BEIRUT: The menu at Frida – a Mexican-Lebanese fusion restaurant located in a beautiful old house in Ashrafieh – perfectly reflects the eatery’s ethos. Covered with a riot of colorful flowers, it ostensibly takes its inspiration from artist Frida Kahlo’s Mexican heritage, but the outcome is decidedly Lebanese. On the back of the folding concertina is two-tone reproduction of one of Kahlo’s famous self-portraits, with a local twist – in line with the national obsession with perfect grooming, the artist’s distinctive monobrow has been judiciously plucked.

Arriving one humid August evening, my companions and I elect to forgo the interior’s plush red lampshades, comfortable if unattractive banquette seating and hand-painted murals of Mexican peasants wrapped in shawls and clutching woven baskets, and instead sit outside on the terrace.

Lit by old-fashioned street lamps and adorned with attractive wrought-iron and glass furniture, it provides a pleasant, laid-back atmosphere and affords a view of the beautiful building in which the restaurant is housed, with its distinctive circular balconies and rustic red shutters.

We are pleasantly surprised to find that the terrace is soon full, surprising on a Monday night, and the gentle buzz of conversation soothes us as we discuss how to tackle the extensive menu. Eventually we agree to order a selection of hot and cold mezze, selecting from the items with “Frida” in the title, in the hope that they will best reflect the restaurant’s approach to Mexican-Lebanese fusion.

Things start off well. A bread basket featuring a selection of crispy, fried fragments and flat bread, flavored with an inventive blend of fennel seeds and juicy sultanas, is accompanied by a bowl of sliced green olives and paprika-sprinkled cheddar cheese. We enjoy the simple-yet-pleasing appetizer as we wait for the mezze to arrive.

We consider sampling one of the house cocktails, rumored to be spectacular, but are slightly put off by the equally spectacular prices (LL16,500 for a margarita) and in the end decide to keep our wits about us and make do with a glass of beer or arak apiece.

Perhaps this is a mistake. When the main dishes arrive things go downhill. The dish of three Frida Mini Fajitas (LL13,500) is flavorful and balanced, if slightly underseasoned, the marinated beef nicely offset by the delicate mushrooms, capsicum and cheddar cheese. The thin Lebanese bread used to wrap the filling, samosa-style, is crispy and light, constituting a Lebanese take on a Mexican staple. The Frida Potatoes (LL9,500), however, are an enormous disappointment.

Five thick slabs of potato, which appear to have been first boiled until soft and then grilled until inedible, are garnished with “melted cheddar” (to liberate these words from the quotation marks would be an insult to British cheese) that has a mayonnaise-like consistency and an unpleasant flavor. Topped with sliced mint and served with a side of sour cream and a slice of lemon, the dish is at once bland and sickly.

A couple of small mouthfuls are enough to convince me that I would not voluntarily consume any more of the cheese sauce if it was slathered over Clive Owen’s manly chest. After some discussion, my companions and I decide that it resembles the pumped cheese served with nachos at the cinema, but without the flavor. We do not finish it.

The Frida Markouk (LL14,500) is better. Five beautifully presented miniwraps – containing chicken strips, potato wedges, guacamole, salsa and the ubiquitous melted cheddar cheese – are served with a side of refreshing pico de gallo, its citrusy tang the perfect complement to the markouk, which has a lovely texture but is extremely rich.

The cumulative effect of the first three dishes is slightly nauseating, but happily the richness is alleviated slightly by our fourth choice, the controversial Frida Cucumbers (LL8,500), four small cucumbers hollowed out and stuffed with labneh flavored with sumac and zaatar, the ends coated with a flavorful blend of the dried herbs.

“A dumb dish,” announces my outspoken Dutch companion, “if food can qualify as dumb. It’s nice if you’re a hungry farmer or enormous truck driver, but it doesn’t belong in a nice fusion restaurant.”

I disagree, finding that the crispy cucumber, with its filling of sour, slightly spicy yoghurt, provides a palette-cleansing respite from the cream-laden guacamole and abundance of cheese. I do concede, however, that the awkwardly shaped vegetables, although nicely presented, are difficult to consume while maintaining any semblance of dignity and decorum.

Feeling somewhat weighted down we decide to forego dessert, and ask our efficient if impersonal waiter for the bill. At just under $50 for three, the prices are reasonable, but we leave feeling that the setting, rather than the cheddar-centric food, is Frida’s strong suit. Even if the murals are a little, well, cheesy.

Frida is located in the Al Hayek sector of Ashrafieh. For more information call 01-333-226.

BEIRUT: From an overlooking precipice, the sprawling Wadi Hujair seems to tumble on, hill after hill, for as far as the eye can see, its verdant ascents dotted with rock and dry brush, and a clear river running in between. Little is known about this seemingly untouched area of Lebanon’s deep south. Its arresting sights, however, prompted the Union of Mount Amel Municipalities, which includes 16 municipalities, in April to declare it a nature reserve. This came after the organization Generations of Peace worked for months to clear it of land mines accumulated during the July 2006 war with Israel.

In a matter of months the area was emptied of cluster bombs, artillery, grenades and mines, as bright yellow signs erected by the clearing authorities along the river banks proudly attest.

“After liberating the south in May of 2000, tourists began to flow into the region,” explained Ali Zein, the head of the union of municipalities that sponsored the area to become a reserve. “Wadi Hujair is a very green and forested area with oak trees over 500 years old. So we had to do our best to protect the area from hazards caused by negligence, and that’s why we thought of making it into an official nature reserve.”

A committee formed by Zein was tasked with looking after the reserve and protecting its resources. In line with these duties, Civil Defense teams are on call at all times around the area in the event of emergencies, especially forest fires.

“Working in a team, with the union of municipalities, and not in an individual capacity has helped us a lot in achieving our aims and carrying out a comprehensive development strategy, which includes a plan to combat fires, spreading awareness and planting more trees in public areas,” he said.

A team of 40 young men and from the villages surrounding the reserve were trained to watch the area to protect it in the event of a fire. A joint operation committee was also established by the villages to coordinate such efforts.

Despite the obstacles, Zein said, the reserve has come a long way in a very short time: “When we first started the project here in Wadi Hujair, there was nothing. Now we have acacias and other plant species growing.”

Nevertheless, there is still more work to be done, as Zein explained the concept of what a nature reserve means would take time to grasp for those native to the area:

“We need some more time for people to really understand what we mean by a nature reserve. There are large private properties within the reserve and we are preparing a plan in order to incorporate these properties, so that they play a part in the reserve.”

The union is still working with the Agriculture Ministry to plant more trees on the public properties of the valley, with about 12,000 planted so far. The union is aiming to convince the Agriculture Ministry to allocate about LL65 million a year in conservation efforts.

“We are doing our best to advertise and attract more visitors,” said Zein.

The valley is named after the pure water Hujair Spring, which can be heard rippling along the main road and the dusty tracks around the hillsides. Another current, the Slouqi Spring, flows around the periphery of the valley. Families can be seen gathering by the banks of the river during the hot summer months, including mothers, still modestly dressed in their abayas, wading through the shallow waters with their rambunctious children splashing about.

Nearly 18 kilometers square and cutting across 21 villages distributed in the districts of Marjayoun, Nabatieh and Jbeil, the area hosts a diversity of tree species, such as oak, bay laurels, hawthorns and carob trees.

It is not uncommon for passers-by to pick the edible legumes, relatives of the pea family, of the carob tree to savor its odd combination of dry and sweet flavors.

Those who have lived near the area, however, often speak of its historical significance. Wadi Hujair was known as the meeting place of Shiite scholars. Prominent among them was Sayyed Abdul-Hussein Sharafeddine, who in April 1920 convened an important gathering to launch a resistance campaign against the French Mandate. Amid the majestic landscapes of Wadi Hujair, Sharafeddine called for national unity and stressed the importance of respecting individual sects, a call that political figures leading Lebanon still proclaim to this day.

Despite its considerable distance from the capital, about a two hour drive north of the area, Wadi Hujair draws families from across Lebanon, as far as Tripoli, to relax in the recent spate of restaurants in the area. With its whimsical conical roofs, cobbled facades and oak-lined interiors, the design of the restaurants in the area appear to be a unique cross between a traditional Nabatieh village home and the fantastical world of a Grimm fairytale.

Ali Mustapha opened his restaurant and resort, Throne of Kings, just three months ago because he found the tranquil area of Wadi Hujair relaxing.

“Many people come here because it’s a nice place to relax,” he said, as children played in the resort pool while other families lunched on the patio.

About 500 to 600 people flock to his restaurant on the weekends, he added, with the numbers increasing after Mustapha ran a promotional commercial on television.

Youssef Fahs, another restaurant owner in Wadi Hujair said his family had already owned the land where his restaurant is, and the idea to open Al-Arzal, occurred to him last year.

While he said he received a lot of customers, he acknowledged there were some in Beirut who might think the area was too dangerous:

“Some might think it is too dangerous, given the political environment. And there are people who are too afraid to come because they just don’t know what it’s like. But the people who are from around here but who live in Beirut, they often come here to breathe.”

