灵魂归宿的神圣之谷 – 卡迪沙峡谷

我来到卡迪沙峡谷时正好是初春，但天气还是很阴湿，步入旅舍没多久卡迪沙峡谷就迎来了一场大雪，距离海拔1500米左右坐落在半山的卜舍里(Bcharré)小镇很难让人联想到下雪的情景。我巴不得跑到镇上的广场中心(Place Mar Sera)，然后在绝壁的围栏前停驻，一片雪花飘飞的迷蒙雾气正从容不迫地揭开盘踞在悬崖峭壁上的红瓦白墙及笔直的橘色穹顶，那是卡迪沙峡谷的明信片上不曾缺席的民居与教堂。我从即将睡在我上铺的英国人那里得知，遍布在峡谷四周大大小小的修道院大多有提供访客露宿的宿舍，所以我选了一所不但深在谷底，而且在地图上看来还是最偏远的Mar Antonios Qozhaya修道院，决定明天一早下山叩门借宿。

呈橘色的圣萨巴教堂(St.Saba Church)是卡迪沙峡谷的坐标

卡迪沙(Qadisha)在亚拉姆语(Aramaic)里代表神圣的意思，是中东基督教早期最重要的聚居地之一，  自公元前三世纪就有人居住，居民的祖先据说可以追溯到基督教史上的第一批修道士。自宗教诞生以来，一些少数群体为了躲避宗教迫害而来到了传说中神圣的黎巴嫩山脉，卡迪沙幽深的峡谷地形及陡峭的悬崖峭壁随即成为了那些逃难却依然虔诚的隐居士、修道士及苦行僧的天然避难堡垒。公元5世纪，黎巴嫩天主教马龙派(Maronite)也因为躲避战乱而开始在卡迪沙峡谷建造属于自己的家园，他们穴居在悬崖峭壁间，从山洞岩壁间开凿出一间又一间的隐居洞窟，以石头砌建一间又一间以山洞的形状为蓝本的教堂、寺院与修道院，最后在回归大自然前葬在天然的山洞或从山洞开凿出来的墓穴里，到了公元8至9世纪，伊斯兰教席卷整个中东地区，险峻的卡迪沙峡谷再次成为了基督教徒的避风港。在我到来的今天，在陡峭山壁和茂密树林间，依稀沉睡着一座座宁静祥和的小村庄，整个峡谷依然散布着80余座以石头建成的教堂和修道院，峡谷的居民仍然以天主教马龙派的阿拉伯信徒为多数，据说已成为由他们组成的黎巴嫩右翼政党长枪党(Phalange)的传统堡垒。

白雪皑皑的圣松山，居高临下至高无上，却也是黎巴嫩著名的滑雪胜地

肩上的背包并没有因为我走在下坡路而变得轻盈，反而是遍布峡谷四周的自然风景让我暂时忘却了对重量的迷思。发源于圣松山脚的卡迪沙河(Qadisha River)在谷底蜿蜒流淌，古木参天的雪松(Cedar)林在微风的吹拂下散发着无比清新的自然香气，让人不自觉地沐浴在犹如精灵们从地中海捎来的一片雾霭中，窃窃私语的玄外之音不绝于耳。山林里的树木据说是黎巴嫩圣林的遗址，我从建立在岩壁洞穴内的14世纪Mar Elisha修道院里出来，取道一条相信是虔诚的信徒们打造出来的耶稣受难之路(The Cross Path)，然后漫步在上帝的雪松林里，耶稣受难的情景被雕刻在林里四周的岩壁上，圣经里所论述的场景和许多神迹，在这条十字架苦路上俯拾即是，栩栩如生的耶稣像仿佛分布在山林四周眼神所及之处，无所不在。雪松林匍匐于黎巴嫩山脉(Lebanon Range)，主要集中在卜舍里小镇之上，千年以来守护着离海拔3083米的黎巴嫩最高峰Qornet as-Sawda。挺拔屹立于山林中的雪松，树形遒劲枝叶密绿，据说具有防腐及防蛀的功能，所以早在远古时代，雪松就被认为是不可多得的建筑材料，圣经中曾多次提及黎巴嫩松树(香柏树)，古埃及法老之船、耶路撒冷的所罗门宫殿、古罗马皇帝的宝座等据说皆以黎巴嫩雪松制作。如今，雪松已贵为黎巴嫩的国树，自1918年起正式被引用在黎巴嫩国旗上，代表着神圣、永恒与和平之意，印证了雪松在黎巴嫩人心目中无可取代的尊贵地位。

