Lebanon’s Hidden Dangers
I thought a family trip to Lebanon would be a dream—ancient ruins, sacred churches, and the kind of Mediterranean beauty you only see in movies. But the reality hit me hard. We planned to use Batroun as our base, lured by photos of its charming old town and turquoise sea. But no one tells you how isolated you’ll feel once you’re there. The roads are winding, narrow, and filled with reckless drivers who seem to have a death wish. My father, who’s usually fearless behind the wheel, went pale at the thought of driving those mountain passes.
I tried to hire a private driver, but the prices were outrageous—almost as much as our flights. Taxis? Good luck. Most drivers only want to take you short distances, and they’ll argue over the fare at every stop. The idea of public transport was a joke. We spent hours just trying to figure out how to get from Batroun to Baalbek, and every option seemed riskier than the last.
Still, the sites themselves were breathtaking. Baalbek’s Roman ruins rise out of the Beqaa Valley like something from another world, but the moment was spoiled by aggressive touts and the constant worry about getting stranded. The Qadisha Valley’s silence was shattered by the sound of distant gunfire—locals shrugged it off, but we couldn’t. Even Beirut, with its stunning mosques and cathedrals, felt tense, the scars of past conflicts never far from the surface.
Travel blogs paint Lebanon as a paradise, but no one talks about the anxiety, the logistical nightmares, or the way you feel like an outsider no matter how hard you try. Maybe that’s the real story—Lebanon is beautiful, but it’s not for the faint of heart. If you’re looking for a relaxing vacation, think twice. But if you want to feel alive, to taste danger and wonder in equal measure, then maybe, just maybe, it’s worth the risk.
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