My neighbour’s house is one of the most charming
buildings I
have ever set foot in. It is on the corner of the street but is set back off a courtyard,
further away
from the road than the other buildings. The house itself is a wonderful coming together of
Ottoman
arches, French windows and faded blue and white paint coats. Vines grow
through yellowing Almaza crates left on the patio. There are almost as
many
balconies as there are windows. The interior is equally handsome.
Shelves made of doors, vintage Beirut photo art, streetlights, shop
signs and other relics from a previous
lifetime all contribute to the nostalgic atmosphere.
Most of the buildings in the section of Mar Mikhael in which
I live date from, I think, the early part of the 20th century when
the Armenian community started to spread across the river from neighbouring
Bourj Hammoud. I have no idea how old my neighbour’s house is, but it is
certainly a lot older than any of the others nearby.
The house is slated for demolition. The owners, presumably
seeing the land as the asset, rather than the building, have ostensibly decided
to replace it with a bigger, modern building that will use more square metres
and provide more property to rent out. The new building would likely be of
the faceless grey concrete variety, just like countless others springing up all
over Achrafieh and Hamra as quickly as the heritage of these areas disappears.
There’s a story going around about the
reconstruction of
Downtown after the war years had left it razed to the ground. During
excavations, an unprecedented amount of Roman ruins were discovered
underneath the foundations of the destroyed buildings. So many, in fact,
that
the authorities didn’t know what to do with them. While some were
preserved and
can be seen today, many were cast aside, thrown into the sea in the
headrush of
progress. Throwing Roman ruins into the sea? This is the country that
takes the
wrecking ball to buildings that would be untouchable almost anywhere
else.
No comments:
Post a Comment