Dungeons of Hinterberg Somehow Made Me Homesick for Lebanon
MILD STORY SPOILERS ahead for Dungeons of Hinterberg. Read at your own risk!
I’ve escaped to the pine-scented mountains of Lebanon far too many times in the 20 years I lived there, finding tranquility in the serene views that I couldn’t find in the suburbs of a crowded Beirut. It’s not unlike Luisa, the protagonist in the video game Dungeons of Hinterberg, who escapes her big-city lawyer job to find peace in a small Austrian town surrounded by prominent peaks and valleys. And a little bit of magic.
The serene mountains of Lebanon and the fantastical world of Dungeons of Hinterberg may seem worlds apart, yet they share a surprising resonance.
At its core, Dungeons is a Zelda-like with a beautiful, stylized art where you can explore one of the game’s 25 dungeons by solving puzzles and slaying monsters. When you return from dungeon crawling, you are always sent back to a quaint town where you can talk to different NPCs, level up your friendship levels or prepare for your next dungeon at the shops in a way that isn’t too dissimilar to games like Persona. The town you’re vacationing in has built up a wide range of jobs because of the dungeons, tourism has started to boom, and the corrupt people in charge are benefitting from it while also doing everything in their power to preserve the town’s magic; otherwise, the entire tourist economy falters.
The magic pervading Hinterberg strangely echoes the complex nature and history of Lebanon. While the former is fantastical, the latter’s magic is twisted from the threads of resilience, beauty, and an unshakeable spirit. Just as the people of Hinterberg are bound by the promise of magic, Lebanese are held captive by the potential of their homeland. It’s a love affair fraught with tension, where the country’s beauty and location are a double-edged sword, often exploited by those in power.
You are introduced to the mayor of Hinterberg early in the game and it’s apparent that all she cares about is maintaining the magic of the dungeons to keep boosting the town’s economy, consequences be damned. It often feels like Lebanese leaders in power who will go out of their way to keep their positions, to keep money flowing into their wallets, and to preserve whatever corrupt government they think is left without a care in the world about the people’s wants and needs. The classic Lebanese guilt. The game’s mayor resorts to blackmailing Luisa even, making her feel guilty about all the jobs she would be costing the friends she made in Hinterberg if she were to try to rid the town of magic. It brought me back to Lebanese parents who often use the phrase “you can go skiing and swimming on the same day” — a joke about the country’s weather and size — to guilt-trip those of us living abroad into coming back to our corrupt home country.
The way that Dungeons of Hinterberg encourages you to relax also reminds me of Lebanon. When you’re out exploring a new path in one of the game’s distinct regions, you might stumble upon a scenic spot when you’re actually looking for a dungeon to slay monsters. The game makes you ponder with a thought bubble popping up, asking you to take in the views and rest — it’s also obviously gamified where resting in a newly discovered spot gives you more stats, which is essential for later in the game. Lebanon has always felt similar in that regard. You might be stressed one day about the Middle East or whether the power was going to come back or how bad and excruciating the traffic to Beirut was going to be, but you’re never that far off from a mountain or beach view. The country asks you to sit back with all the negative thoughts and listen to the chirp of the birds or smell the gardenias.
One of my favorite lines in the game comes from a character named Travis who says: “[This place] is all fake rustic furniture and a cookie-cutter party DJ for tourists”. To me, this is reminiscent of Lebanon in every way. The country is hanging on by a thread with a crippling infrastructure and an economic crisis that doesn’t seem to be improving anytime soon, but the beach and the rooftop parties? Always there for tourists and Arabs who live abroad and visit for a summer. It’s a sandbox for people to play and stay but never long enough to make a difference in the community. It’s a vacation spot, an escape from reality, a cookie-cutter party DJ. This stark contrast between the game’s fantastical setting and Lebanon’s harsh realities highlights the complexities of both places. While Hinterberg is a carefully constructed illusion, Lebanon’s struggles are all too real.
Beyond the individual characters and settings, Dungeons of Hinterberg also reflects the broader societal challenges faced by Lebanon. There are locals that want the madness of Hinterberg’s dungeons to end and wish for nothing more than the tourists to stop coming into their town and trashing the place in their slaying adventures. On the other hand, there are locals that have made thriving businesses and content creation and all kinds of things that can’t exist in a post-magic world. This kind of division often reminds me of the corrupt media in Lebanon and how it has easily swayed people one way or the other for years. Elections in the country have always been a headache-inducing mess, where those with power and money can buy people’s votes. It leads to nothing but divisiveness in the country’s communities. It’s alienating in the way people talk about religion, gender, sexual identity, race and so much more. Look no further than how the refugee crisis in Syria has affected communities of Lebanon with a vast increase in violence and xenophobia or Beirut Pride dividing folks in the country in recent years.
The lack of a dedicated jump button in Dungeons of Hinterberg unexpectedly mirrors the challenges of life in Lebanon. You’re supposed to move Luisa just to the edge of platforms and she will jump automatically — whether she will land is a matter of what’s coming next. Lebanon is all about making leaps of faith too: you never know if the business degree you majored in will actually ever lead to a stable job (spoiler: it probably won’t), you never know whether it’s safe to stay in Lebanon or go through the harrowing process of saying goodbye, you never even know if the power might come back and if you’ll ever take a hot shower again. It’s all about leaps of faith. The adrenaline rush of successfully navigating these leaps in the game is a stark contrast to the fear and uncertainty that often accompanies real-life decisions in Lebanon.
Now, you might think that last one is a bit of a stretch — comparing Dungeons of Hinterberg’s jumping mechanic to making leaps of faith in Lebanon. And perhaps it is. But these unexpected connections have revealed a deeper understanding of both the game and my homeland. While the game is a mere digital construct, it has served as a powerful lens through which to examine the complexities of Lebanon. Whether it’s the corrupt politics, the stunning natural beauty, or the resilience of its people, Dungeons of Hinterberg has captured a unique essence of my country in a way that few other experiences have.
I’ve seen the credits roll on Hinterberg 23 hours after I started my journey and I’m back in the real world now, sitting behind my office desk just like Luisa. I’m not saying goodbye to Doberkogel, Hinterwald or Kolmstein just yet just as I’m never saying goodbye to Akkar, Tripoli or Beirut. If anything, I feel that my relationship with video games and Lebanon is stronger now, all thanks to a little goo and corruption.
