Yesterday was our 25th wedding anniversary and realized it kissing on a hillside as we traveled to the mountains of Lebanon. The Barouk Cedars in the Shouf hills are groves of Lebanese Cedars planted to preserve the trees. We traveled east of Beirut and then south along the green line that separated Christian West Beirut from East Muslim Beirut, the line is riddled with buildings still bombed out and pock-marked with thousands of bullet holes, buildings being demolished and rebuilt, and new buildings going up. the Lebanese saying "Behind great wealth there are crimes of similar proportion," seems to ring true. Where does the money come from to rebuild or start new buildings, and where does the will and patience come from to live with the physical testament of the years of destruction and loss.
But from the Barouk Cedars, there's nothing but the country, the land of milk and honey and the smell of cedar and lavender. Walking around the preserve knowing where I am but knowing this is simply anywhere, a natural beauty. Up and over the hill to the east is the Bekaa Valley, and across the valley is the Syrian boarder.
From the Cedars we traveled south along the plateau in the Mt Lebanon district, heading to Baadarane, a Druze village where we had lunch of Labne, quince, olives, potatoes and meats. After lunch visited a traditional Druze weaver who makes the most tightly knit jackets and scarves. The village looks barren but there are boys on motorbikes pulling wheelies and showing off, completely scarfed women hiding in doorways not wanting to be photographed, an old man in traditional Lebanese clothes posing for the gang we are, and signs of life just under the walls and fences.
After lunch we came down the mountain to Beiteddine, a 17th century palace still in use by the Lebanese president and his ministers. Old Roman mosaics being restored and on display, in the heat of the day the palace has cool spots, and a spring-fed fountain in the plaza, and gardens in bloom. There is a concert season beginning and the work to assemble the risers goes on through our stay. This is the courtyard where Kris was the queen at her Junior Prom. And the palace is almost invisible as we drive down the hill toward Deir El-Quamar, an 18th century village and palace that was a caravansary where travelers bedded themselves and their horses. Our guide, Nassim tells stories from that era, and also of the recent Syrian occupation and withdrawal only months ago. Many of these properties only now going back into the hands of the Lebanese owners who for years watched the Syrian military squander their fields and possessions, carting produce and belongings across the boarder to sell.
Then we transferred back to Beirut by the Damour road. Damour is a river and valley where I camped as a kid. Coastal banana plantations giving way to the development of high-rise hotels and apartments. A Christian community, Damour was completely destroyed in 1992 after the assassination of a Druze leader, when the Druze came down from the mountains and flattened the village. Nassim points out the few remaining houses that are original, the rest is new concrete construction, as opposed to the traditional Lebanese stone wall and red roof construction.
We reenter Beirut from the south, on the new highway, that cuts through what used to be refuge camps, and now are 15 year old apartment buildings covered in soot and exhaust. And everywhere the posters of politicians and leaders. The camps are almost gone, but from a high spot in the road you can see football-sized areas covered in tarps and rags, with small, narrow alleys running through. And people and rugs, and cars and trucks and everything moves quicker as we get closer to the center of Beirut.
We're dropped off at the ACS, where I said I would read some poetry for students in the Tsunami Relief project Diedre's organized. And I do, and then attend the ACS Headmaster's reception, and eat and drink with the other alumni who've made this emotional trek back to Lebanon.
I am swimming so helplessly in memory and dreams. All of this coming back like it never left. The orchestra of horns and motors, the soot and sweet smells of oleander, jasmine, hyacinth, and gardenia. And my sisters are here and our daughters arrive this evening and it all gets so mixed up. Still the white hot sky, and we haven't been in the Mediterranean. Tomorrow. I think we'll do that tomorrow.
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