Waiting in vain to depart to Bsherri (pronounced "Apsarri") near the Cedars and home birthplace of Khalil Gibran. Today was one of those totally frustrating days where I feel like a sedentary domesticated wanker.

We awake at the house of the kind Maronite Christian family named Habshi in Der Al Ahmar at 6 AM with perfect weather - I was itching to start my way up the mountain whose white rounded forms and clearly visible roadway over the foreground red mud and limestone hills beckoned. Only problem was I could not control when breakfast became available, the family car went to church (it is Sunday) and when the family returned the forces of the collective Habshi family mind all bent together to armtwist me into to abandoning my aim to walk over the hills to my objective only 4 hours maximum walk (as opposed to an entire day paid buses) away. Stories of creepup fog, ice, steep descents/ascents, snow 3 meters deep etc poured out of their mouths.

In the end I submitted not for the "logic" or fear but out of prudence and a desire not to worry this family overmuch seeing how hellbent they were on my choices. Now the whole day has been one long chain of minibuses crawling over the tiny Lebanese landscape until the day has expired. Now after 3 PM with night approaching we start up the likely 1.5 hours to Bsharre.

The thing I hate most is sitting in buses, that which I love most is exploring, pioneering, daring, testing my body and mettle unde the wide sky. I aimed all my choices since yesterday towards the hiking path and the change against all of my efforts is frustrating and disempowering. Not to mention I skipped my yoga practice for two days running to make all this happen.