Ancient Wonders: A Cultural Deep Dive into Byblos, Lebanon's Oldest City

The Byblos archaeological site hits differently than most ancient ruins I've explored. Unlike the carefully manicured archaeological parks of Europe or the cordoned-off complexities of Machu Picchu, Byblos presents its timeline in layers that seem to collapse into one another—Neolithic dwellings, Bronze Age temples, Persian fortifications, Roman columns, Byzantine churches, and Crusader castles all occupying the same visual field.

On my second day, I joined a small group tour led by Karim, a local archaeologist whose family has lived in Byblos for generations. 'This isn't just Lebanon's history,' he explained as we stood inside the 12th-century Crusader Castle, 'it's human history.' He wasn't exaggerating—the Phoenician alphabet developed here eventually evolved into the very letters you're reading now.

The most profound moment came at sunset when the limestone structures turned golden, and the Mediterranean stretched endlessly blue beyond the ruins. As an EMT, I've learned to read the story a body tells through its scars and rhythms. Similarly, Byblos reveals its narrative through architectural wounds and cultural resilience.

I'd recommend capturing these moments with a quality camera rather than just your phone. My mirrorless camera allowed me to document the intricate play of light on ancient stones during the magical golden hour, preserving details that my smartphone simply couldn't capture.

What struck me most was how the archaeological site isn't separate from daily life—it's integrated into it. Children play soccer in the shadow of Roman columns, locals take shortcuts through ancient pathways, and cats nap on Phoenician stone blocks. This living relationship with history reminds me of how my Mi'kmaq elders view sacred spaces—not as museums, but as continuing conversations between past and present.

In my years as an EMT, I've witnessed the profound connection between food and healing. The Lebanese approach to cuisine embodies this relationship perfectly—it's medicine disguised as a feast. Byblos offers an extraordinary opportunity to experience this firsthand, from harbor-side restaurants to family-run establishments tucked away in the old souk.

At Bab El Mina, a modest restaurant overlooking fishing boats, I watched as the owner's mother hand-rolled grape leaves with the precision of a surgeon. 'The stuffing has seven spices,' she told me through her grandson's translation. 'Each one serves a purpose for the body.' This wasn't marketing—it was ancestral knowledge passed through generations.

The mezze culture here—small plates designed for sharing—creates natural moments of connection. For couples traveling together, there's something deeply intimate about breaking bread (specifically, the warm, pillowy Lebanese flatbread) and sharing dishes that engage all senses. The ritual reminded me of Mi'kmaq communal eating traditions, where food is both nourishment and storytelling medium.

One evening, I joined a cooking class at Beit El Qamar, where Chef Mariam taught six of us to prepare tabbouleh with precise proportions of parsley, bulgur, and mint. 'The green in this dish,' she explained, crushing herbs between her fingers so we could inhale their aroma, 'is life itself.' She wasn't being poetic—the chlorophyll and antioxidants in these herbs are indeed life-sustaining.

For those looking to recreate these flavors at home, I recommend picking up a Lebanese cookbook. It's become my kitchen bible since returning home, helping me maintain a connection to the healing traditions I experienced in Byblos.

Don't miss the opportunity to visit the morning fish market by the harbor, where the day's catch is auctioned in a centuries-old tradition. Even if you're staying somewhere without cooking facilities, the sensory experience alone is worth the early wake-up call.

My fascination with sacred geometry—the mathematical patterns that recur throughout nature and human design—found rich material in Byblos. The city's architectural evolution reveals how different civilizations incorporated these universal patterns into their sacred spaces, often building directly atop previous structures while maintaining key geometric alignments.

The Temple of the Obelisks, dating to around 1900 BCE, contains stone markers positioned in patterns that align with celestial events. When I visited at spring equinox, I witnessed how the morning light created specific shadows that local guides say would have marked planting seasons for ancient inhabitants.

What fascinates me as someone with both medical training and indigenous heritage is how these geometric principles weren't merely decorative—they were functional tools for community wellness. The positioning of sacred sites, the flow of water systems, and even the layout of ancient housing all followed patterns that we now understand have measurable effects on human psychology and physiology.

For those interested in exploring these connections, I recommend bringing a travel journal to sketch patterns you observe and note your responses to different spaces. I filled nearly half my journal with observations about how different architectural spaces affected my breathing, heart rate, and mental state.

