Nine days in Lebanon

A great adventure is actually a series of small adventures. From the outside the big adventure of a trip to Lebanon that started with a late airport pickup; when we finally left the terminal we took the scenic route to the hostel in Beirut. Stopping outside a Palestinian refugee camp to buy Lebanese bananas, I was left with very little desire to venture inside one of these cities within a city.
After a few days in the city the best way I can describe Beirut is that of an old soul whose edges are frayed and nerves are raw. Touch it wrong and it is a vengeful and hard city, but engage its core, the people who live and breathe the city, and it is a rich, energetic, hospitable place.
All of Lebanon was an experience, from the first: “sorry we overbooked, but we have a mattress for you on the roof and if it rains you get first option of sleeping in the hallway”, to the last: 5th generation soap maker in Tripoli who was very proud of his craft and his family. He and his olive soap are infamous in the region.
During the nine days, I visited the two thousand year old Temple of Jupiter in the Beqaa Valley, largest in the Roman empire and likely the least destroyed or vandalized, an Armenian Orthodox church in the centre of Beirut which is only used once every 4 years when everyone comes home to vote, and a 300 year old hammam with access hidden behind a local shopkeeper's store front in one of the Tripoli souks, accessible only by local knowledge. I experienced the nature of Mount Lebanon and 1000 year old cedar trees, Qadisha Valley where Christians built their lives into the sides of the gorge to protect against the invasions of occupying empires since the 13th century, the wine country, and the gateway to drug trafficking.
Transportation was basic including a minibus or van, service (pronounced serveees), a bus, taxis, and the kindness of strangers. It is during local travel that a few small adventures took place. One afternoon, on route to a vineyard, we were nearly run off the road by an elderly nun, in a little red hatchback and a much bigger hurry than us.
A second small adventure occurred at night, arriving back in Beirut at the Dora (Dawra) bus station when we jumped into a service. This driver felt it was reasonable to discuss in Arabic/ French what our ransom price might be with a local passenger. Joking or not, when I can only catch snippets of the conversation and the term Hezzbollah, I started watching for landmarks in the dark just in case we had to make alternate arrangements. Turns out the driver was persuaded that abductions work better when you don't target travellers who use the local minibuses. But he was still very pleased with himself for upping the adrenaline to what is an erratic trip on a good day.