The daybreak was approaching, warming the nightly frigid interior of the cave and encouraging me to quit the sleeping bag. I went out to witness a wonderful view of the now-visible gorge. The bats had gone to sleep, and gobs of little birds, who nested in the speckling of holes on the cave’s ceiling that was a trypophobic’s nightmare, were now fluttering all around, producing a chirrup loud enough to overlay the rumbling cascade.
The cave was looking west, which meant it wouldn’t receive direct sunlight before the afternoon. Considering the charming ambience, too, we were in no rush to go. We even had the river next to our tent: the perfect opportunity for a proper wash.
At about nine, the first visitors arrived on a school trip. The bus pulled over timely, just as I was finishing burying my poop. The kids scampered up and began exploring the grotto gazingly and noisily. It was time we started packing.
This story is an excerpt from my book "Backpacking Lebanon", wherein I recount my one-month journey around this fascinating country. Check it out if you like what you're reading.
We headed down to the pool. Along the path, a couple of locals stationed themselves at a desk under a tree to cash in a $1 entry fee from every arrivant. On the shore beside the pool, they had constructed a little embankment laid with synthetic turf, on which stood tables and parasols. Two people were present: a lad running errands, and a reclined senior in a keffiyeh assigning and supervising the errands.
We sat at a table and called the lad to ask for breakfast. He didn’t understand any foreign, so he had to discommode the senior, who at least understood as much as what breakfast meant. He sent me back to the entrance desk to place the order. They knew enough words to negotiate the cost of the breakfast, but not its contents. It’d have to be a surprise, and they did not disappoint. The lad came twice to unload a huge tray of delicacies, including salad, hummus, beans, eggs, cheeses, yogurt, a jug of coffee, and whatnot.
While we, bit by bit, stretched our appetites to not waste any food, the sun emerged over the ridge, soaking the gorge with heat, and a crowd of picnicking families gathered. Children splashed about and floated on rubber rings all over the pool. Half-naked men and fully veiled women lounged by fuming shishas all around the shore. Two chaps stood on a high ledge beside the waterfall, pondering it for maybe an hour until they braved the jump.
Having finished our copious breakfast to the last morsel, it was our turn for a dip. The water was outright freezing. Sophie went waist-deep; I went all in. My whole body went numb and my chest twinged forthwith as I submerged. As if an act of divine mockery, an unlikely cloud appeared out of nowhere and hid the sunlight the moment I stepped out.
We dried off, dressed up, thawed out, and lazed on a little longer, until the arrival of a rabble of youngsters, whose clamor was even louder than their portable loudspeaker, prompted us to move on.
Back on the road, a kindly old lady waved us to her stall. She sold various appetizing goods of her own produce, from which we bought a bag of fresh plums and an assortment of dried fruits. We tucked them in our backpacks for later consumption and set off walking.
The next section of the trail went through a steep ravine and over a bleak plateau, where civilization was absent and the presence of water doubtful for at least a full day’s hike. If we didn’t want to carry several liters of water for an overnight up there, we’d have to spend another night here and start early to make it to the next village before sundown tomorrow. Alternatively, we decided to skip this section and take a detour.
We walked about a mile uphill the main road until a driver responded to our extended, raised thumbs. He gave us a ride to Aaqoura village. We rounded out our provisions at the grocer’s, had an ice cream sitting on two dilapidated chairs on the sidewalk, and continued on foot out of the village.
It was late, and our plan was to camp wherever we found water. Failing to find running water, we ascended 300 meters to the lowest of a cluster of irrigation ponds up the slope. To avoid boiling stagnant water, I pulled the conducting pipe to the shore and filled our pouch straight out of it.
We made a cup of tea and enjoyed the gentle terminal light suffusing the successive orchards and the unfathomable valley below. Then we cooked dinner in the twilight and retreated to the coziness of our tent.
Photos
View (and if you want use) all my photographs from Afqa and Aaqoura.
Accommodation and Activities in Lebanon
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