I shall not speak of Lebanon, its mountains, and its beauty. I shall not sing its praises and describe it as the Switzerland of the East, nor shall I try to extol the benefits of summering after they have been studied for
Lebanese scenes from the brush of Douaihy
years, and after the newspapers have come out telling us that the country earns a million liras from tourism and eight million from summering. We have had our fill of praise and description and rapture over the beauty of our mountains and their scenery. No one has ever outstripped us in the field of talk. We must work, and work quickly, and work sincerely, so that our summering season may revive. Europe is competing with us, and the demand for her is great. I know very well that the greatest obstacle in the way of a flourishing summering season here is the high level of prices — that frightful rise which makes the summer visitor grumble at the cost of things from the moment his feet touch this beloved land until he departs.
We hear of the tariff and we hear of the fixed prices, yet we never see them except on the pages of the newspapers. The summer visitor is astonished at this and loses confidence in those in charge. If the government does not concern itself — not with enacting laws, of which there are so many, but with enforcing them, of which enforcement there is so little — matters will remain as they are, and the summer visitor will exchange Lebanon for other resorts.
Much is told of the treatment dealt out by certain drivers and of their exorbitant demands, and some among us console themselves by saying that this happens in every country of Europe with the foreign tourist. Yes, it happens there with foreigners — but the summer visitor from Egypt, Iraq, and Palestine is no foreigner; he is one of us, bound to us by the ties of language and neighborliness. Moreover, when a man meets with this in Europe and America, he tolerates it for the sake of what he finds there: entertainments, promenades, hotels with every means of comfort, museums, art exhibitions, music, and other things we cannot do without — things that satisfy the tourist's mind and profit him. But here, where only natural beauty
and fresh air are offered, the summer visitor finds himself in no mood for indulgence if he is not treated in a manner that encourages him to come to us every year.
We have read in the newspapers of boxes to be hung up in the summering villages, into which every summer visitor may drop a note if he wishes to complain of something. No doubt the boxes will be emptied and their contents read; yet we ask ourselves what the result would be if someone complained of a man of prominence,
or of connections, or of favoritism.