Today I drank beer with terrorists. Kind of.
(I have failed to blog about Petra and other places, but will do soon, I hope. I just wanted to document today while it was fresh in my mind).
In am in Bcharre in the Lebanese mountains. It is a pleasant taxi ride from Byblos on the coast with its 28C sunny mediterranean feel. I am now just below the snow line and in spite of the sunny weather, some mountain roads are still blocked. I am checked into the Palace Hotel, which, inevitably, is anything but. Still, the people are friendly, as they have been generally in Lebanon.
From my hotel I overlook a beautiful valley which I decided to explore today. The chap who runs the hotel drew me a little map of where to go: down some steps, past a church, and into the valley. All seemed fairly simple and of course I could see my destination all the time. After the concrete steps down from the village to the churches and cemetries had ended, there were just olive trees and rocks. They didn't look insurmountable, so I persevered down the mountain. There was a path, of sorts, perhaps frequented more by goats than people, but I followed it nevertheless until I reached a precipitous cliff. Try as I might to find a different course, I could not. Instead of risking my life by continuing, I decided to give it up and retrace my steps. This I did back to the village where I came across a very pleasant French-speaking woman. (Generally in Lebanon I have been speaking English as no one in Beirut spoke French - in spite of all the French signage - but for some reason this lady spoke French.) She told me a different way down the mountain past her chickens and goats and olive trees and down to the valley. Again, I tried. I went a bloody long way with the scratches and bites to prove it, but in the end again I met a cliff which, had I tried to negotiate it, would have been the end of me. So I returned to the village of Hadchit. (It's pronounced "Hadshit" and, as its name might imply, has had its fair share of crap and is now fairly empty.)
I was desperate for a cold beer but no cafes or bars were in sight. After a climb, I came across a bunch of men drinking beer. They were sitting opposite a shop whose beer they were consuming and, as I later discovered, not paying for. They beckoned me over and offered me a cold beer. Talking to these drinkers (they had been at it all morning and had the collection of bottles to show for it), it turns out that they were "protection" for some sort of Christian military leader. They didn't have guns on them, but had access to them, so they said. Tomorrow, they were going to go to Beirut to protect their leader and would, they told me, be armed. Anyway, they were fascinating company. My third beer with them was, as I announced, "my last, thank you", but over the following 6 or 7 bottles I learned a bit about what they did.
Lebanon is 50% Christian and 50% Muslim, or thereabouts. (Their constitution even reserves certain positions, such as Prime Minister and Speaker of their parliament, for people of one religion or another.) These chaps, my new friends, were a sort of Christian militia who had been fighting Hezbollah but were now at peace. They were still employed, if that is the right word, though, as "warriors" in case of any incursion from Islamists. They were ready for a fight, they told me, but would not initiate anything. They had killed many people in Beirut some decade and a half ago during the last fighting. So they spent their time protecting their (Christian) leader when he travelled around, as he was going to do tomorrow.
They had, by all accounts, fairly chequered pasts. Some of them had spent time in Australia, apparently smuggling drugs. I say 'apparently' because their English was unclear at times. (They also had a few words of Russian since they sometimes took the time to "fuck Russian women", the poor prostitutes who were trafficked from Russia to Beirut). They had certainly been deported, though, as they crossed their wrists to show they had been arrested and sent home from Oz.
This part of Lebanon has been Christian for as long as anywhere has been Christian and they were very jealous of their position here in the mountains. They didn't seem particularly religious; their religion was more an identity, like being a Rangers or Celtic fan. Since I was drinking with trained killers, I thought it sensible for them to think that I was both straight and Christian and that Lebanese girls were the best in the world. They were puzzled as to why I wasn't married at the age of 33 and offered to procure me a girl, but I declined the generous offer.
I decided after a couple of hours that I should leave. I offered to pay for the beer, but perhaps since they hadn't paid for it themselves, they refused any payment. (I surmise that the shop was giving them free beer since they were "protecting" the area). One of the guys offered me a lift back to Bcharre where I was staying. I've no idea how how much he had drunk, but I don't think a drunk driver in Lebanon is any more dangerous than a sober one. We got into his 4X4 but after a few metres stopped in order to get into a different car. He told me his friends in the back couldn't smoke in this car as it was his sister's so he would have to exchange it for his dad's. For the first time I was a little worried for my personal safety since this appeared to be a little out of the ordinary, but in fact it was totally honest and he drove me back to my hotel where I took a much-needed bath and slept off an afternoon's drinking.
So were these men terrorists? Well, they were at present essentially men of peace, but as militiamen they were as close to freedom fighters as I am ever likely to meet. One of them even wanted to me my facebook friend. Much as I enjoyed the beer and conversation, I think I might decline the offer.
And so to bed. Tomorrow I intend to take a bus to Beirut and from there to Baalbek, a Roman site. Wish me luck.