BEIRUT: The Jbeil village of Ehmej will come alive with music once again this week when the third edition of its annual tourist festival opens. This four-day concert program will provide daily opportunities for revelry with local artists performing. Pop star Ramy Ayach is set to raise the curtain Thursday, followed by shows featuring Fares Karam, Haifa Wehbe and Wael Kfoury.

The festival is organized by the Ehmej Municipality under the supervision of Mayor Nazih Abi Semaan. Hosted by caretaker Tourism Minister Fadi Abboud and the Ehmej Development Association, the music festival will take place on a 700-meter stretch of Ehmej highway.

The weekend’s festivities offer a perfect escape from Beirut’s traffic, heat and humidity, and friendly villagers promise to welcome guests with love and hospitality.

Singer-songwriter Ramy Ayach, the festival’s first performer, has been entertaining Middle Eastern audiences since 1997. Ayach is well-known for several famous songs, such as “Sawa,” a duo with Maya Diab; “Habbaytak Ana;” and “Albi Mal.”

Fares Karam will headline Friday night with his famous modernized dabke style. Known for his songs “El-Tannoura” and “Neswanje,” Fares was awarded the golden prize and a high level appraisal as a Lebanese traditional singer from Arts Studio for the year 1996-1997.

The beautiful Haifa Wehbe promises to delight the crowd Saturday night. “Ana Haifa,” “Baba Fein” and “Harami Gloub” are among Wehbe’s best-known releases. The singer’s onstage charisma and allure have rocketed her to fame and distinction.

Wael Kfoury, Sunday’s concluding act, is a Lebanese singer and musician. He was awarded the gold medal for the best male singer from Arts Studio for the year 1992-1993. Wael has released many popular songs, such as “Bhebbak Ana Ktir,” “Bihin” and “Ya Dalli Ya Rouhi.”

The entry fee to the festival is LL10,000, which will provide access to the performances. The festival also offers a large selection of food.

“Prices are affordable for everyone,” said an organizing committee member. “There will be 80 kiosks [manned] by the villagers, selling all kinds of food, sandwiches, saj [and] fruit.”

In addition to the food and music, arak from a local distiller will also be available for imbibing.

Seats in the auditorium area range from LL20,000 to LL40,000, while music enthusiasts keen to attend all four nights of the festival can buy a pass from the municipality, allowing them access to all four performances for just LL20,000.

Reserve seating along with a dinner of Lebanese mezze and grill is available for $80-$120 per ticket, depending on the location of the seats.

Free transportation is available for all four nights of the festival, departing at 6 p.m. from the Army checkpoint next to St. Charbel-Annaya.

For parents wanting to enjoy the concerts with their kids, the festival has provided a small children’s play area.

The festival aims to put Ehmej on the tourist map and promote Lebanese culture, the organizer explained.

“We aspire to identify Ehmej’s artistic identity,” she said, “and to gather the village dwellers all together.”

The Ehmej Festival runs Aug. 22-25 along Ehmej’s main road. Shows are scheduled to start at 9:30 p.m. Tickets are on sale at Virgin Box Office and at the Ehmej municipality. For reservations call 03-845-800 or 09-504-025.

BEIRUT: The Chouf Cedar Reserve is Lebanon’s largest natural habitat of flora and fauna. Its managers boast that it has some of the oldest living trees in the world. But more than just being a tree museum, the reserve has biodiversity, with more than 32 species of animals thriving there.

The reserve will come alive with a different species of life this weekend, when Randonnee Musicale gathers local musicians for a day of performance and cultural consumption.

The proceeds will go to support local non-governmental organizations CHANCE and Offre Joie.

The region’s delicacies enjoy a history of cunning commercial packaging. In 1999, the Rural Development Program of the Chouf Biosphere Reserve launched its own brand of products, all the work of local villagers. From jams to honeys – some including the resin of cedar trees – this local produce will be available for visitors to discover and sample while they enjoy the music.

Organized by boutique-events organizer O de Rose, Randonnee Musicale has scheduled an interesting lineup of local performers. The reserve will be animated by sets by Adel Harb, LeBAM, Allen Seif (aka Oak), Beirut Vocal Point and Joy Fayad.

Among the young and emerging artists of this country, Oak has been performing his own compositions for several years, with vocals and music that have been compared to those of English pop band Travis.

Armed with nothing but his guitar and a smile, he has been attracting an enthusiastic local following, performing last June at the final edition of Fete de la Musique. He’s also been featured at Radio Beirut in Mar Mikhael and has had gigs in France, New Zealand and Australia.

Local guitar hero Adel Harb will immerse his Chouf audience into the festive mood of flamenco.

His playlist promises interpretations of a range of flamenco classics, including some of the greatest hits of Paco De Lucia– who performed a few weeks back at the Byblos International Festival.

The ensemble Beirut Vocal Point focuses its energies on a cappella vocals. Founded in 2010, the band’s motto is to make music accessible to everyone, and they often employ their talents at charity and fundraising events.

Lebanese vocalist Joy Fayad is nothing if not versatile, turning her hand to jazz, pop, blues and rock’n’roll. Gracing the boards of such local venues such as The Angry Monkey and Dany’s, Fayad’s moves her audience with her subtle voice and stylish music. Switching between guitar and harmonica, she will surely bring a new sound to the Chouf Cedar Reserve.

Artist and musician Marc Nader also promises to treat the Chouf with his presence, performing tunes from his 2012 album “Back to the Roots.”

Randonnee Musicale offers a program full of variety.

A band dedicated to West African percussion music, Jebebara, should show exactly how powerful djembe – a rope-tuned skin-covered drum – can be, while those interested in classical music will be pleased to know the 25-musician Barock Ensemble will fill the nature reserve with a music at once lovely and magically alien.

Several more activities are planned for Randonnee Musicale that are not strictly musical. Ghassan Alameddine and Edouard Abbas are among the writers planning to recite from their poetry, and the Lebanese circus troupe Cirqu’en ciel will lighten the atmosphere with juggling and miming.

The special guest of the evening is acclaimed Lebanese-Canadian jazz vocalist Randa Ghossoub, who wowed Beirut audiences with her concerts with the internationally renowned pianist Cyrus Chestnut.

Ghossoub’s concert will be staged at the Auberge St. Michel– Arcenciel at Maaser al-Chouf village. She and her gracious voice are expected to plunge the audience into a groovy, jazzy ambiance.

Randonnee Musicale will be staged at Maaser al-Chouf on Aug. 25 from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. Ghossoub’s performance will follow at 6 p.m. Tickets can be bought at the entrance of the reserve for LL15,000. Entrance is free for children under the age of 12. Transportation will also be provided from Downtown’s Virgin Megastore to the event location

BEIRUT: The countrywide water sports event, Lebanon Water Festival, will get local and international enthusiasts diving, surfing, skiing and sailing starting Sept. 3.

The festival will last through the month of September and aims to promote water sports in the country and the importance of preserving Lebanon’s coastline. Discounted classes in various aquatic activities will carry on throughout the month, as will a sprinkling of competitions and free shows by professional water skiers.

Creators Annette Khoury and her father, world water-ski champion Simon Khoury, launched the first Lebanon Water Festival last summer, drawing more than 14,000 people to watch and participate in events at several of the country’s major beaches.

The organizers have expanded this year’s program to include three new locations: Batroun’s rocky beach, Anfeh in the north, and Jiyyeh south of Beirut.

The festival’s creators hope to raise awareness about which parts of the country are best for particular water sports, Annette Khoury told The Daily Star. The new locations bring the festival’s coverage to six cities in total, including last year’s spots of Kaslik, Dbayyeh and Tyre.

“What we’re trying to do is to label each city as the best place to do this or to do that – and slowly, slowly we’re going to map out the coast,” she said.

For example, Jounieh has a reputation as the country’s hotspot for water skiing all summer long. But few know that this time of year, the calm waters of Tyre are better suited for a late-summer sea jaunt, she explained.

Khoury and her father have also expanded the water sport offerings this year, adding surf and stand-up paddle boarding, kite boarding and apnea – or free diving.

There will also be a free nighttime international water ski performance Sept. 14 in the Dbayyeh marina with fireworks and other fanfare.

The first edition of Lebanon Water Festival sought to boost local and international interest in water sports in the country. And that goal was certainly met, Khoury said.

During the past year, people interested in water sports have bombarded the festival’s Facebook page and Khoury herself with inquiries about the best place or person with whom to do their favorite water sports.

“It’s clear we are answering to a need,” she said. “The demand is incredible, people are asking can you give me the name of so and so or the number of this place – answering these questions is basically what I’ve been doing all year long.”

Khoury and her father had played with the idea of doing mountain sports, but the demand for more water activities kept them looking seaward.

In the spirit of accessibility, Lebanon Water Festival will open all of its competitions and shows for free to the public, Khoury was quick to explain, even those locations that ordinarily require membership. For example, people will have access to locations like the exclusive Dbayyeh marina via its public corniche.

