So it was then that a group of half a dozen of us from the office, joined the tourist bus to Baalbek for a day trip into history. First we had to negotiate our way out of Beirut, speeding down the 'Green Line' with its war damaged buildings. Speeding is the only way to drive in this city. You just have to go with the flow, or perish. And for 'war damaged' read multi-storey flats with their walls knocked out exposing open rooms full of people literally clinging to life. The road passed through bombed-out and shelled villages on a steep climb to the saddle in the Mount Lebanon range, from where was revealed the full extent of the Bekaa, over to the snow capped Mount Hermon in the east. Our first visit of the day was to Aanjar, an early eighth century site, restored badly by the Lebanese and severely compromised by the Syrians, who destroyed Roman mosaic flooring during the 1980s war. It seems that Lebanon's eastern neighbours have little regard for antiquity, for they also ran amok in the high Lebanon, lighting fires in the last remaining stand of ancient Cedars - the very ones used to build the Phoenician ships. But that was my other day out.
As we rolled into Baalbek, poverty was all around. It looked pretty squalid and not a little damaged, thanks to Israeli shelling. The Roman temple complex, begun in 27 BC, sits right alongside this shanty stronghold of insurgents and totally dominates the scene for miles around. They called this place Heliopolis, for their sun god. The scale of the Jupiter Temple is simply staggering. It's breathtaking. True, there's not much of it left now, but there's enough to stop anyone in their tracks. The numbers tell a story of sorts. The granite columns were brought here from Aswan on the Nile. Each column is comprised of only three stones, jointed with lead and bronze. No mortar was used anywhere here and they are still the tallest stone columns in the world, at 19 metres. Eight of them were taken for Hagia Sofia in the sixth century and others were destroyed by earthquake, three falling in the eighteenth century. The stones forming the pre-Roman base (or Great Terrace) of the Jupiter Temple are generally between 400 and 800 tons each, though the largest (half excavated in the quarry) is approximated at 1200 tons. These stones remain an enigma, the method of their placing on the Great Terrace being beyond the engineering abilities of any recognized ancient or contemporary builders. How did they do that? And who did it? And when? I really want to know. If I was an engineer I don't think I could sleep at night for worrying about it.
The Temple of Bacchus is smaller than Jupiter but still larger than the Parthenon. Sitting next to and below the Great Terrace, it lost its roof many moons ago, but otherwise is the best preserved Roman temple in the world. The remarkable thing is that in this context it looks subordinate to the ruined giant alongside, only six columns of which still stand. I'd go back there in a flash and I'd want to touch the massive Trilithon base stones and try to work out for myself just how it was done. But it's not going to happen. Lebanon is a dangerous place again and my consultancy days are over. I must be content with feelings of awe and astonishment, happy that destiny took me to see this true wonder of the world. The other reason I'd go back is that I'd taken Ektachrome 400 ASA by mistake.
I did once build a retaining wall to support a terrace of my own. It took months and wasn't perfectly level but it did command extensive views over the distant Campsie Fells. Given the enormous pleasure that I obtained from my insignificant labours, the pre-historic builders of Baalbek's Great Terrace must still be basking in self-satisfaction, sitting around up there laughing to themselves and occasionally commenting: 'They still haven't got a clue, have they?'
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