Ancient ruins are simply an excuse to see the countryside, and test one's strength at being outside the cities. I find my way to the cola taxi stand, and transfer into a service taxi headed to Baalbek.
The traffic is a whirlwind around us as we approach the interchange; then the driver puts in his arabian music, the same music that floored me in the downtown's destroyed blocks: the music that thrusts the emotions of the Arabian spirit into the open, capturing your soul and spinning your mind as you watch an impossible number of cars rush into a tiny freeway onramp. The chaos of driving becomes alive with the song, and we tear around sheer cliffs scrunched into a mercedes older than I.
The taxi driver introduces me to his brother in Chtaura, and he offers me the tour of Aanjar and Baalbek for us$25. I consider it for sometime, trying to do my math - the make sure that all of my effort to go below us$55 like the bus tours makes it worthwhile.
And I accept.
We talk for many parts of the drive: he went to Liberia during the war to do business.
"Everyone prays for peace."
"The media abroad said that Muslims and Christians were fighting, but this could not be the case. They are like brothers in Lebanon; one cannot live without the other. They fought for whatever reason people fight: money, power, you tell me."
Road checks are frequent, but the soldiers know the faces of the taxi drivers. I was only asked once to see my passport. The road checks change as well, from the lebanese soldiers in the west to the Syrian soldiers in the Bekaa valley.
"You can tell the difference between the Syrian soldier and the Lebanese one; the Syrian must always have his boots shined, his buttons and shirts cleaned. He is less casual with his weapon. Yes, they are just as friendly."
"They occupy this area to ensure peace, just as the Israelis occupy the south. If all of these armies would leave - the Syrians, the Israelis, the Philistines, and leave only the Lebanese, only then will there be peace."




The only good thing about Aanjar was that I was the only person in the upper half of the site. Not a great deal to look at. But Baalbek is impressive, and will surely become the central attraction for buses upon buses of tourists coming into the Bekaa valley.



Farmlands make up the Bekaa, but there are numerous gypsy camps - they leave behind an incredible amount of garbage when they leave. Upon closer inspection, while stopped at a checkpoint, I noticed that the gypsy tents I was looking at were actually camouflage for dozens of tanks and anti-aircraft guns. Later on I would see piles of dirt beside a gas station - the gas station was only occupied by soldiers, and the mounds of dirt were hiding tanks from plain view.
Careful where you point that camera.
"Lebanon is perfectly safe now, and entirely safe for tourists. We all hope the tourists come back, and help us to improve our economy. Even this year the number of tourists has risen.
He invites me to his house in Chtaura for coffee and fruit. His house is lacklustre on the outside, but his living room has clean tile and fine furniture with detailed ceramics decorating his table. The television is playing english movies - so this is where they all learn it. His daughter hands us small cups of coffee, and says something to me in arabic. The father says something back.
"She is supposed to be speaking english; she is going to university next year, and we want her to practice."
I think I hear another voice in another room quietly yelling at her for not speaking english. I also wonder what all the fuss is about. I try to explain to him that too much Americana in one's country is not good, but he doesn't seem to understand what I'm saying.
He takes me back to a taxi in Chtaura where I pay 10000LL back to Cola and then 1000LL back to the Hamra district where I am staying. The cliffside highway is buried in fog, but coming down from the hill I could see an endless sprawl of nameless buildings. Beirut looks much larger than 1.5 million. Arabian pop music jostles my senses as we weave through traffic - there are no road markings, just one road for both directions of traffic. Pick a space and go. Beirut is a living, boiling entity on the edge of Arabia.

Part 3- From Tripoli to Syria
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