Ahlan wa Sahlan! We are met in the once-grand lobby of the Palmyra Hotel byan elderly Lebanese man, thin and slightly hunched. Ahlan wa Sahlan. Welcome! He says again as our eyes adjust and we screw up our Arabic words into a question about the bar. We have read in our Lonely Planet guide that the Palmyra has a heritage bar with all the original fittings. He says it’s closed today, and we surmise it is closed more often than not—but our gentle host offers to open it for his two customers. Ahlan wa Sahlan, he says again, smiling under his breath.

The Palmyra Hotel was a preferred destination for the French Surrealists—and in our room, framed above our beds, there is a letter illustrated by René Char and sketches by Jean Cocteau. The first-floor guest lounge is lined with glass cases of pottery from a Roman archaeological dig. When we try the door of the cabinets, we find they’re unlocked.