Last year’s public shows were a great draw in places like Tyre, where Khoury said public sporting events are rare but important to fostering community. More than 12,000 people crowded the Tyre beach, hung from balconies and off the southern city’s corniche at last year’s show.

One of the additions to this year’s show lineup includes a special Lebanese water-ski team to be trained by Simon Khoury. He and Annette have two weeks to train around 25 young people in basic show elements like the human pyramid, water ballet and other moves, she said.

For those not interested in standing on the sidelines, Lebanon Water Festival has roped in the help of a number of instructors from around the country, namely surfing instructor Ali Elamine, kite boarding instructor Tobia Kmeid and water ski instructor Tarek Fenianos.

Prices for sports have been reduced to attract as many interested enthusiasts as possible, and competitions and races throughout September will offer students new and old a chance to show off their skills.

Lebanon has a lot of touristic and economic potential surrounding water sports, Khoury said.

The country is one of three known places with a natural hole capable hosting international free-diving competitions, she said.

The country has a wealth of diving spots rich with historic relics and wildlife. For example, Tyre houses the only underwater Phoenician city and elsewhere in the country there are underwater ship wrecks, tabletop coral and coastline caves to explore.

Lebanon Water Festival will offer foreigners and locals a rare opportunity to explore the underwater Phoenician ruins in Tyre. Some are coming from as far away as Argentina to participate in the international underwater photography competition, which will focus on this sunken ancient city.

One of the underlying purposes of the festival is pushing for the cleanup and preservation of Lebanon’s coastline, which has been the object of environmentalists’ scorn for decades.

Proving the worth of the country’s coastline in terms of tourism and local jobs is arguably the best way to push municipalities to protect and conserve the sea. Lebanon Water Festival is doing just that with the help of other non-governmental organizations, particularly one called Purple Reef.

Purple Reef is conducting research across the country’s coastline about natural flora and fauna and the toxins harming them. They also do educational projects and seek to preserve the countries fisheries by using such things as water sports as a way to supplement the incomes of fisherman, who are the most familiar with the countries seaside, Khoury said.

For more information about Lebanon Water Festival and its calendar of events, visit www.lebanonwaterfestival.com.

BHAMDOUN, Lebanon: In Le Telegraphe, the French bistro-style restaurant run by the Chateau Belle-Vue winery in Bhamdoun, a single ceramic tile embedded in the wall holds pride of place. The item, salvaged from a ruin, is the only piece of the Hotel Belle Vue that remains intact, but the community-centric spirit of the once-famed establishment is revived in Naji Boutros’ wines.

Built to showcase a stonecutter’s craft, operated to finance a generation’s education and then closed to the public to house an extended family, the 26-room Hotel Belle Vue was a mainstay of Boutros’ maternal family for decades.

It was in a wing of this sprawling home nestled in the hills of Mount Lebanon and filled with parents and uncles and grandparents that Naji Boutros spent his childhood, relishing the mountain air. These days, he readily admits his teenage self’s preference for days spent among grapevines and olive trees over nights on the tear in the country’s capital.

“It was a very beautiful childhood; it was fantastic,” Boutros tells The Daily Star, that is until the mid ’70s.

“Then of course the war came and we were uprooted from here,” Boutros says, describing how repeated rounds of fighting in the mountain village just 21 km from Beirut eventually drove many of its predominantly Christian residents to leave their homes and seek refuge elsewhere.

Boutros was among the first of those to leave, departing in 1983 for France before moving on to the United States for university, where he met his wife, Jill.

It would be almost a decade before he would visit his hometown again, and several more years before the desire to return to Lebanon would become too strong for the then-London-based investment banker to ignore.

“Life was not easy in London,” he says. “I was making lots of money as a city boy, but it was very empty. I’m someone who grew up touching, feeling, seeing the result of what you seed, what you grow, having the fruit.

“I [also] felt I was losing my family,” he continues. “I did not know my children. I did not know my wife. And I was really not happy.”

The melancholic Boutros talked about Bhamdoun ad nauseam. “I was almost obnoxious,” he admits, “everything was better in Bhamdoun.”

But when Boutros ventured back to Bhamdoun in the early ’90s, he found “90 percent of the old stone buildings destroyed,” including the beloved work of his great grandfather’s hands – the Hotel Belle Vue.

Standing among the rubble that remains of the Hotel Belle Vue today, Boutros states simply, “the house was here.” Then he points out the domed stone roofs of what were the cellars, the lone hint of the grand stone structure with sweeping staircases that once stood on the site.

Looking around, Boutros grows wistful. “You grew up in a place and there’s no house. You dream, you dream of it and there’s no house, no stones, nothing. They had [even] uprooted the trees.”

“But” he adds, “There was a tile.”

On an early trip back, Jill uncovered the intact ceramic tile from among the hotel’s debris. She packed the treasure away for Boutros to discover when he opened his suitcase in London.

“She said, ‘We’ll come back one day,’” he recalls.

In 1999, they did just that. The first thing Boutros did was replant his grandfather’s vineyard, which covers just under a hectare. With Vivaldi’s Four Seasons booming through loudspeakers, he set about the task in honor of his family’s memories and in an effort to return some greenery to a village once well-known for its viticulture.

In addition to a number of workers Boutros hired to help with the task, others, hearing the music, came to assist with the planting effort. Then a cousin asked whether Boutros would replant his vineyard too.

Concerns that the cousin’s land may have been mined didn’t stop the band of workers, now on a roll, from powering ahead with the planting. It was a decision they realized the stupidity of a week later when the Army pulled a number of cluster bombs out of the field.

“We were really stupid. We had a higher objective. Having a higher objective makes you forget about the lower objective,” Boutros says, reflecting on their decision.

By now, word had spread of Boutros’ project, and many of the old Bhamdoun families whose lands had also fallen into disrepair began to come to him with a simple request: “Naji, plant our land.”

That first year Boutros planted four families’ vineyards. Today, Chateau Belle-Vue has some 24 hectares of vines in assorted locations around the village. Most are now owned by the winery, but some are still in the hands of their original Bhamdoun families and Boutros pays for their use either in wine or money.

In 2003, the winery produced its first vintage – a mere 3,000 bottles, made and pressed by hand. On their labels, the bottles carried an image of the Hotel Belle Vue in all its former glory and its name – La Renaissance.

Little did Boutros known that four years later, when the Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot blend was released, the wine would win a gold medal at the International Wine and Spirit Competition in London.

Indeed, Boutros admits that winemaking is the only project he’s ever undertaken where he really did not know where he was going to end up.

But the Bhamdoun terroir provides some natural magic for winemakers, offering on its rugged slopes a variety of microclimates. In his original family vineyard, Boutros demonstrates this, pointing out two visibly different types of soil just 2 meters apart.

“This is the secret. This is why our wine has a full bouquet, a very complex taste. One [soil] is very clayish; one is less clayish,” he explains.

Chateau Belle-Vue now produces two reds, La Renaissance and Le Chateau, and a white, Petit Geste.

Joseph, an elderly resident of Bhamdoun and one of the men who helped Boutros out with that first round of planting, still manages the vineyards today. He points out that they have never had to use fertilizers on the vines because “we have everything in this land.”

From 6 a.m. daily until almost sundown, Joseph can be found among the vines. He says the grapes speak to him: “If I forget a vine, I hear a cry behind me, ‘Why don’t you talk with me?”

Joseph still recalls the village before the war. “If you came here before the war, you would see a paradise. It was all grapes for the arak, for the wine,” he says.

Boutros has been working hard to recreate that paradise, planting olive trees and close to 150 cedars in addition to the vines. At the outset, he also vowed to give $1 per bottle back to the community, but says that he has ended up “giving a lot more than that,” through funding educational scholarships, health care expenses and distributing heating oil in winter.

As far as possible, Boutros employs locals, and he has successfully managed to turn the annual harvest into a community activity.

“All the village comes when we pick the grapes, especially the young people,” Joseph says, adding that he takes the harvesting season as an opportunity to share the history of the village with a young generation he feels has largely turned away from the land in favor of computers.

Yet even as Boutros drives around the village pointing out cedars he’s planted, he grows frustrated. Although Bhamdoun is far less defiled by concrete monstrosities than other villages in Lebanon, there is still a wealth of poorly planned construction.

“This is the real cancer of Lebanon, the cement,” he says, adding that many of the new buildings popping up violate laws governing their height and size. “We try to protect as much as we can, but at the end of the day urban planning need to help in the protection.”

“If they had a bit of a brain they would look at the examples of Napa Valley, of Bourgogne, of Bordeaux, of Samoa County, of the wine country in Australia, in New Zealand. It generates more tourism and it employs more people than ... [other] industries.”

Reflecting on his winery project and the work he has done in the community, Boutros says: “It will pay off in the end. If it doesn’t pay off monetarily, it has paid off with beauty.”

