High up on a sun-soaked deck, surrounded by olive groves, wild birds and flowers, time almost stands still. The hike follows an ancient Lebanese trail and walking it is like a connection to biblical history. The rock seems made to climb, pocketed footholds in a limestone band that stretches from the Mediterranean to the Cedar Reserve.

Stepping off the ground onto the vertical climb is thrillingly committing, with many hard moves ahead. Rock climbing requires focus, self-reliance, determination, agility and strength. Sometimes the climb feels insurmountable, but reaching the top anchor is a triumph against self-doubt. A sweet victory over gravity and the urge to give up.

We didn’t choose Tannourine specifically because of extreme poverty – it called to us with the form of the cliff

Running a sports for development programme in Lebanon has been a sequence of hard work, small triumphs and patience. Lebanon is a troubled country mired in political gridlock. Underneath the hospitable welcome of its people, there’s a sense of futility.

When we started to develop rock climbing, people literally said: “why bother?” Understandable in a country that went through a 15-year civil war and where every family knows someone who died, went missing, was injured or emigrated; a country which, post-civil war, rebuilt infrastructure subsequently damaged by Israeli bombing in 2006; a country occupied by Syria until 2005 and now plays host to more than a million Syrian refugees. There are still landmines around Tannourine, some of which have recently been cleared, but you don’t hike out from the top of the cliff, you rappel down.

We founded the Rock climbing Association for Development (RAD) because we’re climbers who want to share our passion and believe tourism should be sustainable. Generally, rock climbers get media attention for exploring remote places but show little regard for local communities. We build rock climbs to boost the local economy through rural eco-tourism and we train locals so they have a healthy pursuit and gain a skill set.

Tannourine is not poor compared to some of the villages. In the summer it teams up with bus loads of people up from Beirut to escape the heat and enjoy a long leisurely lunch on terraces in the shade by the river. The project aims to prolong the season for local businesses, as the prime climbing weather is in the spring and autumn when the town is usually deserted. We didn’t choose Tannourine specifically because of extreme poverty, it called to us with the form of the cliff.



Sometimes the climb feels insurmountable, but reaching the top anchor is a triumph against self-doubt. Photograph: Kate Anderson

Locals appreciate the new interpretation of their village. “These mountains were a barrier and a place to hide hundreds of years ago,” said villager Marwan Harb. “Now there is a playful element through sports nature, and this is important, especially for the new generation.” His parents own a restaurant in Tannourine and they’ve noticed more business from climbers, especially off-season.

The potential for an international climbing destination in Tannourine on Mount Lebanon was evident from our first visit on a climbing trip to routes put up above the cedar line by the French military in 2000 for training. On the drive down passing through Tannourine, Will, RAD’s co-founder, yelled “stop the car” and gazed at the magnificent cliff.



Around 20 of the world’s most accomplished climbers have come to try the hardest routes

We teamed up with Lebanese climbers George Emil and Jad Khoury and first asked permission to climb from the landowner, then from the mayor, Mounir Torbey. The response was enthusiastic but a little confused. When villagers saw us up on ropes, removing dangerous loose rock, they would ask us: “why are you cleaning the rock? Are you looking for gold?” People thought we were looking for hidden treasure from hermits who used to live in the caves, seeking solitude and refuge from the Ottomans. The hermitage is now protected through our programme.

Initially, we encountered young people who liked the idea of rock climbing, but when it came to shoeing up and sending a route, they preferred to watch from the ground. It’s not as easy as it looks and when we held an open day to encourage beginners, the kids complained they wanted to try the big routes. Once they were up on the wall, clinging onto the holds, it became clear this sport requires a certain amount of practice.

In the next phase of development through a USAid-supported project, guides will be trained to encourage a safe and sustainable climbing culture in the village.

In the three years we have been working in Tannourine, we have seen attitudes change. The word is out about this great new cliff being developed in an idyllic setting and around 20 of the world’s most accomplished climbers have come from the UK, US, Canada, Spain, France and Germany to try the hardest routes. The North Face Athlete Sam Elias is making a film about it and British climbers Tom Bolger and Rob Lamey posted their report on UK Climbing.

When villagers saw us up on ropes, removing dangerous loose rock, they would ask: “Why are you cleaning the rock? Are you looking for gold?” Photograph: Kate Anderson

The effect of international attention on local climbers is tangible. George Emile, who is now the project’s coordinator, had already won the title of top Lebanese climber in an international climbing competition before we arrived. His climbing has now gone through the roof and he’s putting up some of the hardest routes in the country. Tough routes are an important draw for international climbers, but it’s important to have a range to suit locals too.

There’s a sense of pride in the village, especially among the youth who previously dreamed of getting out. Now that international climbers are visiting, it’s felt the place must be worthy. Adal, who is now a field coordinator with the project, used to ride his quad around and annoy people. The mayor of the village recently said “it’s a miracle” to see the dedication he now has for route clearing and trail setting.

The impact on local business has been slow but steady. Local storeholders like Berth Harb report food and drink sales are up, the restaurants get some additional business, as does the hotel. But disappointingly, day-trippers up from Beirut tend to bring their lunch and leave their litter.

These weekend warriors, mainly young Lebanese professionals and some harrowed aid workers, are the main users of the climbing area. On Saturdays and Sundays, as many as 30 people can be at the cliff on a good day. Returning to nature is a very recent phenomenon; there has not been a big outdoor leisure culture here. Lebanese tend to visit family at the weekend or go to the shopping mall.

Rural eco-tourism and nature appreciation is becoming a trend among people from urban areas where people love the latest new thing. Aware that the traditional approach of marketing Beirut’s nightlife and beach clubs to foreign tourists is unrealistic for the moment, authorities are now focusing on getting residents to enjoy rural tourism, as set out in the Rural Tourism Strategy for Lebanon launched in 2014.

For international visitors, we’re working to promote appreciation of local antiquity and culture. There are Phoenician ruins on the coast at Byblos, the monasteries of the Kadisha valley; wonderful beaches and great food. Climbers need a rest day because it’s such a physical sport and, as visitors get to know more about the Middle East, local trade benefits.

Lebanon may not be an easy sell to foreign tourists: most people are wary about flying into Beirut, and that’s before they realise how crazy the roads are. But the climbing community is more adventurous than most.

Katy Anderson is secretary at Rock climbing Association for Development.

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