Hike and another Ramadan note

Hiked today at Baskinta, right in the middle of the country, about an hour's drive from Beirut, on the "Literary Trail," which honors several famous Lebanese writers who are from the area. (Note: the Lebanese writer most famous in the West is probably Khalil Gibran, who has his own museum further north). It was an 11 km hike (6.8 miles).









Baskinta is a beautiful, sheltered valley, below Sannine mountain--we could clearly see where we had gone snow-shoeing last winter, above the tree line. The guide told us that Sannine mountain was 2600 meters (8500 feet).



We got very near to one of the Roman-carved stones from Emporer Hadrian's day, telling people which trees not to cut. The first recorded ecology laws! But we couldn't get close enough to see it or take a decent photo because of all the bee hives right in front. It is Fall and honey harvest time, and the bees are very active. Here is a new sign about it anyway, one of a number along the 440 kilometer Lebanon Mountain Trail that runs most of the length of the country, and financed in large part by USAID (yay--your tax dollars going for something constructive!)



We passed many fruit trees, apple, apricot, pear, and figs. Heavy bunches of grapes. I had a magical experience in the fig department. The group had come across two wild fig trees, with smallish purple figs. I had two or three, careful to pick out ones that were not on their way to being dried or had broken skin indicating insect activity. They were very nice. BUT a few steps further down the path, as I waited for a lady in front of me to negotiate a steep bit of trail, I noticed just to my left another fig bush. It bore much larger, green figs. Just at my eye level was the fattest, juiciest, fresh fig I have ever seen. A tiny bit of foam was coming out of the bottom, so juicy in the sun. Another hour later perhaps it would have been spoiled, but at this moment it was perfect, at the pinnacle of ripeness. Orbits have their apogee, Bhuddists have Zen, and there was This Fig. It was so calling to me. I plucked it, and the violins began to play. A harp chimed in. A cool breeze gently filled the valley. The sun's rays sparkled. Yes, dear reader, it was very, very good.


Down the steep valley walls into the valley floor we trekked. Here is our guide Georges, sitting on what long ago (several hundred years?) a section of a carved stone pipe line carrying water from the mountain top to the valley, to turn massive flat grinding stones that ground grain into flour.


LATER...

Apres hiking, and back in Beirut, we went out to dinner at a chain restaurant called Kababji , this one about 8 blocks from our apartment. When we walked in at around 6:15 p.m. the place was empty but all the tables were set with not only plates and silverware, but condiment trays (olives, radishes, dill pickles, hot peppers, fresh mint sprigs), a basket of bread, and a small plate of dates--the traditional fast-breaking food, ready for the customers that would arrive to eat their first meal since sunrise this Ramadan day. They made up a table for us, the lone customers, complete with the dates. A few minutes later another (Christian) couple arrived and were similarly taken care of. By the end of our meal, other people were starting to come in. Within 10 minutes the place had filled. The call to prayer came over the PA at the time of sunset, 6:36 pm. Waiters poured water for everyone. Still no one drank or ate. Restaurant staff were taking orders like mad and seemed well prepared for this, an iftar about two weeks in to the month of Ramadan. Finally, as we left, people were eating and drinking--the call to prayer at an end.

As we walked home, we heard the call to prayer from another mosque. The people hearing that one had had to fast a little longer...