Name: It's survived war and revolution. Can coronavirus kill the hotel that's never closed in 133 years?
Brand: abc.net.au
SKU: abc-net-au-171
Availability: OnlineOnly

critic

It's survived war and revolution. Can coronavirus kill the hotel that's never closed in 133 years?

preview

By Beirut correspondent Adam HarveyUpdatedFor over 100 years, a hotel has mirrored Lebanon's changing fortunes like no other. It's now facing a peril unseen in its storied history."I've been here before. The emptiness that we feel in the hotel. This is the story of the hotel. "Of a place that started as a dream because of those temples. And as long as those temples are there, we're OK."Rima Husseini gazes out of a Palmyra Hotel window to the monumental Roman ruins, which have drawn travellers along the ancient tourist trail to the Lebanese town of Baalbek for centuries. The ancient ruins are empty. Outside, the modern state of Lebanon is failing and people in Baalbek are hungry. The coronavirus outbreak is making a dire situation even worse.Rima is the owner of the Palmyra Hotel, one of Lebanon's national treasures and an embodiment of the faded hope of a prosperous and cosmopolitan Lebanon.It was once the haunt of royals, divas and intrepid travellers who ventured deep into the Bekaa Valley to see the ruins and soak up some of the lawless spirit that people here proudly say still defines them.Like Lebanon, the money has run out and the Palmyra is struggling to keep going. Today, Rima's usual poise is ruffled and her voice catches as she speaks."Look behind you," she says, gesturing to the vista just beyond the patio, to the spectacular ruin of a vast Roman temple complex.Two thousand years after they were erected, the stone pillars of the Temple of Jupiter are silhouetted against the snow-capped Mount Lebanon range. "Just look behind you … I get depressed, but when I look behind you and see what's there, then I smile and I get some energy back."It's our third visit to the Palmyra to interview Rima about the political and economic strife engulfing her nation, and this is the saddest. Each time there have been fewer guests. Now it's just us.The once-busy road through the mountains from Beirut to Baalbek has emptied. The shutters on the roadside shops are down and volunteers patrol neighbourhoods enforcing a coronavirus lockdown. The locals are on their own here. The government can offer little help and it's left to private citizens to make up for the state's failings.Parked out the front of the ageing Ottoman-era hotel is an armoured vehicle with a bored Lebanese soldier slumped over a machine-gun, a reminder of the dangers in this valley and the Syrian border less than 10km away.It's cold inside and the only sound is from the creaking treads of the century-old staircase. It's so dark you can barely see the photographs of past guests like Rudolf Nureyev, Nina Simone and Germany's Kaiser Wilhelm II that adorn the walls. Artwork of a regular guest, French poet and artist Jean Cocteau, fills the darkened rooms.Cocteau stayed at the Palmyra in the 1950s and 60s during Lebanon's halcyon days, when Baalbek's annual music festival attracted big crowds to see outdoor performances from stars like Joan Baez, Ella Fitzgerald and Charles Mingus.In the 60s, Lebanon was soaring. Beirut was a regional business hub, the meeting point between Europe and the Middle East where you could do deals by day and party by night.The vibrant bars and clubs of Beirut's Hamra Street earned it a reputation as the Paris of the Middle East. And then came war. Lebanon's Bekaa Valley became infamous for extremist groups, not celebrities, and the Baalbek festival closed for 22 years, from 1974. Now, as ever, the empty Palmyra seems to mirror Lebanon's changing fortunes. But the gloom lifts when Rima walks in the door. "This hotel, I love this hotel," she says. "Hotel Palmyra is the first hotel in the Near East. Can you imagine the heritage? The history?"Rima Husseini is an irrepressible force of nature. She's not just a hotelier but also a Beirut lawyer, university lecturer and passionate human rights advocate, charging hard at the problems that are overwhelming not just the Palmyra but the entire country.As the coronavirus wave crashed down on Lebanon, her nation was in the midst of the worst economic crisis in its history.Half its population of 6 million lives near or below the poverty line.Hundreds of thousands of people have lost their jobs, the nation's currency has halved in value in six months and people's savings are locked up in inaccessible bank accounts.Since last October, Lebanese have taken to the streets of cities and towns for massive protests. They're demanding an end to the endemic corruption, incompetence and political cronyism they say is destroying their lives and their country.The revolution has drawn together people from across Lebanese society — young and old, rich and poor, Muslim, Christian and Druze. "The corruption has eaten up the Lebanon we've known and we're all trying to save it," says Rima.In the 35 years since her husband Ali bought the hotel, these are its toughest days yet.They've laid off all but essential staff, closed down parts of the hotel and run heating only when essential. There are no guests and now there are no prospects of visitors for months, or longer.Rima had thought 2020 might be a great year for the hotel. "November was my best month ever," she says.Tourists long deterred by the Syrian war were starting to return, until mass protests in Lebanon sparked international travel warnings and killed tourism overnight.But despite the nation's dire problems, she's determined not to shut the Palmyra's doors."It has never closed — not in 133 years. We have a responsibility to remain open," she says."I do believe it will survive. How and in what form, I can't say. We are the guardians of this place. It's for everyone."Rima's sense of responsibility extends beyond the hotel, which is surrounded by some of the poorest areas in Lebanon.In a nearby building, Rima runs a free health clinic for local women. The building also serves as a depot for donations of food gathered by her network of friends in Beirut.Cardboard boxes are loaded with a month's supply of basic foodstuffs like oil, rice and chickpeas