We've been back in Baltimore for 3 weeks now and I still miss Beirut. I finally got around to scanning some of my last photos from wanderings around the city. Here in B'more I'm thinking about photographing, but have only taken one roll (as yet undeveloped) with my old folder camera (a Zeiss Ikon) of the alley behind our house. The Hasselblad is in the shop for a broken mirror, so when you notice a few of the photos below are out of focus, that's why. I find I am still contemplating trees. Here they are skeletons, creating filigree patterns against the winter sky. Very beautiful in an austere way. For now, though, here are some shots of temperate, Mediterranean Beirut.
(Banyan trees on the AUB campus with their roots like ropes stretching down from the branches.)
(Cactus plants in pots in the woodsy part of AUB's campus. Below is an olive tree in the same area.)
As much as I love the AUB campus, it's really my old neighborhood of Hamra that I miss the most. Below are spots I frequented or walked by often. The first is a fig tree, though I seem to have completely missed the proper focus. Nevertheless, I like the feel of it, an improbable spot for a tree to sprout up. Unfortunately I never seemed to pass it when there were actual figs to be picked. (You might recognize the graffiti on the lower right.)
(Cafe Younes is where I bought coffee, someone behind the counter was always roasting the beans in small rotating cylinders over gas flames. And you can get all sorts of espresso drinks here to accompany your people-watching or newspaper reading outside.)
(Cigale is where I bought croissants and ogled various pastries and elaborate buche de noel cakes at Christmas.)
(This stand is on the bottom floor of the building we lived in and is owned by one of the landlord's sons. He makes delicious manouche. In other parts of the Middle East it's called mana'eesh. It's flat bread made like little pizzas with various toppings. My favorite is with zaatar, the mix of spices, including thyme and sesame seeds, spread on top with olive oil.)
(Sam's is where we bought beer, wine and arak. I had lots of nice chats with Sam too. It's the first place we went after we experienced the car bomb assassination of Walid Eido a bit too closely. A drink while watching the news on TV back at home with friends was necessary for pulling ourselves together. And talking to Sam, who had heard and felt the blast, was a comfort too.)
It's these places, among many others, that really anchored my experience of the year in a very particular locale. Even if I didn't know people's names (and I have to admit, I am just assuming his name or nickname is Sam) it did feel like we knew each other. I saw the same young women every time I went to the supermarket, the same man where I bought my contact lens fluid, the same dignified older man in a lab coat at the pharmacy across the street, the same few techs at the photo shops who always remembered my name, the same men at the Takkoush flower shop who seem to have been there since the '50s, the same waiters at Walimah or Kebabji, and on and on. I recognized people on the street, and said hello to my neighbors. I do that here too, but I see so many fewer people. This is a residential area of small houses and during the day during the week it seems I am the only one around. After Beirut's bustling street life, it's eerie. And a bit lonely. I'll get used to it, but for now it makes me feel I'm in a much vaster, more anonymous place. I miss the cozy intimacy of Beirut.
