Fifth Journey Day 107: The Coffee Carried Past
Date: August 23, 2025
Location: Beirut, Lebanon
I arrived in Beirut this morning and walked down to the Corniche in the late afternoon. The sea looked like a mirror, with pale blue edges and darker areas where it was hidden from the sun. The pavement was hot, but the breeze made it comfortable. I moved slowly, letting my eyes adjust to the differences in light and color—the white of old apartment buildings, the sudden bright pink of bougainvillea, and the quiet persistence of fishermen leaning on their lines.
My walk had a rhythm that reminded me of other times when I had arrived. I moved a little awkwardly, trying to match my pace to the other person. Families were gathered along the wall, children running back and forth, their voices loud over the sound of waves hitting stone. A man passed by, carrying a tray of coffee cups in one hand. The smell of coffee lingered in the air for a moment before it disappeared into the traffic.
I often paused to take in more of the scenery, not because I was tired, but because I wanted to enjoy the views more. The water made the noise less loud, and I looked outside to see that the city behind me looked smaller and less important. I thought about the dry air of Luxor and how it felt compared to the wet heat here. They both stuck, but in different ways: one stuck in a weak, fragile way, and the other stuck in a smooth, flexible way.
The walk made me think clearly. Arrival is always a delicate situation: not fully here, but not fully gone from the place before either. I let myself rest in that in-between space, not trying to make sense of it. When I turned around, the light had already changed, and the sea was starting to look orange. My shirt stuck slightly to my back. I carried the day home with a slight discomfort, balanced by the calm of the horizon.