BEIRUT: Maxime Chaya, the first Lebanese to climb Mount Everest, looked to set two more Guinness World Records as his team of three landed in the Mauritius Islands Monday after rowing 5,801 kilometers across the Indian Ocean.

Chaya, along with team members Livar Nysted, 42, from the Faroe Islands, and Stuart Kershaw, 33, from the United Kingdom, set a new speed record for the fastest time rowing across the Indian Ocean at 57 days and 16 hours. They are also the first team of three to row across any of the world’s oceans.

Chaya, Nysted and Kershaw departed from Perth, Australia, on June 8 for a trip that lasted just under two full months on board an 8.8 meter rowboat.

Before setting off, Chaya was most concerned about the psychological strain of the journey, he told The Daily Star in a pre-trip interview.

The three men were on two-hour, rotating sleep cycles in order to share rowing duties. When they weren’t sleeping or rowing, they were trying to make up for their huge calorie deficits by stuffing their faces with 6,000-7,000 calories a day of dehydrated meals, chocolate, trail mix and other snacks.

Chaya regularly posted pictures and details of serene sunsets and sunrises, as well as the various wildlife the men encountered: albatross, flying fish, families of whales and sharks.

The crew also encountered its fair share of snafus. Smack in the middle of the trip, the men had to resort to their limited fresh water supply after their desalinator – which made potable water from the ocean – broke down for about a week. The autopilot also gave out near the end of the trip.

That and a number of other potential catastrophes caused by stormy seas were either fixed or abated.

The so-called tRIO boat was equipped with satellite communications, enabling the crew to stay in contact with their weatherman, fans and loved ones. Judging by the tone of his Twitter posts, Chaya and his teammates were getting a little stir crazy by the end of the trip.

“I long for a shower. A Bed. Warm hug. Dry clothes. Shave. Full night’s sleep,” Chaya posted on Twitter alongside a photo of himself looking bearded and exhausted.

In another post on July 31, a week before landing, he posted: “We’ve spotted a floating plastic bottle and toothbrush today! Ahhhh! The joy of witnessing civilization again after so long.”

BEIRUT: Beirut's cultural scene exists in multiple spaces, forms and contexts at the same time, some manifestations of culture ephemeral and spontaneous, others long-running and programmed months in advance. Made up of a complex collection of individual players, organizations and ever-shifting collaborations, it is difficult to summarize or characterize in any definitive way.

"A Fractured Mirror: Beirut's Cultural Scene and the Search for Identity" is a short report by American history and area studies graduate Eric Reidy, who moved to Lebanon last year after completed his studies.

Reidy ambitiously sets out to outline not only Beirut's cultural production, dissemination and reception, referencing plastic art, film, music, poetry, performance and writing, but also the role of such art in reflecting – and its potential in overcoming – the social, religious and political divides that permeate Lebanon's complex social fabric.

The report, published by the Samir Kassir Foundation and funded by the European Union, was recently released in the form of a 40-page booklet, which grew from a series of interviews with local artists and cultural figures conducted by Reidy for publication on the Samir Kassir Eyes (SKeyes) Center website.

In his introduction, Reidy asserts that the project sprung from a desire to establish where Beirut, as a cultural center, was hiding its culture, and what role that culture played in the life of the city. With no connections in Beirut, he approached two (unspecified) Gemmayzeh galleries and asked to be put into contact with their artists. By following a chain of connections, he explains, he came into contact mostly with what he defines as artists involved in "grassroots cultural activities."

In some ways Reidy's report resembles the recently published "Peeping Tom's Digest No.3: Beirut," in which the Paris-based editorial team established an organic network of connections with local artists, curators, critics and gallerists to document an impression of Beirut's visual art scene from an empirical, outsider perspective.

Unlike the Peeping Tom team, who made it a point not to draw any conclusions from or try any kind of analytical or critical engagement with the material they gathered, Reidy not only documents but also attempts to contextualize and expand upon his material, concluding with his own recommendations.

He has evidently made an effort to speak to artists from a variety of backgrounds, working in a range of media. However, with a total of just 25 interviewees, the opinions put forward by each artist are for the most part left to stand in a vacuum, neither corroborated nor contested by those working in a similar area. This is problematic when their testimonies are used to draw conclusions about the cultural scene as a whole.

Painter and draftsman Guylain Safadi, who exhibited a selection of paintings and etchings at Artlab gallery last November, speaks as the sole representative of Syrian artists in Beirut, for example, while Abdel-Rahman Katanani stands in for Palestinian artists and playwright Rahel Zegeye for migrant workers on the culture scene.

One thing that Reidy does successfully is emphasize the geographical confines of Lebanon's art and culture scene, which for the most part exists only within what emcee Zac Allaf refers to as "the plastic area of Beirut" – a strip extending from Ras Beirut to Nahr Beirut, bounded by the sea on one side and the onset of the city's southern suburbs on the other. Within this small area films are screened, plays staged, gigs performed and exhibitions held by the same small group of players and for the same small group of viewers.

Reidy, who is concerned with cultural activity and production in Beirut as a microcosm of social divisions along economic, religious and political lines, is searching for examples of cultural activity that overcomes these invisible demarcations, uniting citizens he sees as otherwise marginalized or disenfranchised from the "elite or commercial pop cultures."

He returns again and again to the metaphor of Beirut's cultural scene as a shattered mirror, reflecting a fragmented society, providing examples of four cultural manifestations that he feels unite, rather than reinforcing divides. All four involve free performances in public spaces, allowing passersby from diverse backgrounds to participate.

Reidy highlights the annual Samir Kassir Spring Festival (a troubling choice given the foundation's involvement in publishing the report), the Yafta Sessions, live poetry performances in public spaces, Whispered Tales, a collection of stories gathered and performed in villages in North and South Lebanon, and the Naked Wagon, a portable stage taken around the city by bike and unfolded to provide a venue for public performance.

These examples demonstrate instances of nonprofit cultural activity intersecting with a wider cross-section of the public than might be found at a commercial gallery opening or a ticketed performance. But with the exception of Whispered Tales, all are based in central Beirut, the same "plastic area" that provides the limited fertile ground for most of the capital's other cultural activities, whether public or private, charitable or commercial.

Reidy's concluding suggestion is that what is needed for culture in Lebanon to overcome obstacles such as lack of state funding, censorship and social divisions is a "Lebanese Artists' Project," a collaborative initiative by civil society organizations that would employ artists to complete projects, thereby helping to create "an inclusive and equalizing social narrative" and "break the division between art and public life."

Where the funding for such a project – which Reidy compares to the Federal Writers Project established by U.S. President Franklin Roosevelt to support writers during the Great Depression of the 1930s – is to come from is left to the reader's imagination.

Overall Reidy's report is an interesting read and makes some valid and valuable points about cultural production in Lebanon. But his conclusions about what Beirut's cultural scene consists of and whether it unifies or divides are rendered unconvincing by the limited scope of Reidy's interviewees, and by a number of unaddressed topics, such as the role commercial galleries or even nonprofit institutions such as the Sursock Museum, the Beirut Art Center and the Beirut Exhibition Center play in promoting and disseminating culture.

"A Fractured Mirror: Beirut's Cultural Scene and the Search for Identity" by Eric Reidy is available free from the Samir Kassir Foundation's offices in Ashrafieh. For more information call 01-397-331 or visit www.skeyesmedia.org

ZOUK MIKAEL: A band of lucky spectators were privileged to witness a unique two-hour concert Wednesday, an exceptional blend of jazz and opera.

The Zouk Mikael Festival continued its festivities with a performance by U.S. operatic soprano Monica Yunus, U.S. jazz musical talent and singer Jonathan Batiste and his band, Stay Human.

The performance opened with the music emanating from within the rows of spectators seated in the Roman amphitheater, where the first notes of Batiste’s melodica (an instrument combining piano and harmonica) could be heard.

The musician then stood up to reveal his smart attire of a nicely cut beige suit and bow tie. For a few minutes he played his instrument while strolling between the seats and tables. At one point he sat down next to a girl; at another he kissed a woman on the cheek. It was enough to ensure that everyone in the venue felt at ease.

Wednesday’s concert may not have been as crowded as expected, but it was clear that those spectators who had turned out were connoisseurs of jazz music. Lebanese-American blues guitarist Otis Grand– who will be performing in a few days – was present among the spectators, enjoying the laid-back performance by this young jazz prodigy.

Batiste was accompanied by his band, Stay Human. Comprising two drummers, a bassist, a saxophonist and tuba and trombone player, the ensemble performed with evident enjoyment – their pleasure at performing in Lebanon coming across as loudly and clearly as their melodies.

Then soprano Monica Yunus made her entrance, every inch the diva in a sublime pale rose dress, adorned with diamantes. The minute she sang the opening strains of Nat King Cole’s “Embraceable You,” many of the spectators began to applaud.

Throughout the show, the audience witnessed a true spirit of teamwork. The musicians and singers were continuously smiling at each other and listened to one another with great respect. Each time there was a solo session – whether drum or vocals – the other musicians would either leave the stage in order not to steal their fellow performer’s thunder, or stay silent, displaying their mutual esteem for one another.

