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Getting from Beirut’s Cola bus station to Baalbeck involved the same hair raising drive through the mountains that we took on our way from the Syrian border to Beirut the previous morning. This was made more bearable by listening to Jeff Wayne’s War of the Worlds as we drove over the mountain pass at speeds which were quickly becoming ridiculous. The journey only cost 3000 Lebanese Lira (about $2) and took about two hours. We made the decision to stay the night in Baalbeck, one we would soon regret taking, and checked into a hotel room which cost $10 each. The hotel was like something out of a horror film, think in the vein of Hostel. We were welcomed by a very old man who without saying even a word took us up to the empty, smelly, dirty, and extremely run down hotel which he owned. The room we were given contained two uncomfortable beds, four pairs of well used slippers and an open bottle of water which seemed to have been in the room for a considerable amount of time. In spite of all these problems finding A room for $10 a night in Lebanon is something which cannot really be turned down. There are also plenty of other options on the main road of the sleepy town of Baalbeck for people who are travelling on a larger budget than we were.

The Roman ruins in Baalbeck are worth any travel and accommodation inconveniences, although the impact they had on me has been slightly dampened due to having just recently visited Petra in Jordan at the time of writing this article. We were lucky enough to arrive at the ruins before the main tourist coaches had dropped people off. This meant that we were free to roam the ruins and take photos without hordes of tourists filling the site. Set to the backdrop of the mountains surrounding the Bekka Valley the beautiful architecture of the site is made even more spectacular. The fresh air and quiet in the mountainous region was very welcome after spending almost five weeks constantly amongst the pollution and noise of Damascus. As is common with tourist sites all over the world there were groups of Americans wearing very little clothing, in this case made even more shocking by the fact that we were in a conservative Shia area. To see everything at the main site we needed little more than two hours. After stopping to buy a token ḥizbullāh t-shirt from one of the many vendors outside the ruins we took a short amount of time to explore the ‘new town’ of Baalbeck. Although there is hardly anything noteworthy to see we did make it up to the park just outside the town which was crammed full of locals having picnics. Whilst we were enjoying a narguila (shisha) on the grass we could hear sporadic gunfire in the distance, the locals did not seem bothered at all so we guessed that this was a normal occurrence in the area.

We returned to the hotel room to recharge phones and take what was meant to be a short nap and ended up sleeping for five hours. With Baalbeck having been transformed into a bustling and lively town due to the start of the international festival which the town was hosting, we headed in a taxi to the nearby town of Zahlé. The Lonely Planet says that this journey takes less than 45 minutes; we soon discovered that this was one of the many outrageous claims that are made in the Syria and Lebanon guide. The journey took about 1 hour and 15 minutes, and this is still a conservative estimate. The taxis from Baalbeck drop people on the main road just at the bottom of the hill that Zahlé is built on. For 4000 Lebanese Lira ($2.50) we saved ourselves the hassle of walking uphill for 30 minutes to the centre of Zahlé and hopped in one of the many waiting taxis on the main road. Zahlé is a predominately Greek Catholic area and a popular destination for holidaying Lebanese people. There is a huge amount of choice of restaurants in the town; we decided on a busy one which sat on the river which runs through the town. Although expensive the food was fantastic. We enjoyed probably the best muttabal since we had arrived in Syria five weeks ago, and Olivia and I had become somewhat connoisseurs as we had eaten it everyday after university for four weeks. The dinner was extremely relaxed, and we paid little attention to the time and made little consideration as to how we would get back from Zahlé to our hotel room in Baalbeck.

Walking down the mountain at 11:15pm to see if there were still service taxis running was a big mistake. After waiting on the main road we had arrived on for about 45 minutes it was clear that we had missed the last one. This was an annoying situation to have put ourselves in as we had just been told by a shopkeeper that a private taxi from Zahlé to Baalbeck would set us back about $100. We decided that we were not going to pay this much and walked back up the mountain to a petrol station to see if we could negotiate a better price with a driver. The driver of the first car to pull into the garage said that he would drive us back to our hotel and we managed to negotiate a price of $50. I was very concerned about getting a lift with a completely random person, but Olivia was not fazed
in the slightest. To avoid any uncomfortable questions as to why we were travelling together we decided to pretend that we were married. This proved to be a smart move as our driver Ronald was on the look for a Western wife, although he assured us that this was just for the paper work and he would never even try to touch her.

Ronald first drove us to his village on the outskirts of Zahlé where he picked up a friend, and after doing so told us that the roads between Zahlé and Baalbeck were dangerous at night so he did not think that we should be travelling alone. After a quick stop at his parents’ house to drop off some medicine we drove up the main highway to Baalbeck whilst listening to the Titanic soundtrack at an unbearable volume. Following more questions about whether we knew any women that were looking for a Lebanese husband we told Ronald that every girl we knew was married, after which he gave up his search. Ronald told us that he was a proud Christian and this was evident due to the crucifixes he had hanging in his car, and the tattoo he showed us of the crucifixion scene, this led me to wonder whether his fears about driving down these roads at night were a surviving memory of the Lebanese civil war.