(I have failed to blog about Petra and other places, but will do soon, I hope. I just wanted to document today while it was fresh in my mind).
In am in Bcharre in the Lebanese mountains. It is a pleasant taxi ride from Byblos on the coast with its 28C sunny mediterranean feel. I am now just below the snow line and in spite of the sunny weather, some mountain roads are still blocked. I am checked into the Palace Hotel, which, inevitably, is anything but. Still, the people are friendly, as they have been generally in Lebanon.
From my hotel I overlook a beautiful valley which I decided to explore today. The chap who runs the hotel drew me a little map of where to go: down some steps, past a church, and into the valley. All seemed fairly simple and of course I could see my destination all the time. After the concrete steps down from the village to the churches and cemetries had ended, there were just olive trees and rocks. They didn't look insurmountable, so I persevered down the mountain. There was a path, of sorts, perhaps frequented more by goats than people, but I followed it nevertheless until I reached a precipitous cliff. Try as I might to find a different course, I could not. Instead of risking my life by continuing, I decided to give it up and retrace my steps. This I did back to the village where I came across a very pleasant French-speaking woman. (Generally in Lebanon I have been speaking English as no one in Beirut spoke French - in spite of all the French signage - but for some reason this lady spoke French.) She told me a different way down the mountain past her chickens and goats and olive trees and down to the valley. Again, I tried. I went a bloody long way with the scratches and bites to prove it, but in the end again I met a cliff which, had I tried to negotiate it, would have been the end of me. So I returned to the village of Hadchit. (It's pronounced "Hadshit" and, as its name might imply, has had its fair share of crap and is now fairly empty.)
I was desperate for a cold beer but no cafes or bars were in sight. After a climb, I came across a bunch of men drinking beer. They were sitting opposite a shop whose beer they were consuming and, as I later discovered, not paying for. They beckoned me over and offered me a cold beer. Talking to these drinkers (they had been at it all morning and had the collection of bottles to show for it), it turns out that they were "protection" for some sort of Christian military leader. They didn't have guns on them, but had access to them, so they said. Tomorrow, they were going to go to Beirut to protect their leader and would, they told me, be armed. Anyway, they were fascinating company. My third beer with them was, as I announced, "my last, thank you", but over the following 6 or 7 bottles I learned a bit about what they did.
Lebanon is 50% Christian and 50% Muslim, or thereabouts. (Their constitution even reserves certain positions, such as Prime Minister and Speaker of their parliament, for people of one religion or another.) These chaps, my new friends, were a sort of Christian militia who had been fighting Hezbollah but were now at peace. They were still employed, if that is the right word, though, as "warriors" in case of any incursion from Islamists. They were ready for a fight, they told me, but would not initiate anything. They had killed many people in Beirut some decade and a half ago during the last fighting. So they spent their time protecting their (Christian) leader when he travelled around, as he was going to do tomorrow.
They had, by all accounts, fairly chequered pasts. Some of them had spent time in Australia, apparently smuggling drugs. I say 'apparently' because their English was unclear at times. (They also had a few words of Russian since they sometimes took the time to "fuck Russian women", the poor prostitutes who were trafficked from Russia to Beirut). They had certainly been deported, though, as they crossed their wrists to show they had been arrested and sent home from Oz.
This part of Lebanon has been Christian for as long as anywhere has been Christian and they were very jealous of their position here in the mountains. They didn't seem particularly religious; their religion was more an identity, like being a Rangers or Celtic fan. Since I was drinking with trained killers, I thought it sensible for them to think that I was both straight and Christian and that Lebanese girls were the best in the world. They were puzzled as to why I wasn't married at the age of 33 and offered to procure me a girl, but I declined the generous offer.
I decided after a couple of hours that I should leave. I offered to pay for the beer, but perhaps since they hadn't paid for it themselves, they refused any payment. (I surmise that the shop was giving them free beer since they were "protecting" the area). One of the guys offered me a lift back to Bcharre where I was staying. I've no idea how how much he had drunk, but I don't think a drunk driver in Lebanon is any more dangerous than a sober one. We got into his 4X4 but after a few metres stopped in order to get into a different car. He told me his friends in the back couldn't smoke in this car as it was his sister's so he would have to exchange it for his dad's. For the first time I was a little worried for my personal safety since this appeared to be a little out of the ordinary, but in fact it was totally honest and he drove me back to my hotel where I took a much-needed bath and slept off an afternoon's drinking.
So were these men terrorists? Well, they were at present essentially men of peace, but as militiamen they were as close to freedom fighters as I am ever likely to meet. One of them even wanted to me my facebook friend. Much as I enjoyed the beer and conversation, I think I might decline the offer.
And so to bed. Tomorrow I intend to take a bus to Beirut and from there to Baalbek, a Roman site. Wish me luck.
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