Later in the show, all the performers descended to the front of the stage to sing an a cappella version of Charles Fox’s “Killing Me Softly with His Song” – a hit covered in 1996 by hip hop band The Fugees. The new version gave at least one listener goose bumps.

Batiste showcased for the Lebanese audience his talent and dexterity in switching from one instrument to another, moving from piano to melodica to drums. At one point, he joined one of the drummers on the set in delivering an amazing drum session, a moment that betrayed a great show of friendship between the artists.

Later on, Stay Human’s two drummers competed in drumming battles, at one time each moving from one drum set to another and then facing one another while playing tambourines, trying to see which was better – all in a friendly, gentle way.

One of the drummers – Joe Saylor– proved to be an outstanding musician with magnificent technique. At one point he placed a drum on the front section of the stage. All the other musicians and singers stepped back, and a long, dynamic, exciting drum solo began.

Saylor was like a hummingbird, moving his hands so quickly it was difficult to decipher all his movements. His technique seemed utterly unique – at least to this journalist. He played with his elbow; putting his foot on the drum in order to change the sound effects. It was a display that left most of the spectators gasping in amazement.

“The energy that you are giving [us],” Batiste said, “is very positive and uplifting.”

The artist and his band have been on tour since the beginning of June, and they chose Lebanon as their last stop before going home.

Batiste played some of his greatest tunes, among them “St. James Infirmary,” which gave the sense of being in a jazz club in Louisiana (his hometown).

At several points during the performance, the musicians got down from the stage to get closer to the public, bridging the gap between performer and spectator. Yunus – who had left the stage – came back to join all the others in the venue rows, helping to metamorphose the whole amphitheater into a stage.

“LOVE” – another of Nat King Cole’s hits – was sung magnificently by Yunus, along with Doris Day’s “You are My Sunshine,” which was chorused by everyone in the venue.

At one point, Batiste asked the band to stop playing, explaining to the crowd that “[they] can’t play this kind of music with everyone sitting down.”

The reaction was immediate. Everyone stood up and sang in unison. The band and singers walked between the spectators singing, followed by a small crowd. It was like being part of a informal party or a jazz gig with friends.

For two hours the amphitheater was transformed into a jazz microcosm, where Yunus’s voice infused the groovy tunes with grace and power. Who would have thought that jazz and opera would go so well together.

The Zouk Mikael International Festival continues Aug. 5 with a performance by Otis Grand. For ticketing, please call 01-999-666.

BEIRUT: The charitable Makhzoumi Foundation, which has provided iftars and festivities during the holy month for around 15 years, launched Monday night the first ever Ramadan bazaar and festival at the Beirut International Exhibition and Leisure center. Souk Ramadaniyat Beirutiya Festival will continue after iftar, from 9 p.m. to 1 a.m., through Thursday night. The souk houses artisans and small-scale craftsmen, as well as pricier local designers, live Arabic entertainment, children’s activities and plenty of food.

Thousands were present for the opening night and BIEL’s cavernous space allowed for numerous different festival activities. The main stage began the night’s entertainment with live renditions of Fairuz’s career hits and whirling dervishes; a contemporary art exhibit attracted wanderers; and foreign embassies served up food and cultural facts.

Makhzoumi is an non-governmental organization with program arms extending into microcredit, vocational services, health care, democracy awareness, environmentalism and other welfare services.

Gradually over the years, Makhzoumi has expanded its seasonal projects, from iftars more than a decade ago to art exhibitions last year. The festival at BIEL is the culmination of Makhzoumi’s Ramadan efforts and an event that its leadership plans to host annually.

“It’s been 15 years that we’ve been working during Ramadan,” May Makhzoumi, president of the foundation and wife to founder Fouad Makhzoumi, told The Daily Star. “We started offering food rations to NGOs, to mosques even to some churches. Then a few years ago, maybe in 2005, we started doing Ramadan tents at all our centers around the country.”

Aside from the festival this year, Makhzoumi is still organizing iftars around the country. At Verdun Square, 2,500 meals are distributed every night through Makhzoumi and the help of partner NGOs, she said.

One of Makhzoumi’s biggest projects is giving loans between $500 and $7,500 to small businesses – anyone from taxi drivers to tailors, Makhzoumi said. This year’s festival brought together holiday revelers from the city with dozens of Makhzoumi’s microcredit beneficiaries, many of whom manned stands selling handmade lace, decorative items and food preserves.

The do-good spirit was also present in rows of stands promoting other Lebanese NGOs peddling their own causes and souvenir items. Save Beirut Heritage offered hip clutches on which pictures of the city’s historic Ottoman buildings were printed; and Save the Grace, a nonprofit company distributing the city’s leftovers to the needy, was selling promotional teacups.

Festivalgoers on the opening night clustered around a few of the popular tents – most of them dolling out food.

People squeezed to find a place to stand near celebrity TV chef Richard Khoury, who was demonstrating Ramadan recipes. Tents for the Italian and Egyptian embassies were also bustling as people waited to try Egyptian staples like Oum Ali, a raisin-studded bread pudding, and koushry, a poor man’s street food made up of pasta, rice, lentils, chickpeas and tomato sauce.

Wednesday night will feature more whirling dervishes and live Fairuz songs, while Thursday will see live oriental music and singer Pascale Sakr performing along with her orchestra.

BEIRUT: The sun is blazing, the asphalt is baking and the air is stifling. With summers being unbearably hot and humid, electric air conditioning, invented at the beginning of the 20th century, has moved from a luxury to an absolute necessity. When the electricity is out, the modern technology we miss the most during this sweltering season is not our television set or our Internet connection – it’s our air conditioning.

People have been trying to control indoor temperatures for centuries. Wealthy citizens in ancient Rome circulated water through their homes using aqueduct systems. It is even said that the Roman emperor Elagabalus imported snow from the mountains on donkey trains and kept a mountain of it in his garden. Ancient Egyptians hung damp mats on their walls, and used lotus leaves to fan themselves.

It sounds almost impossible, but as it turns out, the era sans-air conditioning was more than tolerable. It may have also had some qualities that made life much more valued.

For example, the windows and doors would be open day and night, a simple net was strung across windows to keep the mosquitoes out. The openness encouraged people to talk and welcome each other more. And to some, air conditioning has undermined the entire purpose of summer: People now flee to the indoors instead of out.

“People don’t know their neighbors now,” said Laurence Attieh, who has lived in Beirut all her life and is now in her mid-80s. “Back then, there were no apartment buildings. Many people had small homes with small gardens where they could enjoy the shade from the trees with their neighbors and just be outside.”

Most of the senior citizens The Daily Star spoke to said temperatures decades ago could be just as intolerable as they are today. But older houses were made of thick stones and high ceilings that kept homes a little cooler because the heat would rise. There were also fewer cars, which meant exhaust pipes would not smother residents with fumes.

There were also more trees on the streets and around homes, which cast comforting shade during the scorching months of July and August. The coast was less developed and beaches were generally free, which meant residents of Beirut and Jounieh could walk just a few kilometers and cool off in the water. Before electric fans were invented, ceiling fans were the next best thing, especially since they weren’t particularly costly.

Urbanization had yet to attract villagers to Beirut, so much of the population also still lived in villages, away from the city, where it was naturally cooler and breezier.

When all else failed, people resorted to sleeping on their balconies, porches and even roofs to take naps during the day or to spend the night to escape the oven that was the bedroom. Paper fans and wide-brimmed hats were trendy – and practical – accessories, and cold showers every now and then would do the trick.

Families avoided preparing hot meals, and popsicles and ice cream were a surefire way to keep cool, at least for a little while. Food was also kept in higher places in the house to keep it fresh, or in wooden boxes that resembled small closets protected with steel bars to keep the insects out.

The first modern air conditioner was invented in 1902 by the American Willis Carrier. It was originally designed for industrial air-quality control. Home air conditioning didn’t become available until after WWII, and it only became common in Lebanon around the early ’80s, but it was, even then, still scarce.

Mary Bagdassarian, who lived in Dora for most of her childhood and is now in her late 80s, said residents in the area would make a habit of hanging makeshift tents on their roofs during the summer.

“We were lucky enough to have a balcony, so we would put mattresses out at night to sleep on,” she said. “Others would put their mattresses under vines and hang up blankets to keep their privacy.”

Bagdassarian added that because her family’s house was built of thick stone, it was naturally cooler inside, and whenever she felt the compulsion to cool off, the sea was only a short walk away.

Another popular method people used was to soak their feet in buckets of cold water, and use paper or cardboard as impromptu fans.

“We would sleep on the roof and count the stars,” Attieh said. “You can’t even see the stars now, there are buildings everywhere.”

Children would also take a dip in irrigation canals because the water was cold and relatively clean. They would also wash refreshing fruits in the canals, such as watermelons.

They didn’t complain too much over what they didn’t have, or what they missed, and as insufferable as the heat could be, at least they suffered together.

