Byblos

Byblos was settled in the Neolithic period, and excavation has found remains of early dwellings beneath the later town, which has been continuously inhabited since about 5000 BC, the reason it is described as one of the oldest inhabited places in the world. By the third millennium BC it was a Canaanite city trading cedar and pine timber and resin to Egypt in exchange for gold, linen and papyrus, and Egyptian influence runs through its temples and royal tombs. The Temple of the Obelisks, raised in the Middle Bronze Age, still stands on the tell, moved a short distance during excavation.

The city's greatest legacy is written. The Phoenician alphabet, from which Greek and in turn the Latin alphabet descend, appears in the inscription on the sarcophagus of King Ahiram found here, and the Greeks' name for the town, Byblos, attached itself to the papyrus traded through it — and so to the words bible and bibliography. Assyrians, Persians, Greeks and Romans followed; a colonnaded street, a theatre and a nymphaeum date from Roman rule.

The port declined under later empires, and the Crusaders took it early in the twelfth century, calling it Gibelet and building the castle from limestone and the remains of the Roman structures around it. Saladin's forces and then the Mamluks retook it, and under Ottoman rule it shrank to a fishing village. Modern excavation began under the French mandate in the 1920s under Pierre Montet and Maurice Dunand, uncovering the layers now on show. UNESCO inscribed the site in 1984, during the civil war, and the town has since lived on tourism, fishing and its closeness to Beirut.

Byblos is a mainly Christian town, Maronite and Greek Orthodox, with churches and monasteries in the hills above it and a calendar shaped by Easter, saints' days and Christmas. Annaya, where Saint Charbel lived and is buried, lies inland, and pilgrims passing through are part of the town's ordinary traffic.

Its recent identity has been built on being ancient and pleasant at once: a restored souk, a small harbour, an archaeological site walked in an afternoon, and a summer festival that has brought Lebanese and international performers to the town each July since 2003. That mixture drew a generation of visitors from the diaspora, who return in summer to family houses in the surrounding villages, and it makes the town feel busier and more outward looking than its size suggests.

Manners are Lebanese: emphatic hospitality, coffee offered immediately, conversation sliding between Arabic, French and English, and a strong attachment to the village of origin. The town keeps craft traditions aimed at visitors — fossil fish from the quarries of the nearby mountains, soap, and silver — and its older families trace long histories in the same lanes. Through the economic collapse and the war years the restaurants and beach clubs have opened and closed with the seasons and the news.

Byblos is a small town rather than a city, its population numbered in the tens of thousands, and one increasingly joined to the built-up strip running north from Beirut. Most residents live in the modern quarters along and above the coastal highway; the historic core is given over to shops, restaurants and the site.

The local economy rests on tourism, fishing, services and commuting to the capital, together with money sent home by relatives abroad — a pattern common to the Lebanese coast. The crisis that began in 2019 hit hard: savings were lost when the banks froze deposits, salaries in pounds collapsed in value, and the state supplies only a few hours of electricity a day, so households and businesses run private generators on a schedule. Lebanese American University has a campus in the town, which brings students and some steadier work.

Daily rhythm follows the season. In winter the town belongs to its residents, the souk is quiet and the fishermen work a thin market; in summer it fills with weekend visitors from Beirut and returning emigrants, and the harbour restaurants run late. Since 2024 the war and the displacement it has caused have shadowed everything, even in a district far from the fighting.

Byblos eats as the Lebanese coast eats, beginning with mezze: hummus, moutabbal, tabbouleh heavy with parsley, fattoush, warak enab, kibbeh and muhammara, brought out together with flatbread and arak, the aniseed spirit that clouds when water is poured in. Grilled shish taouk, kafta and lamb follow for those still eating.

The harbour gives the town its speciality. Fish is grilled whole or fried and served with tarator, a garlicky sesame sauce, and lemon; sultan ibrahim, the small red mullet, is the prized catch, and sayadieh — fish laid over rice cooked with caramelised onions and cumin — is the classic dish of the Lebanese coast. Samke harra, fish baked under a chilli, walnut and coriander sauce, belongs to the northern shore.

Breakfast is manakish from a village oven, flatbread spread with za'atar and olive oil, or with cheese or minced meat, and labneh with olives. The mountains behind the town supply the preserves that fill Lebanese larders — kishk, dried yoghurt and bulgur; mouneh pickles; and apples and cherries in season. Sweets are knafeh in a sesame bun in the morning and baklava or ashta with syrup later, taken with small cups of cardamom-scented coffee.