VIPs Beirut Style

Individually Heather and I both have a knack for getting special treatment. Together we're dangerous.

Scene: Saturday night at Matise, one of Beirut's hottest bars. It's packed with beautiful people. Heather and I are both wearing jeans that haven't been properly washed in a while. I have a black T-shirt and leopard print high heels I bought in Australia for $15. Heather has a black cotton long-sleeve t-shirt and ecco sandals cushioned for comfort.

We enter pushing our way through the satiny dresses, long flowing gorgeous Arab hair, sultry cologne and dress shirts. We try to find an opening at the bar. Our neutral make-up and signature scent of au du deodorant isn't doing much to get us the attention we need. We walk around looking lost avoiding getting burned by the dangling cigarettes of other patrons too cool to care.

A man catches our eye and calls us to the steps behind the bar. He asks us what we want and it is ours. He tells us to stay. Normally we wouldn't be allowed here, but he's the purchasing manager for Matise as well as 14 other of Beirut's hottest bars and nightclubs. We've hit the proverbial jackpot. We're his guest for the rest of the evening.

After Matise we move to Cristal, Beirut's most exclusive reservations-only club. It's just around the corner, but the valet pulls up in our black Land Rover. We drive slowly about 100 meters with the windows down. Another car full of "friends" follows. One minute (maybe less). We get out and a different valet takes the car. This is apparently not a club you can walk up to. We go inside. The walls are black. The ceilings are high. Tables are tiered and a large crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling. It's nice although a bit of a cliche. Heather is in heaven with the free table snacks of carrot sticks and pistachio nuts. We have a drink and dance on the pleather benches (the Lebanese apparently don't believe in dance floors at dance clubs).

We leave ahead of the curve. Our host is not one to be caught tailing the in-crowd. On our way out a tall thin blondish woman is arguing with the bouncer. He won't let her in without a reservation. She claims she wants to show her Irish-looking boyfriend the club and that she was here last week with her modeling agency. She emphasizes that she is a model. When this does not work she claims this is racism and that she is being discriminated because of her blue eyes. A little tipsy from the free booze, I interject in the sweetest and most sincerely innocent tone, "No, you're not being discriminated against. You just don't have a reservation. I have blue eyes and was just inside...you just have to know the right people." At this the model started buttering up to me. Stick thin 1/2 Lebanese, 1/4 Brazilian, 1/4 Ukranian model in a minidress and staletos trying to get into a Beirut club by talking to me, chubby American in jeans and a t-shirt. Funny. Our Land Rover pulled up. She didn't get in.

The night ended at a quieter venue, somewhat of an underground bar owned by the uncle of our host. The blues played in the background and we chatted into the night with a host of interesting and cosmopolitan clientèle. Out of the crowds in this swanky and exclusive Hamra establishment we ushered out our night as Beirut's strangest looking VIPs.