揭开松树林的枝叶，就可轻易看见盘踞在岩壁洞穴内的修道院

遍布在峡谷四周的修道院大多有提供访客露宿的宿舍

以山洞的形状为蓝本的14世纪Mar Elisha修道院

Deir Qannoubin修道院一览

往此处走，就是进入神圣的耶稣受难之路

然而，峡谷里一切的良辰美景似乎没有随着我以最不危害自然生态的移动方式抵达谷底而继续展现。我一个人沿着卡迪沙河往西走，途中经过了大大小小全以石头修建的修道院，包括一些比较为人所知的Chapel of Mar Chmouni、Deir as-Salib、Deir Qannoubin、Chapel of Mar Marina和Deir Saydet Hawka，那些大概以圣人的名字命名的修道院，在我化身为苦行僧一步一脚印地完成径自设下的朝圣之行时并没有如期待中向我张开圣人的双手，我千辛万苦抵达卡迪沙峡谷最偏远规模最大的修道院 – Deir Mar Antonios Qozhaya时，太阳已化身为夕阳，负责接待访客的工作人员一副郁郁寡欢的样子，不但没有伸出耶稣当年因为打救世人而炯炯发光的双手，反而冷漠的以耶稣之名开口要价40美金的露宿费。我顿时意兴阑珊，大失所望，然后头也不回不做他想地往来时路奔。再神圣的神灵住所，一旦冠上世界文化遗产的光环，身价立即涨升百倍。落日渐渐西沉，把静谧的峡谷烧出了赤色的晚霞，无论疾步的脚步多么的快，迈开的步伐多么的阔，我还是赶不上夕阳西下的步伐，最终被迫在黑暗影子的笼罩下汲汲营营地赶路，犹如在黑暗中迷失的落魄灵魂。吃得苦中苦，方为人上人，自讨苦吃无形中已成为我在长途旅行中冲击信念的习惯，更何况来到这个苦行僧与隐居修士居住的神圣之谷，一场合乎天时地利人和的朝圣苦行看来合乎剧本的需要，这里偏僻寂静，人迹稀罕，几乎每一条街上的每一个转角处都可看到耶稣与圣母的肖像及神龛，但不知道为什么，我并没有在卡迪沙峡谷寻找神。

卡迪沙峡谷被虔诚的信徒刻划成一个与神灵共居的伊甸园

比比皆是的圣母肖像及神龛

隔天早上，我从旅舍自个儿徒步到山丘上的博物馆参观。除了开阔的峡谷、郁葱的雪松、幽深的山涧及如银丝般倾泻的瀑布，卡迪沙峡谷也为黎巴嫩生产了一个集诗人、画家、作家、艺术家于一身的大文豪 – 哈利勒•纪伯伦(Kahlil Gibran)。纪伯伦于1883年诞生在卜舍里小镇，在他这个美丽的故乡度过了为他启迪无数灵感的童年，12岁时随父母与兄弟姐妹移居美国波士顿，并在那里成为了东方世界与泰戈尔齐名的殿堂级人物。贵为黎巴嫩艺术文坛史上最具代表性人物的纪伯伦，在他《珍趣篇》的散文集里曾这么描述他的故乡:

