Lebanon

T R AV E L
Jeita Grotto,
Lebanon
By Nicole Gough
I think it’s fair to assume
that many people have,
at some point in their lives,
visited a cave. My first cave
was a dark, relatively small
one located at Bushkill Falls,
Pennsylvania. It was pretty
cool. But that was it. There
wasn’t much else I took
back from this cave, apart
from that it was dark, and
there may have been some
stalactites perniciously
eyeing me from the ceiling.
If you’re a spelunking
enthusiast – or even if
you’re just aware of caves
in general – you know that
this planet is home to some
really incredible caves: the
glow worm caves in New
Zealand, Skaftafell ice cave
in Iceland, Qumran caves
where the Dead Sea
Scrolls were recovered, the
Cave of Altamira in Spain,
the cave of wonders (I
know, it’s not real, but as
far as caves go, it’s still
pretty cool).
Located a few miles outside of Beirut and
a frightening cab journey up steep, winding
roads, Lebanon’s Jeita Grotto, or Jeita
Caverns, at least in terms of size, makes
these other caves look like they’re unfit to
inspire the word ‘cavernous.’
years quietly and patiently forming in the
dark. There are few things as awesome as
observing natural formations that are the
product of slow growth over time, whose
cores formed during time periods that we
can’t even fathom.
For one, the Jeita Grotto is not simply a
cave, but a cave complex, as it consists of
two levels, with the lower level harbouring a
river.
Plus, it’s cool that a 32-storey building
could fit inside the lower grotto, which is a
nice reference point when describing to a
stranger the level of cavernous-ness the
cave possesses.
It’s also apparently really long. The
information pamphlet distributed at the
grotto claims that the lower level is 7,800m
long, while the upper gallery is 2,200m. This
is a staggering figure, although compared
to the world’s longest cave (Mammoth Cave
in Kentucky, a whopping 651.8 kilometres),
it doesn’t sound especially unique. What is
remarkable about the grotto is the inside:
pink limestone,
glittering crystal,
an underground
river, and bulging
stalactites and
stalagmites
that have spent
hundreds of
Imagine, then, stumbling
upon the entrance to the
lower grotto and having no
comparison point to explain
to some poor sap exactly
how big a place you’ve
just found. This might be
how William Thompson,
American missionary and
cave-finder, felt when
he found himself at the
entrance to the grotto in
1836. According to the
pamphlet, Thompson only
wandered in about 50
metres before hesitating. And why shouldn’t
he? Who knows what’s in there?
The pamphlet goes on to say that
“[Thompson] fired a shot from his gun and
found a cavern of major importance.” I’m
not sure exactly what the pamphlet is trying
to communicate here. It almost sounds as
if Thompson’s bullet somehow transcended
its limited form and communicated to
Thompson that he’d found something quite
nifty. Another source elaborates a bit more,
saying that he “judged by the echoes that
the complex was huge.”
Then he left.
The upper grotto wasn’t even discovered
until the late 1950s, the decade in which the
lower grotto was first opened to the public.
T R AV E L
of mineral. The place had
a strange, extraterrestrial
feel, instilling a sense of
otherworldliness that was
decidedly likeable.
Both were closed in the mid1970s during the Lebanese
civil war, but reopened in 1995.
This allowed ample time for the
people of the world to slowly
become exposed to the cave’s
existence, which apparently
had a rather inspiring effect on
some more than others.
Once we’d adjusted to the
light, we clambered into a small
train that took us down to the
lower grotto, where we waited
in line to board small boats
that would take us through
the ethereal, underground
river. Here, we all thought of
the infamous hallucinatory
scene in the original version
of Charlie and the Chocolate
Factory, where Gene Wilder
and presumably everyone
else involved apparently lost
their minds and exposed
the children to flashbacks of
an acid trip. I was sure that
Raymond Morineau would
have something along those
lines to say of the lower grotto,
but I was shocked to find that
he was disappointed in his
experience, writing, “[the boat
guides] go on, unceasingly
pointing out the most idiotic of
analogies, reducing this place
of profound mystery to the
puerile level of a Christmas
shop-window…but you may
be lucky enough to chance on
a silent boatman…there are
some.”
I refer to Raymond
Morineau, author of my 1974
Lebanon Today. His book,
published before the civil
war, depicts a very different
Lebanon from the one today,
and does so in the most
extraordinary language.
Let me preface this by
saying that, when Loraine,
Laina, Sally, and I entered
the upper grotto, we were
blown away by the size
of the cave. What were
especially captivating were the
stalagmites, the chunky stacks
of mineral rising up from
the cave floor. We were not
allowed to photograph or touch
them, the latter being painfully
tantalising as they looked like
waxy clouds and we wondered
feverishly whether they were
soft or malleable or what, but
we were permitted to gawk
as much and as often as we
liked. Each time we rounded
a corner, we saw a new
shape: a jellyfish, a chocolate
fountain, a broccoli floret, an
expanse of cerebral cortex.
Roaming the upper grotto is
much like watching clouds, in
that observers may glimpse
different shapes in different
stalagmites.
The information pamphlet very briefly –
almost dismissively – sums up the upper
grotto in one sentence: “The cavern is so
serene that it seems like an enormous
cathedral.”
Mr. Morineau, ostensibly entering
the grotto on the trippier fumes of the
1960s, seems to have had a slightly
more psychedelic experience. He first
describes the stalactites, those that
grow down from the ceiling, as “vast
chandeliers of madmen” before likening
the mounds to “a surrealist festival
organised by Pluto,” which seems fitting
if you’re viewing the cave as a facet of
Greek and Roman mythology.
My favourite, however, is his final
description of the overall experience:
“The milk-white curve of snowy breasts
awakes in the sensual dreamer the
ardent peace of fulfilled desires, while
a moment later a thousand daggers
threaten him as he is watched by
monstrous mineral animals. Candlesticks
and Mexican phalluses…guide the tourist
along this road of dreams.”
I can’t say that any of us felt guided
by Mexican phalluses – which are
distinguishable from non-Mexican
phalluses how, exactly? – but we did
find the cavern pretty outstanding, the
dripping sculptures more like works
of art than haphazardly formed lumps
I’m really not sure what he
was on about here. Perhaps
the cave once smacked
of the “puerile Christmas
shop-window,” but it doesn’t
anymore. The attitude of
the tourists and the guides
seemed to be one of unified
reverence. I didn’t hear much chatter at
all, as heads all seemed to be turned
upwards to stare at stalactites dangling
way up on the ceiling, 32 stories high.
The river itself was startlingly clear – and
cold, and beautiful wine bottle green.
Our guide quietly and expertly steered
us through narrow straits of river and
beneath uncomfortably low archways,
out into larger, open pools. It really was
breathtaking. Laina even got to steer us
to the dock.
Perhaps the cave provides new and
different experiences for everyone.
Either way, it’s deserving of a visit if
you’re in Beirut and is something you will
absolutely regret missing.