6/25/05, Beirut. Monot Street

Keith and I took a taxi from the hotel, but our driver had never heard of Pacifico Restaurant. We told him to just head up to Monot Street, and we cruised up and down the street leaning out the cab window asking if anyone knew Pacifico. After awhile, we found it down a little alleyway off the main strip.

Monot Street is where the young and beautiful hang out on the weekends. In character, it's a little like Market Street in San Francisco and Hollywood's Sunset Strip. The street itself is a narrow road that branches off into innumerable side streets and alleys packed with clusters of bars and techno clubs. Pacifico was sandwiched between a Latin dance club and a stylish two-story bar. The inside was split in two: a chill lounge by the entrance and a dining area in the back. A Lebanese DJ blasted Salsa music, and white-suited waiters ran between the tables and the bar. We heard bits of Arabic and French and English from the crowd. It was hectic and relaxing at the same time.

We didn't see Ingrid or Anwar in the lounge. There was only one table left in the restaurant, so I grabbed it while Keith waited for our friends outside. At half past ten, they hadn't shown up. We guessed they had canceled, so Keith came back to the table, and we ordered the first two rounds of drinks.

Before I go on, let me explain something about tequila. Most tequila sold today isn't really tequila. It's ten to twenty percent tequila mixed with eighty to ninety percent neutral spirits. Neutral spirits are almost pure alcohol, and that's what gives tequila its infamous bite. Top-shelf tequila is labeled '100% Agave,' indicating that it's 100% tequila, not tequila-flavored moonshine. This real, true tequila is as smooth as twelve-year-old scotch, and it tastes so different from regular tequila that some people think it's a completely different drink.

This 100% Agave stuff is impossible to find in the Middle East. I hadn't had real tequila since I left California. That was until I went to Pacifico. I read every drink on the drink list, all 73 of them. And when I came to the end, I saw it. The one true sign of pure 100% agave tequila: anejo.

I excitedly waved the bartender over. I shouted over the music, "Bring us a pitcher of margaritas on the rocks and a glass of anejo." I had to explain what 'on the rocks' meant and that what I pronounced "ahn-YAY-ho" was what he called "ah-NEE-joe." When the glass arrived, I took a hesitant sip. Then I took a big gulp. Then I slammed the glass on the table and threw my hands in the air and shouted:

"Gracias a dios! Se tiene tequiiila!"

I thought about giving a big Mexican "Arriba!" but people were staring at me, and the waiter was walking toward us, and Keith was taking my liquor away. I snatched back the anejo and the margarita and assured everybody I was still sober and mostly harmless.

I spotted Ingrid in the lounge. I waved at her, and she came over to our table. She apologized for being late and told us she had a late business meeting. We stared quizically at the laptop case she had bought in lieu of a purse. She fished around in the case for a cigarrette and lighter and said, "I took a taxi straight from the office."

Half an hour later, I had finished the anejo and most of the margarita pitcher by myself, so my memory is hazy from here on out. We found out that Ingrid's father was a UN diplomat who had moved his family all over the Middle East. We talked about Turkey and exchanged advice for visiting Petra and the Pyramids. She told us some funny stories about touring Cairo as a solo European woman. I told her my story about meeting fans of Al Qaeda in a gas station in Jordan. We finished our dinner and a second pitcher of margaritas and stumbled out into the street.

Monot Street had come to life. We had to squeeze through a packed crowd in the chill lounge just to get out of Pacifico. Outside, we had to keep moving to keep from getting run over by coeds dressed in Donna Karan and Armani Exchange. The Salsa club had switched to techno music that blasted into the street. Ingrid said that Monot Street was a boring place, and "people only come here because they don't know anywhere else to go." I agreed with her. Every big city has a street like Monot. It's the place that's listed in the tourist brochures and fashionable magazines. It's the default place for people who want to look cool. The real hot spots-where you can dance to good music and drink good liquor and meet real people-are constantly shifting, always a step ahead of the rest of town. We needed someone local to show us those places, and this Dutch or Turkish or whatever-she-was girl had offered to be our guide. Who was I to argue? We ducked into a bar across the street to make our plans.

The bar was a loud, neon-drenched club filled with twenty-year-olds sipping cocktails and trying to score. The tequila was raging, and I felt like I needed to cool off, so I ordered a bottle of water. Keith looked at me like I was insane. "What the fuck? You can't not drink in here!"

"I can't get too drunk."

"You're on vacation. You can get as drunk as you want."

"It's the buzz, man! You gotta maintain the buzz. There's an art to keeping up a good happy bu-" but Keith had gone back to flirting with Ingrid.

I was getting anxious to ditch Monot Street and visit a good club. Ingrid said something about a place called the Basement. I asked Keith if he was ready to go. A pack of young Lebanese girls walked past us and stared at Keith. Keith stared back and said, "Nah, let's stick around here for a while."

"Come on, man. This place is boring. Let's go find someplace fun. You know, good DJ's, dance floors, cool people."

