Loading ...A Journey to Sir - Lebanon's Best Hidden Resort
By: Habeeb Salloum/Arab America Contributor
“Would you like to drive me to Sir (pronounced seer)?” I asked a friend who I had once known in Canada, but now made his living as a taxi driver in the village of Bchamoun, overlooking Beirut – Lebanon’s war- shattered capital. “Sir! You mean Syria?” My friend, Shareef, a diehard Lebanese, who had returned to live in his homeland at the end of that country’s civil war, seemed puzzled. “No! The town of Sir! It’s east of Tripoli. And you told me that you knew every tourist spot in Lebanon!” I could not believe that he had not heard of that attractive mountain resort.
Yet, I was later to find out that he is not unique among the Lebanese living in Beirut and the surrounding mountainous countryside. Very few knew Sir existed. Perhaps, because liquour in that part of Lebanon is virtually prohibited, the arak (aniseed alcoholic drink) loving Lebanese shy away from that delightful part of their country.
“I can’t believe there is a part of Lebanon which I have never seen!”, Shareef remarked as our group of five left Bchamoun, driving northward in the early morning hours. Soon we were making our way through Beirut’s war-shattered streets with their bombed and bullet-riddled buildings. Garbage was everywhere, seemingly unescapable no matter where we turned. A leftover from the two decades of civil war, the litter-strewn avenues made uninviting the drive through what was once a relatively clean city.
Past Beirut, one could barely see a bare spot of land. It appeared that we were driving through one continuous city. A quarter century before, I had travelled along the same road through a serene countryside. Now it was stop and go through a mass of traffic edged by modern villas and apartments, stretching up the mountainside as far as the eye could see. I was thinking of the internecine warfare which had destroyed much of Beirut but built-up this part of the country when i felt a tap on my shoulder. “We’re in Jounieh! You see! No garbage here!” Shareef was beaming. “This is what Lebanon used to be like.”
A beautiful city of newly built mountainside apartments, hugging a charming Bay, Jounieh was the unofficial center of the Christian fiefdom during the years of war. Situated in the heartland of the Maronite part of Lebanon, it had been groomed by the Christian warlords as the future capital of an independent state. No effort had been spared to make it into a modern western city.
Northward, we passed Jbeil, historically known as Byblos from which we get the name Bible. Every few miles, there were checkpoints manned by Lebanese and Syrian soldiers. Shareef would curse under his breath when stopped by the Syrians, but when waved to the side by the Lebanese, he would smile. Annoying to most Lebanese like our friend Shareef, these checkpoints had brought peace and safety to a country once racked by kidnappings and car bombings. The uncontrolled young men, totting guns and working for various warlords, had been de-fanged, bringing normalcy to a land long torn by strife.
In less than half an hour, past Chekka, Lebanon’s cement producing center and where the ancient method of producing salt from the sea is still practiced, we entered Tripoli, the second largest city in Lebanon, 85 km (53 mi) north of Beirut. Driving around, we could hardly see traces of the civil war which, at times, had been fought savagely in its streets.
During our tour, we conversed a number of times with passersby. They were all pleasant and courteous. With smiles and warmth, they pointed out directions or answered our questions. “See! We Lebanese are at friendly people.” Shareef smiled as we drove out of the city, which we were told was readying itself for the expected rush of tourists after years of thundering guns and bombs.
A short distance north of Tripoli, we turned inland and began to climb upwards through an idyllic landscape. We had chosen to take a country road to Sir, then return by the main highway to the coast. Past neat clean villages, we made our way through a rustic countryside, picturesque with farmers tending their flocks or working in their well cultivated fields and orchards, climbing up the sides of the rolling Hills.
Turning a bend, we noticed peasants and passersby stopping to drink the cool bubbling waters of a mountain spring. “Is this the road to Sir?” I asked a farmer after I had drunk my fill of the sweet cold spring water. “Yes! Where are you from?” The young man, dressed in traditional Arab garb, smiled. “They are from Canada, but they are Arabs.” Shareef took over the conversation. “You know! They are showing me a part of our country which I did not even know existed.”
After introductions were made, our newly found friend, Muhammed, grinned. “Welcome! Welcome! Come and have a cup of coffee in my home. It’s only a minute’s walk away. Come!” He waved to the others of our group as he pulled me by the hand. Like all rural Arabs, Muhammed oozed with hospitality. Sadly, we had to refuse, time was pressing.
Upward we climbed on a narrow-paved road snaking past fertile green valleys and terraced Hills. It seemed the higher we climbed, the more alluring the rolling mountain landscape became. With the snow-capped mountains in the distance keeping us company, we drove through fast-expanding towns with their attractive villas and apartment buildings, many constructed from colourful stone. Further up, the villages and towns were one continuous line of buildings, appearing like one unbroken city. We did not know that we had arrived in Sir until we asked a passerby the name of the town in which we had stopped.
Sir, more commonly known as Sir El Danniyeh, is the capital of the area of Danniyeh which encompass is 36 mountain towns and villages. Located 900 m (2952 ft) above sea level, it is dominated by the high peaks of Jebel Akkar to the north and Qornet es Sauda to the south. Surrounded by a green landscape of waterfalls, terraced fields and fruit-laden orchards, the town has a picturesque setting.
It was early afternoon when we entered Mukhtar Restaurant, one of the top eating places in town with a splendid panoramic view of rich orchards and lush green terraced hills. The summer rush of vacationers had not yet begun, and we were the only customers.
“Bring us a bottle of arak!” – in Lebanon always served with from 10 to 100 tiny dishes of appetizers. Shareef, accustomed to the restaurants of Beirut and the surrounding countryside, did not know that this Muslim part of the country was dry. The waiter, seemingly embarrassed, informed us that liquor is not to be found in all of the El Danniyeh area restaurants.
Soon we were enjoying a gourmet Lebanese meal consisting of a dozen appetizers, salads, kebabs, kubba and barbecue chicken and lamb. Before the appetizers had been served, Shareef disappeared to return with an arak bottle, hidden in a plastic bag. Slyly, we enjoyed our illegal drink – a clear vodka – like potent liquor which, when mixed with water becomes creamy-white. We drank it straight – like crystal clear water.
Enjoying the main course, we were all smiles, thinking that we had outwitted the puritan code of El Danniyeh. Halfway through the meal, I asked the waiter to photograph us with my camera. Aiming the camera, he smiled, “You can put your arak bottle on the table for the photo. That is, if you like.”
Embarrassed at being caught smuggling the arak bottle into the restaurant, we paid our bill – about $10 each for the huge meal – then left on a fine but winding highway for Tripoli – 25 km (15.5 mi) away.
The road traversed a rich looking mountainous landscape dotted with stately villas, endless fruit trees and well cultivated cereal and vegetable fields, ending only when we were back on the main highway to Beirut. In about 2 hours we had passed through that war-ravaged city with its war scars being slowly healed.
As we climbed the road to Bchamoun, reminiscing about our arak escapade, I turned to Shareef. “It would have been a fantastic day, if only you had not smuggled that bottle of arak!” He grinned, “Don’t worry! We Lebanese always try to evade rules and laws. It’s our way of life! Why do you think we had a civil war?”
