Beirupdate, an intro

We arrive to streets and calls to prayer and generous hosts and shawarma. In minutes we find and fund a Beirut barfly where pink gorilla suits welcome girls onto the bar for a dance all in flames. Friendly tweeps colour the wall in warmth and invitation and soon I have followers and phone numbers from Brits, Lebanese, and Danes, girls and gays surfing the foam of bottomless beer. As the flame subsides and the monkey man leaves the stage a game of beerpong centres the room in clear cups and cheers. No one knows any rules but no one cares and my host tells us this is a perfect representation of society in Beirut. The staff no longer ask for empties and instead pour pitchers and pass along the bar. We meet W, a writer drinking who gets greeted across the street with a bottle of tequila and fresh oranges. It sours from the wrong side of the dead zone that’s been tracked all night by classic rock. I nudge his ribs and he smiles and we pour the stuff from a great height to our throats because we’ll never drink again.