Took a taxi from Ready Taxi from my apartment to Hamra. As I’m walking out my door, the taxi rolls by and it’s George. George took me 13 months ago from my hotel to my apartment when I moved. He picked me up several months ago and remembered me very vividly. Of course it was in a good part due to my over tipping him. He was so happy to see me.
George and I talked about work, the cost of things and other small talk, in a combination of English, French and Arabic. As I get out of the taxi on Hamra Street, I see two muscle bound guys, parading their stuff down the street in their tight tee shirts. Near them but not with them, is a young woman dressed ultra-conservatively with her veil and floor length skirt. This is Hamra!
I get to
Bread Republic and it’s the usual crowd of waiters and waitresses and they greet me like the long lost prodigal son. I’m sitting by myself near a table of college ‘intellectuals’. They’re speaking in ‘High EFA’, a combination of English, French and Arabic. And all with air of ‘I’m such an incredible intellectual’.
Although all the seating is outside, there is as thick cloud of cigarette smoke surrounding the tables. ‘Are you going to Damascus? You know we really should go, my Aunt used to live there and I went all the time.” Now the conversation has sifted to the concept around the exhibition. And just as quickly, the conversation has shifted to French. The waitress asks the table near me, are you here for the scallops?’ ‘Chagall is so your thing, I think you have attention deficit disorder.’
There’s an unusually high percentage of hugging going on for this crowd of 40 people. Love is in the air, everywhere. It’s hip, it’s pretentious, it’s all this and so much more. It represents all what I love about Hamra and in one small area is the quintessential mix that is Lebanon.
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