New Year's Eve, Beirut

Monday, December 31st
We got up, at some ungodly hour this morning, of around midday. We headed out into West Beirut and found somewhere to eat breakfast. It was kinda like a fast food chain, but for Middle Eastern food. We had shish kebabs. Marcus then decided to go home and collapse whilst I went online and spent most of the morning chatting to my friend, Rom, on msn. The usual stuff: life, love, and how crap – as always – New Year’s eve was likely to be. I had to admit though, on this occasion, mine was probably going to be a bit a little bit more exciting.


I headed back to the hotel and met up with Marcus. We spent the rest of the afternoon messing around and doing very little as we were conserving our energy for the night ahead. We headed out around 6pm for dinner and then on to Rue Monot.


… We are queuing outside of another bar. Everywhere so far as been guest-list only. Some places are charging for entry. Entry includes free drinks and food. Trouble is we have already eating huge pizzas and we are stuffed. We are getting a little fecked off as everywhere is filling up rapidly. It is one of those nights where you have to take a chance on a place and stay there. We opt for a pub rather than a club. A small bar called ‘The Hole In The Wall’, apropos to the bar in Waterloo and very similar, apart from the occlusion of a tube train rattling that nearly rattles your pint off of the table every 5mins. We start the evening with a B-52. “Shot or glass?” The bar-girl asks. Marcus and I exchange glances.
“You do glasses of B-52s?”
“Oui” She replies. Oh, but this is going to be fun…


We spent a hilarious evening in a small bar just off Rue Monot. It was my sort of New Year’s Eve. The kind of night where you start off by knowing nobody then finish the night by dancing on tables, with a bunch of your newly found best friends. There were a group of Spaniards, Germans, and lots of Lebanese. Lebanese people can paaarrtee! They really know how to have fun. I am sure the evening needs no ostentatious narrative. Tables were danced upon. Bars were danced upon. People were hugged and kissed. At one point a series of sparklers were set alight on the bar. We were all given masks, streamers, balloons, poppers, and various other party paraphernalia. The pictures should be demonstrative, if not reflective, of the evening and how it unfolded. As to its conclusion. You’ll have to find the taxi driver and ask him. At least we’d moved to a double room that afternoon so I didn’t have to share my bed with Marcus and his mattress.