When I announced to my friends that I was intending to take a mini-break alone in Beirut, they looked at me as if I was bonkers. Even when I told them the city was recovering its pre-war reputation as the Paris of the east, and that it would be full of latterday David Nivens and Sophia Lorens, they seemed unimpressed. 'Why don't you go to the Paris of the west and have done with it?' said one.
I was determined, however, despite events in the West Bank (the Israeli army had pulled out of Jenin only days before my trip). A girl needs an adventure every once in a while.
Well, I survived, but the city is not for the faint-hearted. It is busy, polluted and chaotic, a bit like Athens on speed. You look in vain for a zebra-crossing or a lull in the roar of the passing Mercedes (circa 1973, all of them), and the constant honk of the shared-service taxis touting for business is enough to drive you insane.
The good news is that Lebanon is the size of a handkerchief. Once you have had enough, it's easy to escape. Give yourself two days to dash around and then head north, to Byblos and Lebanon's second city, Tripoli, or east to the mountains and cedar trees, or the ancient ruins at Baalbek, in the Bekaa Valley.
Buildings are going up all over Beirut, and I had a room in a new hotel, the Bella Riva, a spartan place with views over a derelict apartment complex (if I visited again, I would stay at the Albergo, a fabulous place in an old Ottoman house with a rooftop pool). On my first night, I wandered on to my balcony to smell the orange blossom and listen to the wail of the muezzins carrying on the breeze as Muslims are called to prayer. Oh, foolish girl. Instead, I was treated to the sound of my neighbour, a slattern in a dirty T-shirt watching al-Jazeera, the Arab satellite television channel.
I appeared to be the Bella Riva's only Western guest, never mind its only lone female. The young men who hung out in the lobby smiled at me in a rather unnerving way as I came and went, and when I asked for help - with taxis, directions, day-trips - it seemed to be all they could do not to break into hysterical laughter at my eccentric English ways. Still, with its acres of Flotex floor covering and strange croissants (once tasted, never forgotten), at least it was close to the Corniche, which is where I began my first morning.
The Corniche is where the city's inhabitants come to take the sea air, drink tea, play backgammon and power walk (the latter is very popular, especially with middle-class Beiruti women who go in for Catherine Deneuve hair and full make-up, whatever they happen to be doing). Lined with palm trees and hotels, it looks pretty much as it did when Beirut was as chic as St Tropez, if not quite as expensive. I found a bench and feasted on freshly squeezed oranges and crisp sesame-seed bread, baked in the shape of a Fendi baguette bag. Bliss.
The Corniche runs from Raouche, in West Beirut, where you can watch the sun set over the famous Pigeon Rocks, to the city's central district, the approach to which is marked by the Hard Rock Café and the vast Phoenicia Inter- Continental Hotel, scene of the recent Arab summit (have an evening cocktail there: it's worth it just to gawp at the guests, who come from the Gulf and drip money).
Top shopping tip: opposite the Hard Rock is La Maison De L'Artisan, a government-backed establishment selling traditional handicrafts - ceramics, rugs, jewellery and glasswear - perfect for anyone who wants to give their home the souk look this summer.
Next, I headed inland to Rue Hamra, Beirut's smartest street (and home to the city's first Starbucks). The road is narrow and in permanent gridlock, but there are some OK boutiques and bookshops and a good café, the Modca, though its clientele is mostly male and a bit intimidating. I drank coffee and then braved a taxi. Finding one was easy - they find you, mostly, and then kerb-crawl beside you until you submit - but haggling over the fare and explaining where you want to go are tricky if you don't speak Arabic and mine, alas, extends to: 'How are you, darling?' This is not a good opening line.
The taxi driver found a passing pedestrian who could speak French, and then we were off to Beirut's restored National Museum (en route we found ourselves in the middle of a pro-Palestinian demonstration; the driver simply shrugged and resigned himself to a wait). The museum is on the old green line which divides Christian east Beirut from the Muslim west, where the scars of the civil war are most visible, the crumbling buildings as pock-marked as teenage skin. The derelict Holiday Inn still stands, riddled with bullets, ghostly and sombre.
