Think its time to rest up for Tuesday? Ha!
Monday night, midnight, so maybe even Tuesday morning, and I am in Cuba Libre, the Beirut bar, not the drink, and Ali and I’m out with friends pouncing on a bottle of vodka. Che might not approve, thinking we should be on the rum wagon, but I don’t care. The hottest Beiruties are here and my eyes are soaking up the beauty.
It’s a 3.5 men to a woman ratio, the best I’ve seen in all of Lebanon, and since everyone lives at home till they’re married, I only have an hour or two of this view before its homeward bound. The view already obscured by the tables that everyone sits at. Like an American lounge bar, you reserve tables at bars in Beirut.
No first come first served two-four top tables, we’re talking deep couches facing each other over small tables, perfect for intimate groups of six to eight to chat amongst themselves, but horrible for social butterflies like me trying to work a room.
Rather than try, I observe. The DJ is good, cranking out old skool rave and techno for the token Alpha females to do the worldwide hottie hip swagger to. Dark haired hotties, for there are no blondes, redheads or even brunettes here. This is Arabia after all.
And this is a club after all, which means by 1:30 am it’s clearing out. The 1 am rule – that you have to be chatting up by midnight and moving in by 1 am, or its time to cut losses and head home alone, applies here too.
Before we go, I take one last look around. It’s now a 12 women to packed wall-to-wall men ratio, with only four of those women single – two which are just off-limits eye candy. And the lone single girls, they’re right behind us, living and leaving by the midnight rule too.