The view from a street corner in Beirut

A pale sun had emerged from wintry clouds and the hillsides were topped snowy white. But all around me was the workaday bustle of Beirut streets still wet from overnight winter rain. This was the Armenian quarter, near the docks, at morning coffee time.

I was standing on the Rue Qobaiyat, opposite a downtown petrol station and outside a corner barber’s shop, Salon Anto. My partner and his mother wanted to go to a museum and I’m not a great one for museums, and needed a haircut. ‘There’s a barber just around the corner,’ said the helpful owner of the little Baffa House lodge where we were staying. ‘A bit … old-fashioned. Nothing “cool”, you know.’

‘Just my place,’ I said; and soon found it. The lights were on, a TV was on, and someone was bustling around inside the tiny salon — opening up, I supposed. I needed money first, so walked on to find a cash machine.