Le Liban
"You can't compare Beirut to Cairo." said the Lebanese Immigration Officer.
"Well, how about Beirut to Istanbul?" I asked.
"You can't compare Beirut to Heaven."
I would have saved a lot time and worry if I had known that 25 Lira was all it took to get me into The Promise Land.
Beirut fucking rocked.
Contrary to popular belief, I made it back to Cairo in one piece. I'm $500 poorer, with weaker lungs and liver, but my vacation in the "Paris of the Middle East," was nothing short of glorious. Fucking debaucherous glory.
For four days Regina, Jen and I did nothing but smoke shisha, drink, and dance. I wore heels, miniskirts, and left the scarves at home. Between maxing out our credit cards and snacking on fresh hummus and feteer, we embraced Beirut's overwhelming sights and sounds to the fullest. The music was great, the people were beautiful, and the club life was the best I've seen in years. Better yet, the best I've seen- period.
Selin, for the sake of juice value, I did get some. Boy, did I ever! And with every situation of this kind, there was a considerable amount of absurtidy. "Yehiu," my Lebanese/Turkish beau (yeah, I know, I bagged the one Turk in the club) joined me for a night of drinking, laughter, and ravagement. Honestly, I'm still not for sure if this guy is for real. An hour after meeting he whispered "every time I touch you I get HOT" into my ears, for fuck's sake. But, the deal was sealed- I was going to have my Kunefe, and eat it to. To put it lightly, we basically had sex on the dancefloor. Months of sexual frustration raged out of me, curtousy of tequila shots and a hot man in tight jeans. It was fabulous.
Regina and I stumbled back to our hotel room at around 6 AM. With sore feet, lips, and ankles we layed in bed, playing over our last indulgent night like screenplays. Just before I drifted off to sleep, I distinctly remember telling myself that it was the perfect way to end a perfect vacation. You all know what comes next.
The next morning I was jolted from sleep by incessant telephone calls. Remembering that during my drunken frenzy I had promised Yehiu that we would meet one last time, I yanked the telephone cord from its socket. Goodbye Yehiu, Aly needs her beauty sleep. Two hours later, I woke again to a loud knocking at the door. I hid under the covers, grinded my teeth, and just hoped hoped hoped that at some point during the night I hadn't proclaimed my undying love for the potential stalker who was now standing outside of our hotel room.
To make a long story short, though I never told him my room number or even where I was staying, Yehiu had spent the entire morning waiting for me in the hotel lobby. After telling me he loved me, that we just had to spend our last day together, and he couldn't live without me, I shut the door in his face and went back to bed. And that, my friends, is the way it's done.
So, I did leave the country with regrets. I really should have bought more shoes.