Lebanese nights

A small tucked-in restaurant, so hidden in fact that you need to know of it in order to notice it, Walibat is the perfect place to be introduced to the Lebanese nightlife. We arrive at 9:30 for dinner. For hours, my stomach has been begging for food and expecting an evening of Mezze, I didn't give in. In order to avoid standing in the lobby by the wooden bar, reservations are required. Always crowded, Walibat has all the ingredients to be popular: an eccentric owner with big hair and big ego, a welcoming atmosphere of dimmed lights and simple decorations, and great traditional food and entertainment. After a few bites, or a few sips, the music starts. Soon everyone is dancing between the tables, singing along to those anthems they've heard so many times in their childhood. Shy at first, there was no possibility to resist the enthralling rythms. My roommate and her friends, took it upon themselves to teach me how to dance "elegantly". I discovered muscles, mostly in my back, that were to ache the next day. Yet, quickly I forgot my timidity and followed the beat, albeit a little awkwardly. The Lebanese folk dance resembles the Irish one, but without upper body stiffness and always accompanied with flirtacious looks, coy smiles and genuine laughter. Even the conversations in arabic of those around me added to the melody. I took a guilty little pleasure in imagining the stories, the gossips friends were telling each other. For an instant, my mind slipped, thinking of the city, the country beyond these walls: I thought that if a bomb were to explode nearby, none of those in the room would notice, the music being so loud and the spirits so high. An evening like this helps you escape the anguish and the desolation in which the country is slowly sinking.