“…你们有你们的黎巴嫩难题，我有我的黎巴嫩美景…你们的黎巴嫩是解不开的政治死结，我的黎巴嫩是巍峨高耸直插蓝天的山岳…你们的黎巴嫩是宗教首领和和军队司令的棋盘，我的黎巴嫩是我看厌这运转在轮子上的文明面孔…你们的黎巴嫩是形形色色的教派和政党，我的黎巴嫩是攀登岩石、追逐溪流、在广场游戏的少年…”

黎巴嫩大文豪哈利勒•纪伯伦(1883-1931)

山高路险风云难测的地方往往成为人们自我隔绝的归宿之地

从1975年开始的内战过渡到2005年的雪松革命，从2006年与以色列爆发的致命性冲突过渡到2012年的贝鲁特汽车炸弹袭击事件，黎巴嫩无时无刻无不处于战争的状态，诉诸暴力然后在战乱的边缘寻找心灵上的平衡已成为黎巴嫩人民自独立以来的日常生活写照，没有人知道国家会不会在明天卷入另一场战争，没有人知道明天会不会被迫逃离家园，或许国家与家园的定义已不复存在，活着似乎就在等着下一场战争的来临。纪伯伦似乎在这一切发生之前就开始厌倦被切割得支离破碎的故乡。我忽然明白山高路险风云难测的卡迪沙峡谷为何依然如此受落，它确实有存在的必要，它是上帝赐予黎巴嫩子民的“应许之地”，那是人们自我隔绝以治疗伤痛的避风港，那是在黑暗中迷失的灵魂得到救赎的人间天堂，岂止是40美金就可收买的归宿之地，世外桃源的说法太陈腔滥调了，活在当下才是生活的信仰。

(此文刊于星洲日报快乐星期天优游自在版2013年4月7号)

I Wish I’m a Girl

First of all, I wish I’m a girl.

People have been pointing their thumb up when a solo female traveler ‘venture’ into the Middle East region.

I afraid this is another misconception of those who never make at least a trip to the Middle East.

In fact, I’d like to talk about hitchhiking for girl. People have been saying that hitchhiking for girl seems to be more risky. Well, I doubt it. I believe guys simply share the same degree of risk as girls.  

Hitchhiking as a girl is always easier than a guy as girls are more likely to stop for other girls. Even families (or other usual-not-hitch-hiker-friendly car owners) stop to ‘save’ a girl from a situation in which they think she could be in ‘danger’. By nature, guys are always easy to feel sympathy to girls especially those who need help and it’s their obligation to take care of girls. This is especially undoubtedly true in the Middle East. After all, most people think that girls aren’t that threatening compared to guys.

I wish I’m a girl, not because to receive numerous but lavish compliments but to enjoy more advantages.

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.

Traveling Together

Today is a very sunny day, unlike yesterday where we were trapped in the hotel because of the hailstone and snow began since in the morning.

Finally say goodbye to Dada and Mari, in Qadisha Valley. I met Dada in Deir Mar Musa and was great to have her accompany. We hugged and kissed goodbye(Xiao! This is not our way lar!) before taking our path respectively. I always feel bad for not able to say goodbye in an appropriate way. They returned to hotel in Bcharré to catch a bus back to Beirut while I proceeded on my way to Deir Mar Antonios Qozhaya. Having traveled together with Dada for 3 weeks, it’s pretty sad to learn that we share little other than:  where is the cheap hostel, where to get the cheapest food, where is the supermarket, etc. By saying traveled together makes me frowned. Yes, we did travel together in the sense of traveling in the same bus, staying in the same cheap hostel, eating together, drinking together, but we never even visited a place together, let alone sharing some idea about traveling. I do understand that some travelers who appeared to be on the road are actually escaping from hustle and bustle of hectic working life and hence they prefer loneliness, freedom and privacy. I said I understand because I did act in this way before I finally enlightened.  I totally respect it and never see that as weird. We need no decent reason to be on the road.

