Wandering Tripoli

To visit Tripoli is to lose yourself in its souks. If Saida was an introduction to Medieval towns, then the old quarter of Tripoli is an immersion. The city is fascinating and overwhelming and I spent my first afternoon merely wandering around, trying to find my bearings. My first stop was the Great Mosque. It was just after the hour of prayer and people were leaving the courtyard. A small band appeared in the doorway, and people watched as a man twirled to the beat of the drums. I sat along one of the side corridors, entranced by the daily activity of those around me. An older man chased away the children who started congregating around me, asking me to take their picture. Soon after another man appeared, asking me to take his own portrait.

Moving on, I climbed into the hills rising above the city to the Citadel of Tripoli. Converted into a church by the Crusaders, the remnants boast Crusader structures of the 12th-13th centuries, a number of 14th century Mamluke additions, as well as additions made by Ottomans in the 16th century. The views from atop its ramparts of the city are amazing. From there, I wandered through the grocery souk to the Hanging Mosque, so named for its position above the street. A few men slept inside, and from its windows I watched the street below.

I spent the rest of the afternoon just wandering blindly through the streets, disregarding the map, trying to soak it all in. Children clambored to have their picture taken; one particularly rambunctious child tried to steal my hat. In one quiet corner a group of men played backgammon and invited me to watch. I have never seen the game played so quickly or adeptly. The game was over in minutes.

This morning I took a bus to Bcharre, to walk in the only existing Biblical forest of Cedars remaining in Lebanon. Before, cedars crowned the tops of all the mountains in this country until over-exploitation greatly diminished their numbers. The bus climbed quickly the winding roads. Villages hovered on the edge of cliffs that plunged down into the Kadisha valley.

Known as the birthplace of Kahlil Gibran, Bcharre celebrates its most famous resident with a museum devoted to his works. A former monestary, the museum also houses Gibran himself who, in deference to his wishes, is buried there. The forest of cedars lie above the town, nestled between slopes of the Lebanon mountain range.

The small forest was peaceful. Snow clung to the slopes, and covered parts of the path. A light rain began to fall. I retreated to the comfort of a taxi, and directed the driver to the Kahlil Gibran museum. The man selling tickets asked I had read The Prophet. Not yet, but soon, I told him. I thought about purchasing a copy in the store, but was reluctant to carry it around.

By the time I left the museum, the rain had started coming down in earnest. I was glad for the minibus that passed at the foot of the road. "Tripoli?" the driver asked. I nodded and climbed inside, napping most of the way back.

In Tripoli, the skies cleared and I spent the remainder of the day catching up on sights I missed the day before, including the beautiful remains of the Hammam al-Jadid and the spectacular Taynal Mosque, where I was welcomed by the keeper of the mosque himself.

On looking for the Khankah, I asked a woman with a child in tow. She looked at me and pointed to the arch we were standing under. I was already there. She walked through, and I followed her to find the Khankah occupied by families. I backed out slowly the way I came. Posted by eku at May 2, 2004 7:49 PM