By John Sakr, Contributor

July 22nd, 2021

The situation in Lebanon only seems to get worse with time. While it is true that the COVID-19 pandemic has supposedly dialed down and is no longer taking a toll on the nation as much as it used to (albeit that is now in question due to the spread of the new Indian Delta variant), the middle eastern country is still suffering from so much. In addition to the deadly explosion that took place on August 4th, keeping in mind that no justice has been served whatsoever up until this day, Lebanon suffers from constant power cuts, rendering Beirut’s current summer season unbearable, in addition to car fuel shortages and subsidies being lifted off basic medication such as Paracetamol (an everyday painkiller). More so, some medication cannot even be found in Lebanon anymore, which basically leaves the ill and their families in a race against time, trying to find people coming from abroad that are willing to bring medicine back with them, often resulting in the patients dying due to the lack of means, thus luck. All of this is occurring as an indirect result of the Lebanese national currency collapsing, reaching a record high of over LBP 21,900 to the US Dollar in mid-July of 2021. Mathematically, it makes sense for one box of 96 Paracetamol tablets to be priced at LBP 59,000: that costs almost $3. However, less than two years ago, LBP 59,000 were equivalent to almost $40. Adding that to the fact that most salaries haven’t changed and remain in LBP, trying to make some sense out of it is not the easiest task.

When faced with such dire conditions, one would expect constant protests, civil unrest, skyrocketing of crime rates, and a silent crash of the economy. To some extent, this is the case: ministers’ houses are being ambushed, vigils and protests are being organized for victims of the regime’s crimes, and there are videos circulating on social media that tell the stories of little children dying of diseases that can be cured with medicine that is commonplace and inexpensive yet unavailable in Lebanon due to the crises.

However, a few blocks away from any given protest, vigil, conflict with the Internal Security Forces, or road closure, one can find a newly opened nightclub that is overbooked despite its exorbitant price list. The music would be so loud that the sounds of any clash would be inaudible. The valet parking workers would be so overwhelmed with all the brand-new luxury cars they have to manage, all paid for in “fresh” U.S. dollars, that they would forget their salary cannot provide them with decent living conditions. No compromise is made when importing foods or drinks, as the quality remains unchanged and the ingredients used are the same as before (back when it was customary to use the same brands that a venue in another, thriving, economy would). Considering the state that the country is currently in, some would think that this nightlife experience is nonexistent in Lebanon. But this is where they are mistaken: they are very much in Lebanon; not the Lebanon from mainstream media, but the other Lebanon, the Lebanon that somehow coexists with the above-mentioned, failed Lebanon: a Lebanon where everything is more than fine.

In this Lebanon, an astonishing number of businesses opened their doors, relocated, or expanded after October 17th, 2019, a date that many consider as the beginning of the country’s downfall. If one hasn’t visited Lebanon since then, they might want to look out for any of these newly opened spots.

Beirut and its suburbs have mainly witnessed the opening of lounges and “resto-bars,” such as Aki, La Mezcaleria, Bar du Port, Bait, Café de Monaco, Alvee, The Blue House, Catrina’s Rooftop, Clap, Union Marks, and Terre.

Elsewhere, a beach bar concept has invaded the Lebanese coastline, whether it be in the neighboring towns of Byblos or Batroun, north of Beirut, where one would find all of the 2020-2021 opened Kin, Isolé, Kina Handcrafted Bar, Voula Lounge, Bar del Mar, Gaïa by the Sea, Ile, Grecco, Atria, Dawn by the sea, Cora, Koya, Boha, Azure, Soléa, Mandaloun, Bahsa, Soult, Bolero, and Palms Beach House.

The third popular trend seen across the nation consists of exploring its mountainside, whether through helicopter/private airplane tours offered by the Lebanese army, or through Beirut businesses opening in the mountains such as Picnic by Loris, Ixsir by Montagnou, or the Brummana (a Lebanese mountain town) branches of known modern-day Beirut icons such as Roadster Diner, Casper & Gambini’s, Niu Bowl, and Bartartine.

There are still many more, most of which are in the Northern town of Batroun, which is witnessing an unprecedented boom.

The principles of economics state that when there is no trust in the economy, investments are not made as easily and quickly as they are done in prosperous times. Logically, places close for business, and new ones do not open. Lebanon’s economy has shrunk so much that citizens must plead and beg to get a hold of their own money, in Lebanese Liras, at banks. Yet somehow, if one were to place a couple of nice chairs and tables somewhere far away from Beirut (given that people want to escape it), accompanied by some nice music, it is almost certain that the venue would be fully booked for the few upcoming weeks. Such is the case of the 40 above-mentioned places, give or take, where the price per person is no less than LBP 200,000 and can go up to LBP 1,500,000. For people who earn the Lebanese minimum wage, one outing would deplete a month’s salary.

Therefore, how are these places always fully booked? Who is it that is fully booking them? For foreigners or people whose salaries are in US dollars, that price range is equivalent to $10 - $70: that is quite reasonable for an outing, in comparison to Beirut in 2019. That could explain some of these Beiruti Dolce Vita phenomena, but not all, since expatriates only come during the summer and other ‘vacations’ and very few are those that earn their salaries in dollars (or else UNICEF would not have claimed that more than half of the population is living under the Poverty Line, nor would the UNDP state that “the top 2% income group accounts for a 17% share of total income, while the bottom 59% accounts for a 22% share.”)

One possible explanation is that the Lebanese people want to live, at all costs. While this mentality is unsustainable, so is the shiny, bright version of Lebanon that is represented by all these venues and restaurants. While it is true that one can possess enough “fresh dollars” to import foreign ingredients and pay for constant electricity with backup generators, how could one import them given the constant delays at the port? How can one pay for generator fuel if there is no more fuel coming to the country because of regional feuds? How to get to the beach bar if there are protests blocking the roads that lead to there?

There is a vicious cycle taking place: when the dollar rate rises, so do the prices of food, drinks, and “minimum spending charges” at businesses. To this day, this did not stop new venues from opening and people spending their money there. Nonetheless, the sustainability of this cycle is in question as two concerns arise: how much more can restaurants raise their prices, balancing between breaking even and still having customers visit them?

How much money are the Lebanese willing to spend for a burger or a bottle of champagne?