WHY I CAN’T WAIT TO TRAVEL IN LEBANON AGAIN

In the wake of the explosion in Beirut’s port in August, Sam McManus, MD of YellowWood Adventures, reflects on a trip to Lebanon and makes a case for the return of tourism

It’s spring 2019 and I’m standing at the viewpoint of Saydet el Nourieh shrine, in Hamat, high on a cliff, looking out across the landscape. The turquoise breakers of the eastern Mediterranean meet the coast at the city of Tripoli, after which the land rises through foothills to brooding mountain peaks wrapped in a heavy coat of snow. The scene has some of the familiarity of Southern Europe: creamy stone houses, orange roof tiles, woodlands of windswept green poplars and Grecian trees with branches like smoke tendrils. Yet all the road signs are in Arabic and the unmistakable dust of the Middle

East hangs in the air.

Lebanon is a balance between two worlds, which accounts for both its compelling history and cultural richness — and its turbulence. The first time I went to Lebanon, I was supposed to stay for a week, but ended up staying for a month.

I was researching whether — and how — to launch a guided tour in the country. At the time, only a handful of British companies were offering itineraries in Lebanon, but its revised and improved safety credentials in the eyes of the British government’s Foreign & Commonwealth Office meant there would soon be more of an appetite. So, I took a tiny apartment in Beirut on the top floor of a five-storey block with an open terrace, views of the sea and a malicious landlady, and began my research. My time in Lebanon was intoxicating. In November 2019, I’d be back again, leading YellowWood Adventures’ first group of clients around the country.

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The grand Roman ruins in Baalbek were astonishing, and I went snowshoeing among the cedar forests at the head of the Qadisha Valley. And in Byblos, one of the oldest continuously inhabited towns on Earth, I snacked on olives at atmospheric port cafes.

I found Beirut to be glamorous. In the centre, a mosque encircled by four minarets stands beside a church with a single tower supporting a crucifix constructed from bright, square lights. Some of the bulbs have blown and the effect always reminded me of the romantic aesthetic of Baz Luhrmann’s 1996 film Romeo + Juliet. At nightfall, the lights from the city give a shimmering haze to the air, like a finely woven fabric.

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