Scars of war. Lebanese winemakers who replanted hope.

A crossroads of conflict

Lebanon was at the heart of the ancient wine world, from the Phoenicians to the Roman Temple of Bacchus at Baalbek. But a central position also brings danger. The country has been invaded countless times and is a melting pot of cultures, peoples and religions. The civil war, from 1975 to 1990, killed more than a hundred thousand people and displaced millions.

As wine writer Michael Karam explains, the Lebanese have learned to be masters of crisis management, used to getting things done when nothing works. That resilience runs through every story in this episode.

Chateau Belle-Vue: replanting a lost village

In Bhamdoun, in the mountains between Beirut and the Bekaa Valley, Naji and Jill Boutros show Peter the ruins of Hotel Belle-Vue, built by Naji's grandfather in the 1850s. Naji grew up there, with the family wine cellar below the dining room. In 1984 the village was on the frontline; it was destroyed and hundreds of civilians were killed.

When Naji came back, the first thing he did was replant his grandfather's vineyard, hoping the community would return. In 2000 the couple planted a second vineyard in the middle of town on the plot where Naji's uncle had been killed by a cluster bomb, planting more than a thousand vines, Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot, before the land had been cleared. Their first wine, from 2003, is called Renaissance. See why tasting it among the frogs feels so fitting.

Beirut, the city that keeps going

Beirut was once known as the Paris of the Middle East. In August 2020, the port explosion, caused by 2,750 tons of ammonium nitrate, killed over 200 people and injured thousands. Yet Peter finds a city getting on with life, sometimes in the fast lane. He passes the rebuilt Le Chef, a classic restaurant made famous by a visit from Anthony Bourdain, buzzing again with help from donors including the actor Russell Crowe.

For Peter, even a brief spell in the capital is intense. It also shows why so many Lebanese winemakers prefer to put down roots in the countryside, where vines offer a sense of permanence in a country where little else feels certain.

Sept: Maher Harb's wine for his father

In the limestone hills of Batroun, north of Beirut near the Mediterranean, an up-and-coming area for Lebanese wine, Maher Harb has built Sept. His father was killed in the war in 1990 when Maher was seven, shielding his own mother from a blast. Maher left for France at 18, studied mathematics and worked in banking, until one morning on a crowded Paris metro he decided life was passing him by.

Inspired by the poet Omar Khayyam and a childhood memory of harvesting the family's Merwah grapes with his father and grandfather, he came home to plant the land his father left. He farms biodynamically, partly because his grandmother followed the moon, an echo of ancestral knowledge. Over a barbecue, Peter tastes Maher's first Syrah, from 2016, a wine full of personal meaning.

Can wine bring hope?

The limestone bedrock of Batroun lies about a meter below the vines, and the stones dug out to plant became terraces and walls. It is a neat image for the whole episode: building something new from what the land, and history, leave behind.

Lebanon's future remains uncertain, squeezed by larger powers around it. But this episode shows people who have chosen to stay, plant and make wine against the odds. Watch their stories and find out why Peter believes wine can be a source of pride for Lebanon.