I was further encouraged on my adventurous way by recollections of Benjamin Crowninshield���s voyages to the Mediterranean from my native Salem, one hundred and fifty years earlier (of which more later); my parents��� love of travel and their
unequivocal support for me to venture forth; a chance meeting
with a young girl who would soon become the Greek Crown
Princess; a schoolmate who was Egypt���s last king, albeit for
only a week after his father���s abdication; a conversation with a
great-grandson of Turkey���s last Sultan; a discussion with Dad���s
great friend who so believed in the promise of Israel; and the
epic history of Malta.
In the aggregate they all represented intrigue, all triggering a
strong desire to find the details, the real place, the essence of
it all. Beyond the above there was also the beautiful Lebanese
lady who, at the Beau Rivage Hotel in Lausanne in September
of 1963, regaled me with stories of what was then called, by
many, The Lebanon. I remember her saying, referring to the
great classical ruin, deep in Lebanon, hand raised from her lap
towards a misty Lake Geneva as if pointing to an apparition,
���Baalbek is the most beautiful ruin in the world, in a country
which will be a ruin. But Lebanon is Paris now, you must go!���
Beirut and Baalbek were beautiful. Her words were prophetic.
Today we hope for a continuous Beirut spring.
O
f all the trip���s many splendors, the Greek Islands most
HYLAND
5
