Lebanon

Before departure, I knew very little about Lebanon. There was no personal experience behind it, only layered fragments: images, half-sentences, moods. The kind that both attract and make you cautious at the same time.

Most of my impressions were assembled from films, news reports, and scattered references. The dusty streets and fortresses of *Kingdom of Heaven* did not live in my mind as specific locations, but as a dense, timeless atmosphere — a world that felt both rich and fragile. Alongside this came everyday remarks. “This is such a Beirut situation,” people would say about something chaotic or difficult to manage. Not out of malice, more out of habit. Lebanon slowly became a concept: instability, unpredictability, too many things compressed into one place.

And yet, the more these layers accumulated, the stronger the curiosity became. Because behind all of it there was something else: the promise of an intensely vibrant world. A country where history is not kept behind glass, but lives in streets, on walls, and among ruins.

Before departure, a quiet uncertainty accompanied all this. Not fear — rather, a kind of neophobia. The feeling that this was not a rehearsed route. The timing sharpened everything. We knew Lebanon was not among the predictable destinations, yet we visited during a brief window when entry — with all necessary caution — still seemed reasonable. It was not recklessness, but recognition: sometimes a place must be understood while there is still time.

This prologue simply records that.
Where we started — and what we were missing.