Hanan al shaykh the womens swimming pool

I began to sweat and my heart again contracted as Beirut came into view with its lofty buildings, car horns, the bared arms of the women, the girls' hair, the tight trousers they were wearing.

People were sitting on chairs in the middle of the pavement eating and drinking; the trams; the roasting chickens revolving on spits. Ah, these dresses for sale in the windows, would anyone be found actually to wear them?

I see a Japanese man, the first ever member of the yellow races outside of books; the Martyrs' monument, Riad Solh Square. I was wringing wet with sweat and my heart pounded--it was as though I regretted having come to Beirut, perhaps because I was accompanied by my grandmother.

Hanan al shaykh the womens swimming pool pool pdf

It was soon all too evident that we were outsiders to the capital. We began walking after my grandmother had asked the bus driver the whereabouts of the district of Khandak al-Ghamik where Maryam al-Taweela lived. Once