Beirut Fishing

This is one of my favorite pictures from my time in Beirut. This well-dressed man, starched white shirt, silver cufflinks and polished Gucci loafers wanders down from the corniche after a long day in an air-conditioned office. He borrows a pole from a random fisherman.

As he casts his line into the teaming Mediterranean, yesterday, today and tomorrow float away in the tide. Occasional low, deep murmuring voices, the smells of the sea, fish and men take him back long ago with his father and his father’s father. Soon he has left the screaming problems of today and he is on a Phoenician ship sailing to the Greek Isles with a precious cargo of olive oil in earthen jars.

Too soon, his reverie is broken by a tug on the line. He carefully pulls his catch in, placing it in a bucket, leaving it for the others whose needs are greater.

He trudges up the stairs to the crowded corniche and makes his way home to his luxurious flat, with walls of glass overlooking the sea. The sea air still clings to him as his wife wants to know why he is late. Dreamily, he tells her “I was fishing.”



Reflections after Beirut explosion, August 4, 2020

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