Restoring Lebanon's heritage homes

Across Lebanon, the red-tiled roof, the triple-arched window, and the stone facade are the country's architectural fingerprint. But as Beirut fills with glass towers and its mountain villages sprawl with concrete, traditional homes are disappearing faster than they can be saved. What does it actually take to restore one without destroying what made it work in the first place?

The Beiruter spoke with two architects who have built their careers around this question: Amine Jules Iskandar, a veteran of Lebanese heritage restoration, and Joya Barhouche, a young architect working on reviving traditional homes for contemporary life. Their answers, different in tone, converge on the same conviction, that a house's proportions, materials, and orientation are the reason these buildings persist decades or centuries later.

Amine Jules Iskandar on the proportions of a home

For Iskandar, restoration means resisting the urge to change what does not need changing. What deserves protecting above all are "the proportions and the qualities of the place." Yet those are often the first casualties of modern renovation. To accommodate air-conditioning ducts, contractors routinely lower the high ceilings that define Lebanon's traditional homes. "The moment you lower the ceiling, you cut into the three arches and destroy the proportions," he said. "These salons were designed to be about four and a half meters high. Reducing them to three meters completely changes the space." The impact goes beyond the interior. "The façade was originally designed with two windows and a central balcony door," Iskandar explained. "Once you lower the ceiling, that composition is lost. Instead of reading as two windows and a door, it starts to look like three ordinary windows."

Iskandar is unequivocal about what is driving the loss of Lebanon's architectural heritage. He points to Monot as a striking example. Although the street had been officially classified for its heritage value, many of its historic buildings were still demolished. "The whole street was classified," he said. "But it was demolished anyway." In his view, the problem goes beyond weak legislation. "The people doing this aren't from the neighborhood," he argued. "Their interest is demographic change, not preserving heritage."

The architect expressed that meaningful preservation must begin with tackling corruption. "As long as money can buy exceptions, no law will ever be enough," he said. He also believes every building constructed before 1950 should automatically receive heritage protection. To balance preservation with development, he proposes a system of transferable development rights, allowing owners to sell unused building potential rather than demolish historic homes. "They sell the air," he explained. "They keep the house, the land, everything."

He also advocates stricter planning regulations in Lebanon's mountain regions, arguing that buildings should never rise above the tree line, "like everywhere else in the world." Ultimately, he sees heritage as inseparable from national identity. "Our identity is in the air we breathe and the streets we walk," he said. "If the country becomes tainted, nobody comes back to it."

Joya Barhouche: Preserving the soul, reimagining the interior

Barhouche framed restoration as the house's soul. "The goal is to preserve the soul and identity of the house while adapting it to today's way of living," she said, starting with "the stone facades, triple-arched windows, red-tiled roof, wooden shutters, and central hall." The interior is where she allows real transformation: "we can introduce open layouts, contemporary kitchens and bathrooms, improved lighting, and smart technologies without compromising the building's heritage," creating "a dialogue between the past and the present rather than a conflict."

Her process starts with a survey: "we document its architectural features, evaluate structural stability, and identify damage such as cracks, moisture, or foundation settlement." She prefers repair over replacement, and when replacement is unavoidable, she reaches for "local sandstone, traditional lime-based mortar, timber, and handmade roof tiles," because "these historic construction techniques allow the building to breathe and perform as intended."

"Preservation doesn't mean copying the past exactly," she added. "Good restoration allows historic architecture to evolve respectfully." Contemporary additions are often best in glass or steel "so they remain visually light and clearly distinguishable from the original building." Glass extensions or "plug-in" spaces can add living area "while allowing the historic stone walls and original architecture to remain the focal point", creating "a beautiful contrast between old and new without pretending that the addition is historic."

The biggest obstacles she named are practical: "finding authentic materials and skilled craftsmen who still master traditional building techniques," and balancing "restoration costs with the client's budget, as heritage restoration is often more expensive than new construction." Still, she sees momentum among "young architects, designers, and homeowners," helped by the fact that "social media has also helped showcase successful restoration projects, inspiring younger generations to see heritage as something valuable and worth preserving."

As she put it: "Restoration is not about freezing buildings in time, it's about respecting our past while adapting it thoughtfully for the future."

Carrying Lebanese history

Despite different vocabularies, one speaking in proportion and thermal physics, the other in soul and sustainability, Iskandar and Barhouche arrive at the same argument, that a traditional Lebanese house is a system, not a set of decorative parts. Its arches, ceiling height, and orientation work together, and changing one without understanding the whole tends to break it. Both insist restoration is about keeping it livable without erasing the logic that made it work. In the end, the traditional Lebanese home harnesses the true spirit of the Lebanese. Its bricks and stones hold the DNA of the past generations, in turn carrying our history.