19 years—it’s been that long since I last skied in Lebanon, on these mountains that witnessed me grow, become more adventurous, experiment, fall, get up, and carry on with determination. From a three-year-old skier to a ski instructor to an organizer of one of the local ski clubs, I evolved on these very slopes.
Being the youngest in my family, I had to push myself to keep up with the rest of the pack, and this shaped my personality in many ways. Reflecting on this as I write, I see a parallel with my experience as the youngest—and female—head of department in the corporate bank I worked at a few years ago.
These mountains were very special to me, symbolizing my safe space—an escape from war-torn Beirut during my childhood. I was fortunate enough to ski almost every weekend and spend some summers in the mountains to escape the bombs along the coast. Our escapes had a sense of normality as we gathered with other fortunate friends, allowing the innocence of youth to express itself—even though we had to be mindful of armed militias and the presence of mines and explosives.
Fast forward 20 years, and I took refuge in the Alps, escaping the hustle and bustle of London. My pied-à-terre felt like paradise on earth—my happy safe space, as I called it. Then, too, I tried to fly there as often as I could.
And now, I’m back in the Lebanese mountains. So much has changed with the construction of chalets and other developments. Yet, at the same time, the mountain remains just as I remember it. I recall the terrain’s relief with such clarity—the 360° view from each peak. The only difference from 19 years ago is that this time, I am ski touring (walking up the mountain powered by my legs instead of using lifts), and I am so excited to uncover new spots that may still be unknown to me.
With excitement and love,
Stephanie