A Land of Contrasts and Enduring Traditions
Nestled between the Mediterranean Sea and the arid peaks of the Anti-Lebanon Mountains, Mount Lebanon stands as a testament to resilience. This region, often overshadowed by headlines of political turmoil and economic collapse, is home to a vibrant cultural heritage that has withstood centuries of upheaval. From its ancient cedar forests to its bustling mountain villages, Mount Lebanon offers a microcosm of Lebanon’s complex identity—a place where tradition and modernity collide in fascinating ways.
The Cedar: Symbol of Survival
No discussion of Mount Lebanon’s culture is complete without mentioning the iconic cedar tree. For millennia, these towering giants have been a national symbol, gracing the Lebanese flag and inspiring poets and artists. But beyond their aesthetic value, cedars represent something deeper: endurance. Despite deforestation and climate change, pockets of these ancient forests still cling to the mountainsides, much like the Lebanese people themselves—battered but unbroken.
Local folklore is rich with cedar-related myths. Some villagers still whisper about jinn (spirits) guarding the oldest trees, while others recount how the wood was used to build King Solomon’s temple. Today, reforestation efforts led by grassroots organizations highlight the cedar’s cultural and ecological importance, even as illegal logging and wildfires threaten their survival.
Faith and Coexistence in the Mountains
Mount Lebanon has long been a refuge for religious minorities, from Maronite Christians to Druze communities. This diversity has shaped a unique social fabric where interfaith dialogue isn’t just theoretical—it’s a daily reality. In villages like Bsharri (the hometown of poet Khalil Gibran), church bells and mosque calls often echo across the same valleys without tension.
The Legacy of the Maronite Monastic Tradition
The Maronite Church, rooted in Mount Lebanon since the 4th century, has played a pivotal role in preserving Aramaic, the language of Jesus. Monasteries like Qozhaya—carved into cliff faces—house priceless manuscripts and serve as living museums. Yet, these institutions face modern challenges: dwindling congregations, emigration of young clergy, and the need to digitize their archives before time erases them.
The Druze: Guardians of Secret Wisdom
The Druze, another pillar of Mount Lebanon’s cultural mosaic, are known for their esoteric traditions and tight-knit communities. Their mouwahhidun (unitarians) philosophy emphasizes tolerance, though their religious texts remain inaccessible to outsiders. In towns like Aley, Druze hospitality is legendary—visitors might be invited for a cup of ahweh bayda (white coffee) while elders debate politics under centuries-old oak trees.
Cuisine: A Taste of Resistance
Lebanon’s economic crisis has hit Mount Lebanon hard, but its culinary traditions refuse to fade. Here, food isn’t just sustenance—it’s an act of defiance.
Mezze Culture: Sharing Amid Scarcity
Even as inflation soars, families still gather around tables laden with hummus, moutabal, and kibbeh nayyeh. The mezze tradition, where small dishes are shared communally, reflects a deeper ethos: solidarity. In villages, neighbors pool resources to cook massive pots of frikeh (smoked green wheat) during harvest season, ensuring no one goes hungry.
The Rise of Hyper-Local Ingredients
With imports becoming unaffordable, farmers in Mount Lebanon are reviving heirloom crops like batata bayda (white potatoes) and za’atar ahmar (red thyme). Urbanites fleeing Beirut’s chaos are turning to terraced agriculture, blending ancestral knowledge with permaculture techniques. The result? A quiet food revolution where sustainability isn’t trendy—it’s necessary.
Art and Music: Creativity in Crisis
Lebanon’s financial meltdown has decimated public funding for the arts, but Mount Lebanon’s creatives are adapting in extraordinary ways.
Zajal: Poetry as Protest
In dimly lit ahweh (coffeehouses), spontaneous zajal (improvised poetry) battles erupt nightly. These verbal duels, often laced with satire about corrupt politicians, provide catharsis for a population weary of empty promises. Young poets are now mixing zajal with hip-hop, creating a genre that’s as rebellious as it is rooted.
The Sound of Resistance
From Fairuz’s timeless classics to indie bands like Mashrou’ Leila, music has always been Lebanon’s pulse. In the mountains, underground festivals thrive despite power cuts. Artists barter tickets for groceries, and audiences dance by smartphone light—proof that culture persists even when the state fails.
The Exodus and the Ones Who Stay
Lebanon’s brain drain is undeniable. Over 80% of young Mount Lebanese reportedly want to emigrate. Yet, some choose to stay, driven by a stubborn love for their land.
Digital Nomads and Remote Revolutions
With Lebanon’s currency in freefall, remote work has become a lifeline. In towns like Faraya, co-working spaces pop up in ski chalets, where programmers code for foreign clients by day and tend to family vineyards by night. It’s a paradoxical existence—globally connected yet locally grounded.
The Elderly: Living Libraries
In abandoned villages, octogenarians like Teta (grandma) Warda guard oral histories. Their stories—of Ottoman rule, French mandates, and civil war—are now being recorded by NGOs before they’re lost forever. These narratives don’t just recount the past; they offer blueprints for survival.
Tourism: A Double-Edged Sword
Before the 2019 revolution and COVID-19, Mount Lebanon’s ski resorts and hiking trails attracted Gulf tourists and diaspora returnees. Now, the industry hangs by a thread.
Ethical Travel in a Collapsing Economy
Backpackers who brave Lebanon’s crises today often seek "solidarity tourism"—staying in homestays, volunteering with NGOs, and spending cash directly in communities. It’s travel stripped of luxury but rich in human connection.
The Dark Side of "Disaster Tourism"
Some Instagram influencers, however, exploit Lebanon’s misery for clicks, posing in front of bombed-out buildings with artfully torn clothes. Locals resent this poverty voyeurism, preferring visitors who engage authentically rather than treat their homeland as a dystopian photo op.
The Future: Between Memory and Reinvention
What lies ahead for Mount Lebanon? The answers are as layered as its history. Solar panels now dot church rooftops, while activists use Bitcoin to bypass banking restrictions. Teenagers TikTok Dabke dances next to Roman ruins. It’s chaotic, contradictory, and utterly compelling—a culture refusing to be defined by its crises.
The Thawra (Revolution) Generation
The 2019 uprising birthed a new ethos: cross-sectarian, tech-savvy, and unapologetically local. Graffiti in Beirut might fade, but in mountain towns, murals of slain activists like Lokman Slim remain freshly painted—a silent vow to remember.
Climate Change: The Next Battlefront
Deforestation and erratic snowfall threaten Mount Lebanon’s ecosystems. Activists respond with reforestation "hashtag campaigns" that actually plant trees, proving that even in darkness, seeds of hope take root.