Dada met Mari again when we arrived in Beirut. The latter was lying on the hotel’s bed, groaning excruciating on her last gasp, probably because of over-devoted to the bar-hopping last few nights. We brought her to the nearby St George’s Greek Hospital the following morning as she felt embarrassed to be transported on an ambulance, and it was raining and cold out there at that time. After several days of rest and recuperation, she told us she was going for nightclubbing again and yes, she really did, apparently the main reason she traveled to Beirut is for its glitziest and most glamorous nightlife. It’s also sad to know that some people prefer to hang out while meeting on the road but were reluctant to leave any trace of contact while departing. I wonder how easy people take friendship on the road.

Both Dada and Mari are from South Korea.

Skipped Baalbek

Decided to skip Baalbek. Not because of the kidnapping incident of 7 Estonian cyclists last month there.

My initial plan was to travel to Baalbek, stay there for one day before heading to Bcharré but since the spectacular mountain road between Baalbek and  Bcharré is still closed due to snow and ice, I don’t want to back track to Beirut to make my way to the north. Back tracking is unacceptable!

Minibus from Beirut to Baalbek costs LL 5,000, entrance to the site costs LL 12,000. So total cost is LL 22, 000 including return bus fare. Since I don’t want to get in the site and the bus fare is so expensive, I decided to skip Baalbek. I don’t want to pay money to see stones(sorry for fellow archaeologists) and I don’t want to pay money for the bus which will eventually bring me back to where I’m now.

Miki from Japan just came back from Baalbek today. I browsed through his camera and whispered to myself, ‘Ya, Baalbek is done!’ A French girl in the hotel asked me, ‘If you don’t want to see the site, then what are you doing in your traveling?’

’I’m currently learning for hitchhiking and CouchSurfing.’

Note: RM 1 ≈ LL 480

Get Your Hand Off Me!

Initially, I planned to go to Tyre(Sour) before visiting the port city of Sidon(Saida) but there wasn’t any direct bus to get me there.  Since I was dropped in Sidon and I wasn’t in a rush, I decided to have a walk in the old town. Sidon is famous in modern times as the birthplace of Lebanon’s former Prime Minister Rafiq Hariri who was assassinated in February 2005 in a massive car bombing near Beirut’s St. George Yacht Club, a 5-minute walk from the hotel I’m staying now.

Lebanon's Blue Mosque

Beirut's post-modern city

It was at that time when a guy on a veranda of an old office building waved and greeted me when I was wandering adjacent to the ruins Castle of St. Louis. I was then invited for a cup(actually was three) of Qahwa with his colleagues. Suited in his well-ironed shirt, he told me he is a photojournalist. He asked me if I was interested to join him for Hammam(Turkish Bath) in Beirut. Having the general perception that every foreigner likes to drink, he further invited me for a drink on top of a mountain, promising great and stunning view before going for Hammam in Beirut, with me. Since I have been sick and almost bored to death on routine itinerary, I climbed in the front seat of his brand-new Mercedes-Benz, wondering how a photojournalist can afford such a luxury car.

He introduced some places in Sidon(even an idiot can learn by eyes) while driving along and started to touch my thigh as if he was just trying to be friendly. Ok, he was friendly enough. I whispered to myself and wondering what he was going to do next. ‘Do you like sex?’ ‘How many times you have sex?’ Damn it. This reminded me of the two Jordanian guys I met in the Dead Sea. Surprisingly, I found myself answering yes before I could halt those words out of my mouth. To show that I’m straight, I quickly switched the topic by telling him my girl friend was going to join me next week in Syria. And I asked him to send my regards to his wife and family as well. Then, he suddenly stopped in a mini market en route and asked me to choose any alcoholic drink I want. Ok, since someone was offering his hospitality, how can I reject? My ancestor used to teach me to accept strangers’ offerings. So, I took a can of Vodka spirit and he handed me a chocolate bar. Ok, free energy bar. Great.

