The scars are still visible from the latest conflict to ravage Beirut, but the party town refuses to be kept down. Amelia Thomas reports
The scars are still visible from the latest conflict to ravage Beirut, but the party town refuses to be kept down. Amelia Thomas reports.
It is almost 10pm on Saturday night and Beirut is cranking up for action. On the seafront Corniche, under the full moon, busboys weave among nose-to-tail traffic, ferrying thick Lebanese coffee to stationary drivers from coffee shop institution, Uncle Deek. Families are double and triple parking along the promenade, bearing picnics and plastic chairs, and settling in for a night of people watching. Old men clack back-gammon counters; teenagers munch corn-on-the-cob; gaggles of women puff on apple-scented narghiles (water pipes).
Eighteen months ago, this busy Mediterranean strip was deserted, as bombs pummelled the country for 34 days during the 2006 Lebanon war. Though destruction was largely limited to the city’s southern suburbs and the airport – whose runways and fuel tanks were severely damaged – the bombardment left most Beirutis seeking shelter and solace at home. ‘We didn’t know where bombs might drop next,’ explains 40-year-old beautician Nadia Radi. ‘I come from Jounieh, 15km up the coast, and when the Israeli planes took out a communications tower nearby, the glass shook in our windows. No one wanted to risk coming down here to Beirut, just in case.’
But 2007’s summer saw the indomitable city clambering back to its feet. Though scars of the wars that have plagued Beirut’s modern history remain part of everyday life – with few buildings free from bullet holes or shrapnel scars – its party-prone citizenry is determined to live for today.
Just off the Corniche – steps away from the bombsite where former Lebanese prime minister Rafik Hariri was assassinated on Valentine’s Day 2005 when an equivalent of 1000kg of TNT blew up his motorcade – Bubbles, formerly the Sky Bar, one of the Middle East’s most exclusive summer clubbing destinations has just wound down for the season. Now, as the Gulf jet set revs up for the slopes of St Moritz, the sleek sea-view bar, perched atop the luxury Palm Beach Hotel, plays host to a more relaxed clientele. From the Bentleys and BMWs parked out front, sharp-suited men and silicone-enhanced women emerge, heading up for an evening of Mojito and Manhattan-sipping under the stars.
‘A month after the war ended, everything was back to normal. The crowds came back, though there were fewer tourists than usual.’
‘Last year, we didn’t feel so much like partying,’ sighs Zeina Bashir, a 21-year-old real estate heiress, tapping one manicured fingernail against an expertly mixed Tom Collins. ‘Lots of our crowd went to Dubai, just to get away from the trouble. But this year, we’re showing the world that there’s no stopping us. This place was party central all summer; the DJ didn’t stop until the sun rose over Mount Lebanon.’
Across town, past the hulking skeleton of the long-abandoned Holiday Inn, once a chic vacation address and later a key sniper post during the tortuous 1975-1991 civil war, the restaurants of Rue Gouraud are fast filling up. Few eateries in this funky French colonial district of Gemayzeh see much trade before 10pm, but as the moon rises over the St George Yacht Club, a short stroll away and once playground to Liz Taylor and David Niven – valets scuttle to park the ranks of Hummers and Ferraris that arrive bearing ravenous diners.
Bright lights twinkle from the windows of small, enticing eateries – Spoon, Bread, Le Rouge – which rub shoulders with cool bars such as Rehab, Copper and the famous live-music venue, Bar Louie. ‘Most pubs and bars here did stay open throughout the war,’ says Bar Louie bartender, Anis Abou Antoine. ‘But they weren’t very busy. Most of the people who came were drinking to forget about the situation going on outside.
About a month after the war ended, everything was back to normal again. The crowds came back, though with fewer tourists than usual. This year, there have been more. But next year will be even better, I know it.’ He grins and brandishes a bottle of vanilla-infused Stolichnaya vodka. ‘There’s no stopping us.’
Not all of Beirut’s pubbing and clubbing districts have recovered as quickly, however. The infamous Rue Monot, in Beirut’s traditionally hard-partying Achrafieh neigh-bourhood, has found the past 12 months particularly hard going. Renowned for glitzy clubs such as Crystal, where champagne’s $3,000 a bottle, the street is still surprisingly sedate. In early December 2006, Hezbollah adherents moved into central Beirut, setting up a tent city that spills over from the southern reaches of Martyrs Square to the bottom of Rue Monot itself. With the goal of pressing Prime Minister Fouad Siniora’s government into resignation, the squatters say they will not decamp until the government falls.
