Bones!

On Saturday Amy wanted to have lunch at Casablanca, a restaurant down by the Corniche that’s in an old Ottoman house and “serves a delicious fusion of Eastern and Western cuisines”, according to the much-maligned Lonely Planet. Amy had filet du boeuf and some kind of salad. I opted for the tender beef and summer rolls. The food was decent, but at 30000 LL per meal prix fixe, I felt we were paying for the ambience (and not necessarily being overcharged at that).

Next on the schedule was a little shopping. We’ve been suffering along with the cheap, 4 cup coffee maker that’s apparently built to spill, so it was time for a replacement. Also, we were in need of more towels and coffee cups for our phalanx of imminent guests. Amy got some icetrays that look like they belong in Superman’s Fortress of Solitude and I upgraded our bbq-ware with some sweet industrial versions.

Whoa! That’s the danger of keeping these blog things. One minute you think you’re writing about interesting experiences in a foreign land and the next minute you realize you’re writing about buying icetrays and replacing your coffee maker.

Like the barflies we are, we decided to head to Gemmayze and catch the twilight passing of happy hour. As in places like New York, “happy hour” is generally 2 or 3 hours in Beirut. Unlike places like New York, it also happens on Saturdays and Sundays and yet is not very popular. We decided on Casa de la Trova, a nice little Cuban place that I’ve mentioned before. We were the only customers and we resolved to stay for a solitary beer and move on. However, the manager came over and gave me a nice Cuban on the house. Though the cigar was packed for travel (I don’t smoke enough to know the word for those clear, plastic tubes the cigars come in), we decided it would be good form to stick around for a little while. When the cook and the waiter noticed the interest we were taking in their domino game and asked us to join them, all was lost. Four and half hours later, after representing the United States admirably in the arena of bones (in all humility, Amy and I administered a sound ass-whupping), we finally decided to move on. The kitchen was actually closed at de la Trova and after 4.5 hours of eating the birdseed they set out in lieu of the more common nuts and carrots (which we were told was actually from the “male” part of the marijuana plant, but I believe they were pulling our leg or else mistaken), we set out of there in search of real food.

Despite a promise by the owner of Brooke’s earlier in the week of a good 80s DJ, we opted to wind down the night with argileh, oud music, and some traditional fare at Cafe Gemmayze.

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On Sunday, we went to the beach at Byblos. Luckily for us, the rule of Sunday leisure activities seems to be see and be seen. To wit, one end of the beach was completely blanket-to-blanket masses and the far end was sparsely populated. We spent several hours playing in the rough waves and pursuing our “hobbies.” Amy collected sea-glass and I collected sea-metal (crushed and worn aluminum nuggets) and made piles of flat rocks like a regular Julian Cope.

That evening we grilled hamburgers and I enjoyed my cigar from the previous night.