Hay Festival: John McCarthy's Beirut Tonight, Hamra is heaving, the pavements full with people in cafés, in bars blaring rock music or window shopping - Hamra is full of smart boutiques. And although there are some old cars on the streets, Mercedes taxis that certainly date from the war period, most are modern and many are vast four-wheel-drive machines or sports cars. Beirut oozes prosperity and a lust for life. The city has changed in other ways, too. These days there seems to be more of a readiness to exchange ideas rather than bullets. Next month the Hay Festival, that meeting of minds that began in the Welsh Borders and now has offshoots everywhere from India to Colombia, is returning to Beirut - it was here before in 2010. Many will be hoping that some erudite discussion could do for Beirut's and Lebanon's image what the Hay Festival in Cartagena has done for Colombia's. More people need to realise how interesting and sophisticated a destination Lebanon is. Back in 1986, the idea of an international literary festival in Beirut would have been laughable. But Lebanon's cultural roots go deep, of course. A few miles up the coast from the capital is the picturesque port of Byblos. The name comes from the Greek word for papyrus, which was shipped through here in ancient times to be used in the manufacture of the earliest books. That's why the Bible is so called. But a literary festival should be a fountain of free speech, and Beirut's recent, tragic history seems to speak of anything but. During the war, lines were drawn that divided attitudes and opinions, just as the Green Line that ran through the heart of the city physically separated the warring communities. From a distance it was easy to fall into the trap of looking at the conflict in terms of black and white - a war between Christians and Muslims. In fact the situation was, of course, very complicated; there were myriad political and religious opinions among Lebanon's many sects. That was what made Lebanon so incredibly confusing and so alluring. One moment the Lebanese would present themselves with charm and harmony; the next moment, violent confrontation would erupt. In 1986, the idea that Beirut had been "the Paris of the Middle East" until the outbreak of war in 1975 was hard to appreciate. Hamra was desolate and the downtown area around Martyrs' Square was devastated, a gruesome wasteland at the seaward end of the Green Line. Now Hamra is buzzing and the downtown has been rebuilt - exactly as it was, with a series of elegant streets radiating from a central plaza. Visitors are once again coming from all over the world to enjoy the city and the country beyond; as anyone will tell you, Lebanon has every type of recreation: skiing, swimming, walking, shopping, ancient ruins, wineries and casinos. One thing I love doing is walking along the Corniche. On this wide, palm-lined promenade along the city's Mediterranean shore, Beirutis, whether solo joggers, ambling couples or whole families, come to take the air. The atmosphere is happy and relaxed, and the Corniche is a great place to grab an Arabic coffee and a snack from one of the vendors wheeling their barrows among the crowds. In the evening, I'll go to one of the many bars and restaurants that have been opening up in the Gemmayze district. The country's reputation as a cultural centre has also been revived since the war ended in 1990, and this year's Beirut Hay Festival will be complementing other international art events that are an established part of the Lebanese scene. As well as film festivals, there are the Baalbek and Beiteddine festivals, which showcase classical and modern music, dance and theatre. This summer's Byblos festival will welcome B B King and Slash, among others. One of the themes of the Hay event will be "from war to words," which seems apt for the location. Sadly, the proximity of words and violence remains part of Lebanese life. The fear is that tensions may bubble out of control again. It is hard to see this on the surface of liberal downtown Beirut, or in places such as Byblos, but some areas will be dominated by posters of religious and political leaders, and a look at local newspapers shows how sectarian thinking still dominates social and political life. Many older people I met on my latest visit, last month, voiced their concern that nowadays children are raised in a more sectarian way. This wasn't part of life before the civil war, they argue, but has become entrenched since, thanks to the influence of political and religious leaders. They fear that the younger generation, who don't know what war is like, are vulnerable to manipulation through fear and religious incitement. The crisis in Syria dominates conversation at the moment, with everyone aware that feelings for and against the Assad regime could be engineered to provoke violence. This had