In the hours before the street wakes fully, when the air is still fresh, scented with lingering cardamon, coriander, zaatar and coffee, I walk like a ghost through the old city. Alone but for my own breathing I inhale its special atmosphere, feeling exhilarated and privileged to be here. The shutters, the signs, the stone […]Read Post ›

In the hours before the street wakes fully, when the air is still fresh, scented with lingering cardamon, coriander, zaatar and coffee, I walk like a ghost through the old city. Alone but for my own breathing I inhale its special atmosphere, feeling exhilarated and privileged to be here. The shutters, the signs, the stone […]Read Post ›

In the hours before the street wakes fully, when the air is still fresh, scented with lingering cardamon, coriander, zaatar and coffee, I walk like a ghost through the old city. Alone but for my own breathing I inhale its special atmosphere, feeling exhilarated and privileged to be here. The shutters, the signs, the stone […]Read Post ›

In the hours before the street wakes fully, when the air is still fresh, scented with lingering cardamon, coriander, zaatar and coffee, I walk like a ghost through the old city. Alone but for my own breathing I inhale its special atmosphere, feeling exhilarated and privileged to be here. The shutters, the signs, the stone […]Read Post ›

In the hours before the street wakes fully, when the air is still fresh, scented with lingering cardamon, coriander, zaatar and coffee, I walk like a ghost through the old city. Alone but for my own breathing I inhale its special atmosphere, feeling exhilarated and privileged to be here. The shutters, the signs, the stone […]Read Post ›

In the hours before the street wakes fully, when the air is still fresh, scented with lingering cardamon, coriander, zaatar and coffee, I walk like a ghost through the old city. Alone but for my own breathing I inhale its special atmosphere, feeling exhilarated and privileged to be here. The shutters, the signs, the stone […]Read Post ›

In the hours before the street wakes fully, when the air is still fresh, scented with lingering cardamon, coriander, zaatar and coffee, I walk like a ghost through the old city. Alone but for my own breathing I inhale its special atmosphere, feeling exhilarated and privileged to be here. The shutters, the signs, the stone […]Read Post ›

In the hours before the street wakes fully, when the air is still fresh, scented with lingering cardamon, coriander, zaatar and coffee, I walk like a ghost through the old city. Alone but for my own breathing I inhale its special atmosphere, feeling exhilarated and privileged to be here. The shutters, the signs, the stone […]Read Post ›

In the hours before the street wakes fully, when the air is still fresh, scented with lingering cardamon, coriander, zaatar and coffee, I walk like a ghost through the old city. Alone but for my own breathing I inhale its special atmosphere, feeling exhilarated and privileged to be here. The shutters, the signs, the stone […]Read Post ›

In the hours before the street wakes fully, when the air is still fresh, scented with lingering cardamon, coriander, zaatar and coffee, I walk like a ghost through the old city. Alone but for my own breathing I inhale its special atmosphere, feeling exhilarated and privileged to be here. The shutters, the signs, the stone […]Read Post ›