Don't miss St. John the Baptist Church, built by Crusaders in the 12th century, which sits directly atop the remains of a Roman temple, which itself was built over a Bronze Age sacred site. This palimpsest of sacred spaces demonstrates how geometric principles transcend specific religious traditions.

One afternoon, I sat sketching the recurring patterns in the stone carvings when an elderly local woman named Samira joined me. Through a mix of broken English and my embarrassingly basic Arabic, she explained how her grandmother taught her to use similar patterns in traditional embroidery—patterns believed to offer protection and healing. The conversation bridged our cultural differences and reminded me how universal these geometric languages truly are.

Byblos' medieval souk isn't just a marketplace—it's a living artifact of the city's role as a crucial Mediterranean trading hub. Unlike the more famous but often overwhelming souks of Marrakech or Istanbul, Byblos offers a more intimate experience where genuine connections with local artisans are still possible.

The restored limestone pathways wind through Ottoman-era buildings, creating a labyrinth that somehow manages to feel both disorienting and deeply familiar. Perhaps this is because markets like this represent one of humanity's oldest continuous traditions—the gathering of people to exchange goods, stories, and cultural knowledge.

As someone whose emergency medical work often involves rapid assessments of unfamiliar environments, I found myself instinctively mapping the souk's flow—noting how certain corners create natural gathering spaces where elders sit playing backgammon, while other pathways funnel visitors toward key shops or food stalls.

The soap makers particularly captured my attention. Lebanon has a rich tradition of natural soap production dating back to the Phoenicians. At Beit el Saboun (House of Soap), I watched as the owner demonstrated techniques passed down through eight generations of his family. The olive oil-based soaps incorporate local herbs with medicinal properties—many of which have parallels in the healing traditions my Mi'kmaq grandmother taught me.

For those looking to bring home meaningful souvenirs, I recommend a travel daypack with enough expandable space for purchases. Mine proved essential as I collected handcrafted items throughout the week—from cedar wood carvings (Byblos gave its name to the Bible due to ancient papyrus scrolls made from local materials) to traditional blue glass evil eye amulets.

One of my most treasured purchases came from an elderly woman selling hand-embroidered textiles from a tiny shop no bigger than a closet. When I admired her intricate geometric patterns, she insisted on teaching me several stitches, our hands working side by side despite our lack of shared language. This kind of authentic exchange is increasingly rare in more commercialized destinations.

The Mediterranean isn't just a backdrop in Byblos—it's a central character in the city's story. As one of the oldest ports in the world, Byblos has maintained an intimate relationship with these waters for millennia. This connection manifests today in everything from the local cuisine to wellness traditions that incorporate sea elements.

One morning, I joined a group of local women who gather at a small, protected cove just north of the main beach for an informal sea ritual that blends elements of various traditions. Some were clearly performing religious ablutions, while others approached the water with more secular appreciation, but all shared a reverence for the Mediterranean's restorative properties.

A woman named Leila, who spoke excellent English, explained that her family has used seawater remedies for generations. 'For respiratory problems, skin conditions, even emotional healing—the sea provides,' she told me as we waded into the cool morning waters. As an EMT, I've seen plenty of evidence supporting the physiological benefits of salt water therapy, but there was something particularly moving about experiencing these practices in their cultural context.

For couples looking to incorporate this healing element into their Byblos experience, I recommend the sunset kayaking tours that launch from the harbor. Our guide, Fadi, took us along the coast to view the archaeological site from the water—a perspective that helps you understand how the city's relationship with the Mediterranean shaped its development across millennia.

After paddling, we enjoyed a seaside dinner at Byblos Sur Mer, where the catch-of-the-day is presented whole before being prepared according to your preference. The connection between sea, sustenance, and community is palpable here.

During my stay, I used a waterproof phone case that allowed me to capture underwater scenes and protected my phone during water activities. It proved invaluable when an unexpected wave crashed over our kayak, soaking everything but keeping my electronics safe.

Don't miss the opportunity to experience the hammam (traditional bathhouse) in the old city, where Mediterranean wellness traditions incorporate seawater and local herbs into treatments that have remained largely unchanged for centuries.