Roma set sail from the Port of Beirut and made its first stop in Jaffa, where scores of young Jews, males and females, were eager to kick off their summer trip to Romania. “All rooms are booked. Where will the crowd sleep?” we inquired. “On the top deck. They will dine and sleep on the top deck’”, they answered.

By nightfall, the vessel departed toward the Izmir Port in Turkey. Calm waters, gentle breeze and amusing company- music, dancing and singing. I could never really understand how amicability surfaces so fast among boat passengers, as though the heart of the mighty sea opens up to bond all men with ties of love and friendship, then when the time comes to say goodbye, a pang of sadness awakes in travelers as each goes their separate ways.

We were informed that we were going to spend the entire day in Izmir and that the security agents may allow us to disembark onto the mainland. Izmir was renowned in Mount Lebanon for its dried figs. From Izmir, we sailed toward Constantinople, the solemn state’s capital whose name used to frighten people during the First World War. We traversed the Sea of Marmara toward the straits then towards Constantinople. “You have an entire day for sightseeing,” they told us. We needed some rest after hours of touring and some of us ordered coffee. We were later told: to Yildiz.

Yildiz was the name of an Ottoman palace that used to make one’s blood run cold. Whenever the Sultan summoned one of his subjects to the Palace of Yildiz, the poor thing would end up at the bottom of the Bosphorus. This is what had clung to our memories upon mentioning of the palace. Yet, the vast complex had transformed into a coffee shop teeming with excited tourists. O God, you change everything yet remain unchanged yourself!