Scent of tradition lingers in Lebanon’s ‘village of roses’

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A villager harvests Damascena (Damask) roses that are used for essential oils, sweets and cosmetics, in the village of Qsarnaba on May 11, 2023. (AFP)
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Zahraa Sayed Ahmed harvests Damascena (Damask) roses to produce rose water and syrup, in the village of Qsarnaba on May 11, 2023. (AFP)
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A villager harvests Damascena (Damask) roses that are used for essential oils, sweets and cosmetics, in the village of Qsarnaba on May 11, 2023. (Joseph Eid / AFP)
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Damascena (Damask) rosebuds. (AFP)
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Updated 18 May 2023
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Scent of tradition lingers in Lebanon’s ‘village of roses’

  • Oil derived from the famed Damask rose --- named after the ancient city of Damascus — is a staple of perfumers
  • The ancient Damask rose had been exported from Syria to Europe for centuries since the time of the Crusades

QSARNABA, Lebanon: On a gentle slope looking out over Lebanon’s Bekaa Valley, villagers work their way across pink-dotted terraces, gathering perfumed Damask roses that are used for essential oils, sweets and cosmetics.

The rose harvest “gives you a bit of hope, it makes things beautiful, it calms you down — it gives you strength to carry on,” said Leila Al-Dirani, picking the flowers from her family’s land in the village of Qsarnaba.
A soft bag tied around her waist and her hands scratched from the thorns, the 64-year-old plucks the small, pink buds from their bushes as their rich and heady scent wafts across the hill.
The oil derived from the famed Damask rose --- named after the ancient city of Damascus located just across the mountain range separating Lebanon and Syria — is a staple of perfumers.
Experts swear by the flower’s therapeutic properties in fighting infection and as a relaxant, while rose water is used across the Middle East both as a refreshing drink, in sweets such as Turkish delight, to scent mosques and even to bestow luck at weddings.




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After a morning collecting roses, the workers in Qsarnaba drop their fragrant bundles at a warehouse in the village where they are paid based on their harvest.
At the facility carpeted with pink petals, Zahraa Sayed Ahmed — whose first name means “flower” — buys the raw materials to produce her rose water, syrup, tea and jam.
Around four years ago, she set up a small workshop at her house, using a traditional metal still that “belonged to my grandfather,” said Sayed Ahmed, 37.

With a kilogram (2.2 pounds) of rose petals, she said she can make up to half a liter of rose water.




Zahraa Sayed Ahmed produces rose water from Damascena (Damask) roses, at her house in the village of Qsarnaba on May 11, 2023. (AFP)

She then also bottles and labels her modest production by hand, putting it on limited sale locally.
“The production of rose water is a part of our heritage,” said Sayed Ahmed. “In every home in Qsarnaba there is a still, even if it’s just a small one.”
The rose season only lasts a few weeks, but it is a busy time for Qsarnaba’s residents.
“This year is the first year that we didn’t bring workers to help us because the production is low and we couldn’t afford it,” said Hassan Al-Dirani, 25, who has been picking the flowers alongside his mother, Leila.




A woman serves a drink made of rose syrup at a house in Byblos on May 15, 2023. (AFP)

Since late 2019, Lebanon has been grappling with a devastating economic crisis that has seen the local currency collapse and pushed most of the population into poverty.
“The rose harvest and all other harvests have lost about 80 percent of their value... because of the economic crisis,” said local official Daher Al-Dirani, who hails from the extended family that is the biggest in Qsarnaba.
“But the roses help people put food on the table,” he added.




A worker sells traditional dessert Kunafa, at a shop in Byblos on May 16, 2023. (AFP)

Exported from Syria to Europe for centuries since the time of the Crusades, the ancient Damask rose is also cultivated in countries including France, Morocco, Iran and Turkiye.
“Our village produces the most roses out of any village in Lebanon” and more than half of the country’s rose water, Sayed Ahmed claimed proudly, as the captivating scent lingered in the air.
“Qsarnaba is the village of roses.”


‘One in a Million’: Syrian refugee tale wows Sundance

Updated 24 January 2026
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‘One in a Million’: Syrian refugee tale wows Sundance

PARK CITY: As a million Syrians fled their country's devastating civil war in 2015, directors Itab Azzam and Jack MacInnes headed to Turkey where they would meet a young girl who encapsulated the contradictions of this enormous migration.

In Ismir, they met Isra'a, a then-11-year-old girl whose family had left Aleppo as bombs rained down on the city, and who would become the subject of their documentary "One In A Million," which premiered at the Sundance Film Festival on Friday.

For the next ten years, they followed her and her family's travels through Europe, towards Germany and a new life, where the opportunities and the challenges would almost tear her family apart.

The film is by directors Itab Azzam and Jack MacInnes. (Supplied)

There was "something about Isra'a that sort of felt to us like it encapsulated everything about what was happening there," MacInnes told an audience at the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah on Friday.

"The obvious vulnerability of her situation, especially as being a child going through this, but that at the same time, she was an agent.

"She wasn't sitting back, waiting for other people to save her. She was trying to fight, make her own way there."

The documentary mixes fly-on-the-wall footage with sit-down interviews that reveal Isra'a's changing relationship with Germany, with her religion, and with her father.

It is this evolution between father and daughter that provides the emotional backbone to the film, and through which tensions play out over their new-found freedoms in Europe -- something her father struggles to adjust to.

Isra'a, who by the end of the film is a married mother living in Germany, said watching her life on film in the Park City theatre was "beautiful."

And having documentarists follow her every step of the way as she grew had its upsides.

"I felt like this was something very special," she told the audience after the screening. "My friends thought I was famous; it made making friends easier and faster."