I felt like I was looking at the world through the lens of Yann Arthus-Bertrand as I traveled to the Middle East. Since I didn't take pictures, here's a verbal account of what I saw.
The Pyrenees: capped with snow and dotted with lakes whose coldness I could almost taste, even from 40,000 feet. Greek isles, Cyprus, my first look at the Mediterranean. I've never seen water so blue, like lapis lazuli made liquid. The coast of Lebanon appeared suddenly.
To me, Beirut looked like the Hollywood of the Middle East, couched in green hills. Maybe it's because my friend told me it was the best place she's visited in her life; maybe it's because I've never been to Hollywood. The city looked both ancient and post-apocalyptic, the ecru buildings exploding in a geometric design, like a blossoming gemstone.
Amman. In the desert now. Flat sand and spindly trees. The sun set as we landed in a glow of pink in the hazy dust-filled sky which made it impossible to know the exact moment the sun disappeared. The moon was already in the sky, a pale shadow of what it was about to become. As the night darkened, the sky turned navy and the full moon let off so much moonshine that the sky turned almost green around it, an unearthly halo. In the distance, bright orange glows nestled against the horizon like the blazes of an enormous fire: street lights lining the highway.
I listened to music on the flight into Amman, but I realized that I don't have the soundtrack for this place, just as I do not have the vocabulary to capture everything I see.
A desert rose for now,
Maria
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