The Green Line Walking Tour: Exploring the Layers Of Beirut With Samira Ezzo

by Christelle Eldaher

The Green Line Walking Tour: Exploring the Layers Of Beirut With Samira Ezzo

14 Feb 2025

Samira Ezzo, aka @samirablogs and @layersoflebanon on Instagram, is a soon-to-be licensed tourist guide known for being the voice of her hometown, Beirut. Growing up, Samira was marked by the tales of the Lebanese capital as told by her grandmother, the popular sayings that trademarked her grandfather’s conversations, and the mishmash of old and new that made the city. Seeking to understand Beirut’s history, Samira decided to open her heart, eyes and ears to every little detail and unique individual encountered.

Through her “Green Line Walking Tour”, Samira is taking ownership of a Lebanese Civil War symbol, the demarcation line that divided the city between East and West for fifteen years, and transforming it into an urbanistic discovery where the artisans, heritage houses, museums and murals of Beirut are waiting to welcome you!

Samira Ezzo

My day started at 10:00 am in front of the National Museum of Beirut, “Al-Mathaf” for the locals. A landmark known by all; the museum is recognisable for its imposing façade that was inspired by Egyptian revival architecture. Inaugurated in 1942, it houses thousands of artefacts from Bronze Age times to the end of the Ottoman era in 1918. During the civil war, 1975 to 1990, the space was heavily damaged. It took nine years to restore the museum, which finally welcomed visitors back in 1999. Keeping up with the days and times, in September 2024, a café was nestled in the Nuhad Es-Said pavilion so we could have our brunches in the most leisurely yet educational surroundings! As we prepared to cross the street to check the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, Samira instructed us to channel our inner Lebanese and be extra careful. At that moment, I inquired:

— Beirut isn’t renowned for being pedestrian-friendly. Samira, how did you overcome that obstacle when planning the route?

— It was challenging. Beirut has challenging crosswalks, traffic lights and sidewalks with little legal follow up on violations. Walking in Beirut requires creativity and bravery. That being said, it shouldn’t discourage us from exploring our capital. On the contrary, it should entice us to know the city better and its old interconnected alleyways.

The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

As we moved down Damascus Street, commonly known as the French Embassy Street, we stopped by the MIM Museum, home to the biggest minerals collection in the Middle East. A couple of minutes later, we were at “The Memory Tree”. A painted steel installation by Yazan Halwani, that serves as a memorial to the victims of the Great Famine of 1915–1918. As we sat under the shades, I took a closer look at my companions of the day. We all came from different parts of the country to uncover a new facet of our often misunderstood or over-romanticized Beirut and reconcile with our true selves. To confirm my observation, I asked Samira:

— Why did you start this walking tour?

— I started this walking tour because we need to discover our country first and foremost. As Lebanese, we need to take joy in living here. Also, there is nothing similar in the guided tours market. For the last two years, I used my librarian research skills to introduce notions that are not widely addressed nor discussed when mentioning The Green Line.

— And who is interested in that? Locals or foreigners?

— Both! Locals want to heal, while foreigners seek context. The majority of foreign nationals taking part in this tour are individuals working for the United Nations, embassies and international organisations wishing to understand the city.

From inside the Prince Building

From the tree, we spotted our next stop. The Prince Building. Built in 1930, it flaunts the construction innovations of that time and offers the right balance between art nouveau and art déco. The building was abandoned in 1975. This was the first urbexing adventure of the day. For those who don’t know, urbexing is the abbreviation of urban exploring, which consists of visiting unused or derelict spaces. Rest assured, I wasn’t put in danger. Samira had vetted all the buildings on the itinerary beforehand, ensuring they were structurally safe.

Still, on Damascus Street, we passed by the Syriac, Protestant and Jewish graveyards. In the 1700s, this major arterial road was actually sitting outside the city gates. It was only in 1840 that Beirut expanded to the hills of Achrafieh and Msaytbe,h and the physical gates delimiting the old city were torn up. A couple of meters down the road, we made it to Beit Beirut, aka The Yellow Building. It was destined to be demolished in the early 1990s but ended up being saved by a young architect, Mona El Hallak. Today, it is an urban cultural centre and museum owned by the Municipality of Beirut. As we stepped away from the beaten path and ventured down the back alleys, we laid our eyes on walls that stood as silent witnesses to social evolutions that took place between 1870 and 1960. My love for heritage buildings is no secret, and I prefer them to the 60s modernist style, so I turned to Samira:

— Lebanon is a mosaic of different architectural styles. Which is your favourite to highlight?

— All of them. Each tells a chapter of Beirut’s story. By observing the different design elements and documenting the expansion of the city, we shed light on the relationship between habitats, houses, lifestyle, city and urbanism. Thus, we have a bigger and more detailed picture of the economic and social ascent or descent of neighbourhoods. Now, I can tell you which building I like the least. It is Sama Beirut.