Once we arrived in Baalbeck we swapped details and promised to meet up in Damascus next weekend, where I would help Ronald find a foreign wife in one of the bars in Bab Touma. Although we promptly fell asleep upon getting to bed we were woken in the early hours of the morning by gunfire that seemed to be getting progressively closer. The next morning we were planning to visit the Chouf Cedar reserve but after having paid so much for travel around the Bekka Valley we decided to head to another tourist site closer to the Syrian border. After a short service taxi drive we arrived in the small village of Anjar which is home to a ruined city which is over 2000 years old. The age of the site showed because there was hardly anything standing and all that was on offer were some badly damaged segments of walls. It is probably better to visit this site before Baalbeck as it really does not compare.

A visit to the Bekka Valley would be made much easier with a rental car as the tourist facilities such as service taxis and buses have not really been developed in the region. We were even told by some waiters in Baalbeck that there was no tourism in some of the towns we were thinking of visiting.

Lebanon – Baalbeck, Zahlé, Anjar

In order to leave Syria we were forced to spend 550 Syrian Lira on tax; it later transpired that the tax was actually 500 Syrian Lira and the extra 50 seems to have been an involuntary donation to the guard manning the first of the border checkpoints. At the next border checkpoint we had our passports and visas checked. For the majority of the group I was travelling with this was rather painless, albeit a slow and drawn-out affair. For one of the people this border checkpoint proved to be the end of his trip to Lebanon. With his visa having expired 3 days previously, he was denied exit from the country and forced to travel back to Damascus. Although in some countries it may have been possible to just buy a new visa at the border without too much hassle, with this particular border it was not the case, and this highlighted the importance of having all of our documents in order when we were planning to travel out of Syria. Soon after this setback our driver confessed that he did not have the correct documents that allowed him to drive people over the border, as a result we were forced to cross on foot. The driver then followed us and the six of us quickly got in on the other side of the Syrian border.

A short drive later and we arrived at the Lebanese border. We were greeted by a group of men clutching bundles of Lebanese money, and we were given the opportunity to change some of our Syrian Lira at what can only be described as a questionable exchange rate. The majority of people crossing the Lebanese border are forced to use this service as a Lebanese visa can only be purchased using the local currency. A 15 day Lebanese tourist visa cost us the equivalent of $18. Although there are some countries that qualify for free tourist visas, the people I was travelling with, Slovakian, Swiss, Austrian and British, did not qualify. Negotiating the Lebanese border was relatively quick, and shortly we were on our way driving at break neck speeds over the mountain pass between the border crossing and Beirut.

The drive from the border to Beirut took us less than an hour. We were dropped at the bus station in Gemmayzeh and walked the short distance to what must be one of the remaining affordable hotel options in Beirut at only $10 a night. On arrival at Hotel Talal we discovered that there was only a room for four people available, but with some persuasion the hotel manager agreed to let the six of us take the room for one night. The Austrian man we were travelling was getting restless, with what he must have thought was endless waiting around, and proceeded to pester us until we gave in and went straight to the beach.

Cheap beach options are scarce in Beirut; prices can range from $5 entrance fee to the simple American University of Beirut beach, and upwards of $20 entrance fee to the more exclusive beach clubs that litter the Beirut seafront. As we were on a budget we caught a taxi to the famous Pigeon Rocks, which happen to be the location of a free beach that the local Lebanese people use. This location is not a beach in the strictest of terms, and involved precariously leaping from a rock shelf into a pool of deep water. Exiting the water involved waiting for a considerable sized wave then dragging ourselves back up onto the rock shelf. Due to the depth of the water and the strength of the current this is only really an option for people who are relatively strong swimmers. Also this would not be an option for people who are squeamish about the cleanliness of the water they are swimming in; there were certainly some pretty vocal protests from some of the people I was travelling with.

After a short swim and a pause to take in the sunset in the background of the Pigeon Rocks, we headed back to Gemmayzeh to eat in a restaurant popular with both the Lebanese and travellers called Le Chef. The restaurant serves simple food of a Lebanese/ French persuasion. As an added bonus none of the main meals cost more than a couple of dollars, something which is becoming increasing difficult to find in Beirut. Again complaints were heard from the Austrian I was travelling with as he had spotted a modern upmarket restaurant across the road, which was in a stark contrast to the smoky basic surroundings found in Le Chef.