The museum itself, however, is pristine, though there are 10 security guards for every tourist. Make sure you see the four large Roman sarcophagi from Tyre, depicting the legend of Achilles.
By teatime, you will be in need of a siesta, especially since it is at night that the new Beirut really comes alive. Then, plan your evening. First, dinner. Lebanese food, as everyone knows, is fantastic and there are lots of good places to try it. I went to Al Mijana, a restored Ottoman house in east Beirut.
To the sound of moustachioed men singing love songs, you can eat a sublime mezze for around £17. Try the kibbeh - fried meatballs made of ground lamb, bulgur wheat and pine nuts.You can even ask for a backgammon set to be brought with your coffee.
After dinner - the Lebanese tend to eat late, from 9pm onwards - head for the Place D'Etoile. Here, the delectable Ottoman and French-mandate buildings have been nipped and tucked to house hip cafés and restaurants.
By 10pm, the streets are packed with people drinking mint tea and smoking nargilehs, the local hookahs. Even non-smokers should try the nargileh, tobacco smoked over water, subtly flavoured with apple, mint or rose (like puffing Turkish delight). Every so often, a waiter, alarmingly dressed like something out of the Arabian Nights, will appear with more white-hot charcoal.
There is not much more to see in Beirut itself, and walking around is difficult, given the traffic, the airless heat and the endless sexual harassment (I was advised to wear a decoy wedding ring during my stay, and I was glad of it). So I went on two excursions outside the city, to Byblos and Baalbek (hire a taxi for the day, and neither trip will set you back more than about $40/£28).
The former, a medieval town an hour's drive north of Beirut, has a lovely harbour, restored souks where you can buy fossils - I think they were genuine - and sprawling ruins, including a crusader castle. On the waterfront is the Byblos Fishing Club, a restaurant whose past clientele includes Marlon Brando and Brigitte Bardot.
Baalbek, predominantly Shi'ite, is a more daring day trip because, until recently, it was considered a no-go area for tourists: the Bekaa valley is the main stronghold of the Hizbollah terrorist group in Lebanon. You see the yellow and green banners and huge pictures of Iranian clerics at every crossroads, and you may be asked to give money to 'the resistance'. The Syrian army is also still much in evidence.
In the spring, the valley is lush, green and full of flowers, a relief after the strip malls and breeze- blocks of the coast, and en route you can go wine- tasting or have breakfast in the town of Zahle, where the speciality is cream cheese made from curdled sheep's milk.
The temples at Baalbek are the most outstanding Roman ruins in the Middle East and, thanks to the lack of tourists (the few you do see are French), you can wander around in peace, pretending you're in an Agatha Christie novel. Don't, whatever you do, hire a guide; he will babble on about his passion for Tottenham Hotspur and his relatives in Chicago, and then rush you out of the ruins and into his cousin's souvenir shop, where you will be asked to buy Phoenician glass (yeah, right).
For lunch, try the Palmyr hotel. The food isn't great but the hotel is exactly the kind of place where the queen of crime might have stayed, all faded grandeur and cranky water pipes. I was mad about it.
I'd wanted to visit Lebanon ever since I was a child - I was an odd child - so I suppose it was inevitable that the country would disappoint a little. Even so, nothing prepares you for how much building work is going on; this and the traffic got me down.
The beleaguered Lebanese, happy to be alive, relish the new, but if they are not careful, soon there will be nothing left but gleaming concrete. Perhaps this is one reason tourists should go there now. Go for the food, the ruins, the complexities of Lebanese politics (you'll do a lot of talking) and try to ignore the cement mixers. And single girls: put a ring on your finger before you fly.
Factfile
Rachel Cooke flew with British Airways (0845 7733377) to Beirut. Return flights cost from £266 to £1,900, plus tax, depending on availability).
The price of a three-night stay in Lebanon with Sunvil Discovery Europe (020 8758 4722) is from £560 per person (based on two sharing). There are five departures a week from Heathrow. The price includes flights, transfers and B&B at the three-star Marble Tower Hotel.
For the latest travel and safety advice from the Foreign and Commonwealth Office see www.fco.gov.uk/travel