I was like a small child being taken care by a big daddy. Disgusting!

He touched my thigh again and began to press it like an Indian Muslim(Mamak) presses a roti canai.

‘Get your hand off my thigh, you pervert!’ ‘I’m not interested on man!’

I didn’t shout out loud. Neither do I get paranoid. Even though I feel embarrassed, I didn’t react drastically. In fact, I was still waiting his next possible move. I’d really like to know to what extend was he going to do. 

The Benz wound up along the mountain road to a region where the mysterious Druze resides, before making its way to his house. I then realized that I was too naïve enough to have thought that he would just brought me to a park or some public places on the mountain and have a drink. He brought me to his house (not hand-by-hand lar!) and asked me to sit beside him while caressing the leather couch. I sat opposite him.

‘Do you like to watch sex movie?’

‘Is there any available channel in Lebanon?’

‘May be, we will try.’

‘Oh no, no thanks.’

He then went inside his room, probably to unclothe and change. I took the chance to visit his house, admiring the portraits of his son and daughter but I couldn’t find his wife’s, before sneaking out and up to the roof terrace, thinking to smoke but shit, I didn’t have a lighter. Actually I just wanted to check if I have been locked inside the house.

‘Where are you?’ ‘Where are you?’ His voice was echoing and that made me hate anything and everything. I almost threw out. And, I still answered ‘I’m here.’ Damn it. What’s wrong with me? Was I insane?

May be he was discouraged by ‘a bit lack of interest’ I reacted, he gave me a red apple(not the apple given by the witch in Little Red Riding Hood lar!) and prepared to leave. Thanks for not inviting me to his room. Thanks God! I didn’t want to see anything.

‘Are you happy?’ It was not soon when I was dropped off in the middle of highway, still not forgetting to ask me if I was happy only to show that he was still a gentleman. Damn it. I walked along the highway and stopped at a roadside stall selling banana. The shopkeeper was kind enough to offer me a banana, yes, is only a single twig of banana. It took me around 10 minutes before a nice Lebanese guy in his old saloon car gave me a ride to the turn off point where I was dropped off again. Another guy who can’t speak English picked me up again in his van loaded with shampoo where I alighted at the town of Sidon.

First of all, I’m tan and always appeared to be an unshaven sloven with long and uncombed hair. He was 38 years old, white-skinned, hoary-headed with a silver-colored spectacle; married with two grown up children.

I don’t understand. I really don’t.

Sea Castle

Khan Al-Franj

Interior of Debbane Palace

Sidon's rocky corniche with the Murex Hill(garbage dump site) afar

Note: I respect homosexual in general but this guy has definitely messed up everything. He was fucking bored, simply thinking to mess up with a foreigner.

I Need Moving!

I still remembered those terrible days when I was trapped in a hotel in Amman due to the rain and temperature dropping. I don’t want to be trapped in a hotel where the only thing I can do is writing, reading and surfing on the internet. 2 weeks in Amman, 1 week in Deir Mar Musa and yet I still happened in a state of laziness. I don’t want to waste time anymore, especially in such an expensive country.

Arghhh… I need moving!

Maybe I should stop writing and halt my blog entry. Sometimes, I feel sick of writing as there seems to be some unfinished businesses lying there, waiting and urging me to finish it. It leaves me no free-mind and drags me whenever I want to move forward.  However, I feel bad if I’m not writing as I see writing as a way for self-assessment, self-motivation and self-improvement towards personal growth.

Arghhh… I need moving!

When I was in Jordan, I was longing for Syria. When I was in Syria, I was longing for Lebanon. When I finally got to Lebanon, I’m longing for Syria again. What the hell is this? What’s the matter with me? What’s wrong with me? Something is missing deep in my soul. I need my travel rhyme back!

Badly.

Maybe I should go back to Yemen?

Arghhh… I need moving!