Following a nap and a quick shower at the hotel we headed out for what I had hoped would be an enjoyable night out amongst the famous nightlife of Beirut. Sticking to the Gemmayzeh district we headed to the main road which is littered with dozens of almost identical bars and clubs crammed with Lebanon’s most beautiful and successful. Upon selecting a bar completely at random we were welcomed by drinks prices which brought my night out, and that of a couple of others I was with, to a very swift end. Although I went through almost all the drinks prices with a surprisingly patient barman there was absolutely nothing that was even close to being in my price range. Not wanting to go home without having at least one drink after having travelled all the way to Beirut I settled for a 20,000 Lebanese Lira whisky and coke, which is approximately the equivalent of $15. In another attempt to salvage my night I enquired with a police officer as to where to cheapest clubs were in the area. He told me that for the ’small’ price of $25 I would be able to get into what he assured me was a popular haunt in Gemmayzeh. With this I gave in a headed back to the hotel with two other people, leaving the rest of the group to continue with their night.

What we should have realised is that sharing a room designed for four between six, when three of that group intend to go out clubbing and the remaining three are looking for an early night, has no chance of working smoothly. At around 4am we were awoken by a drunk British girl and a drunk Swiss girl, helping an extremely drunk Austrian man into the room, who saw fit to keep us awake for a couple of hours before passing out, leaving us completely unprepared for our planned 7am wake up call to head to the Bekaa Valley and the ḥizbullāh stronghold of Baalbek.

As is the case with visiting any similar sites in Syria, going to see Quinetra is not a particularly easy task. In order to gain access to the heavily guarded site it is necessary to gain permission from the Ministry of the Interior. On our first visit to the ministry we were greeted by a young man wearing a scruffy t-shirt and tracksuit trousers holding a rifle. Quickly we were turned away, as is often the case in Syria when attempting to negotiate the bureaucratic hurdles, due to the permission slips only being issued on the day of a planned visit to Quinetra.

Back to the ministry two days later at our allotted time of 8:45 am, after a relatively short wait by Syrian standards of 20 minutes, we handed over our passports and were presented with a slip of paper with only very few questions asked.

The town is easily accessed by a service taxi from the centre of Damascus, although we were originally quoted the price of 500 Syrian Lira for a single journey, we eventually found a service taxi taking locals to the area which reduced the price of our journey to 35 Syrian Lira. The journey in the service taxi is an uncomfortable and unbearably hot hour. On arrival to a small town on the outskirts of Quinetra it is necessary to negotiate with a taxi driver to drive you the last couple of miles to the town and drive you around the town itself. This may seem unnecessary for a visit to such a small town, but there were plenty of rumours from other travellers in Damascus that the military ‘guides’ assigned are unwilling on the most part to walk you around the town which they have to guide people round several times a day. It is also important to note that the guides assigned speak very little English so it is important to have an understanding of Arabic, or an English speaking driver to make the trip more enjoyable. A guide is assigned to tourists so that it can be ensured that no photographs are taken of sensitive military installations and importantly ensure that nobody strays off into one of the many unmarked minefields which were left behind by the Israelis.

As we entered Quinetra with our military guide we passed a United Nations checkpoint where surprisingly the guard barely looked up from the newspaper in which he was so engrossed. Firstly we were taken to the Golan Hospital which bears a sign that reads “Destructed by Zionists and changed it to firing target”, the guide allowed us to enter the hospital which was riddled with bullet holes and shell craters, two young Syrian soldiers were the only remaining occupants of the building. Upon entering the building the guide pointed out the places we were allowed to take photographs and the places which were off limits to tourists. From the roof of the building it is possible to make out Israeli military installations atop the hills which are now part of Israeli occupied territory.

We were taken to various buildings such as a Greek Orthodox church, which although stands almost complete has been gutted in its entirety. Many parts of the town which tourists are allowed to visit are not particularly awe inspiring. Perhaps the highlight of the visit was the ‘Big Mosque’, although not as complete as the Greek Orthodox church, the minaret is still preserved. Our guide allowed us to take the precarious climb to the top of the minaret and from the top we were greeted with views of the whole town. From this vantage point a visitor to Quinetra can fully take in the extent of the damage caused to the once prosperous town. This was only ruined by the strict rules on photographs which were fanatically enforced by our guide. The only possible way to take an unrestricted photograph of the whole town is to allow your guide to descend the steps of the mosques minaret before you then quickly ascend again before he catches you taking one, and the resulting photograph is well worth this small annoyance.

After a short stop whilst our guide took several photographs of a Syrian flag he assured me was fifteen meters across we left Quinetra. Although the tour of the town was short, and there was a lot which was off limits to tourists, we gained an interesting (although ultimately one sided) perspective on the suffering caused by the conflict over Golan Heights. This was hammered home by the small glimpses of families still living amongst the rubble of their former town, scraping together a living by providing services to the United Nations soldiers overseeing the area, and the few tourists which visit Quinetra.

Golan Heights