“Even with the air conditioning on, people still whine,” Attieh added. “We would just go outside, even go to work, with sweat dripping off our brows, and it was OK.”

Tatiana Fayad and Joanne Hayek have been friends since they were small children and first started collecting random objects as potential materials for new jewelry pieces while they were in college.

That was seven years ago. Now they are working together in a northern suburb of Beirut as Vanina – a rather cheeky name inspired by a French song from the 1970s.

In an interview with The Daily Star, they said they chose this name for their fashion studio because the song’s upbeat tempo and feminine quality resonate with their mission as designers. And it does, but there is also a certain social and environmental awareness that drives their choices as artists.

Rather than buy new materials for their accessories, for example, the duo find value in discarded objects that have special aesthetic qualities.

“We took the concept of taking an everyday object and giving it a higher value,” Joanne Hayek told the paper. “It’s a call for waste management.”

One of their earliest jewelry collections, “Coined,” was comprised of old Lebanese coins decorated with beads, patterns, or words.

Another, “Disc-carded,” involves using bits of metal from CD discs, which have lost their appeal since the advent of iPods and iPhones.

Parts of the keys mentioned in the introduction were used in a collection called “Unlocked.”

In addition to having a clunky, industrial edge, these pieces were created to encourage people to be friendly and neighborly, like they were before Beirut became overrun with high-rise apartments. They are reminders to “keep doors open.”

Taken both metaphorically and physically, Vanina’s upcycled jewelry communicates a message, which is perhaps what distinguishes them from a great number of contemporary jewelry makers.

Like solar power versus oil, their work replenishes the earth while others, who are still stuck on the idea that only gems and precious metals are worthwhile as adornments, extract from it.

Of course, they aren’t the first in Lebanon to join a growing number of international artists and designers who reuse existing materials in order to spare landfills and slow down unsustainable consumerism.

Although they are using recycled materials that are normally frowned upon in Arab societies, the pair have been incredibly successful and their designs have appeared in several respected fashion magazines.

In Egypt, the recycling trend is also catching on slowly. We recently interviewed a group of girls who have turned plastic into marketable products that encourage Egyptians to pay better attention to where stuff comes from and where it lands up.

Beiteddine: In the relatively rarefied world of Lebanese modern art, the Basbous family of Rachana occupies a space akin to the one the Rahbanis occupy in the country’s musical heritage. Michel Basbous, a pioneer in modernist approaches to sculpture, had an only son in Anachar – which, as the lore of the land informs one, is “Rachana” spelled backward. In his early years, Basbous the younger worked at wall decoration. Later he decided to pursue sculpture as a profession. Invariably he was seen as following in his father’s footsteps.

Nowadays, Rachana has a toehold in Beiteddine, with a smattering of Anachar’s recent works scattered about the village.

“Balance & Light” marks the first collaboration between Art Lounge and the Beiteddine Art Festival. It assembles eight massive sculptures within the former silk factory that houses Art Lounge’s Beiteddine franchise. Three more of Anachar’s works squat in the garden outside Art Lounge, while an additional nine of his sculptures can be found on display at Beiteddine Palace, not far from the festival main stage.

Anyone familiar with the oeuvre of Anachar may recall “Shattered Sun,” the prominent exhibition of the artist’s work, staged a bit more than a year ago at Zeitouneh Square in Wadi Abu Jamil.

“Balance & Light” displays a broader range of steel sculptures than the Wadi Abu Jamil show, highlighting the artist’s deployment of architectural motifs in his work.

What first draws the viewer’s eye is the sheer scale of these pieces – which can attain two meters in height. With the exception of the stainless steel work “Midnight Sun,” all the pieces in Art Lounge’s Beiteddine show are confected from a reddish steel, which imbues the exhibition with the rusty hues of obsolescence.

Also intriguing in Anachar’s work is its thematic transition from astronomical shapes – as though he were taking inspiration from the heavenly bodies – to more mundane forms like ladders, towers and steel sticks, evidently taking inspiration from architecture.

As the title of this exhibition suggests, light is also important aspect of Anachar’s works.

The artist works to entice the onlooker’s curiosity with a game of light and shadow, encouraging her to read forms that, as the show’s press materials suggest, “are not immediately recognizable.”

Depending on the perspective from which she gazes at individual works, and the light at her disposal as she does, the viewer may feel she is looking at a completely different sculpture.

The Beiteddine Palace chapter of the exhibition arrays several tall sculptures alongside one another other. The works’ titles – “Beirut-Dubai,” “Beirut-Paris,” “Beirut-Mecca,” “Beirut-Damascus,” “Beirut-Cairo” – give the series the aspect of a totemic travelogue, which each work personifying the artist’s vision of their interrelationship.

Among the most expressive works here is “Beirut-Damascus.” The center of the tall steel structure has been voided. Hanging in this absent rectangle is a chain that drapes into a coil atop the plinth in which the piece is embedded.

This moveable element gives this otherwise static work an aspect of movement and voice, as it is simply to imagine the clanging of the chain as it strikes the metal structure. Even for those innocent of the vexing relationship between the states of Lebanon and Syria since independence, Chains have specific, generally negative, associations – imprisonment, censorship and restricted freedoms. One with local knowledge, and an upbeat perspective, might see in it the pervasive ties between the two countries.

At the former silk factory, the 100x100x65 cm structure entitled “Lost Time” is a G-shaped steel structure adorned with a ball and geometrical motifs. Although the structure appears broken and on the verge of collapse, it also evinces continuity and harmony. For some, the sculpture may recall the sort of time-space vortex you’d find in a science fiction movie (Mario Kassar’s “Stargate,” say) or a clock that’s stopped ticking.

Other works evoke Lebanon’s past.

“Now & After” (100x34x24 cm), for instance, is comprised of three towers, representing destruction. From left to right, observers face a filled, solid tower, with steel bits at its base. The second is a bit more hollowed out, crumbling to bits. The third depicts the collapsing foundation, with only a thin structure remaining upright while broken shards of steel fall from it.

Redolent of the ruined edifices that dot the country’s landscape, this material degradation also defines the obsolescence of form generally.

The dualities in Anachar’s works – the weight of steel and the play on gravity, static and movement, construction and destruction – will challenge some viewers’ way of seeing.

Anachar Basbous’ “Balance & Light” is on show at Art Lounge Beiteddine (Silk Factory) and the Beiteddine Palace until Aug. 31. For more information, please call 03-997-676.

EHDEN, Lebanon: Every patch of evening traffic on the way to Kroum resort in Ehden sent the car’s air-conditioning into a temper tantrum; and us, too, as a humid 32 degrees Celsius turned the drive into a sauna of burnt-rubber and car exhaust. When we climbed up the first bend from the valley village of Mazraat al-Nahr, however, the temperature took a noticeable turn as well. The windows went down, the scarf came on, and by the time we broke through the blanket of fog on the Ehden mountaintop, the temperature had plummeted to a brisk 18 degrees.

A cloud had taken a temporary pit stop on the village during its trip over the mountainous region of Zghorta. We could see nothing but what was directly in front of us, and even the roadside condominiums were suspended in fluffy grayness. It was through this that the Kroum compound, a development project still in its infancy, came into view.

Distance-wise, Ehden is about 120 kilometers from the capital Beirut. But it’s a universe away in terms of just about everything else: biodiversity, clean air, cool summer temperatures and tranquility. Perched on a mountain 1,200 meters above sea level and surrounded by north Lebanon’s natural wonders – the Horsh Eden reserve and the Qadisha Valley, a cave-pocked, ascetics’ escape – Ehden attracts thousands of visitors each summer.

Kroum was the latest edition to the resorts and hotels that dot Ehden when it opened for a pilot month last summer. This July, Kroum opened for its first full season, which will run until October or whenever the rainy season starts, said manager Sayed Accary.

Some parts of Kroum appeared very much like a project under construction.

For example, workers were finishing up the structure of the hotel’s soon-to-be outdoor club and lounge. But the essentials for the hotel were finished: a line of elegantly minimalist hotel rooms each with their own private balcony; a compound of luxury suites surrounding a pool and Jacuzzi; two massive, heated swimming pools; a poolside bar serving sandwiches and snacks; and, the real gem, Le Matbokh, a traditional Zghortian-style restaurant.

Kroum plucked much of its staff from the surrounding villages. The chefs were village ladies, and the various waiters, receptionists and other help were a smiling cadre of helpful and chatty young people. They escorted us directly from the car to Le Matbokh, where more of them were baking sesame kaak bread or grilling it with cheese.

When complete, Kroum will offer a contemporary fusion of urban modernism and mountain tradition. That contrast was already taking shape.

The utilitarian architecture and minimalist design scheme created a contemporary resort feel, so did quirky surprises like a three-person bicycle leaning against the entrance and poolside double beds. But Kroum’s management also preserved the best the area has to offer, namely its cuisine and dramatic landscape. The resort was built in a linear layout to give guests the best view possible.

Kroum sought to add a little urban sophistication to the nightlife scene in Ehden. Accary compared the future lounge, slated to open Aug. 1, to Beirut’s Iris: a laid back, sunset to sunrise club with live music or DJs.

