Suleiman wanders along a black sandy beach in Syria’s Wadi Qandil. He picks up a few loose pebbles and slips them into his pocket with a grin. They’re for his collection.
It is the first time the 82-year-old has seen the Mediterranean Sea in more than a decade. “It was far too dangerous to come here before,” he says. “People could easily get disappeared at any of the checkpoints.”
Latakia province’s Wadi Qandil is renowned in Syria for its crystal water and black beaches but for many years Syria’s coast – once considered the heartland of Bashar al-Assad’s regime – had long been inaccessible to many Syrians.
They feared being stopped at a checkpoint and disappearing into the regime’s notorious network of secret prisons. Yet since the fall of Assad’s regime in 2024, the country’s beaches are open to all Syrians.
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“Assad created a sectarian war,” says Suleiman’s son, Rawad*. “He only recruited soldiers from one particular sect, and labelled Sunni Muslims from certain provinces as terrorists ... But we are all just Syrians.”
Previously, the presence of Sunnis coming to the coastal region was deemed suspicious. “They could stop me on the road and ask: ‘Where are you from? Why are you coming here? What do you want to do? What’s your connection to this place?’,” Rawad says.
Now the seaside is open again to all Syrians. Suleiman and Rawad travelled to Latakia province from Damascus with their extended family. A grandson had returned from Austria, giving them an occasion to celebrate. “Now we can come as often as we like,” Rawad says, laughing. “We have freedom.”
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At a roadside stall selling Syrian flatbread, an old rusty van slows to a halt. The occupants - two women wearing skirts and low-cut tops - ask for directions.
“The beach is that way,” shouts the shop owner as the van races off, leaving a cloud of dust behind it. “We’re not used to those types here. This is something new for us.”
Among the Alawite community, women are generally unveiled and alcohol is permitted. For many of the coast’s new beachgoers, such sights are completely novel.
Tony*, the owner of a local beachfront resort, sits in his office, the wood panelling bleached by the sun. He sips a small cup of strong Turkish coffee as guests and employees alike come sporadically with requests and greetings. “All these people are my friends,” he motions. “I want this place to be like their home.”
“Things are getting better,” he says. “But we have had some problems.”
In November 2025 local police raided a number of hotels in the area – accusing them of being run by “regime remnants” for the purpose of prostitution. Tony’s hotel was among them.
“They came in and beat up the guests. Imagine,” he says. “Daughters being hit in front of their mothers, accused of being ‘prostitutes’.”
“The authorities found nothing here. No drugs, no regime remnants, no prostitution – just families on holiday.”
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Tony and his guests were detained at the local police office for three hours before they were released, and returned to find the premises ransacked. “They stole everything, from the hotel, from my home, even from the guests; it was all gone.”
For locals, such violations raise grim memories. In March 2025, following an armed insurrection on the coast by groups linked to the former regime, forces associated with the new government rampaged through the region, committing a series of massacres, killing about 1,400 people, according to the UN.
After the raid Tony was eventually able to settle his case with the local authorities and reopen, but not all were so fortunate. Nearby, the shutters of “X Beach”, a well-known hotspot for beach parties, remain closed.
He recognises that there are certain limits he has to respect. “We only accept bookings from families. We don’t allow mixed groups or groups of guys. We don’t want any problems.”
On the beach outside, large groups of families crowd around tables laughing and eating barbecued food. At some they dance to Lebanese pop music and pass around bottles of whiskey and Syrian arak – an anise-flavoured spirit.
Arwa lies back on a sunlounger, while a group of children splash each other in the crystal-blue water nearby. The young woman has come for a weekend break with female friends, hoping to escape the dust and chaos of Damascus’s sweltering summer.
“I try to come every year. I’ve loved it here since I was little,” she says. “These days you can see people from all over Syria, which is nice.”
“One of the best things now is the tourist police,” she says. “They’re really good at making sure we feel safe here.”
A new force of specially designated police has been introduced across Syria over the last six months in areas frequented by tourists. At Wadi Qandil they are having a significant impact. “The co-ordination with the new tourist police is really good,” Tony says. “The head of the local section is a really good guy, very respectful with us.”
“They’re helping keep everything calm here currently. Wadi Qandil is my life. We don’t want anything except that this place stays open to all.”
* Names have been changed at the request of interviewees