Sama Beirut, Connection mural, Yazan Halwani mural

A sentiment shared by many. Sama Beirut is the tallest and most hated building in the capital. What was supposed to be a symbol of modern Lebanon ended up as a giant blue blob in Beirut’s skyline. Meanwhile, the artistic and awareness-raising murals added an extra touch of colour to the city. A sight for sore eyes is Connection, aka the boy mural. It is the graffiti right across the Beirut Digital District Garden. According to the artist Jorge Rodríguez-Gerada, it is an allegory for the importance of promoting innovation and education in building a better future. As we pass the little boy, we cross into the Bachoura neighbourhood.

Bachoura is not only known for its mixed architectural heritage but also for being a trade hub with its thrift and print shops, carpenters, glass, metalworkers and antique souks. Each store is a time machine. But my travel plans were interrupted by a big crowd. Curious, I get closer to see what they are cheering for. Turns out, the elderly were in the middle of a very heated Backgammon game! By then, we were close to Downtown. Only the Ring Bridge stood between us. A bridge is supposed to connect, but not this one. Built in the 1960s, The Ring separated two of the capital’s busiest neighbourhoods, Achrafieh and Hamra. What was a five-minute walk became an hour-long car ride during peak time. Channelling our inner Lebanese, once again, we zig-zagged between ongoing traffic and headed to Martyr's Square. From a distance, the area looks vast and empty, with only one pink building in sight, which seemed off since we are in the city centre. Turns out that Solidere, the company entrusted with rebuilding post-war Beirut, demolished and razed to the ground what was the residential Ghalghoul neighbourhood. Only one original structure survived, the pink-painted State Council building.

State Council

After a moment of silent reflection, I said out loud: “That’s why it is important to keep the urban memory of old Beirut, its architecture and infrastructure alive”. To which Samira replied:

— Indeed. Our cultural and architectural heritage should always remain a topic of discussion. Also, we should always strive, within our means, to save them from falling. Otherwise, they would be dead and forgotten.

What was the Ghalghoul neighbourhood

These words stuck with me while we continued our walk to a landmark living in limbo, The Egg. It is the heavily tagged dome-shaped concrete suspended structure facing the Gemmayzeh neighbourhood. Inaugurated in 1969 under the supervision of the renowned architect Joseph Philippe Karam. They were suspended in 1975. It was supposed to be the first Middle-Eastern mall operating under the name City Center. The plans also featured the biggest cinema at the time, City Palace Cinema, with 830 seats. Most Lebanese architecture students have drawn plans to revive “The Egg”, as part of their curricula, but no concrete steps have been taken. Today, the building is being maintained so it doesn’t collapse. Nevertheless, its charm continues to capture our imagination. Exploring The Egg has been on my bucket list for so long, and it is finally crossed off! As I stood next to Ghyda Helou, the promoter, she noticed how happy I was. She noted:

— We all know this path. We drive through it on a daily basis, but we are always in a rush. We don’t stop to step down and wander around with an open mind. One must allocate time to bond with the city and Beirut so that we are no longer strangers and that we belong.

The Egg

And with these words we had made it to our final stop, Martyr’s Square. It was 4:00 pm. As we shared our feedback and said our goodbyes, Samira and I exchanged some last words:

— 2025 marks the 50th anniversary of the beginning of the Lebanese Civil War. How is that affecting the tour?

— I created this tour as a resource that pushes for critical thinking. It is based on all the field research that I have conducted and the insights of experts that I have met. So, the tour has evolved, and it will keep on evolving. This year, my mission has a twin objective. Many locals don’t want to hear about the war any longer. They just want to enjoy themselves, but it is important to take ownership of these dark days symbols to heal. As you have seen throughout the day, we have touched on the miseries but also discovered how to turn destruction into reflection.

— So, what is next for Layers of Lebanon?

— Well, in the spirit of evolving, I am planning to add The Battle of The Hotels to the itinerary. It is a sub-conflict that occurred between 1975 and 1977. The Saint Georges, The Holiday Inn and The Phoenicia hotels became headquarters for the fighters. It would be nice to focus on the architectural renovations. Also, a Tripoli tour might be in the pipeline…

If there is a Tripoli Walking Tour, then, dear readers, I will definitely be back with a recap. And if you are still puzzled as to why the “Green Line” is called as such, here is the answer. When the war broke out, Beirut was divided. To mark this separation, a no man’s land was created. People were forced out of their homes and shops. Buildings were emptied. Streets were deserted. Flowers, trees and foliage took over. And what is the colour of nature? Green.

by Christelle Eldaher