A place in the middle of the night and in the middle of nowhere. Only 15 minutes from downtown. On the left, barely cultivated fields. On the right, a few scattered buildings. Looking up, one can see the top floors of the two immense hotels built with capital from the Gulf: The Metropolitan Palace Hotel seems to compete in its race to the sky with the Habtoor Grand Hotel. A dead-end leading to a parking lot… crowded. The first hint that something is likely happening nearby. One must pass a warehouse housing huge generators: finally, the semi-circular forecourt that serves as the entrance to “Acid,” the largest gay nightclub in Beirut, is revealed.
Geographically sinister, the place does not have the best reputation either. A Sunni from Raouché even thought during the time of the Syrian presence in Lebanon, that the establishment was “under surveillance by Damascus intelligence services.” “Acid” thus joins the clichés of Lebanese society and its subtle forms of hypocrisy: half of Beirut, or at least that of Achrafieh, sleeps with the other half but the next day everyone will deny any turpitude. “Acid” is somewhat similar: no one knows the place but it is always packed to the brim!
Proof that living one’s homosexuality in Lebanon is not always easy. Our photographer will indeed be keenly questioned at the exit by three young people (two girls and a boy) about the destination of the photos taken inside the club: “we don’t want to be recognized by our families,” the teenagers explain essentially. The owner, Georges Jabra, usually inflexible about the prohibition of any photography, exceptionally gives his consent to Nice-Premium, on the express condition of “blurring” any potentially identifiable faces. Uninterrupted for 10 years, the undeniable success of “Acid” — more than 1,000 people will proudly announce the DJ during this evening — is based on this tacit contract of anonymity between the management and the young clients. On Friday and Saturday nights, hundreds of them escape, from 11:30 PM to 6:00 AM, from the invasive Lebanese sociological and family constraints.
The location and the decoration, almost nonexistent, are nothing extraordinary: a huge rather cold hall with a bar and a stage for the more extroverted. The quality of the sound system and the offerings of an “open bar” do the rest. The essence is elsewhere, in the humanity.
Here, indeed, one encounters all kinds: Lebanese “BCBG of Achrafieh,” Druze from Aley, “bearded ones” from the Bekaa or “tough guys” from the Christian mountain, young Saudis fully dressed in Dolce & Gabbana but who have not managed to get rid of their desert sandals, married and hetero couples who find “the best atmosphere to party in Lebanon,” according to one of them. Here again, the more feminine mix with the more virile. Here, religious wars have no place. “You have to come on Ramadan nights,” says a regular. “After a month of deprivation, it’s a form of release.” “Perhaps we should prepare the next presidential election in these places,” suggests another intrigued by a conversation in French.
Around 3:00 AM, the outdoor forecourt offers a “rest area” sound-wise and a breath of refreshing air. Sitting on anything liable to remind one of a seat, “they talk,” as Lacan would say. And then suddenly, an oriental music, at the top for over three years, “Ha-ya-lil” (oh you night) announces, if one dares say, the resumption of hostilities. Real spectacle: the bodily and gestural relation to this music allows an expressiveness that the most gifted, men and women alike, will use to exhibit themselves on the podium, or even directly on the bar turned into an obstacle course where one must avoid the glasses. Bodies sway rhythmically while arms and hands whirl, stretch and twist into strange, intensely ecstatic figures. Beyond the desire to show off, one can feel the total investment in this melody as if this music allowed, for an instant, a beneficial reconciliation between body and psyche. After all, if acid corrodes, its chemical nature also serves as a revealer for precious metals.
Closing time is approaching. Some reluctant ones pretend not to hear the DJ’s calls to leave. All the more so since the music continues. Outside, “tight” discussions begin to know who leaves with whom. A mock quarrel breaks out between two suitors. A young ephebe, witnessing the scene from a distance, punctuates the whole evening in his own way: “ktir over ya’anni”. Really, it’s too much!
With the kind collaboration of Lebanese (New York) photographer Jessica Kalache: jkalache@gmail.com
