Making wine under conflict
Between 1975 and 1990, Lebanon was a mosaic of wars caused by complex shifting political, geographical, and demographical factors. When 16 years of Civil War were finally over, the foundations for a new republic had been laid, but at a considerable cost. Over 100,000 people were dead, nearly one million had been displaced, and billions of dollars worth of property and infrastructure had been destroyed. Chateau Musar’s vineyards had suffered damage from fighting in the Beka’a Valley, but although the winery in Ghazir had been subject to intermittent shelling, it had escaped significant damage.
The fact that Musar only missed one year of winemaking during this period is no mere miracle – but a testament to the family Hochar’s dedication and devotion to their vision in the face of the most horrendous ‘working conditions’ imaginable. For Serge Hochar, protecting the family business his father had established was paramount. “If you ask me on which side I fought during these 15 years,” he once said, “I can only tell you that I was fighting for my wines.”
And fight, he did. The effort required to get the Musar grapes from the vineyards to the winery each year during the Civil War was nothing short of Herculean. The pickers, who would often pick under artillery and gunfire as the dug-in militias bombarded each other, emerged as heroes. As did the truck drivers, who risked their lives when running the gauntlet of a journey that in peacetime can be made in two and a half hours, but during the war had sometimes taken several days.
The story of Musar’s 1984 vintage in particular highlights the adversity Serge Hochar and family faced during the conflict – and also vindicates the passion at the heart of their decision to keep diligently making wine. In 1984, there was almost no vintage as there were only enough grapes to fill two trucks which proved to be a good thing as there were only two truck drivers brave enough to attempt to get them back to the winery.
Each went a different route. One took five days, the other seven. All the while, the grapes in the trucks were piled up, squashed, heating up in the hot sun each day and starting to ferment. A delivery of warm grapes can result in musty, unappealing wine but – such was his philosophical outlook – Serge defiantly made wine with them anyway, bottling it and cellaring it to let it “become whatever it decided to be”.
Chateau Musar’s 1984 red should, in theory, have been a terrible wine. But against all odds, given the right conditions and no small amount of time, has become not only a drinkable wine – but a delicious, complex, exciting one, brimming with life and hope. The small amount of the vintage that exists was released to the marketplace in 2014 (exactly 30 years after it was made) and the bottles that occasionally appear on the market are very highly prized.
This wine – and all of the vintages made during the Civil War – represent the Musar legacy Serge Hochar left in the capable hands of his sons Gaston and Marc, and his brother Ronald and his son Ralph, along with viticulturalist and winemaker Tarek Sakr. These wines were made during a time when simply driving to check on your crop or to pick up supplies meant dicing with death.
“We did our best with what we have, as always. This is the Lebanese way. You give me grapes, and my job is only to help them to be the best wine they can be.” - Serge Hochar
Chateau Musar: the Civil War years (1975-1990)
Miraculously, in the 16 years of Civil War in Lebanon, not a single one of Chateau Musar’s employees was killed – even though many of the Hochar’s friends and neighbours lost their lives in sniper attacks, bombardments or car bombings. The winery escaped serious damage and, in retrospect, seems to have been the safest place in Lebanon. Thousands of bottles stored deep underground in Musar’s cellars carved in the limestone heart of Mount Lebanon slept peacefully during the years of conflict.
The Hochars even converted part of the cellars into a bomb shelter for refugees fleeing Beirut. And they took any opportunities they could to distribute and ship their wines while all the madness of war enveloped them, steadily growing Musar’s reputation around the world. By the end of the Civil War, Chateau Musar was so much more than a maker of exquisite wines. It had established itself as an icon of national endurance and hope. And who wouldn’t drink to that?
Read more about life at Chateau Musar during the Civil War years with the timeline below:
1976
30,000 Syrian troops move into Lebanon ostensibly to restore peace, but in reality, this was Syria’s attempt to claim the lands (including the Beka’a Valley) it believes it was owed when Lebanon became independent in 1943.
“In 1976 there was total war in Lebanon. We had no electricity. No fuel. No transport. No harvest. No nothing. 1976 was the only year in which we failed to make any wine. For others, the weather is a problem – for us, it is war.”
