Emily O'Dell at the Club Riviera in Beirut
This is Beirut. Daily parties in the pool–swim up bars during school. Neon bikinis hip hoppin’ it on the seas–even after the bombs go off. Not even yesterday’s twin bombings could stop the city from partying all night–into the gentle dawn of this national day of mourning.
When I arrived in Beirut from Europe, I felt the oppressive, damp heat, saw the unkempt palm trees and smelt the Arabic coffee, the fruit stalls and the over-spiced meat. It was the beginning of the Orient. And when I flew back to Beirut from Iran, I could pick up the British papers, ask for a gin and tonic at any bar, choose a French, Italian, or German restaurant for dinner. It was the beginning of the West. All things to all people, the Lebanese rarely questioned their own identity.
― Robert Fisk
This is Beirut–but chances are, when most people think of Beirut, they don’t picture the festive scene above from the Hotel Riviera–which features just one of the city’s many private beach clubs.
Photo by Emily O'Dell
“Yeah, when I moved here, people asked me if I’d have to wear a burqa,” I said, biting into one of the peeled almonds floating in my glass.
“Yeah right, a burqa–try more like a bikini,” my friend said.
While many still refer to Beirut as the Paris of the Middle East, it’s more like a love-child of Miami and the East Village (or the West Village, the way it used to be). But even though the party hasn’t stopped–the conversation now includes everyone’s Plan B–and C.
“Listen–never expect your plans to work out, but also keep on living your life as normally as you can–as if nothing unusual is happening,” my friend suggested, as we traded our best guesses about what the future has in store for beautiful Beirut…
Sunset on the sea...
