The Atlantic is the ocean I was raised on, and in, but for all its grey-green vastness and rough beauty it can't hold a candle to the allure of the Mediterranean. The Mediterranean, called the Middle White Sea in Arabic, is a place, an environment, that I've always wanted to see. I've read about it in both fiction and historical source material as a place of piracy, warfare, trade, and legend. It's a sea with an identity, a culture, that threads its way through the histories of much of our world. When I decided that I wanted to travel after graduation, to work and live in a different country, the fact that Beirut is situated on the Mediterranean played no small part in my choice of Lebanon.
In the first few days I was here, when Sana suggested that we walk down to the shore, I was eager to go. One of the best-known landmarks in Beirut is the Courniche, a broad walkway that runs directly along the shoreline for a few miles. The walk from the apartment took about half an hour and so we reached the Courniche around sunset, in the company of hundreds of tourists, joggers, fishermen, and families.
Beyond the fence the coastline drops down to the sea, with a few scattered rock faces breaking the water's surface. These miniature islands are were covered with people eating and swimming - mostly young men, but a few families as well. The area, though obviously modernized and made appealing to tourists, is an area that welcomes more than just the awed eye of the foreigner. Like much of what I've seen of Beirut, it's a layered place, different purposes overlapping without much discord.
A few days later, Sana and I once again set out for the coast, this time for the Pigeon Rocks, another landmark of the city. We sat at a small cafe, perched on the pale cliffs that overlook the rocks and the sea. Looking through the glass railings out at the shallow water, I saw the Mediterranean's colors, brilliant blue fading to deep green, brighter than the Atlantic but not as garish as the Caribbean.
There's still one thing I'd love to do, though, which is to swim here! Hopefully, I'll be able to make that happen sometime soon.
In the first few days I was here, when Sana suggested that we walk down to the shore, I was eager to go. One of the best-known landmarks in Beirut is the Courniche, a broad walkway that runs directly along the shoreline for a few miles. The walk from the apartment took about half an hour and so we reached the Courniche around sunset, in the company of hundreds of tourists, joggers, fishermen, and families.
Beyond the fence the coastline drops down to the sea, with a few scattered rock faces breaking the water's surface. These miniature islands are were covered with people eating and swimming - mostly young men, but a few families as well. The area, though obviously modernized and made appealing to tourists, is an area that welcomes more than just the awed eye of the foreigner. Like much of what I've seen of Beirut, it's a layered place, different purposes overlapping without much discord.
A few days later, Sana and I once again set out for the coast, this time for the Pigeon Rocks, another landmark of the city. We sat at a small cafe, perched on the pale cliffs that overlook the rocks and the sea. Looking through the glass railings out at the shallow water, I saw the Mediterranean's colors, brilliant blue fading to deep green, brighter than the Atlantic but not as garish as the Caribbean.
There's still one thing I'd love to do, though, which is to swim here! Hopefully, I'll be able to make that happen sometime soon.
Pigeon Rocks. So beautiful. Is there a more felicitous translation? Or are sailors prosaic no matter what the sea as in Old Silas, Cormorant Rock, Sow & Pigs, etc.?
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