Once called «Eden,» it now reveals its transfigured landscape: The elegant beachfront villas have surrendered to fishermen’s huts, their crumbling walls bearing the scars of time and salt spray.
Only a few ghostly pillars still stand, emerging from the tides like the last witnesses of a bygone era, defying the endless dance of the waves.
This place now carries a name that echoes its past: Liden. An unwittingly poetic contraction of the lost «Eden,» each syllable beating the rhythm of time’s relentless march.
Yet in this metamorphosis, the soul of the place endures: in the beauty of weathered scars and the dignity of accepted transmutation.