‘People in this city generally recover quickly from incidents,’ says Tony Hassoun, manager of the Cuban-themed Pacifico bar, usually thronging with Rue Monot action. ‘With the Hariri assassination, it took about three days for things to get back to normal; after the war, about three weeks. But those tents,’ he points toward the end of the street, ‘people are scared of them, of what the militants inside might do. That’s why we’re so quiet here right now. Still…’ he considers, looking around at the bustling bar, ‘we’re doing OK – we can’t complain. Downtown’s even closer to them, and has been hit even harder.’
The Downtown district, also known as Solidere, is indeed eerily deserted. Following the civil war it witnessed the restoration of the Ottoman-era buildings ringing the Place d’Étoile. These were recently home to buzzing bars, but tonight they are subdued. Though it is barely 1am, a solitary waiter stacks chairs and dims his café lights.
Behind him, the Roman columns of the Cardo Maximus, once the centre of Roman Beirut’s market, are strewn with rubbish. Many establishments are locked and shuttered, having closed their cash registers permanently. The streets are empty, except for the camouflage-clad armed policemen, who sit at almost every street corner, smoking and text-messaging. Downtown’s proximity to the tent city, combined with current fears of bomb blasts in attempted assassinations, means that few feel like risking a night on the tiles quite so close to Lebanon’s parliament buildings.
But still, the nightlife goes on. At 4am in Hamra, Beirut’s lively university district to the west, the smoky Blue Note jazz club is still going strong. Cafés are open; students are swigging arak (aniseed liquor), chain smoking or snacking on shwararma (doner kebab) from street stalls. Down the hill, beyond the American University of Beirut, the first intrepid joggers are taking to the streets as weary partygoers stroll home or sip coffee and wait for sunrise.
‘These days, the world’s uncertain everywhere,’ says student Rafiq al-Souki, sporting a Che Guevara beard and beret. ‘There are even bombs going off in Europe. Who knows what’s going to happen next? We’re just showing the rest of the world how to deal with that.’
Beirut, he continues, is not only a city that never sleeps, but also one that never dies. Whatever’s thrown at it, Beirut gets up, moves on – preferably in a Ferrari – and most definitely gets down, at just about every chance it gets.
WHERE TO PARTY
Beirut addresses generally do not have street numbers – and street signs do not display the street name itself, but instead a confusing array of road and sector numbers. If in doubt, hop into a Mercedes taxi and ask for your venue by name. Opening hours in Beirut are fluid, and many places listed below remain open as long as the crowd’s partying.
Bubbles: Palm Beach Hotel, Ain el-Mraisseh, Beirut.
Tel: (+961) 1 372 000; open 8pm until late daily during summer. The door policy can be strict, so dress in your society best.
Bar Louie: Rue Gouraud, Gemayzeh, Beirut.
Tel: (+961) 1 575 877; open from around 7pm until late, daily, live music every night. No door policy; relaxed clientele of largely late-20-somethings and upwards.
Crystal: Rue Monot, Beirut. Tel: (+961) 1 332 523; open 10pm-late daily. Techno and classics played to a beautiful, moneyed clubbing crowd.
Pacifico: Rue Monot, Beirut. Tel: (+961) 1 204 446; open 8pm-late daily, Latin beats, Cuban food and killer cocktails, served to a mix of students, tourists and locals.
Blue Note Jazz Café: Rue Makhoul, Hamra, Beirut.
Tel: (+961) 1 743 857; open noon to 1am or later, closed sundays. Admission is charged when live bands are performing, ranging from around LL9,000 (around $6) for local bands to LL20,000 ($12) for international names.
Where to stay
Hazmieh Rotana Hotel
Boulevard Chiyah
PO Box 45111
Hazmieh
Beirut
Tel: (+961) 545 8000
www.rotana.com
Radisson SAS Hotel
Martinez
Phoenicia Street
Beirut
Tel: (+961) 136 8111
www.radissonsas.com
Mir Amin Palace Hotel
PO Box 01.6780
Beiteddine Shouf
Beyrouth
Tel: (+961) 550 1315-7
www.miraminpalace.com