Without the ability to reach the grapes, to pick them and bring them back to the winery, there could be no new wine. Even if there had been, there was nobody to buy it. So Serge saw the opportunity to reach out and find new markets for the wines he had in his cellars. His father-in-law had a travel-agency in London and agreed to start importing his wines in the UK.
1977
From 1977 to 1990 (and during plenty of small dirty wars since) the Hochar family successfully made wine each year – often plucking grapes from the barbed wire zones of the frontline. “During times of war, we have to put all our belief and all our assets in wine!” said Serge. “We have to keep going with the things that are our essence. By now, I was used to war. So I kept on making wine; I was making it for a market I did not yet know existed.”
1978
The UN steps in with peacekeeping troops and Israel is forced to withdraw from Lebanon. Syria steps in instead, targeting the Christian population in the ‘Hundred Days’ War’, the worst offensive for two years.
Serge: “There was very heavy shelling in Beirut. The Syrians shelled Achrafiyeh, where our office is [in central Beirut]. At the time, my wife Tania was running the Godiva chocolatier nearby. She took the kids to the winery cellar in Ghazir in shock. There were many dead in Achrafiyeh. My secretary hid in the strong metal filing cabinet. Many people here were psychologically affected.”
1979
Revolution in Iran leads to radicalisation of the Shi'ite movement in Lebanon, and the creation of the Amal party, the ‘movement of the dispossessed’.
1980
Bashir Gemayal unites Lebanon’s Christian military factions, creating the Lebanese Forces political party. Serge: “This was one of the worst years of the war for us. I used to write a harvest report, but have mislaid it for this year.” Chateau Musar UK was officially established this year.
1981
Relations between Syria and Israel deteriorate.
Serge: “This was a year of terrible hardship. Tania and the kids left for London. They had to. I could not guarantee their safety. They came back, then left again in 1983. I promised that I would join them the moment the war ended. We did see each other every few months when I could get a flight.”
1982
Israel invades Lebanon again intending to dislodge the PLO. Some 18,000 people, mostly civilians, lose their lives as the battle-zone moves towards Beirut. Italian, French and US troops assist in the evacuation of the Palestinians.
In the Beka’a, 80 hectares of Musar vineyards become the frontline between the Syrians and Israelis, whose tanks faced each other over the vines. Serge calculates that he will not be able to harvest grapes from them again until 1985. But he does. In the confusion that ensues after the invasion, the loyal Bedouin pickers collect what fruit they can, and the Hochar trucks manage to make their way to the winery.
Serge: “The 1982 is a pure wine of war.”
1983
Times darken further as suicide bombing reprisals shock Beirut and its suburbs. In the Chouf mountains, the Mountain War begins. That summer, Serge took his family on holiday to the US. During a stop-over in Paris on their return journey, war broke out again so the family decided to settle in France.
Winter is severe in the Beka’a, with metres of snow coating the vineyards; summer is barely warmer, and the Hochars’ harvest was late. A break in fighting, instilled by the American fleet anchored off Beirut, came at just the right time for the vineyard manager to pick a few grape bunches and smuggle them into Beirut for Ronald to check. They were good: there had been no rain, no heatwave, and the grapes had reached perfect condition.
Ronald put in a call to Serge, who was visiting the US, and the brothers decided to match the bravery of their vineyard manager and order the harvest in. “It was very dangerous,” admits Ronald: “Serge flew to Cyprus, then took a six-hour hovercraft crossing to Beirut; he arrived at the winery in Ghazir moments after two rockets blasted the coast road he’d just been driving on.”
The truck drivers, with their precious loads of hand-cut grapes, carefully negotiated the capillary-like country roads that would lead them to the winery, relying on a network of local gossip to learn which roads the militias were controlling with checkpoints and which route between the Beka’a and Ghazir would be the least bloody. They were successful. As Ronald said, there were two advantages: “Our usual headache, the traffic jams, were gone. And the harvest, just like that of 1982, was excellent!”
