Lebanon is big enough to pack a punch, but small enough that we could do the trips without having to switch hotels. In one busy morning we got to see a majestic grotto and an ancient city on the coast.
But with the country’s roads making a fairground bumper car ride look polite, there was no way I was going to hire a car for the journey. So off we trotted on the type of organised trip that normally leaves me cold. But give them their dues, the folk at tour organisers Nakhal have it down to a fine art and even the chaotic, fume-filled traffic jams of a Beirut rush hour failed to blow their efficiency out of the water.
Our day at the Jeita Grotto and Byblos began with a journey into Beirut’s southern districts to pick up a coach, followed by a short drive into the hills to the north east through a splurge of suburbia. Our destination was the green Nahr al-Kalb valley, a landscape marked by gentle valleys and deep gorges, green hills and narrow, twisting roads with disturbingly sharp drops. The Jeita district gave us freedom from the endless string of development that makes up Beirut and its neighbouring towns and villages and was noticeably quiet despite being one of Lebanon’s most famous attractions. Perhaps it was just too early?
The area is the source of the Nahr al-Kalb river and the grotto is made up of two separate, giant limestone caves, one on top of the other. To reach the upper level we climbed on board an ageing gondola lift – part of an infrastructure that’s ageing and unloved – and soared uphill over a dry river bed and woodland, to the point where an army of gruff staff enforced the strict rule banning cameras of any shape or size from the site on pain of being placed arse-down on a sharply pointed stalagmite.
At this point it’s worth saying that we’d been impressed by the cave systems at Grotte di Castellana in Puglia, Italy, but the upper chambers at Jeita were absolutely astonishing in their size – huge open spaces joined by narrower, smaller passages, some formed by collapsed walls and ceilings. This was cave system as cathedral, or more accurately collection of cathedrals. Strategically lit, the stalagmites and stalagtites shimmered alien-like, some massive and ancient, others modest and more recent. Some looked like huge molten candles, others like deformed fingers and medieval instruments of torture. We followed the specially built path through the chambers, our whispers echoing, the endless drip, drip and rush of water in the background. On another hot, humid and sunny day in Lebanon, the caves were deliciously cool.
It was a surprise to learn that the upper chamber was only discovered in the 1950s, more than 100 years after the modern rediscovery of the lower grotto, which we glimpsed every now and again far below us through the rocks. Explorers and geologists have ventured many kilometres deeper into the system than we were allowed to go but there’s doubtless more to be found and mapped. We, however, retraced our steps and were then driven the short distance downhill to the lower grotto on one of those stupid tourist train things, which existed purely to provide employment for a chain-smoking driver and to save the legs of the morbidly obese and lazy. Several of our group thought it terribly exciting and took photo after photo, as if making up for the earlier ban.
The lower grotto is, in its public sections, nowhere near as gigantic as the upper but oozes magic and atmosphere. A fleet of little boats allow visitors to explore down river, on water that’s clear and shallow and cold. In seasons when rain has been plentiful this lower grotto is flooded and impossible to navigate but we had no such problems in early October, so we made the short journey to the point where the boats can go no more before turning back. It was a beautiful place, reminiscent of King Ludwig of Bavaria’s magical wonderland at Linderhof, and the visit over far too soon. By the time we’d returned to the car park, the site was much busier, which was good to see.
We climbed up into the mountains and then lumbered down towards the Med, finding a grim dual carriageway that hugged the coast through Jounieh and a collection of small, forgettable towns. There was nothing pretty or romantic about this stretch of coastline, the road lined instead with apartment blocks, superstores and litter. Much of the development looked speculative and empty. In the distance to the south, lost in the haze, stood Beirut.
Byblos, or Jibayl as it’s known locally, is one of the oldest continuously inhabited towns in the world and its charming, characterful historic heart is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. We parked in a modern part of town and walked down what’s described as an old Roman road towards the coast, although it was little more than bits of rubble and deserts of dust. Beyond lay a touristy but pretty souk and the 12th century Crusader Castle, which towers over a stretch of archaeological remains that have been excavated over time to reveal the many civilisations that once thrived in the eastern Med. Byblos was a key trading centre for thousands of years and evidence has been found of Egyptians, Phoenicians, Romans, Ottomans and others trading, living and building in the area. During the Crusader period it was fought over bloodily and endlessly by Christian kings and their Muslim enemies.
We toured the castle and its fortifications, taking in the views of the neighbouring excavations from its robust fortifications. Our guide pointed out what remained of temples, streets and foundations but it was difficult to make sense of it all. Beyond lay one or two sandy beaches and the southern coast of Lebanon.
We left the castle, passing through a souk where several shops exhibited and sold some marvellous fossils, and arrived in the quaint, ancient harbour. It was a haven of peace, full of little fishing boats. The paraphernalia of the fishermen’s trade – nets and pots – lay on the pavement and plastic bottles floated in the water. I just wished we had the time to stop at one of the neighbouring restaurants for a drink and a bite to eat. Instead we walked up picturesque alleys and narrow streets overflowing with bougainvillea to the St John the Baptist Church. This muscular, Romanesque structure from the 12th century, with its simple but solid interior, would’ve been familiar to the Crusaders who flocked to the region to defend Christianity. Today it lies in tranquil gardens, not far from the Sultan Abdul Majik Mosque and the Wax Museum.
We wandered back to the coach ready for our trip back to the hotel, through the souks and atmospheric, shaded courtyards, full of flowers and restaurants. At least in this historic and beautiful enclave, we’d found a peace so alien to the madness of Lebanon’s capital.