A Walk to the God

First and foremost, I didn’t want to stay in a dormitory with hot shower, thick blanket and comfortable bed. I not travel for a sleep in a hotel. I learned that it’s possible to stay in one of the monasteries dotted all around the valley. So I picked the biggest one – Mar Antonios Qozhaya.

We started late. We embarked from the town of Bcharré around 10am, walking along the tarmac road surfaced along the rim of the cliff before going downhill along a winding road to the valley floor. We visited Deir Mar Elisha en route which was half built into the rocks, taking The Cross Path where a series of Biblical events on Jesus were well-sculpted and hung on the rock face, vividly.

Yes, it seemed possible to stay in Deir Mar Elisha as there are rooms on the second floor. We continued walking along the muddy valley floor for 2 hours until we met a group of tourists. Apparently one of them is a middle-aged Asian. He spoke Hokkian to me and told me he is from Burma. Though both of us were surprised with each other, we can hardly talk much as he was following in a group. In fact, I never meet any people from that country except some expatriate workers in KLCC and Bahrain. By continuing on the valley bottom, we eventually came to a signpost for Deir Qannoubin, pointing to the right. We took a rest and had our lunch under a signboard writing ‘No picnic in the monastery’. I know this will be the last lunch(not supper) I had with Dada and Mari and I know this was going to be the place witnessing our separation.    

Then I was kind of getting lost while walking alone along the so-called mountain trails in an attempt to locate the way to Deir Mar Antonios Qozhaya, as soon as I said goodbye to Dada and Mari. The concrete walkway finally gave way to not well-kept muddy trail before abruptly disappearing to the wilderness. The only thing I have at that critical juncture was a piece of hand-drawn map without any significant details other than lines and names. (It wasn’t until I finally found my way out of the forest that I realized the hand-drawn map given by the hotel I stayed is the best ever!) Then I found myself crouching and scrambling among rocky terrace farms and scrubby bushes until I saw a Muslim couple walking under me. I wondered how they get there as the lady still carried an infant with her!

When I finally reached them, I asked them where they were heading to as it was really strange to have seen a well-dressed husband and a well-made-up wife with her infant on her arm ‘taking a stroll’ in the middle of Cedar forest. The husband told me they were heading to Beirut. Damn it. How could you say that in the middle of forest? I hate it. I overtook them and sped up my pace as if I was ignoring them. After nearly 1-hour of scrambling up and down, a village appeared. In fact, it was the dung smell of the livestock that finally get me out of the wilderness. Haha, what a smell.

I asked the local the direction of Mar Antonios Qozhaya and he pointed his finger to the mountain top about 1km away. Har! I thought I get near to it and my effort finally paid off. It wasn’t until I get lost again and found myself made a loop back to the village that I realized Mar Antonios Qozhaya was still playing hide and seek with me. I asked another local and since I can’t speak Arabic and neither do I speak French, he pointed to the same mountain and asked me to follow the cable pole. I saw him climbing up his roof terrace to make sure that I was taking the correct path. I suddenly felt warm about having someone’s care. But it didn’t last long as I started wondering why nobody ever told me it took almost 2 hours to get to the monastery following an almost abandoned trail! Damn it.

It wasn’t until I knocked the door of the monastery that I finally realized how naive I was. $40? Oh! It’s $40! Hmm…it’s $40. After I said no, the guy quickly reduced to LL 14,000. Damn it. What the hell was that? Doing Jesus Christ’s business? Does God aware of this? I walked away without visiting the monastery despite the fact that it’s the largest, grandest and the most well-renovated monastery in Qadisha Valley. The lady in the cafeteria told me I need 3 hours to return to Bcharré on foot. (I never got a chance to tell him I took 2 hours to get myself seated on a plastic chair in my hotel). I whispered to myself nothing is free. You are in Lebanon, not Syria! Damn it to have made me hiked in such a painstaking way just to find out that I need to pay for a stay.

I believe nobody is silly enough to have planned to get to the monastery in this way. Neither does getting back to the town of Bcharré along the rim of the cliff, on foot. Yes, it’s me and yes, I did. Get invited by a young and friendly guy with his pretty sister and his always-smiling mother after walking about 45 minutes in the echoing of dogs’ barking. It was already 6pm. He offered me water and I can’t stop drinking likewise I can’t stop staring at his sister as I was too thirsty at that time and my water has been finished until the last drop. He even offered me a sandwich when I waved goodbye to him. Shit! I should have more ‘thick skin’ to ask for an overnight stay. Damn it, missed out a good opportunity. I hate myself, as much as I hate Mar Antonios Qozhaya.

I kept walking and walking and the sky kept darkening and darkening. The dairy cattle raised their heads and laughed on my pity when I passed by them. Followed a steep road uphill(I hate uphill!!!) towards a sleepy town blessed by numerous roadside shrines, I found myself reaching the ‘rim road’. 1-hour uphill walk, Phew~~.  There was a signpost ahead. I approached and the town of Hawka was lying ahead.  So, what’s next? Of course was kept walking! Hawka-Blawza-Hadchit-Saydet ed-Darr and finally the familiar town of Bcharré. It was a damn boring walk where the only thing I dealt with was the mountain and quietness and yes, to stay alert and away from barking dogs. Well, there was never short of houses, restaurants, shops, etc but all remained shut. I wondered if I was in a God town or a ghost town. It was 8.15pm when I lit a cigarette and put to my mouth. Exhausted. I saluted to myself. The lady working in the hotel opens her mouth wide out in disbelief after I told her about my walk.

I called that ‘A Walk to the God’.

Note: Quadi Qadisha (the Holy Valley) and the Forest of the Cedars of God (Horsh Arz el-Rab) is one of the UNESCO World Heritage Site (Cultural Site) inscribed in 1998.