A city becomes a world when one loves one of its inhabitants
...the rose-garden, some remembered kisses
In the winter, sometimes, rarely, you can hear the thunder of a siren – but it is another country. Ah! the misery of harbours and the names they conjure when you are going nowhere. It is like a death – a death of the self uttered in every repetition of the word Alexandria, Alexandria.
* * * * *
Rue Bab-el-Mandeb, Rue Abou-el-Dardar, Minet-el-Barrol (streets slippery with discarded fluff from the cotton marts) Nouzha (the rose-garden, some remembered kisses) or bus stops with haunted names like Saba Pacha, Mazloum, Zizinia Bacos, Schutz, Gianaclis. A city becomes a world when one loves one of its inhabitants.
by Lawrence Durrell(27 February 1912 – 7 November 1990)
from Justine
first book in the Alexandria Quartet
image – unforth
December 19th, 2009 at 6:04 am
Ain’t that the truth!
December 19th, 2009 at 8:54 pm
Thanks Elizabeth. I now wish to go to Nouzha, the rose garden in particular, with someone special, so I can go back again for that remembered kiss.
December 20th, 2009 at 8:50 am
And I’m looking out over my Winter-wet back yard, imagining that I can hear the thunder of a siren – but it is another country.
