The Beauty of Needlework

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Embroidery has long since been part of the Lebanese heritage of handicrafts. There are some kinds of embroideries like the Oya that most probably have been acquired at the time of the Ottoman Empire. Embroidery in Lebanon is not considered to be a craft as all families, whether peasants, villagers or city-dwellers, practiced it as well as crochet, thus perpetuating ancestral traditions. The young ladies were most hard-working as they had to start preparing their trousseau as of their tenth year. The latter had to contain both embroidery for personal use such as veils, undergarments and dresses, and embroidery items for household use: window, cupboard and closet curtains, bed covers, protective covers for sofas and tablecloths.

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Beirut’s Old Manara

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There was a time in Beirut when, what seemed like a mammoth structure, black and white stripes ascending up to the skies, played a major role in this city. Built on a little hill facing the Mediterranean Sea, the tallest one in the land, it stood still, proud, and useful. Now it stands there suffocating for air minisculed by the huge buildings around it. It stands there although still perceptible, yet useless in all its might.

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The Summer Drinks

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Similar to food, home made drinks are not only a staple in every Lebanese home but also reflect the earth’s bounty. There is something quiet wonderful about the combination of elements that make those typical Lebanese drinks so superb. It starts with their color, as they range in hues from pastel to darker burgundies. Then comes the smell as the drink reaches your lips and the flora of all the ingredients invigorates your spirit. Although they differ in texture, there is something quiet refreshing about them and the combination of those aromas with ice makes them the perfect summer drink.

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Giesen’s Lebanon

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Pastel and earthy sceneries, leave their marks like bullets left on walls. Upon this war torn scenes, a blend of shades and light hear the drawings’ whisper of a war. This beautiful mess captured by Martin Giesen, washed and running flows with his strokes free but damp. They speak of life so light, pale, and tragic, where the wind blows soft in a ravaged war scene. In his faded colors they are but a dream, yet the Mediterranean still breathes a salty, calm  breeze.

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