There’s a 1958, silver-blue Mercedes 190SL convertible in town, and it’s turning heads. In a country where new, shiny and expensive can be a brash entrée into the smart set, what better way to offer an riposte with a dash of elegance and a bit of old money charm with a glorious vintage sports car, rippling with Connolly leather and spoked hubcaps..
There is a small and determined band ofLebanese who see a vintage car as a superior, more refined expression of motoring pleasure. There are currently around 300 vintage cars purring around Lebanon’s roads with an air of distressed gentility. But be warned; beauty and elegance come at a high price in a country where the market is still underdeveloped, services histories are opaque and the majority of mechanics simply are not up to the job of maintaining these beauties of a bygone age.
To many it is all about a time when cars where art. “Back in the old days, some guy graduated from design school, sat down at night with his pack of cigarettes and a coffee, imagined a car and drew it. It had soul and life. reminisced classic car aficionado Elias Amiouni. “Sure, today’s cars are beautiful. They handle great, but they have no soul.”
And soul is what drives Lebanon’s determined band of car lovers. In Europe and the US there are no shortage of magazines devoted to classic cars, bringing together devotees, offering maintenance hints, market movements and transparent prices. In Lebanon however, while interest in classic cars is picking up, it will always be limited.
And for those who seek a quick buck and want to setting up a classic car business in Lebanon, forget say the connoisseurs. “To import cars and then sit on them for years, without knowing if you’re going to have a buyer is just not worth it,” said Amiouni. “The number of enthusiasts is simply not big enough. Here in Lebanon you do this as a hobby. A friend of mine wants to sell a 1959 Corvette in reasonable condition but he can’t get a decent offer. This is a car that would sell in Europe or the States for around $65,000, but no one is interested”
Elsewhere, vendors are asking funny money for what are essentially pieces of junk “There’s a total misconception,” says Mercedes collector Malek Mroueh. “You go to see a car and the guy tells you it’s worth $100,000. True, refurbished it would be worth that much. But you’ve got to spend $75,000 refurbishing it. I recently bought a 280SL in the States for around $5,000,” he went on. “I knew it was a shambles, but I can restore it. Someone selling the same car here would have demanded $45,000.”
Most Arab collectors (Mercedes SL’s and Jaguars E-types are particularly coveted) source from dealers in Europe and the US, where the provenance of the vehicle is trusted and they are less likely to be conned by unscrupulous restorers.
“Why would you want to buy a classic car here when elsewhere you have a much bigger basket to choose from?” asked Amiouni. “Elsewhere, the car has probably been maintained to a much higher standard. And there is always a service history. So you know pretty much what the car has been through. If you buy it here, a lot of mechanical and bodywork surprises are going to pop up. Local restorers are out to make a quick buck. They cut corners.”
Like many of the newer cars that arrive on Lebanon’s shores and reassembled after being written off for scrap, the buyer can often never know exactly how his piece or motoring memorabilia has been restored. Mroueh, who owns four Mercedes, is so distrustful of Lebanese workmanship that his cars are now maintained in the same warehouse as he runs his printing business. That way, he can keep an eye on the restorers and avoid the frustrations associated leaving in hands of a stranger. “I once restored a 1971 Mercedes 280 SL,” he recalled. “I had to be there an hour a day just to make sure things got done. And it cost me a bundle. So I figured that if I bought the tools, set up some space in my printing plant and got them to work on it there, it would be cheaper and I would have more control.”
Another Mercedes collector Marwan Tarraf has a similar tale. “I took a couple of cars to a restorer and he lost most of the parts. The guy was so messy. He was throwing things around. A year later, I went to take the car and had to buy the parts he had lost. It came to more than $12,000.”
