First published in 1992

Mount Lebanon

There are no bomb craters on the runway anymore, and the men with guns are now in uniform. Beirut International Airport has had an upgrade and is now clean and tidy.

Only the dozen passport checks in twenty metres remind you of where you are. The scale of devastation only reveals itself as you leave the terminal and enter the city.

Massive rebuilding projects are on every street, the new buildings, started since the war ended, stand proudly amongst the debris of seventeen long years of fighting. Growing from acres of collapsing homes are offices, shops and everything in between.

A housing block with an entire wall blown away next to another with a top floor balcony hanging loose; the rest, nothing but a pile of rubble.

Whole buildings have been shot at and shelled for so long that the concrete itself looks like it’s rotting away. And yet in these places people continue to live. Their presence given away by children running around and women hanging washing from pockmarked windows and gaping shell holes.

Don’t linger here, the eyes of the Ayatollah stare mercilessly down from a thousand posters and paintings. Warning enough to a wise westerner.

I headed north to Tripoli using a service taxi. These taxis wait until each seat is taken before leaving. Although the wait can be long, this is the best way of moving around. For an ascent of Mount Lebanon Tripoli is the better base and the journey from Beirut takes an hour and a half and costs $3.

The Hotel Central, at around $6 a night is one of the best options. It’s clean and very friendly and can be found next to the telephone exchange.

Throughout Lebanon electricity supplies are intermittent. Each district has power for only a few hours a day. As the Hotel Central is on the fifth floor , try to get there when the lift is working.

Service taxis only go so far into the mountains during winter so you may have to hire a taxi or hitch part way. Call a policeman (Grey berets) or a Lebanese soldier (Blue or Green berets) to help get a fair price. If you’re being overcharged they will arrest the culprit without hesitation.

The Lebanese authorities want tourists to return and will do their utmost to protect a visitor. The Syrian army (Red berets) is less helpful and is regarded as an invading army.

The road to Becharre passes through Zgatha and Ehden along the edge of the Quidisha valley, which is more of a long chasm, six hundred metres deep and half a kilometre wide. Have your camera to hand.

Tripoli is left behind as the road snakes up to the foothills of Mount Lebanon with tremendous views back down to the city and the Mediterranean. The valley edge is met soon after Zgatha and is followed to Becharre. The country is dotted with small villages and churches overlooking the dark, deep valley gorge. This is the other, beautiful Lebanon.

Becharre, the home and inspiration for Kahlil Gibran, is a special place. It has many things going for it, not least its inhabitants. The locals here are the most welcoming and hospitable people I have ever met. They are pleased to meet visitors and will be keen to sort out any problems you may have.

Many are enthusiastic skiers and are familiar with the mountains.

There are wolves and bears about which frequently kill people and livestock. Not surprisingly hunting is the other popular sport here. Once it’s known that you are heading into the mountains you will be warned about these and other hazards and the appropriate protection to take with you.

For the record, carrying a hunting rifle is acceptable and there should be no problems at roadblocks etc, pump action shotguns are less acceptable and questions could well be asked about automatic weapons. Don’t even think about a rocket launcher. Be subtle, a humble pistol should suffice. Keep it handy, for wolves etc attack swiftly.

Lebanon’s oldest ski resort, The Cedars is only a ten minute drive from Becharre. Although popular throughout the Middle East most of the skiers are local.

Skiing started here in the late 60’s and continued throughout the war years. They’re keen; air strikes would put many folk off.

The best person to see is Tony Arida, known as the king of the Cedars. He has been running a ski centre here for well over thirty years. He hires ski’s etc and provides the apres ski in his nightclub. Carol, his daughter, is the DJ, mixing Arabic music with the latest sounds. But beware, whisky costs $60 a bottle. Across the road is La Chamonie nightclub.

Tony offers accommodation at $150 a night for six, but the Hotel Cortina costs $20. The hotels are never full.

Off-piste affectionados will find themselves alone on the mountain as almost everyone sticks to the downhill runs. The potential includes a six day traverse of the whole mountain range.

The atmosphere is remarkably friendly, on and off the slopes. There’s no pushing and shoving, in fact, a visitor will find themselves being pushed to the front of the lift queues, and as you ascend and descend people will wave and call out ahlan, or welcome.

There is a real feel of excitement in the air as everyone is relieved that the war is over and the good times can begin again. Just hang out and relax with a beer.

I had come to climb Mount Lebanon, Qurnat es Sawda, the highest peak at 3083m. It’s straightforward enough, which is nice to know, as maps are both rare and a cause for suspicion by the various authorities.

Head for the col above the ski lifts (a ski pass costs $12 a day or $7 half day). Once you reach the col head left to the obvious high point. Four hours is the usual time from the col, but, if time is short, there is a slightly lower peak straight ahead, which is about an hour away.

I can’t claim it’s more than a snow plod, but the view from the summit, looking over the Med to Turkey, Cyprus and Greece in one direction, and over the Bekaa valley to see the Syrian desert stretching to the horizon in the other, is sublime.

I’m told you can ski in the morning and swim in the sea in the afternoon. Personally, I’d be careful about the swimming. There’s a rumour that during the war someone tipped a load of nuclear waste in the sea just off the shore.

But as you head back, through Beirut, the airport road takes you past the slums and ruins again. Remember what you see here, and as the plane takes off, spare a thought for them. God alone knows what they’ve lived through.