Cycling culture creeps onto Beirut’s chaotic streets

On the crowded streets of Lebanon's capital, traffic signs are ignored and pavements – let alone bike lanes – are nearly nonexistent. But amid the city's car-crazy population, an intrepid few are trying to push the benefits of two wheels.

A cycling tour organised by Cycling Circle. Courtesy of Cycling Circle

BEIRUT // On the chaotic streets of Lebanon’s capital, pavements – let alone bike lanes – are nearly nonexistent.

In any space where a vehicle is not moving through, another vehicle is parked. Beat-up sedans, luxury cars, motorcycles and pedestrians dart around the parked vehicles, sometimes only missing each other by a few centimetres.

Traffic signs are not even viewed as a suggestion – they are ignored.

In this environment, walking is considered a dangerous enough activity. Few dare to cycle.

Yet slowly, a cycling culture is emerging in Beirut. Bikers crowd the seaside corniche, one of the few paved areas where no cars are found. On quiet weekend mornings, cyclists meander through the usually crowded, narrow streets of Beirut’s quainter quarters, such as Gemmayze and Mar Mikhael in east Beirut.

Then there are the more intrepid, the few who risk the traffic on a daily basis to get to work and even a couple of bicycle couriers who ply the streets.

Karim Sokhn, 26, is one of the people trying to promote cycling culture in Beirut.

Growing up outside of Beirut in a mountainous village away from traffic, Mr Sokhn was raised riding a bicycle. When he moved to the city for university, he kept riding. It was a lonely endeavour in a city where few biked. When Mr Sokhn came across a fellow cyclist, sometimes they’d stop and chat. Eventually a community formed.

In 2012, he founded Cycling Circle, a company that teaches people how to ride bikes and organises cycling tours in Beirut and around the country.

“When we started in 2012, there wasn’t any cycling culture. But now, we’re starting to count and see people riding bicycles,” he said.

Despite the activity’s recent growth, however, cycling is still not prevalent in Beirut. Mr Sokhn estimates that there are only about 200 people who rely primarily on bicycles for transportation around the city, despite their ability to cut down travel times.

In gridlocked traffic, it can sometimes take nearly an hour to get between Hamra, the main commercial hub in west Beirut, and Ashrafieh, its counterpart in east Beirut. Mr Sokhn says that if he is biking fast and weaving through traffic he can make the journey in five minutes. But between 12 and 15 minutes is perhaps a more realistic time for a less-experienced biker going at a less hair-raising speed. In other urban areas of the country – such as Tripoli, Sidon and Palestinian refugee camps – bicycles are slightly more widespread. In these much poorer areas, bicycles are an inexpensive way to get around and can navigate the narrow alleys of souqs and camps that cars cannot.

And although Mr Sokhn had been in accidents on his bike, he says the danger of competing with Beirut’s traffic is mostly mental as the gridlock means vehicles are often not going fast enough to cause any serious damage.

But despite biking’s advantages, Lebanon has one of the highest vehicles per capita ratios of anywhere in the world.

“The culture here, for the majority of people who grew up in Beirut, is to have a car because we don’t have a good transportation system,” said Mr Sokhn. “From when they were born and raised, they were not given a cycling culture. And people like to show off in their cars.”

Mr Sokhn keeps pushing ahead in promoting the cycling lifestyle, however, hoping that it will grow more. A few years ago, he met a bike messenger from Switzerland who was visiting Beirut. Mr Sokhn had just seen Premium Rush, a 2012 action-thriller film involving a New York City bike messenger on the run from a corrupt police officer. Intrigued by the concept of bike couriers, Mr Sokhn approached his new acquaintance and soon they were in business together.

Deghri Messengers, Lebanon’s first bike courier service, opened in late 2014. For between US$4 (Dh14.69) and $8 per delivery, Deghri’s two bike messengers haul documents for companies and anything from packs of cigarettes to drinks from Starbucks for individuals who do not want – or are unable – to venture outside. Mr Sokhn says his messengers make between 300 and 500 deliveries per month, largely for businesses trying to embrace more eco-friendly ways.

Away from the intimidating, traffic-snarled streets, Jawad Sbeity’s Beirut by Bike rental company serves as an introduction to cycling for many in the city. His bikes are a frequent sight along the corniche and in Beirut’s nearby downtown district, one of the few places in the city where traffic laws are more or less followed and there are well maintained streets and sidewalks.

Over the years, Mr Sbeity has watched interest in cycling for leisure grow. When he opened Beirut by Bike’s first location in 2001, he had 60 bikes for rent. Since then, he has expanded to four locations in Lebanon with a total of 2,000 bikes for rent.

While catering to more casual bikers, Mr Sbeity has noticed the rapid growth of biking in the city.

“If you talked to many groups in Lebanon that do biking, [biking culture] wasn’t there two years ago or three years ago. Now it’s there,” he said.

Expanding the cycling culture still faces an uphill battle. Paths popular among cyclists in reclaimed land off of downtown Beirut have been closed as developers move forward on plans. Members of the cycling community complain that local governments often seem uninterested in promoting bycling or establishing bike lanes. When a trial bike lane was established in a suburb of Beirut, Mr Sokhn said cars simply parked in it.

“I think [the embrace of cycling culture] starts when they see that the bike is not a toy,” said Mr Sbeity. “The bike is a means of transportation. The bike is a culture. The bike is an environmentally friendly activity.”