There is essentially a dilemma. Anyone seeking to enter the car restoration market in Europe or the States, though, must be prepared to pay through the nose. In Lebanon, a restorer might take $300 a week. In the United States he costs $75 an hour. Amiouni said restoring his Lamborghini Mura in England cost around $60,000. Had it needed spare parts the price would have spiraled further. Another classic car restorer said it cost him $60,000 to restore an Aston Martin DB6 in England. He had already spent $60,000 purchasing the vehicle. He said the restoration process would have cost only $20,000 in Lebanon, but at what price? As the saying goes there is nothing more expensive that something cheap.
And then there is the problem of outmoded technology. Tarraf, who has spent over a half a million dollars on fourteen Mercedes, 13 of which he bought in the US for prices varying from $15,000, to $85,000 for a 1971 280SE convertible, does not advise taking vintage cars to the local dealer. “I tried to have some work done on one of my cars at the Mercedes dealership,” he said. “It stood there for six months and then I had to bring it back on a truck. They didn’t know what to do with it.”
Even a simple service can be problematic. Most car buffs have found and treasure mechanics who know their stuff. “There are a few older mechanics around who have been working on these cars since they were new,” said Amiouni. “As for the rest, I wouldn’t allow them near my car.”
But what about bringing old cars into the country? Insiders complain that even modest market growth is being hampered by the same exorbitant duties stifling the new car sector. Importers have to pay 20% customs duty on the first $13,300 of the car’s CIF value and 50% on the remaining value, plus 10% VAT and 8% registration fees. And for classic car importers, there’s an added twist: While the base value of a brand new car is indisputable, the value of an vintage model has to be determined by a customs official before any duties are imposed. This evaluation process, classic car devotees complain, is carried out in a frustratingly unprofessional manner. Most significantly, a single assessor insists on valuing the vehicle at the high end of the range on his chart. He pays attention only to the brand, not to the condition, and is often under pressure from his superiors to extract as much duty as possible, collectors say.
“Imagine you’re importing a Lamborghini Mura in a state of total disrepair,” said Amiouni. “You might be planning on spending $50,000 on restoration here in Lebanon to bring it up to a market value of $100,000. But the evaluator says: ‘No, this is a Lamborghini Mura. They sold one in England for £150,000 (about $300,000), so you have to pay $100,000 duty here.’ It’s left to the judgment of a single person. We need a small bureau set up, with three or four people who are not in it for themselves, whom you don’t have to bribe to reduce the amount.”
A law prohibiting the import of models whose production line ended less than 30 years ago further burdens Lebanon’s vintage vehicle market. This, say classic car fans, is a misguided effort to protect Lebanon’s domestic second hand car market.
Classic car fans also mourn the loss of many examples of pre-war motoring glory – several Ferrari Daytonas and Dinos, a host of Lamborghini Muras, Maseratis and at least one navy-blue soft-top Aston Martin DB6 Volante – that were bought for peanuts during the conflict, exported to Europe and the US and sold for a fortune during the classic car boom of the late 80s. The upshot is that there is less awareness of classic cars, another factor that has stunted the growth of a vintage culture. “Cars that normally sold for $20,000 were changing hands at $100,000. Those at $200,000 went up to a million. The sky was the limit,” Amiouni said.
Sitting despondently on a folding chair to a row of gleaming vintage vehicles outside a rundown classic car showroom in Furn al-Chubbak established by his late father, Georges Constantin is quick to concede that classic car dealing is dead in Lebanon. “There’s no business,” he mused. “And it’s been getting worse and worse for seven years now. There used to be money. Now there is none. The few clients we do have are from the Gulf.
But maybe the real problem behind a thriving vintage market is the Lebanese themselves. Last year over a classic car show organized at the Faqra Country Club by independent cars owner clubs was the catalyst for a feud with the Lebanese of the Federation of Vintage Cars, which was accused of blocking the show. The Federation claimed it was merely following federation guidelines, which prohibit unofficial car shows.
Insiders claimed that if the two groups – the federation and the independent owners clubs – joined forces, they would be able to more effectively lobby the government to reduce duties and make it easier for collectors and restorers to enjoy their hobby.
“But this is Lebanon for you,” lamented Amiouni. “We never unite to make a good thing better.”
