Secret Garden. There we were, deep in Sidon’s sandstone labyrinth, when I... (Saïda, Al Janub, Lebanon)
Secret Garden. There we were, deep in Sidon’s sandstone labyrinth, when I ducked through an open doorway into what looked like a dark, empty chamber, only to discover that the back window looked out onto this. To call it a garden is a bit of a stretch, for there were no other plants in the little walled courtyard but then this lovely mandarin tree didn’t leave much room for anything else. It was dotted with small fruit, some of which looked like they had been on the tree since the year before and while it made for a pretty (and unexpected sight), I started imagining how the fragrance of its flowers must thicken the air each spring, the fug of their delicate perfume deepening with every passing day, trapped as it is by high walls, in which there are only a couple of iron grille windows for it to diffuse. Then it might be pleasant so sit on this sill, the dusty smell of this dark chamber dispelled for a moment. There is something noble about lone trees in courtyard settings. This one reminded me of another tree, a Blood Orange, which grows in a small courtyard on the second floor of a friend’s house just inside the walls of the Andalucian village of Carmona. Even more unexpected than this mandarin in Sidon, it grows above a vaulted chamber, which still bears traces of 14th century religious murals, and which is so ethereal that it doesn’t seem capable of supporting a tree’s weight. Almost sculptural in its beauty, the lone tree becomes the focus of one’s attention, cultivating a sense of peace and introspection. But it does so at a price. Trees are social life forms and marooned in manmade surroundings, they exude a palpable melancholy, which is perhaps why this one reminded me of a caged bird and why I was seized with the urge to set it free.
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