Vancouver - Montreal - Beirut

Granville in Vancouver,St-Laurent in Montreal, Gouraud in Beirut: different cities, same culture of fun. Along the strip, stylized bars each attempting to confer upon themselves a specific personality through carefully selected décor, music and lighting that corresponds to the taste of the type of clientele they seek to attract. There's Torino, a bar so small that with ten people in it, it feels crowded. Set in what must have been a single-car garage, or a house lobby, it can barely hold the people that come to enjoy its snug, informal atmosphere. There's Kayan, which uses barrels for tables, serves vinaigrette-dipped salted carrots and nachos with the best salsa I've tasted and where, in the same night you can enjoy the top 40, Leonard Cohen (a favorite here), a little electronic music and soulful jazz. There's Cloud Nine, which although pleasant remains conservative, predictable. There's the Melting Pot, which just opened, and athough it offers the rare opportunity to sit on a terrasse, is still devoid of character. And then there's the many other bars, which I haven't explored yet. Many look more upscale and pricier. Strolling the strip, stylish individuals each wanting to unwind, and enjoy themselves. There's adolescents playing dress-up, looking twice their age until they flash you a smile, revealing their braces. There's the "sophisticated" girls, in the latest fashions, their recently redone noses covered with a white band-aid, wearing heels that demand respects. There's their suitors, in polo or dress shirts, their hair slicked back sitting with their cellphone, cigarette pack, palm pilot laid out on the table in front of them. There's the trendy artists and intellectual pretending their outfit was just a stroke of luck. There's the young executives, celebrating their latest success or the group of friends celebrating a birthday, both crowds willing to spend loads, ordering four bottles of fine champagne on top of cocktails and shots.

This could be anywhere. Only the hot weather, the language spoken around me and the sight of policemen with their big guns well on display reminded me that I was partying in Beirut, not Vancouver, nor Montreal.