El Rancho

Hasher Weekend, 10-08 and 10-09:

Every now and then the Hashers have a camping trip, and what better opportunity to visit El Rancho! Whenever you'd like to shed some misconceptions about Lebanon, just mention the words "El Rancho", and say no more.

The trip there is worth mentioning. We were told to meet at a hotel at 9am sharp, which naturally turned out to be 9:45 before picking up other people at quite random locations.

The first stop, however, to keep the 24 cases of beer cold (for all 40 of us, mind you) was the Ice Man. Yes, our massive bus rattled through side streets and quickly maneuvered a spot. A few hashers exited and entered this little shop as the rest of us awaited. How funny was it not only to see them wake up the shopkeep, who was easily seen sleeping on a tiny cot; funnier still was the retrieval of the ice. Two huge blocks of ice were ceremoniously carried onto the bus and placed on top of the cooler. Needless to say, those chunks were worthless their only purpose.

Three stops later, we headed up the mountain, about an hour northeast of the city, until once again pausing at a scenic spot above the city. I guess they call themselves "The Mismanagement" for a reason: the bus was too big for the last few kilometers.

So two vehicles took turns loading supplies and us to the campsite, the first ever group to stay, despite being open for a year. Book your next trip now: www.elrancholebanon.com

Of course they have had visitors, just not a massive group like ours. Speaking of massive, their land was absolutely enormous. There is still much work to be done, like the teepees that have their own bathrooms in the 'basement', but as the land stretched and the ostriches, horses, and cows came into view, one thing was clear: a lot of money was being invested in this surreal place.

Naturally, the first stop was paintball, about a half hour walk down the mountain. Casey and I didn't participate, upholding our pacifist ideals to the extreme, but it was hilarious watching the different personalities compete: the timid, hiding behind the door; the daring, running amok (including a small gash on the bald guy's head); and those who made damn sure they used all their ammo ASAP. The picture doesn't do much justice, but the area was rather small, and the visitors' area wasn't as safe as presumed.

The hasher run, then, followed in the early afternoon. I don't think we knew that when we started, we'd end up on a 3-hour, 13 km excursion up and down the mountainside, but the beginning certainly was enjoyable. Only once did we pass a heap of trash to the left, thankfully, otherwise winding through villages. We tasted our first figs fresh from a tree and talked with a Lebanese man who had just returned from Edmonton, of all places.

The sketchy part came after our refreshment break. There are supposed to be little H marks to ensure the correct path, but once arriving at a peak and seeing the road below, we had to traverse through thorns, rocks and a steep incline, only to repeat the feat again shortly thereafter. Only the second time, there was a forray into the forest, with absolutely nothing resembling a path. There was another guy with us, who had asked for directions from some locals, but that didn't suffice. I saw a telephone pole and headed towards it, and felt quite bad when the drop was about fifteen feet. Worse still was knowing Casey had to follow, and she already had been nabbed by various thorns and other defenses in nature. Still, we managed. If we look happy in this picture, it is one of relief only; we were not happy with at this point.

Fortunately, of course, the rest of the night was amazing,. The hashers who dressed up, the workers riding up and down the stairs and around the campfire on horses, the songs in various languages, and of course the never-ending refreshments made for an idyllic evening. Forty campers seemed the perfect number. You could talk to the family of the Czech ambassador to Lebanon ("You have diplomatic passports too? How does it feel to know you could kill somebody?" I overhead another say!), the guy who runs the Duty Free shop at the airport, UN workers, journalists, Black Panthers...the list is endless.

The next day, we decided against another walk, and just roamed the grounds. But, if you'll notice the picture on the left and especially the video below, it certainly wasn't the end of the entertainment. About an hour before we left we had an initiation rite. When a hasher goes on six runs and helps organize two, they receive their tarbush--those hats--in a completely honorary way. It was the perfect way to top off the weekend.

Tyre: Part 2

Once we arrived in Tyre/Sour, we took a quick stroll around the port which is the Christian part of the city. It’s old and almost medieval like with its’ narrow pathways between homes and cobble stoned roads. The views around the bend were incredible. This country seems to get more beautiful every place we go! There is actually a nature reserve in Tyre, so the coastline is much more pristine than in Beirut. Plus, they don’t endure the same hefty load of pollution that litters Beirut. Not to say that Tyre is clean- I don’t think I’ve found a place that lives up to that definition yet. Anyway, we walked along the coastline until we happened upon a set of ruins that was seemingly deserted. We didn’t know anything about it which made exploring the small caves and strange stacks of bricks more interesting. Come to find out, this was the old baths in Roman days. There was also a long walkway lined with beautiful marble columns that must have led to some sort of political office. The view from this site would take your breath away- ancient Roman ruins, still surprisingly well preserved for such little protection and the backdrop of the sparkling blue Mediterranean Sea only a stone’s throw away.

After a delightful lunch across from the sea we set out to discover the larger set of ruins in the city. Keeping in the spirit of the day, we had ourselves another little adventure. From where we were in the city the entrance to the ruins was far, far away and people kept insisting we needed to take a taxi to get there. However, we could see the site and thought it was dumb to take a taxi just so we could get to the official entrance. We decided that people that lived in this town wouldn’t hike all over the city to get home so we there must be another way. We followed the fence for awhile and then went down a dirt road that happened to be a city dump. Just as we were about to give up, a few men started shouting at us and pointing. There was a hole in the fence!!! Terrific. So we climbed through and sure enough, there was a clear cut path to the ruins. Once we got there it was incredible. The aqueduct that once brought water to Tyre from 6km south was still standing, surrounding the hypodrome that was used for Chariot races in the ancient days. We climbed to the top of the “stadium seating” and sat for awhile, just picturing the extravagant events that would have taken place in the 2^nd century AD.

Rodridgo explained to us that in ancient days the cemeteries were built on the outside of the city. The one we found at this site was incredible. There were actually still some bones left in the sarcophagi! I couldn’t get enough of these beautiful graves. There was something spiritual about connecting with the death of people from over a thousand years ago. From the levels of intricacy and extravagance you could decipher which were graves of the wealthy and which were those of peasants. The more decorated sarcophagi were closer to the gates and elevated, sometimes up a flight of stairs onto a stage-like structure. Further away from the city walls were smaller and more plain graves. Some of the mosaics on the floor by the graves were still perfectly intact. Can you believe how much time and change this art work has withstood?

One of these tombs was so beautifully enhanced by this flowering plant growing out of the overturned top piece. It made me think of how death always has and always will be a natural part of life.
One of my favorite parts of the trip was leaving the ancient city. After we finished exploring the old graveyard we re-entered the city through the giant archway and then we followed the white stoned road all the way back into the new city of Tyre. There was something almost mystical about walking down this road, still in better condition than some of the roads in Brockton. If I listened hard enough I could hear the carriage wheels and horse hooves carrying peasants, queens and nobleman through the old city.