The hidden treasures of Beirut

Beirut in the spring has the best climate in the world. Just a little rain to keep the dust down and average temperatures of about 20 degrees. I recently sat in Nejmeh Square at a café overlooking the parliament building which glowed in the morning sun.

The parliament is an unpretentious stone structure from the Twenties that resembles a large provincial bank. You'd never guess it's built on top of the remains of the oldest Roman law school in the world.

Nor would you guess that Nejmeh Square formed part of the Green Line during Lebanon's long civil war.

Photographs show the streets that radiate out from it reduced to rubble, with trees growing out of the debris. Twenty years on, the centre of old
Beirut is so spruced up it's difficult to tell the gorgeously restored from the gorgeously built from scratch.

One curious fringe benefit from the government's massive restoration project has been the new museum at St George's Cathedral. Digging down to stabilise this 18th-century church after the peace of 1991, the restorers worked through layer upon layer of remains from previous buildings: an Ottoman coffee shop, medieval tombs, a mosaic floor from Byzantine times, a Roman road. Before the cathedral was fully restored, a subterranean museum was hollowed out below to display six previous layers of occupation.

And that was where I had been that morning. The museum had just opened to the public and Joseph, my guide, had insisted that I look round while he went to find our driver. This took some time which was why I sat at the Café Place de l'Etoile watching two businessmen sharing a bottle of white wine. In the distance church bells were competing with the muezzin. Sunlight on the wine glasses made the amber liquid glow.

Suddenly I lost all interest in my own espresso. "Here I am, vouchsafed!" cried little Joseph as he arrived. "Now where shall we go next?" "Where can we drink Lebanese wine?" I asked. "Ah," he smiled. "I know the place."

An hour later we were driving down the eastern side of the Mount Lebanon range, a white haze hanging over the Bekaa Valley. The first place we stopped was Zahlé, an 18th-century Christian settlement with pantiled roofs, outdoor restaurants along the Berdawni river and a statue of the Virgin Mary on top of a 54-metre concrete tower. I eagerly snapped her beatific face with my new telephoto lens as we waited for lunch.

We were served traditional mezze. Joseph ordered arak, a Lebanese version of raki. He drank it in a glass filled with ice cubes, the clear liquid turning milky on contact. I asked if they served local wine. "Of course," said the waiter. "Ksara Estate is no distance from here. So too is Tanail, where the Jesuit Brothers still farm." They brought me a glass of Château Ksara, which Joseph assured me was made from Chardonnay grapes grown nearby. I am always a sucker for the idea that I'm breathing in the very air that warms the grapes.

An hour later we drove south along a flat plain filled with vines to Château Ksara, Lebanon's biggest winery. Joseph had arranged for me to be given a brief history by Reina. "In 1857 Jesuit monks inherited this land and in 1878 Father Wuillamoz began growing grapes. But it was in 1898 that a great discovery was made by orphans working for Father Wuillamoz. Come with me."