He estimated Ehden had around four night clubs, which all had more or less the same concept: Arabic music led by a man and his piano. Le Matbokh started hosting its own Arabic music nights with an emphasis on adding diversity to the local scene through oud players and local bands.

It was also Le Matbokh that grounded Kroum to its location by serving up Zghorta-specific so-called “mother-to-daughter” recipes.

There were five different kinds of baked kibbeh on the menu. The local rendition of arass were softball-sized kibbeh filled with rich melted animal fat. The kibbeh nayeh was made from goat meat, rather than beef and lamb fat, and a perfect, unadulterated bright pink. Locally made goat cheese called darfieyeh shared a plate with slices of watermelon. The loubiyeh bil zeit (green beans in olive oil) was tomato free, and a cold plate of chicken liver was doused in a deliciously sweet, paprika sauce.

There were of course Lebanese mezze staples prepared in their universal form, like hummus, mutabbal, garlic labneh, soujouk and makanik sausages, and shanklish (though here it was called by its local name “jibjob”).

The morning meal came complimentary with a stay at Kroum and consisted of any local breakfast dishes your heart desired: labneh, eggs still sizzling in olive oil, zaatar and cheese manakeesh, doughy pockets of butter and sugar, olives and varieties of homemade jam – called “tatleh” by the locals.

By the time Kroum is finished Le Matbokh will be but one of a number of cafes and international-style restaurants at the resort.

Kroum plans to develop its 140,000 square meters of land with more than just a hotel resort. The project, which is slated to take six more years, will include a number of cafes and restaurants, a small shopping village peddling local crafts and foodstuffs, a second hotel and villas for long-term residents. Kroum is also planting fields of its own fresh fruits and produce to service its own eateries.

Still, Accary readily agreed that the political situation had made it a less-than-ideal time to open up a new hotel in the country, where tourism has slowed to a snail’s pace.

Last year, Ehden canceled its annual music and entertainment festival after violence in Tripoli, sparked by the war in neighboring Syria, had scared off international performers.

This year, the political situation has deteriorated in other parts of the country, though the Ehden Festival is prepared to go ahead as planned starting the first week of August.

Accary was surprisingly upbeat about the season. “We depend greatly on expats returning to the area, and they always come even if there’s war,” he said. “Also the new trend for the past three years is [people] from Beirut. Beirutis love to escape.”

For more information about Kroum, visit its Facebook page at www.facebook.com/KroumEhden or call for rates at 79-100-507.

BEIRUT: The village of Bikfaya is revered for two crucial contributions to Lebanese society: politics, as the birthplace of the Kataeb Party, and in the month of July, white-fleshed Babcock peaches, said to only grow in the area. The village’s mild temperatures coupled with its altitude of just about 900 meters are ideal conditions for this particular species of peach to grow. And for the locals, harvesting the rare variety of peach has always been a family affair.

Babcock peaches were named after American professor E.B. Babcock, who developed the type after crossbreeding strawberry and pento peaches.

The peaches are white, with a brilliant red core, and sweeter and juicer than other varieties of peach. As it was first introduced to Lebanon in the town, Babcock peaches continue to be Bikfaya’s hallmark fruit.

“We have something that doesn’t exist elsewhere in Lebanon,” said Hana Najjar, who owns a family-run peach orchard in the village.

It’s introduction to the Bikfaya area, he recalls dates back to the 1930s, when a group of Americans presented the seeds to the village with the help of Maurice Gemayel, who was acting as the deputy to Pierre Gemayel at the time.

Hana’s father, Elias, was the first farmer to sow its seeds.

Today, brothers Antoine and Hana Najjar take care of the orchard their father cultivated, the latter pointing out that though the seeds were planted in the early 1930s, the first harvest took place four years later.

“My uncle Elias never got married,” explains Hana. “He was married to the peach orchard.”

Indeed, one needs to be utterly devoted to a peach orchard to guarantee a successful harvest. Peach trees are vigorous, and require regular pruning and thinning, as well as fertile and well-drained soils.

Everyone in the village speaks of the role peaches played in their childhoods – picking them from the tree, placing the ripe ones in boxes before sending them off to the local supermarkets, brushing off the excess fuzz and dust with the ends of broomsticks.

“I have two children,” Hana says. “One is a doctor and the other is an engineer, so I don’t know who will take up the orchard after our generation.”

The family’s hopes for orchard are said to lie with the younger Aboudi Najjar, Hana’s nephew, but he says there are many factors hindering his desire to take up peach cultivation, chief among them being the challenges associated with achieving profitability.

“We aren’t agricultural professionals today, we have a peach orchard, but its operated by the family,” explains Aboudi, who is a businessman himself, supplying Lebanon with Jelly Belly, an American candy, “So today my father is an expert, but these days it’s not his main business.”

Prioritizing other business ventures means the peach orchard belonging to Aboudi’s father, Antoine, must be maintained by paid workers.

“We make very little profit and there’s a lot of competition,” the younger Najjar says

He explains that because of the short shelf life of the peaches, at most three weeks, they need to be sold immediately upon the harvest.

“It’s like gambling: You pick the peach and if you don’t find someone to purchase it immediately, it’s all lost,” Hanna says.

There are a number of more organized peach plantations in the area but that nevertheless cannot produce Babcock peaches.

“The second problem is water,” Aboudi adds. “There isn’t enough.”

The lack of precipitation in the area during the summer months, and existing water shortages mean the Najjar family has to purchase water from external sources to replenish the peaches and ensure a productive harvest.

Moreover, peaches are susceptible to infection from various disease-carrying insects and the cost of pesticides is another aspect of peach farming making it an expensive endeavor. In particular, Babcock peaches are vulnerable to peach leaf curl, brown rot and the peach twig borer.

“I don’t think many people are growing peach plantations anymore, because it’s a very sensitive product, it’s better to plant apples, pears,” Aboudi says. “Peaches are very sensitive.”

What Aboudi wants most, he says, is for the Agriculture Ministry to recognize Babcock peaches as a distinct product of Bikfaya, a prestigious seal that he believes will boost its added value and ensure its lucrativeness.

Peaches, like other fruits, can be eaten just as is, or preserved with some citrus and water as jams and baked in pies.

“You can find peach jams in the supermarket, but our peaches in Bikfaya are a different and rare variety,” Bikfaya local Nicole Gemayel explains. “If you plant the same seed elsewhere, you’ll have a different peach.”

With a little creativity, the fruit can be used as the confectionary touch to savory recipes, such as Bikfaya local Leila Sayah’s peach mankousheh.

“It’s my own recipe,” she says proudly, distributing the thick chunks of peaches, stewed in water and cinnamon, on top of the bubbling cheese of an already baking mankousheh.

The seemingly incongruous sweet and salty flavors are much like the climate of Bikfaya, where the peaches were grown: fruitful and robust.

(CNN) -- I approached Baalbek on a hot, dry day out of Beirut, down a broken road where children played, oblivious to passing cars.

I pulled up by a small hut on the outskirts of the city, where I'd been told to ask for Abdul Nabi al-Afi.

There he was, a slim, cheery, weather-beaten man who offered me coffee.

I was sweating from the heat, but Abdul found Lebanon cold at this time of year and he was wearing a blazer over two pullovers.

I sat down to hear how this former sergeant in the Lebanese army had found himself guardian of one of the most extraordinary sights in the region.

A former Lebanese army sergeant, Abdul Nabi al-Afi found an archeological treasure in a rubbish-filled gorge.

Treasure beneath rubbish

Twelve years ago, Abdul had retired from the military and returned to the Beqaa Valley -- a broad, green swathe running for 120 kilometers through eastern Lebanon -- and his home in Baalbek.

"Many Palestinian refugees had moved here in the time I'd been away," he said, "and I saw they'd been throwing their rubbish into an old quarry."

At a loose end, Abdul started removing the garbage from the site near his home.

As he did, he uncovered an ancient object -- the largest single stone ever carved, lying at the bottom of the quarry.

It was a huge piece of limestone, longer than a school bus and estimated to weigh more than a thousand tons.

Carved by the Romans more than 2,000 years ago, the monolith had been intended for the nearby temple complex of Heliopolis.

Now a Lebanese flag flies at one end of it, and, over the cafe Abdul has set up nearby, a sign trumpets: "La Plus Grande Pierre dans le Monde."

A Roman sarcophagus found at Heliopolis. The temple was far vaster than anything seen in Rome itself.

Three gods

Traveling in the Middle East, I'd heard of Baalbek but not of Heliopolis.

As we stepped down into the old shallow quarry, Abdul pointed to the huge white columns of an abandoned temple visible on the horizon between two concrete housing blocks and loops of telephone wire.

"In those days Baalbek was known as Heliopolis," Abdul said. "Our temple was the biggest ever built by the Romans.

"Here they worshiped not one god but three: Jupiter, Venus and Bacchus. Today Heliopolis is a UNESCO World Heritage Site."

