Beirut – With Side Effects
We woke the next morning alongside the wedding guests, already knowing that proper rest would remain a theoretical concept. The night was still sitting on our shoulders, but routine — stubborn and oddly reliable — carried us forward. Beer with breakfast. Not as rebellion, not as escape, but as adaptation: a small, liquid compromise between a tired body and a city that never truly slows down.
Across the room, elderly women watched us with quiet, unwavering judgment. Their gaze seemed to condemn not just our choice of drink, but an entire generation, perhaps even the state of the country itself. Beer at breakfast was no longer about taste; it was a moral verdict. And then, as if on cue, two young women walked past in light summer dresses. The stares shifted instantly. Disapproval found a new direction, and we were granted a brief, almost accidental reprieve — not forgiveness, just a pause in the accusation.
That was when it became clear: in Beirut, morality moves quickly, visibly, and almost always at someone else’s expense.
Series
This post is part of a larger series. Here you can see where you are – and what’s already done.
Now: Experience
Beirut – With Side Effects
Next: Museums
National Museum of Beirut
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Prologue
Quick post
Experience
Itinerary
Epilogue
The Great Suitcase Mission
After breakfast, we set out into the city — or at least into what remained accessible to us by that point. The plan was ambitious yet perfectly ordinary: souvenir hunting, combined with a crucial logistical task — buying a larger suitcase.
In Beirut, you quickly learn that romantic expectations and practical necessities rarely move in sync. Still, we trusted the system. Or perhaps we trusted our own optimism.
We had all arrived with cabin-sized luggage, convinced — naïvely, in retrospect — that one week could not possibly generate more objects, memories, and unnecessary treasures than could be squeezed into a carry-on. On paper, the strategy was flawless: souvenirs would go into checked baggage, five kilograms per person of culture, history, and curated exoticism. A handful of the past, a pinch of the present, neatly wrapped.
Reality, however, intervened early.
For some of us, five kilograms was never going to remain a theoretical upper limit. A few had already exceeded it mentally; others were beginning to feel the weight of the future long before packing day arrived.
The great suitcase mission quickly became more than a shopping errand. It turned into a quiet calculation of how much a person can carry — in luggage, and in memory alike.
Urban FPS Mode: BEIRUT
We headed toward the city center, and within the first few streets something instinctive switched on — survival mode. At moments, it genuinely felt as if we were walking through a Counter-Strike map. The difference was simple: no respawn, and the textures were far too detailed to dismiss as scenery.
Without meaning to, we started scanning corners, shadows, half-abandoned balconies, all while trying to behave as if this were an entirely normal urban stroll.
One street displayed weapon shops in the windows. The next forced us to navigate concrete barriers and coils of barbed wire. Then, without transition, we stepped into a square that was almost absurdly beautiful. It was as if someone had switched maps at the wrong moment: crumbling façades followed by carefully restored buildings, chaos followed by symmetry.
By then we had learned: in Beirut, this is not an exception. It is the rule.
Eventually, we reached St. Paul’s Cathedral and the main square. There we slowed down — not out of fear, but because the place carried weight. From there, only one logical move remained: drift down the shopping street toward the sea, pretending for a while that we were in an entirely ordinary city.
At moments like this, Beirut lets you go.
At least for a few blocks.
The Shopping Street That Disappeared – and What Remained
To our surprise, the shopping street was completely deserted — not the pleasant quiet of a Sunday afternoon, but the kind that makes you instinctively lower your voice. The storefronts of global brands were sealed with welded metal sheets, as if part of a failed movie set. The pressure wave from the port explosion had shattered everything here; where display windows once stood, only absence remained. For a brief moment, we genuinely felt that Beirut had decided not to give us any more souvenirs. As if it were saying: that’s enough.
Then, in a typically abrupt Beirut shift, we found ourselves inside a mall. Air conditioning, lights, open shops — the sterilized version of normality where, for a few minutes, you can forget what happened outside.
From there we set our sights on a famous restaurant. Right turn. Left turn. Hunger was no longer suggesting; it was demanding. Eventually we realized the restaurant simply didn’t exist anymore. In fact, the entire neighborhood seemed to have vanished, as if someone had deleted it from the map. We didn’t dwell on it. We called a taxi and headed to Bay Rock instead, where another generous lunch awaited us by the sea.
That’s how Beirut balances things: it takes something away, then immediately gives something back — just never in the same place.
The One-Way Suitcase and the Philosophy of Weight Limits
After lunch, we slowly accepted the uncomfortable truth: we were not going to find a proper suitcase in Beirut. The city can offer many things, but predictable shopping is not one of them. We had almost resigned ourselves to cramming souvenirs into backpacks and pockets when, like a slightly obvious metaphor, a street vendor appeared. Not a shop — more a moment of decision. For a few dollars, we bought a suitcase. Not elegant, not sturdy, but real. A one-way piece, we knew it instantly. By the time we got home, it would fall apart — but until then, it would serve.
By afternoon, we were simply tired. No more ambitions, just rest. For once, we shut out the city’s noise and let exhaustion catch up with us.
Packing brought the final logistical challenge. One of us decided to smuggle a crate of beer into the luggage. The scale delivered its verdict: 28 kilos. Which is very far from 20. The solution required no discussion. Before anyone could object, the beers were already being opened.
We ended the day under the weight limit — not entirely sober, but undeniably practical.
The Wake-Up Call, the Almost-Missed Flight, and Athens as Refuge
At dawn, reception called with a wake-up request — except not for the person who had actually asked for it. Thanks to a minor language mix-up, everyone else was awakened while he slept peacefully on.
We assumed that would be the final complication. It wasn’t.
At Beirut airport, the loudspeaker attempted several creative versions of my Hungarian name before we realized we were being called. We nearly missed the flight.
Via Athens, exhaustion showed itself differently in each of us. I became increasingly energetic — and increasingly unbearable with bad puns. The others were not amused.
Salvation came in the form of the small museum at Athens airport. The group found silence and rest. I lost my audience.
Balance restored.
Arrival Home and the Aftershocks
We finally landed — without incident, which in itself felt suspicious after a journey like this. No lost luggage, no mispronounced names, no last-minute twists. We collected our bags — now carrying more of the story than we did — and quietly headed home. Beirut seemed to let us go without demanding a final explanation.
But the journey didn’t end there. It took days for everything to settle into place. At first, only fragments returned: streets, glances, sounds, half-finished sentences. Then the stories began to form, no longer overlapping chaotically but slowly making sense. We realized not everyone remembered the same moments — and that, somehow, felt right.
Only after that were we truly able to speak about what had happened to us in Beirut. Not as a travel report, not as a lesson, but as an experience that needs time to settle.
It wasn’t just the city that was contradictory — our memories were too. And so was our digestion, which accompanied us throughout the journey and lingered for weeks after we returned home.
Where next?
Continue the series – pick the next stop.
Now: Experience
Beirut – With Side Effects
Next: Museums
National Museum of Beirut
Show contents
Prologue
Quick post
Experience
Itinerary
Epilogue
Sources
- Based on personal experiences and impressions.
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Part of the Tales from the Middle East series by Absurd Empire.