to be distributed to hard-hit families."There's a total absence of governmental services. You can't imagine the need, especially in the past three or four months," she says."People do not work. The small financial support from the political parties has ceased and there is really no money for food."What little money they get they're spending on warmth as this is one of the coldest areas in the country."Baalbek is a city of desperation. One resident, Imad Awad, has been out of work for six months.He can't afford to run his home's petrol-burning heater, so his wife and five-year-old son have moved in with his in-laws. It's warmer there, which is crucial for the health of his wife Hanin, who is in remission from lung cancer.She should be taking drugs to boost her suppressed immune system, but the family can't afford them, which is a real problem as coronavirus sweeps through Lebanon.Imad feels helpless. His only wish is for the virus to spare his wife and take him."Everyone is worried about corona, but I'm very happy about corona because at least I can die from something," says Imad. "What is my life worth if I cannot afford to live anymore?"There's no safety net for people like Imad. The heavily indebted state can't pay its own bills — in March, it defaulted on its debt instalments for the first time in its history. Residents must pay for private generators because the government can't provide reliable power, and the water is unsafe to drink.Life in Lebanon is exhausting, says Rima."You get tired," she says. "I hate the word stress because it's become like a lame word to describe everything you have, but of course the stress comes from the mundane, the things that go wrong in the country."And she knows just how wrong things can go.Rima grew up during Lebanon's 15-year civil war, notorious for the shelling of civilian districts, cycles of revenge killings and the deliberate murder of non-combatants by sectarian militias. Her father was killed by a sniper when she was seven years old."He was just going through the wrong street at the wrong time. A sniper was on the roof. He died," she says, as if it was an ordinary event. "A minor incident in light of the atrocities. Some people lost their kids." She takes some comfort from the fact that she was able to see him in hospital before he died. There were many stories of fathers who "went out and never came back," she says. The conflict provided grief, and hope. Rima's father-in-law Hussein El-Husseini, who founded then resigned from the Shia-Muslim Amal movement, brokered the peace talks that led to the end of the war in 1990. Rima was at his side as translator during crucial negotiations.She's proud of today's young, modern revolutionaries who could not care less about each other's religious affiliation."Today what's happening is a beautiful thing in Lebanon. Suddenly people realise that what they've been feeding us about dissension, about sectarian rivalry, is not true."Protests stalled because of coronavirus have picked up over the last week. Rima and her family have relocated to Baalbek from their apartment in Beirut to wait out the pandemic"Staying here is better than in Beirut because every morning we look at this," she says, nodding towards the ruins. "I get my energy from that."Besides, Rima's been here before. The Bekaa Valley has been off-limits for tourists for considerable periods of the last four decades."In 2006 with the Israeli war and for the first three years of the Syrian war and not to mention what happened in the (civil) war. The emptiness I feel will end," she says."It gives you a sense of hope for the future, that there's always a future, that we'll get over it."As we say goodbye and prepare to leave the Palmyra, Rima shows us where a tree has come crashing down in the hotel grounds, demolishing a Roman-era statue and knocking it into a dried-up pond. The chipped statue lies on the tiles, covered with broken branches. The wreckage of something that was once so grand seems an apt metaphor for the state of Lebanon right now. As we depart through the empty streets, the lack of tourists, the devastating economic failure — it can seem overwhelming. "Look at the power of mankind," says Rima, looking out towards the spectacular ruins of the Roman temple complex at Baalbek. "Look at what people can do. Whenever I feel too low I look at that and think 'as long as those stones are standing, we will endure'."Watch Foreign Correspondent's 'Revolution in the Time of Corona' tonight at 8pm on ABC TV, iview and live streaming on Facebook and YouTube.Topics:,,,First postedIf you have inside knowledge of a topic in the news, .The origins of coronavirus have become controversial, with the US Government ratcheting up the rhetoric.By Tim FisherTrying to juggle work with schooling your kids at home? It might be time to let some balls fall… if they haven't already.By andWe dodged a full-blown coronavirus crisis — for now. This data shows what happened.Rug up, set your alarm clock and get ready to see the Eta Aquariid meteor put on one of the best sky shows over Australia this week.This service may include material from Agence France-Presse (AFP), APTN, Reuters, AAP, CNN and the BBC World Service which is copyright and cannot be reproduced.AEST = Australian Eastern Standard Time which is 10 hours ahead of GMT (Greenwich Mean Time)

By Beirut correspondent Adam HarveyUpdatedFor over 100 years, a hotel has mirrored Lebanon's changing fortunes like no other. It's now facing a peril unseen in its storied history."I've been here before. The emptiness that we feel in the hotel. This is the story of the hotel. "Of a place that started as a dream because of those temples. And as long as those temples are there, we're OK."Rima Husseini gazes out of a Palmyra Hotel window to the monumental Roman ruins, which have drawn travellers along the ancient tourist trail to the Lebanese town of Baalbek for centuries. The ancient ruins...

public

Official account of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation, connecting you to the best content. Follows ABC accounts, lists trusted profiles.

It's survived war and revolution. Can coronavirus kill the hotel that's never closed in 133 years?

No article scores yet.

CRITIC REVIEWS

PUBLIC REVIEWS