Abdul receives no government assistance for his upkeep of the quarry and the monolith so, as I was leaving, I bought a guidebook from his shop for $7.

Would he ever leave Baalbek, I asked as we shook hands.

"I can't," he said. "The quarry would go back to the way it was. I won't let that happen."

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"Die Tempel von Heliopolis"

I drove on through the scruffy outskirts of modern Baalbek, parked my car and bought a ticket for ancient Heliopolis.

A group of young German men marched into the ruins ahead of me. They weren't the first: German students have been coming to Baalbek for more than a century.

Before World War I, the Kaiser, an ally of the Ottoman Turks who then ruled here, sent his best archeologists to excavate and secure the ruins.

A drawing of their proposed reconstruction pinned to the ticket booth reads: "Die Tempel von Heliopolis, Ba'albek."

At the combined size of several football pitches, the three temples of Heliopolis were built on a scale much larger than anything seen in Rome.

Shrine to Ba'al

The complex was actually constructed on top of a shrine to the Canaanite god Ba'al.

To build it, the Romans had first to create a vast plateau above the valley.

That alone must have been an extraordinary undertaking.

Location of Beqaa Valley and Baalbek

Location of Beqaa Valley and Baalbek

During the Christian era, the temple complex was quarried for buildings including the Hagia Sofia in Constantinople (the new Roman capital) and the rest was roofed over to create a church of dimensions not seen again until the building of St. Peter's in Rome.

When Islam came to the Beqaa Valley, the steps of this church were hacked away to create an inaccessible Muslim fortress held in 1175 by the mighty Saladin.

Crusaders besieged it several times but never broke through.

Today the complex still towers over this low-rise city.

The occasional tourist wanders through in the company of a guide -- like Abdul, always well wrapped up against the sunshine -- but you can have it to yourself most of the time.

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Vanishing tourists

With civil war raging in its eastern neighbor, Syria, and security always fierce in Israel to the south, tourism has dropped off drastically in Lebanon in recent years.

Nature has also played a destructive part.

Inching away from Africa, the Arabian tectonic plate has caused three earthquakes at Heliopolis, bringing columns and pediments crashing down.

Yet still it somehow stands, huge and white, an ancient marble enclave within modern Baalbek.

The temple wins the crown for most impressive archeological site in the region, but there's much more to see.

At Hermel there's a mysterious pyramidal tower thought to have been built 3,000 years ago -- no one knows why.

Things might be slightly ramshackle in the Beqaa Valley, but its attractions are world class.

Lebanese white

Lebanon may be dry but it isn't, so to speak, necessarily dry.

Château Ksara (+961 88 134 95), founded in 1857 by Jesuit priests, created one of the first white wines in Lebanon.

"Until recently we received 7,000 visitors a year," Sabah, who works in the visitor shop, told me.

"This valley still produces more than six million bottles of wine a year," she continued. "We sweep the car park every day. We're optimistic."

Everything might be slightly falling apart in the Beqaa Valley, but then this strife-torn region often has to rely on the goodwill of people such as Abdul to maintain its world class tourist attractions.

Nevertheless, the valley exudes calm.

It's seen a lot of history and knows it'll see more.

Now, when the most recent chapter of that history has scared most people off, could be a good time to go.

Baalbek is approximately 85 kilometers east of Beirut. Lebanon-R-Us is one local company offering tours of the city and its sights; +961 76 513 800.

The monolith and Abdul's cafe are located near the eastern entrance to Baalbek -- look for signs. No set opening times or entrance fee to the site.

To visit ancient Heliopolis, look for signs within Baalbek pointing to "The Ruins"; open 8:30 a.m. until 30 minutes before sunset; children under eight free, adults $8; guides are hired from around the ticket office, at the southeastern end of the temple complex, and cost around $14 an hour.

More information on visiting Baalbek can be found on the Baalbeck Municipality official website.

BEIRUT: When Sahar Taha was growing up, she and the children of her Baghdad neighborhood would go house to house during Ramadan, singing songs and collecting sweets. She remembers it as a time of joy, when the community renewed its bonds through collective fasting and late-night visits. “I think today children have different interests and modes of expression,” said Taha, resplendent in a turquoise abaya. “They don’t even play in the street anymore.

“Today we are living in the era of globalization, which has also come to Iraq, so the habits of children have changed with the computer and the Internet. A lot of things disappeared in terms of customs and traditions.”

Ramadan, like Iraq, may have changed in the years since Taha left, but she was happy to resurrect the spirit of old Baghdad for one night at the newly inaugurated Iraqi Cultural Center in Verdun, the first such center in the Arab world.

As Taha took to the stage Friday evening with Ashtarout, her seven-woman band, she wasted no time in addressing the specter of violence that seemed to hang over the audience, comprised mainly of Iraqis, Lebanese and Syrians. It was one day after 44 people were killed in attacks across Iraq and less than a week since a massive car bomb wounding dozens in the Beirut suburb of Bir al-Abed.

“Hopefully next Ramadan will be calmer and more hopeful,” she said. “Tonight, although there are many great Iraqi songs for sadness, we have chosen joyful tunes because we must always hope for a better future.”

For the next hour and a half, Taha kept her word, transporting the audience with lighthearted tunes from the 1950s and ’60s, as well as newer compositions based on the works of contemporary Iraqi poets.

The opening strains of such favorites as “Shlonak Aini, Shlonak” (How are you, my love, how are you) and “Mali Shughl bil Souk,” (I have no business at the market) drew cries of recognition bordering on relief, while the classic “Marou Alayi al-Helween,” (The pretty ones pass by), made famous by the legendary Iraqi vocalist Nazem al-Ghazali, provoked cheers and spontaneous shouts of “Allah!”

Although the songs were ostensibly playful, the undertone of loss was unmistakable.

“Every song has its flavor, its significance and meaning, but they all talk about Iraq and love for one’s homeland,” said Taha, speaking to The Daily Star following the performance. “For us expatriates, nostalgia is a disease, and the longer we are away, the more the nostalgia comes flooding back.

“Music is the vehicle through which we express our longing and nostalgia, and release the pressure and the love,” she continued. “Music is what brings people together. Politics divides us, but music brings us together.”

Ever mindful of the historical and social contexts behind the traditions that influence her as an artist, Taha is as much a musicologist as a musician. She has written extensively as both a music critic and researcher, and even credits music with helping her beat cancer three times.

Her latest album “Ashaqouka Enta” (I Adore You) is a collection of songs based on the works of female Sufi poets from the 8th to the 21st centuries.

“Sahar is a committed artist, and a spiritual one at the same time,” said the novelist Latifa al-Hajj Kodeih, who was in the audience Friday evening. “Especially during Ramadan, one feels that this type of art brings you closer to spirituality and turns you toward the heavens and the spaces that you need, especially in light of the crisis in the Arab world.”

The center, which falls under the aegis of Iraq’s Ministry of Culture, only opened last month. The concert last week was the first of four cultural evenings to be hosted by the center every Friday throughout Ramadan.

Ali Aweid al-Abadi, the center’s director, said Beirut was a natural location choice. “There is a cultural depth and vividness in Beirut,” he said, “and a deep relationship between the Iraqi and Lebanese cultures.”

Abadi went on to say he hoped the center would play a central role in fomenting creative and intellectual exchange between Lebanon and Iraq with lectures, readings, concerts and other events.

Speaking as an Iraqi artist, particularly one who has been living outside her country for many years, Taha said founding a cultural center was a “necessary step” and expressed her readiness to help “in any way” she could.

“This center is a point of communication, a meeting point between Iraq and the outside, and between creative forces from all over the Arab world,” she said. “Culture is much more important than politics.”

For more information about upcoming events, call the Iraqi Cultural Center on 01-786-650.

The camp is Lebanon’s oldest and largest. Founded during the 1948 Arab-Israeli conflict, it evolved over generations from tents to permanent buildings, only to be flattened during a 2007 clash between the Lebanese army and an Islamic militant group (image above).

This project kept the essence of what was destroyed and upgraded it, opting to invest in enhanced public space and greatly improving the lives of 27,000 Palestinian refugees.

The United Nations-led planning effort involved the entire community. The idea was to rebuild something instantly recognizable to former residents. Using large scale plans, designers and residents worked to recall individual homes in correlation to their old neighbors. Camp landmarks were recorded and neighborhoods outlined, and the collective memory of the community was mapped.

The original camp followed the building typology of the refugees’ villages, which, in turn, was based on an extended-family collective. The old town road network had provided the only open space. The new town included a design goal to triple non-built areas from 11% to 35% of total landscape, achieved by giving each building an independent structural system allowing for vertical expansion up to four floors.

Former building positioning was respected, but footprints reduced to increase public space. A series of eight construction phases began in 2008, and in April 2011 residents returned to new homes, schools and shops.

The built environment influences human health as surely as diet and disease. Architecture that weaves together the physical and social fabric of a community deserves recognition. Kudos to the Aga Khan Award for Architecture for throwing light on another stellar project.