1984
The Lebanese Forces, having controlled the capital since 1982, are expelled, and the Amal Party takes control of West Beirut. Peacekeeping forces (from the US, Italy and the UK) leave Lebanon.
Serge: “We did our best with what we have, as always. This is the Lebanese way. You give me grapes, and my job is only to help them to be the best wine they can be. In 1984 the sun was very hot, and the fighting was hotter. After waiting and waiting for a break in the shelling, and more than a month after the last day of the harvest should have been, we quickly picked whatever grapes were left on the vines. Most were very ripe and sugary. There were enough grapes for only two truckloads, and only two of our drivers were brave enough to attempt the journey to Ghazir.
The first truck managed to find a way through the cedar forests in the northern Beka’a and get eventually to Tripoli, near the northern border with Syria. In five days it was with us. The second truck drove south over mountain tracks to Jezzine, then crossed the battlefronts on the way down to Sidon. From there, the trucks needed to avoid Beirut, so they waited for a boat. There was a terrible storm, which delayed the ferry to Jounieh.
Eventually, the storm was quiet enough and the ferry sailed slowly up the coast. The trucks arrived at the winery after seven days, on October 20th, 45 days after what should have been the end of the harvest – 45! So, in 1984 the grapes that we received were hot, bruised, sticky and very much fermenting. As an act of defiance, and as an act of faith, as a way of showing that the Lebanese spirit can never be broken, we made those grapes into wine. I made the 1984 to declare war against war.”
Fittingly, 1984 was the year that Serge Hochar was named as the first ever Decanter magazine ‘Man of the Year’ - for his unswerving commitment to winemaking.
1985
The Israelis continue their withdrawal from the south of Lebanon under armed pressure from Hezbollah. They keep an occupied ‘security zone’ along their border. In the War of the Camps, Palestinian refugee camps are targeted by Shi'ite and Amal militia.
Serge: “The Israelis continued to withdraw from Sidon, but it was still difficult to get the grapes from the Beka’a to the winery. After this year, things started to settle down, on our terms.”
1986
Serge: “Military action destroyed some of the vineyards on Mount Lebanon. Our white grape Obaideh was, and is, grown on the slopes of the Anti-Lebanon and was still available – but we only ever used this grape for Arak (Lebanon’s aniseed-flavoured aperitif). Prior to 1986, the Chateau white was only produced from Merwah grapes. From 1986 we began to blend Obaideh with Merwah and the combination worked. We were the first to use these two local varieties in a unique new style of wine.”
Close to four decades later, Musar is still the only one.
1987
Anger at the continued presence of Israel in Lebanon is augmented by the first Intifada (Palestinian uprising against Israel’s occupation of the West Bank and Gaza).
1988
Following Amin Gemayel, Lebanon’s new interim president is announced as Michel Aoun. Serge: “Life in Lebanon was not so hectic in 1988. It was a normal year, politically speaking.”
1989
President Aoun declares war on Syria. After seven months of fighting, with 800 dead, the Arab League negotiates a ceasefire. The Taif Agreement is signed, with the ethos ‘no victor and no vanquished’, in an attempt to end the Lebanese Civil War. Meanwhile, life is beginning to return to normal in the Hochar vineyards. In an impressive vintage, Carignan grapes begin to win Serge’s heart.
1990
Miraculously, in the 16 years of Civil War in Lebanon, not a single one of Chateau Musar’s employees was killed – even though many of the Hochar’s friends and neighbours lost their lives in sniper attacks, bombardments or car bombings. The winery escaped serious damage and, in retrospect, seems to have been the safest place in Lebanon. Thousands of bottles stored deep underground in Musar’s cellars carved in the limestone heart of Mount Lebanon slept peacefully during the years of conflict.
The Hochars even converted part of the cellars into a bomb shelter for refugees fleeing Beirut. And they took any opportunities they could to distribute and ship their wines while all the madness of war enveloped them, steadily growing Musar’s reputation around the world. By the end of the Civil War, Chateau Musar was so much more than a maker of exquisite wines. It had established itself as an icon of national endurance and hope. And who wouldn’t drink to that? Explore more Editorial