already happened, with clashes in the northern city of Tripoli, and there was further violence while I was in Lebanon, when two people died in a gun battle just a couple of miles from the centre of Beirut. The morning after that incident I watched a woman walk along cradling her baby. I found myself thinking, "Don't let that little one grow up through another round of chaos and carnage." The amazing thing about Beirut is that, though these issues are such a cause of anxiety, we discuss them while sipping a cool beer in a bar in the downtown area. The danger is ever present yet also distant. This is how Beirutis live; this is Beirut. Over the bay, lights twinkle across the mountainsides as the evening sky turns deep blue. No tracer bullets decorate the sky as they did in 1986, just the lights of home. The current tension is balanced by optimism, albeit cautious optimism. For the past few years things were calm and Lebanon has prospered and been largely untouched by the Arab Spring. So far the majority of Lebanese insist that they have been doing much better with guns kept off the streets. Across the road from my room in The Commodore Hotel, an eight-storey building stands unfinished, just as it was a quarter of a century ago. There are some buildings, a few dating from Ottoman times, many more recent, that are either crumbling or have never been completed, most of their owners having left the city during the war. But these are isolated pockets; for the most part Beirut is being redeveloped at a great pace, with cranes dotting the skyline as new apartment blocks go up everywhere and new businesses and bars open. There is a real vibrancy about the city. I have an early flight back to London, and as I'm packing I hear a cock crow. An unusual sound in a city centre, but it takes me back to my time as a captive in Beirut. Sitting, chained up in a darkened room, I'd watch the morning light come up around the heavy metal shutters where windows should have been. The cock-a-doodle-do from a coop on a nearby rooftop was somehow reassuring. It reminded me that most Lebanese were not interested in violence, but in getting on with and enjoying life. It made me hope for my freedom and the chance, one day, to explore this city that, even on a brief first experience, had fascinated me. Over recent years I have been able to explore it, and get a deeper feel for it and its people. Heading for the airport, we pass the Palestinian refugee camps of Sabra and Shatila and Bourj Barajneh, scenes of terrible bloodshed in the war years. The highway sweeps past them and on into the airport and it's only as I amble around the duty-free hall that I realise I didn't even think about the other, personal, landmark on the airport road: the location where I was kidnapped. People wonder that I want to go back to this country after what happened to me and given the current tensions. But I do. I have friends here; I love the place and the people. No Lebanese has any malign interest in me any more. Everyone shares the desire for the civil war to be but a memory - an important and tragic experience that made us wiser, I hope - but a memory. Lebanon has moved on and, at the time of writing, back in England, the situation there remains cautiously calm. Long may that continue. It is a wonderful place to get to know. Hay Festival Beirut 2012 essentials John McCarthy travelled with Cox & Kings (020 7873 5000; coxandkings.co.uk), which organises holidays to Lebanon. A five-day/four-night stay at The Commodore in Beirut is priced from £895 per person sharing, including return flight with Middle Eastern Airlines, transfers and accommodation with breakfast daily. John McCarthy's You Can't Hide the Sun: a Journey Through Palestine (Bantam Press) can be ordered from Telegraph Books (0844 871 1515; books.telegraph.co.uk) for £18 plus £1.35 p & p. John McCarthy will be discussing his experiences in Beirut on Saturday Live on June 2, 2012 Radio 4 (9am-10.30am). Hay Festival Beirut 2012 will bring together a number of exciting voices of contemporary culture in a three-day gathering involving writers, journalists, bloggers and thinkers. Among those leading the debates and workshops will be Jon Lee Anderson, biographer of Che Guevara and investigative journalist for The New Yorker; the Norwegian journalist Asne Seierstad, author of The Bookseller of Kabul; the American-Pakistani novelist Kamila Shamsie; and the Filipino writer Miguel Syjuco. Lebanese luminaries will include Abbas Beydoun, a poet and novelist, and Zeina Abirached, an illustrator and comic artist. The festival will run from July 4 until July 6. Events will take place at the Beirut Art Centre and Zico House and will be ticketed but free. For more details, see hayfestival.org/beirut; www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/hay-festival. Beirut: where to stay and what to do