More Perfect Than This?

So, what could inspire such a title; I hear you enquire? Well, Charles and I just got back from two days, one night in the Orange House south of Tyre (another time I'll tell you all about the Orange House).

We probably, without even realising it, chose the best weekend of the entire year to go there. I should use the term "chose" with some reserve as it was really Robert and Carol Easton who chose for us and we tagged along. Isn't it great to have friends who prod you into doing things you might not otherwise do?So, we set off on Saturday morning, later than anticipated, and got to the Orange House at about lunch time; that's around 12:30. The trip down was quite uneventful, except that we still have to leave the motorway in two places where they continue to repair the bridges bombed in last summer's war.

Carol and Robert were there to greet us, sun kissed and sandy, straight back from the beach; already showing the tell tale signs of "lack of stress" that come after a few hours in this place.A quick sandwich later and we were all off, down between the banana groves, through the huge iron gate, and onto the warm sand. As we enter the beach there are a clump of white flowers, sitting like star bursts on the ground. Spectacular in their modesty. Humbly sitting there waiting for someone to come along and admire the intricacy of their design. They look like members of the daffodil family; a more exotic and subtle cousin with nothing of the bouncy loudness a group of their yellow relatives would engender.

Ah, the beach. Empty, as usual, the only sound being the gentle waves meeting the shoreline; half rolling, half dancing to the shore as if they don't want to disturb the peacefulness of this place. We take off our shoes and head for the water's edge, walking along towards the "best" place. We find our spot, about halfway along the beach where the flat rocks of the shoreline seem to have left a deliberate gap. Umbrellas planted, towels laid out, we're off! What does Carol mutter as we enter the water? "La tortura continua." (All spelling errors my own inventions!!) She explains that these were the words spoken by a mutual friend every time he came to this piece of paradise and finally got his feet into the sea...

The sparkling, clear water did not disappoint. Could it be? Is it possible that it's even better now in mid October than it was in the summer. The water is pristine, not a jellyfish in sight (we did enjoy the jelly wars in the summer, though), the temperature is perfect - hot enough so that you don't feel a chill when you're wet but not so hot that your head thumps as you labour through the sand to our preferred place. Once we get into the water it's confirmed; this is better than the summer. It might seem impossible to say, but there's not one thing I could have changed to improve on this scene.

Now, onto the serious topic of food. As usual, Carol and Robert have plans, and when it comes to cooking and their plans for it, I'm a happy follower. Rendez-vous in the kitchen for a "family" cooking session. Carol and Robert get busy preparing salad and chopping mushrooms for the chicken dish I can already smell even though the packet isn't yet opened. You guessed it, only in Lebanon can you get away with eating this much garlic and continue to have friends to talk to! I prepare my apple crumble which is greatly enhanced by the addition of some of Carol's left over plums in ginger syrup.

About a hour later, we find ourselves sitting on the terrace. A single candle adorns the middle of the table, another signals the edge of the stairs. They flicker as they cast an orange glow across the after-dinner scene before us. The empty wine bottles and contented sighs attest to the fact that dinner was GOOD! Carol calls her daughter, Emily, in Chicago to wish her a happy birthday. We text to try and find out what the rugby score is between England and France; but it's too early. The evening is cool. Not cool enough to even wear a cardigan, but cool enough to be comfortable. Charles' nargile bubbles away in the background. Somewhere in the garden one of the dogs barks; sending a warning to any potential furry invaders. We sit and chat, and chat and sit. Laughing, exclaiming our disbelief at the latest news from Emily; you get the picture.

Robert decides that falling asleep in bed would be better than doing so at the table, so, at 11:30 we all get up, stretch, and follow the candle path to the door.

And just think, we get to do it all again in the morning; now that's perfect!