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Food

Brutal War Can't Stop Lebanon's Wineries

Despite enduring a 15-year civil war, a massive influx of Syrian refugees escaping violence across the border, and the new threat of ISIS, Lebanon's winemakers in the Bekaa Valley refuse to stop producing some of the world's best wine.
Photos courtesy of Rania Chammas at Chateau Ksara.

"You are about to taste one of the top 1,001 wines to taste before you die," Rania Chammas says with a smile, uncorking a bottle of Château Ksara's award-winning Cuvée du Troisième Millenaire. "Only 1,000 more to go!"

Chammas is the communications director at Château Ksara, the largest and oldest winery in Lebanon. We are currently in the tasting room, a state-of-the-art dining room and bar, decorated with photographs from wine festivals around the world and tables made from the signature large, oak barrels used to age and store the wine. Outside, long rows of vines cascade down 25 hectares of rolling hills, perfectly situated in Lebanon's Bekaa Valley—a fertile plain that stretches between the two mountain ranges that separate Lebanon from Syria.

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But below us is what makes Château Ksara unique: a labyrinth of natural caves, stretching for two kilometers underneath the vineyard. Jesuit priests, who founded a monastery here in 1857, discovered the caves in the course of growing grapes on the fertile land above to make wine for religious purposes. They found that the exact depth, temperature and humidity of the caves was ideal for storing and aging wine.

"No one knows what the caves were originally for," Chammas says. "But they found a skeleton inside once, so maybe it used to be catacombs or used for persecutions." During World War I, the Jesuits offered 100 families shelter in exchange for four years of labor, working the land and expanding the caves. Today, the caves are home to thousands of bottles of Ksara's finest wine.

Lebanon's rich wine history began 5,000 years ago, when Phoenician traders from the ancient port cities of Tyre, Sidon, and Byblos brought the first wines across the Mediterranean Sea. Nautical archaeologists confirmed this with the discovery of Phoenican-style decanters and ceramic amphorae in the oldest sunken ships in the Eastern Mediterranean—likely bringing wines to Greece and Egypt. Wine's importance to ancient civilization continued into the Roman Era, evident with the Temple of Bacchus—the Roman God of wine—erected at Baalbek. Larger than the Parthenon, its preserved ruins are now the jewel of the Baalbek region, only a few kilometers up the road from Château Ksara.

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Although wine production was largely dormant during Islamic and Ottoman rule, the French mandate following World War I resurrected the industry, bringing new varieties of grapes and laying the foundation of the present-day wine industry in Lebanon. Still operated by the Jesuits, who had been able to keep producing wine during the Ottoman Empire, Château Ksara had grown from a small wine-producing monastery to a full-scale winery, producing one million bottles of wine each year. In 1972, the Vatican ordered that all commercial enterprises be sold; the next year, Chateau Ksâra's ownership shifted to the five Lebanese families that own it today.

Despite its rich viticulture heritage and ideal weather conditions, producing an award-winning wine in Lebanon presents its own unique challenges. Two years after the Jesuits sold the winery, an attempted assassination of Pierre Gemayel that killed four Christian Phalangists—followed by retaliatory attacks against Palestinians in Beirut's Christian neighborhoods—sparked the beginning of Lebanon's brutal, 15-year civil war.

Although the shifting nature of the war meant that the fighting was not always in the Bekaa Valley, the constant presence of checkpoints, road and airport closures, and pervasive political instability made any kind of commerce difficult, if not dangerous. At other times, the war affected the vineyards and the wineries directly. In 1982, the Israeli Defense Forces invaded Lebanon, taking many of Château Ksara's vines with them. When the Syrian Armed Forces were sent to ostensibly stabilize Lebanon, military officials occupied every building on Ksara's land.

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"There were 150 Syrian soldiers on our property," Château Ksara chairman Zafer Chaoui tells me. "We had to cope with years of a military presence while keeping the factory going. I assure you this was not easy."

By the end of the war in 1990, most of Chaoui's predecessors at Ksara had dropped their investments in Lebanon and left the country. Their winemaker had returned to France. Exports had plummeted, and Château Ksara—a microcosm of Lebanon at that time—bore the scars of military occupation, invasion, and an economy in shambles. Still, in spite of everything, Ksara missed neither a harvest nor a vintage.

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In the years following the war, Chaoui and his co-managers expanded Ksara's capacity as they rebuilt. They imported grapes and equipment, and set up relationships with local landowners to broaden their growing potential. Soon, they were producing more bottles annually than they had before the war.

Several other winemakers and investors saw an opportunity in the region as well; while only five wineries survived the war, now there are 40 wineries in Lebanon. Although their output is small for the region—nine million bottles per year, compared to 30 million bottles in Turkey and 50 million bottles in Israel—their profile, particularly as makers of premium wine, is rising rapidly.

"We are too small to be able to be a cheap wine," says Michael Karam, a longtime journalist and expert on Lebanese wine. "But if we can market ourselves as a quality wine, we can fit a very specific niche."

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After successful events in Paris and Berlin, this year New York City will host its first event solely devoted to Lebanese wine. While the Lebanese government previously kept their distance from the wine industry—out of fear of offending Muslim constituents—now the Ministry of Agriculture is funding projects, and working on regulating the industry.

"Anyone that is modern and forward-thinking will support our wine industry," Karam notes, dismissing the possibility of religious differences impacting the industry.

Still, the political instability that haunts Lebanon continues into the present day. Although Lebanon's economy continued to grow each year following the Civil War—attracting more industry, investors and tourists to the region—it dipped slightly in 2006 with the one-month war with Israel, and changed drastically as the war in Syria has worsened.

"Lebanon's wine industry is based in the Bekaa Valley. You can't escape that," Karam continues.

Although locals know the Bekaa Valley as the "breadbasket of Lebanon" for its perfect climate and rich agricultural tradition, its proximity to the Syrian border means that if the war were to spill over, it would be one of the first regions affected. Certain border towns have already felt the effects of deteriorating security. Last year, ISIS fighters invaded the border town of Arsal, capturing soldiers and police officers as hostages and prompting clashes that incurred civilian casualties. Lebanon is currently hosting more than a million Syrian refugees, tens of thousands of whom live in flimsy tents in makeshift camps throughout the valley. Anti-Syrian sentiment has encouraged trigger-happy vigilantes.

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For Château Ksara and other wineries in the Bekaa Valley, the war's impact on tourism—which has dropped by 45 percent—has been the war's most noticeable impact on their business.

"We used to get a lot of tourism groups from Syria and Jordan," Chammas tells me. "But not anymore."

As the armed revolution in Syria became a full-scale civil war, many countries, including the United States and the United Kingdom, issued travel warnings to Lebanon, advising against "all but essential travel" to the Bekaa Valley. These warnings, combined with media reports of clashes in border towns, have severely depressed the region's economy.

"What you have to understand is the Bekaa Valley represents 40 percent of Lebanon," Chaoui adds. "The sad events in Arsal and in the North Bekaa that we deplore and which are terrible have affected the whole image of the Bekaa, because the media does not differentiate between different parts of the Bekaa."

Still, Chaoui admits that he is concerned about extremist movements gaining ground in Lebanon.

"It would be incomplete not to mention the threat of extremist movements," Chaoui says. "One day, any crazy man could come to Lebanon and, considering that wine production is against his religion, could explode himself and destroy a winery. We pray that our army protects us, but it is not always easy."

Given the industry's unique history—and triumph over past disturbances—it is difficult to imagine it stopping any time soon.

"Lebanon did not stop producing wine during the Civil War," Karam smiles. "It certainly isn't going to now."