Beirut is a very large city with plenty of beautiful buildings.

We were soon in a reasonably priced hotel, which was clean and comfortable. It overlooked the market place but we were high up enough to only get a little of the sounds and smells they are renowned for, which only lent atmosphere to the place.

Next we went on a walking tour of the city, it had a definite French touch, which included the people and the way they dressed, very fashionably.

Monahan decided he would buy some silk shirts, he was measured and a price agreed on and a promise they would be ready next day.

We took a taxi to the beach, which was just delightful. We toured the very large harbor, the main one for Lebanon. Next we strolled through the Souk or market place, picking up this or that, more for the sake of bargaining than anything else. By a small miracle we found the hotel again and exhausted, were soon in bed with the sounds of the market place drifting up to send us to sleep.

Next day back to the shop to pick up the shirts, they were ready as promised. We left the shop and the shopkeeper ran after us to explain he made a mistake in converting the Palestine money and owed Monahan some money.

There are whole blocks of houses, five stories high, the infamous 'red light district' this is another French legacy they may not be too proud of. On the pretext of being an inspection team sent by the British Navy we visited some of these establishments. On the whole they were pathetic merely being there gave one the creeps. One particular Lady, to be as kind as possible to her, let us say she was plain, told us she had a boy friend, now serving in the British Army in Palestine, who had promised to marry her. We appeared skeptic so she insisted on us reading a letter he wrote to her. The letter gave his name, rank, serial number and his address in Palestine and was in response to a letter from her. It was very amorous and did promise to marry her in the near future and take her back to his home in England, it gave the address there, also included was a photograph of a good-looking young solder. No accounting for taste. We soon left the area that could only depress you, seeing so many living under these terrible conditions.

As we had only four days in total, including a day to get there and a day to return, this was our last night in Beirut. We decided to go to one of the top nightclubs named the ''Kit Kat". It was indeed a beautiful place, all kinds of lights, the Waiters in formal dress, the waitresses in brief catlike outfits.

As we were a little short of cash we decided to order the local beer and it soon arrived. The waiter slapped a tag under the ashtray. The orchestra started to play and a few who were there danced, (there were only a few in the club as it was midweek and early). We ordered another round and the same procedure followed i.e. the tag under the ash tray.

There were a few, what appeared to be single ladles at the bar. and we considered asking them to dance. A concern as to their actual commercial status caused us to hesitate and then there were those tags under the ash tray. I took a peek trying to look nonchalant and had a problem with a decimal point; it was either .8 or 8. pounds per beer it was hard to make out. This meant the local beer at the going rate of exchange, was either a pound, or two and six. We had a hasty look at our collective finances and decided if it was the former we had better depart now with dignity while we had any cah left. Just as well we did, it was a pound a drink. We went to a less exotic place for a night-cap.