"...Do something, go somewhere, travel. You’ll never get an opportunity like this again in your life..."

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

The city that never sleeps


My worst fear of coming to Lebanon was not, as most people would think, a fear of “terrorists”, violence or safety, but instead of loneliness. I feared that I would miss the experience of getting to know the locals and the culture. So, that same evening, Jamil gave me directions to go to Rue Gourraud, in Gemmayzeh-the centre of Beirut nightlife. It’s a pleasant narrow street filled with live music, small cosy bars and restaurants lit up like fireplaces by orange-red neon lights. The whole area is packed with slow moving cars and a young enthusiastic crowd, walking underneath large white “I love Gemmayzeh” banners. I was eager but at the same time nervous to go out. When I arrived it was almost eleven o clock and the bars were only just starting to fill up, and to my amasement, the night had only just begun.
In a state of anxiousness I felt a certain familiarity with my surroundings. Beirut reminded me much of home: Bangkok, the city I grew up in. The hectic chaotic atmosphere and the random packed arrangement of bars and restaurants of Rue Gourraud reminded me of Khao Sarn road, a tourist packed street in the North of Bangkok. The parked chic Lamborghini’s and Ferrari’s, on the other hand,  that appeared almost out of place with the disarranged muddle of bars, restaurants and shops in Gourraud seemed reminiscent of the more ‘upper class’ Bangkok nightlife of Royal City Avenue (RCA).
I finally decided on entering a bar called “Porto” where I could see some free places by the bar. It was a strange feeling, entering an unknown bar, in an unfamiliar city, by myself. I could see that the bartender looked a little surprised, most likely at my age and due to the fact that I had arrived alone.
Beside me sat a man in his early twenties with curly dark hair and a lip piercing, drinking a kamikaze. After ordering a Yeterev, one of the specials, I introduced myself to this man. I was dumbfounded at the openness and hospitality he showed towards me. Perhaps I was expecting to receive the same reticence and detachedness that one would likely face in a similar situation in a Western capital like London or Paris.   Mario was a student at the American University of Beirut (AUB). The pierced man was Lebanese but had spent most of his life in Abu Dhabi, now only moving to Beirut for university to study Engineering. I had caught him on his break from studying, as all AUB students were currently mid-exams. His time off soon turned into a pretty heavy night, as we drank cocktail after cocktail, pledging that every drink would be his last. After 7 or 8 cocktails, Mario finally dragged himself home; we exchanged numbers and planned to watch the soon-to-be-starting World Cup together.
Little did I know that my night was far from over. My next few drinks would be shared under the company of a middle-aged Iraqi man, on holiday in Beirut. He had a strong American accent from studying in New York, Washington D.C. and California. Interested in politics, I was eager but tentative to ask for his views on the Iraq war and the problems surrounding the Middle East.
His concerns were more individual, focused more on the local people than on the international issues that I was accustomed to discussing. It was a different approach to what I was used to, but one that would gradually make more and more sense as I talked to locals in the following two weeks.
Not long after we started talking, the man whose name I sadly never received left the bar. I finished my whiskey coke and asked for the bill. At that moment, I overheard four Western looking 30 or so year olds talk about Belgium.
“Did you say Belgium? I’m from Belgium!” I said introducing myself.
I stood up and turned around. With more than a few drinks behind me, my confidence was sky high. They all lived and worked in the United Kingdom, having a beer on their last night in Lebanon.
Charley had a Flemish girlfriend, which explained their interest in Belgium. They invited me to sit down, as we all ordered another Almaza, the local beer. 

The feeling of familiarity, warmth and security had by now far surpassed my anxiety. I walked down the half lit side-street towards Le Mikado, it was 3 am and the four friendly strangers had just gone home. I felt safe, like a tortoise hiding in its rock-hard shell; untouchable and secure. Only my shell was composed of my new experiences, of the irradiating generosity of the local people, of Jamil, Mario, and the Iraqi. I felt safer than I had ever done in London, a city that has one CCTV for every twenty or so people, a city that stands as a beacon of Western capitalism and success. The West was wrong, I thought. This country no longer deserved a reputation of violence and aggression, it was unwarranted, unjust, simply plain wrong-I had witnessed what it was really like, I felt. I wanted to shout out, to instantly share what I had just experienced, to export what to me felt like my discovery.


A hazy Gemmayzeh photo... I guess it reflects my experiences there :)
I call this one the surprise shot. Blurry and out of focus to avoid looking like a complete idiot taking pictures of bottles in a bar
The lads...Don't remember any of their names.

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