollah gadget. When asked, a journalist friend working precisely on a piece about this told me most are quite content with this new twist. Not only does it provide funds but it also helps improve the “branding” of the party.

As I left the town after having gone back to the ruins to watch the sunset, I reflected on what I had learnt: Hezbollah partisans (at least not all of them) are no fanatics, staring at every foreigner with knives in their eyes. They can be stylish and welcoming. And they have great business sense.