The Hajj to Jaj

A few weeks ago, a Lebanese friend made a bold claim. "Jaj, my village, has the most beautiful Cedars in Lebanon," Salyne told us. We didn't believe her. Cedar trees are a major tourist attraction in Lebanon and we assumed that we would have heard of this "Jaj" by now. Salyne's was basically daring us to test her thesis.

Very few Lebanese are familiar with Jaj. When we stopped to ask for directions, people suggested that we go to the Cedars above Bcharre or in the Chouf Cedar Reserve. They assumed that we were lost. Our taxi driver had never even heard of Jaj.

When we arrived, there wasn't much going on in the town. There were three young guys smoking cigarettes and drinking Pepsis on the main road, wondering why these Americans brought a newborn baby all the way up the mountain. There were a few old guys hanging out, politely smiling at us but equally perplexed.

The only store that was open was a butcher's shop. We popped our heads in and said hello. Next thing we knew we were drinking coffee in the butcher's living room. Lebanese hospitality!

The butcher was a wonderful woman named Micheline, mother of two young boys. She had tough, working-woman hands. After making us a batch of coffee and sitting us down by her fire, we chatted as best we could in French. She was a bit concerned about us taking a newborn out into the cold Lebanese mountains. We were starting to think she was right.

After forty-five minutes of visiting with Micheline, Salyne arrived with her friend Charbel. Charbel and Micheline were of course cousins and Micheline remembered when Salyne was a young girl running around the village.

Micheline, holding Jane, Wade, Salyne, Megan, and Charbel.

From there, Salyne and Charbel gave us a quick tour of the village as we drove further into the mountains to see Jaj's cedars. The road up to the cedars is just three years old; prior to the road you had to hike 4-5 hours. Thankfully, our walk was just twenty minutes.

Charbel, Wade, and Jane, enjoying the scenery.

The view was incredible, one of the best we've seen in Lebanon. To the south, you could see the sprawl of Beirut, jutting out on its peninsula. To the north, you could make out Tripoli. We were walking on a rocky mountainside, over 6,200 feet above sea level, yet sitting on top of the Mediterranean.

The grove of cedars was beautiful. No one else was around (unlike in the cedars in Bcharre and the Chouf). Resting in the middle of the grove was a 19th century Maronite chapel. To construct the chapel, monks had to carry the stones, mortar, tools, and supplies miles up the mountain, along narrow trails with just donkeys to help them.

From that mountainside, Jaj seemed like one of the most beautiful places, not just in Lebanon, but in the world. You could see why Salyne and Charbel were so proud of it.

They described their grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins who still lived in the village. They talked about growing up exploring the mountains, camping underneath the cedars, and climbing the rocks surrounding it. As adults, they still camp and spend as much time as possible in the village, although for work they are forced to live in the cities along Lebanon's coast. Someday they hope to build their own house in Jaj.

The sun was setting, the rain was closing in, and Jane's parents were exhausted (although Jane seemed quite content swaddled in multiple layers of blankets). It was time for us to head back to Beirut, satisfied that we had indeed seen the most beautiful cedars in Lebanon.

Megan with Jane, sitting on the side of the chapel.