A tinny Für Elise floats up the stairways long before you spot the gas truck playing it, and the hills pass the tune from one slope to the next. Down in the valley, taxi horns echo off a Roman theater carved into the rock, while the Citadel keeps watch from the ridge above.
Beyond the ruins, Jabal al-Weibdeh tucks galleries and small cafés between old stone houses, and Rainbow Street fills up as the evening cools. Summers are hot and dry, while winter brings rain and now and then a dusting of snow on the higher hills. A Local Friend can open the door to a knafeh counter or a family table you would never have knocked on.
