“These pants are coming off when we hit the mountain,” I declared stepping out of the beat-up Mercedes and into the crisp morning air. The sun had beaten the three of us out of bed, but it would still be at least an hour before the golden rays pushed the remaining shadows out of the valley. Bidding adieu to our driver, Daniel, Stephanie, and I scrambled over the fence and began walking towards the grove of giant cedars. Some of these testaments of time have seen 1500+ years roll by, and are cited in the Bible. If Treebeard in the Lord of the Rings was real, I think he’d be the gnarliest one of them all :)
In any case, I did take off my sweatpants once we hit the trail, and my legs were publicly exposed for the first time in months…kind of a weird but exhilarating feeling and I made a conscious effort to walk off the giddiness.
Ten minutes into the cedar hike, the three of us realized that instead of going up a mountain, we were weaving ourselves around the valley. Thus, retracing our steps we spotted a chalet by the ski lifts, a landmark Lonely Planet noted for the trailhead of the hike, and so we stepped off the trail and picked our way across the scrubby countryside, around barbed wire and past an old rusted military vehicle. The remnants of war are everywhere in Lebanon, from blown-out buildings riddled with bullet holes, to roadblocks and bomb-blown scrap metal. It’s an eerie feeling; one in which despite the current relative calm, everyone can almost sense that war is an inevitable component of the near future. It could come today, tomorrow, in a month, a year… it shadows people’s minds, and invades their psyche. To my chagrin, I couldn’t even help but wonder if trekking across the sprawling valley could spark a dormant landmine, much like Lebanon itself.
With these thoughts swirling around in my head, we finally reached the road. Stopping to take a break, only a few minutes passed before we hailed down a passing giant gravel-hauling truck, with a toothy grinning man named Adel behind the wheel. We scrambled up the stairs, 8 feet into the cab of his truck, (first time I've hitchhiked EVER! ha!) and Adel began driving us up the road of the very mountain that we had originally planned on climbing…but we rolled with the new circumstance and couldn’t wait to see where the smiling, exuberant man would take us. Daniel, being male and thankfully the most fluent Arabic speaker among us, was subject to most of the conversation making, but Stephanie and I did our best to keep up, picking out words from the conversation that we knew. At the top of the ridge, Adel pulled over next to a roadside vender, and promptly introduced us to the two grizzly men running figs, nuts, cookies, and tea out of the back of their decrepit Volvo. We snapped some good-natured group photos together, and then shoving goodies into our hands, Adel pointed us in the right direction of the trail.
The view from the top of the ridge was absolutely magnificent. I have seen many beautiful vistas in my 20 years, and this was definitely one of the best in the world. To the west, the Qadisha valley, a lush green refuge, cupped on three sides by mountains, and spilling out towards the distant Mediterranean. To the east, Bekaa valley, a rolling batch of brown hills and little towns sprinkled towards the horizon. It’s important to note that Bekaa valley is also the home of Hezbollah (aka, “Party of God”). At the time, we felt safe looking down at it from above. As we would find out later, that was hardly the case.
Overlooking Qadisha Valley
Behind me, Bekaa Valley - home of Hezbollah.
After enjoying our lunch on the ridge, the three of us decided to head back down, and maybe catch Adel bringing his next shipment of rocks back to the Qadisha valley. To our surprise, ¾ of the way down we spotted Adel, urgently scrambling toward us, huffing and puffing due to his tobacco filled lungs, and gesturing frantically. When he reached us, he began spilling Arabic, of which I caught the words “mountain” (jebel), “Hezbollah,” and “machine gun” (rashash). He then bent down and picked up AK-47 bullet shells that we hadn’t noticed down at our feet. It was made clear that he thought we were lucky to be unharmed. After he had calmed down, we more slowly went through his story, with Daniel translating the more difficult parts for Stephanie and I. Apparently, after Adel had dropped us off at the pass he hadn’t realized our plan to hike the ridge. The same guys who had sold us figs, nuts, and tea also doubled as lookouts for Hezbollah, and Adel wasn’t sure if they had notified Hezbollah of our activities on the ridge. If we had descended down the backside of the ridge towards Bekaa valley, Adel informed us sternly, we might not have been nearly as lucky. Hezbollah’s militia has been known to shoot to kill, take hostages, and “defend” their territory. They've also been known to send out "patrols" along the very ridge we had been hiking.
A cold chill ran down my spine.
More than anything, realizing my sheer level of helplessness if things had taken a nasty turn, I failed to comprehend the extent of Hezbollah’s violent methodology, radicalism and overall political reach until after passing through the eyes of a very small needle. It was completely humbling, harrowing...and nauseating. The weight of the cold, metallic, bullet shells that Adel placed in my hand proved a point more effectively than any parental concern, State Department warning, or CIEE policies could EVER hope to achieve. It was the cold weight of ideals tempered by the yoke of reality, where sometimes politics not just a game. Sometimes people die because they are perceived to represent certain groups or because public examples are the most effective form of PR. Death here doesn’t have to be justified. This is a country used to the unfairness of war!
Someday I could not get so lucky and actually be at the mercy of a party who isn't interested in negotiation. What a moment of realization that was! No longer room for romanticism, of somehow talking my way cleverly out of bondage in a language of which I barely know the basic structure. When it comes down to it, despite all that I had researched and the precautions I had taken before venturing out that day, nothing would have adequately prepared me for the worst-case scenario. I was shaken to the core. I couldn’t stop thinking about the possible alternative endings our story could have had.
To put it lightly, I at a very large slice of humble pie.
Adel bustled us back into the cab of his huge truck, and adeptly lightened the mood by taking us to lunch at one of the little cafes at the base of the mountain. There we feasted on olives, lebnah, cucumbers, and khobz. While Stephanie and I sipped on some beer, the guys went for some hardcore Arak, and soon we all couldn't resist laughing along with Adel's cheerful good-natured humor. Then in typical Lebanese hospitality, he brought us back to his home to meet his pretty wife, and two little boys. We ended up spending the whole afternoon there, lounging, talking, smoking hookah, drinking tea, wrestling with the boys, exchanging life stories...all in Arabic I might add. So, while the depth of conversation was limited, the family's warmth couldn't be doubted. And for that I was grateful.
