Blind Faith. I’ll be honest, by the time we reached the valley of Hayy al-K (Joûret et Tannoûra)
Blind Faith. I’ll be honest, by the time we reached the valley of Hayy al-Kawesbe that old Steve Winwood song ‘Can’t Find My Way Home’, was playing in my head in a continuous loop. I’m not sure how to adequately convey my level of exhaustion at this point in early April of 2016, just two days into a month-long trek from one end of Lebanon to the other. Dead on my feet? Dog-tired? No, knackered was probably closer to the mark, for I definitely felt like I was ready for the boneyard. Safe to say, I was all of them. And more. The day’s walk, an endless slog up from Hasbaya, had been sublime, a day of some of the most magnificent and wild scenery I had until then ever seen in Lebalovely. Best of all, it had been ours alone. For 8 hours, we’d barely seen another soul. But as the evening crept in and we were still at least two hours walk from our rest stop that evening in Rashaya al-Wadi, I was wondering how I was going to make it. It’s often at such low points that the Universe intervenes and as we slogged along in the lengthening shadows, something interrupted my soundtrack, prompting me to turn and look back at the way we had come. The angle, the collapsing foothills and the snow-capped mountains reminded me of a much higher and much drier view I’d once experienced in the upper reaches of the then all-but-untouristed Annapurna Circuit, while the colours and the scent of heather reminded me of Fell walking in the Lake District. That fleeting respite was sufficient to stiffen my resolve and with a renewed sense of purpose (and no more Steve Winwood in my head), I shifted gear and cracked on.
by wsinghbartlett / Instagram