"Those girls look pretty cool."

"Who? Huh, them? They look like bimbos."

"Yeah, exactly."

"Fuck it. Stay here. I'm going to the Basement."

"What's that?"

"Hell if I know. Let's go."

Keith finally agreed and Ingrid offered to lead us to the basement. We had bought her dinner and drinks at Pacifico, so we asked her to pay for our round of drinks here. We stepped outside to get a breath of fresh air while she picked up the tab. We stood in the middle of Monot Street and talked about our plans for the night. I wanted to dance and drink some good liquor. Keith wanted to get laid. I asked him how he was going to flirt with these girls if he didn't speak Arabic or French. He just smirked and said he could do it. I wished him the best of luck and ran into a club for a quick drink.

Ingrid didn't come out for a long time. I went back into the neon techno club to look for her, but she was gone. She had melted into the crowd, probably looking for someone new to buy her a drink. I was depressed. Now we were stuck on Monot Street with all the copycat clubs. I never did make it to the Basement. I wonder now if it was as good as our guide said it was.

I was standing at the bar waiting for Ingrid when I heard two girls talking in French. One was tall and athletic, with wavy brown hair and blond streaks. The other was shorter but prettier and about to flop out of her strapless dress. The tall one was speaking French like a native Parisian. The short one spoke that weird creole of French and Arabic that you only hear in Beirut.

There's something incredibly alluring about Lebanese women speaking French. It's the most beautfiul women in the world speaking the most beautiful language in the world. It's complex and exotic and sexy and sublime. I didn't realize I was staring at them until the tall one waved at me and smiled. The tequila told me I could speak French, and I waved back and said, "Bon zhooour, madam." She said something in French, and I said that I didn't speak Arabic. I don't know what happened after that, but I left the club a few minutes later. C'est la vie, as the Lebanese say.

Keith asked where Ingrid was, and I said, "We lost our guide. Let's drink!" We wandered across the street and went into a little bar that-thank God-wasn't playing techno. Keith rushed up to the bar and asked what I wanted to drink.

"I'm still pretty far gone. I'll get another water."

"No, no, no. You're getting a drink. Bartender, two Al-Mazas. Two. You know two? Duex beeros!"

"No beer. If I mix liquor and beer, I'll puke."

"You're drinking beer, Mike. I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. We're gonna drink a beer right here, right now."

"I'll make you a deal. I'll keep drinking if you do a shot with me."

"The anejo?"

"They don't have anejo here. We gotta do Cuervo."

"I can't do Cuervo, man. I'm not doing Cuervo."

"Don't worry. After a few shots it tastes just like anejo. The trick is to keep drinking until it tastes good."

"Alright, alright. I hate you, man. Bartender! No beer. Tequila, two. And limes, lots of limes."

The bartender brought out two shots of tequila and four slices of lime. Keith reached for the limes before he reached for the liquor, but I grabbed the limes and tossed them back over the bar. One of them bounced off the bartender's shoulder. Keith protested, but I shouted, "Real men don't need chasers!"

"Now I really hate you," he said. "And I'm gonna hate the whole world in the morning."

"Wait, wait, wait. I got a toast."

"Oh, come on. Let's just get this over with."

"No, you're gonna like this one. Ok, ready, here it is. To the three greatest things in life: a cocktail before and a cigarette after."

Keith laughed while he downed his shot. I think part of it went up his nose, because he coughed and slammed his fist on the bar. I dropped my glass and stumbled back and shouted my best Mexican "Arriba!" Keith had his eyes closed and was breathing hard. I slapped him on the back and called for two more shots.

"That's some good stuff, huh?"

"You fucker."

Comments

[Keefus]

dude, you got me rolling.

[mark]

ah man, you made me miss monot now. Havent been to Lebanon for nearly 4 years now because of the army draft thing. when I was there during university years monot was like the coolest place on the planet. tiny street with like 50 pubs and you just got hopping from one to another buying a drink in every one. by the time you get to the end of the street you would be totally wasted. Pacifico I think has been open the longest. the music was the coolest and the dj was a friend of mine.

[rampurple]

You guys seem to be enjoying Lebanon's "touristic" areas... you got to enjoy other places... if you want good beach, go to Jbeil, there is Edde Sands and Le Voile Bleu there... sandy beaches with pools, bars, good music, babes, etc. Entrance should not exceed $12. You can also go to Oceana in Jiyye. Also a really nice resort. While in Jbeil, you should enjoy pepe's restaurant at the ancient port, go to the crusader castle surrounded by Phoenician, roman, and byzantine ruins. You should also visit the old market. Jbeil is a magical city. You should visit the clubs in Batroun. You should go to BO18... one of the best underground clubs in Beirut. You should go to central if you enjoy scenery from rooftops. If you want to see where else you should go, visit whatsuplebanon.com it has all the info you require.

Also, if you really like good shots, you should go for sambuka shots. BUT you got to light it up to enjoy it more!

Enjoy beirut for me!