Team America

The map on BBC’s Web site showed Lebanon smack in the middle of the “optimum viewing” section for the lunar eclipse. The blurb promised color changes. This I had to see. Jules and I talked about getting out of the city. (There was already a loose plan in the works for renting a car with Dan just to leave Beirut for a day.)
Saturday afternoon seven of us piled into a GMC Envoy to spend the day in the mountains. The eclipse would begin around 20 minutes to 1 Sunday morning. Our first stop, about six blocks from Dan’s, was lunch at KFC. (A wealth of US fast food joints dot the city – Hardees, Dunkin Donuts, Burger King, Pizza Hut, Domino’s, McDonalds, KFC.)
We headed south, past the mountains of rubble from the summer’s war collected along the coast just outside the city that painted the water a brown-tinted yellow. Soon we were climbing narrow, twisting roads headed up into the Chouf area of the Mount Lebanon range. People still drove at breakneck speed, passing and double passing around corners (even at night).
Our tour guide at the former presidential summer palace ushered us along at a clip. The next thing to show us was always better. By the time we reached the second room (of three), he decided to selectively allow photography – two pictures in this room.
But hurry, next is the best room. Indeed it was. All three of the rooms we saw were basically the same – large rooms with a U-shaped couch used for entertaining guests taking up 75% of the space. In the best room, however, the couches only ran along two walls. The base of the “U” replaced with a balcony enclosed in colored glass. From inside, one could see almost all of the stone palace’s grounds. Outsiders could not see in.
Heads of state met with Lebanon’s president in this room. Now, normally visitors aren’t allowed up the step to the area with the couches and balcony. We, somehow, were special. Taylor, who knew the most about Lebanese history, asking our guide very informed questions, even got to sit on a couch for a picture.
A quick jaunt through the Turkish baths, and that ends our tour. After touring the “gardens” (perhaps because it’s winter, there were no flowers) and a collection of elaborate and amazing mosaics, we piled back into our SUV.
Next a small mountain town seated atop a spring. Locals came to fill bottles and plastic gas cans at fountains along the main road. I wandered up seemingly never-ending stairs and ended up in someone’s backyard. Not much to see. Back to our beast.
We headed up. The cedar is Lebanon’s national tree. However, most of them are gone. There are a few reserves, and one is at the top of a mountain near the village we were leaving. On to the cedars, stopped briefly by a herd of goats crossing the road.
The reserve’s entrance gate was down. We parked and walked. The sun was about an hour and a half from slinking below the peaked horizon. Clouds hung in the distance. Standing on the empty road in complete silence, I felt out of place.
“Dan, go honk the horn.” (If there’s a bad, obvious joke to be made.)
We split up a bit. The road wound, presumably, to the top of the mountain. I raced up the loose gravel of the mountainside to the trees. For once they weren’t a symbol in the middle of the flag but an actual thing. I descended and found Dan on the side of the road throwing stones at a discarded scrap of wavy metal (the kind used to roof a shack).
I joined the game but was no MVP – throwing’s not really one of my talents. We walked a bit. To our left, the terrain solidified – a limestone rock face around 15 feet high. Dan started to climb, commenting on the good grips. I followed, still having a childish love for climbing things.
Near the top, that old familiar feeling. Right arm stretched just a little too far, I could feel it thinking of a prison break. I drew it closer as I imagined myself falling backwards onto the road. I hadn’t seen a hospital (or a sign pointing to one) since Beirut. Crisis averted. Time for a beer.
We walked right until reaching the gravel again before heading back to the road. Dan went forward to find Jules, I went back to find the rest of the team. We’d bought a six-pack in the town. It was locked in the car, and Dan handed me the keys.
The clouds rolled in around the time Dan and I stated climbing. As I walked back to the car, dark, smoky wisps crossed the road in front of me. Visibility was nil. The team was waiting – thirsty.
We piled in, turned on some music and had a drink. I don’t think anyone finished before we started driving.
Beirut is covered in flags and banners. Everywhere.
“The Druze aren’t really into flags,” a teammate, Miguel, commented. “It just looks like a place.” (The Chouf is a primarily Druze and Christian area. The Druze are an Islam off chute. They believe in all of the prophets of the Jewish/Christian/Muslim tradition and reincarnation. They do not have houses of worship. They do, however, have funny pants – like MC Hammer pants but only in the crotch. The leg part fits like normal, if a bit baggy, pants.)
For dinner, we drove back through Beirut to the northern town of Jbail (Byblos), home to a Phoenician harbor and ancient ruins closed for the night. (In Beirut, the ruins aren’t even sectioned off.) We opted for Mexican food.
“Do you have a reservation?” the host asked the 7 of us.
“No, no reservation,” Miguel said.
“But we have a Mexican,” someone in the back tried.
“Yeah, I’m a Mexican.”
Success.
The food was good, and the burrito was long enough but skinny as a Somali refugee. They brought us extra hot salsa that was actually spicy. (I was a little disappointed to be eating at a Mexican restaurant but they’ve all been here for 2 or more years at school and weren’t in the mood for Lebanese food.)
On to the hookah – called nargeelay here in Lebanon. (The “n” is either pronounced or not; it seems to be a choice you have.) The eclipse started as we sat outside puffing away, a tiny sliver still illuminated by the time we finished.
The dimmed moon looked smaller as the earth’s shadow moved across its surface (and I waved my hand in the air, pointed up and said, “Hey, look. I can see me”). With the sun’s light gone, a dim red began to spread. That was the only color, and it wasn’t that spectacular. Cool for sure but a little disappointing.
I was laying on a small wall beside the sea, barely hearing the waves over traffic and horns. One car kept driving back and forth, engine revving and tires squealing like it had something to prove.
Back to Beirut.