No. This geographical figure refers to the old Christian district of Achrafiyé: four squares almost symmetrically connected by wide avenues. On the west side, Monnot Street, not far from the church and the Jesuit University, housed until recently one of the highest concentrations per square meter of lounge bars, restaurants, and nightclubs. On Saturday evenings, it sometimes took over an hour by car to traverse this small artery of about a hundred meters, now overtaken by another avenue, barely wider but with a few additional parking spaces: Gemmayzé. Will this be enough to ensure lasting success?
Quarter just as traditional with its Lebanese houses with ornate balconies, Gemmayzé, according to Makram Zeeny who has chaired “the Association for the Organization of Gemmayzé and its surroundings” since its creation last May, corresponds, due to its small size, to “the Lebanese desire to gather in more confined spaces.” Rediscovering old Beirut seems an easy task when one knows that this neighborhood is home to one of the oldest culinary institutions, the restaurant “Le Chef”, opened since May 1st, 1967 by three brothers, one of whose descendants, the friendly Charbel, remains inexhaustible about the neighborhood’s stories. Good ones like that of the son of a former British Ambassador who once dragged his diplomat father there, telling him that he “would understand nothing of Lebanon without coming to lunch at Le Chef.” Tragic ones as well, like that of the French hostage Marcel Carton, who was very fond of this place.
The tangible success of Gemmayzé stems somewhat from a form of identity retreat, a thirst for intimacy, a protective and nurturing envelope in these times of concern. A need – consciously or not – well identified by the owners of these places, some of which are as small as pocket handkerchiefs (sometimes barely 20 m2), bonded together like a pack of rugby players but, with the same deep sensitivity of the latter, each developing a specific concept and décor. Lebanese creativity gives Gemmayzé an idea of its potential: daring exploitation of the most cramped spaces by adding small balconies, loggias, and mezzanines, a cleverly balanced mix of modern and old for the interior decors (use of family portraits probably taken from grandma and illuminated with colored lights, rounded black lacquered shed roofs like at “Myu” – yet another shelter substitute -, a spiral metal sculpture that leads nowhere but around which raw fish enthusiasts of a Sushi Bar, of very recommendable quality actually, gather. A good fifty of these pubs welcome far beyond the local clientele, including those from Verdun, Hamra, and even outside Beirut. So, another street like Monnot, with a younger population, or Hamra, more politicized?
Supported by the European Union through bank guarantees that secured investors from different religions but all of private origin, the Gemmayzé sector experienced a “difficult start” due to the “proximity of Hezbollah militias,” confides Makram Zeeny. A few weeks after its birth, an email falsely attributed to the United Nations described it as a “place to avoid for security reasons.” Monnot Street and several establishments in Kaslik, about fifteen kilometers from Beirut, were also mentioned. In Lebanese fashion, the “flash” circulation of the email contributed to the collective psychosis of car bombings. Hence, the opening of a judicial investigation into the origin of this “rumor,” still ongoing. In response, bar owners met with representatives of the Security Services and the Police Forces to coordinate information and set up patrols. In fact, the initial meetings were also dedicated to means of mitigating nuisances stemming from the opening of so many night establishments in such a restricted space. However, the sentiment of insecurity has not been completely overcome, as our photographer encountered some resistance, even a ban on taking pictures for fear, according to a restaurant manager, of later becoming the subject of troubles… whose nature was not specified. It is true that this French specialty restaurant was used to hosting the late journalist and anti-Syrian intellectual Samir Kassir, who was assassinated by a bomb placed under his car. Investigators even came to question the servers and inquire about the possible existence of a valet. A few days earlier, politician Georges Hraoui met a similar fate after dining there.
Gemmayzé that laughs and Gemmayzé that cries has become a “sort of barometer of the Lebanese’s good health,” but also of “their relationship to politics,” explains the head of the Association. Three popular songs, written by Elie Khayat, a former local government officer of the neighborhood, are often sung after a few rounds of drinks: the first in 2005 criticized the politicians’ demagoguery. The second, a year later, invited these same “politicians from all sides to go on vacation for a long time,” while the latest this year laments that the politicians stayed but “the people left.” “We are all Lebanese,” the servers overtly claim, although their first names betray strong and inalienable religious affiliations.
Behind this very optimistic picture, a shadow persists. In fact, the Lebanese obsession with novelty might, as in the case of Monnot Street, be the downfall of Gemmayzé. Some investors are not mistaken. One of them, owner of two restaurants, bluntly states: “in two years, Gemmayzé will be dead.” This wealthy businessman is already seeking other locations… in Hamra, which he guarantees will “explode in popularity in the same timeframe.”
It is perhaps to counter this risk of weariness that the promoters of this neighborhood have imagined organizing, during the first two weeks of October, a major cultural festival aimed at enhancing its international dimension. Musicians, sculptors, and street artists could perform in an avenue made pedestrian in the evening. A risky gamble, especially since it relies on the hypothesis of a clear shift in Lebanese mentalities.
With the kind collaboration of Lebanese photographer (New York) Jessica Kalache: jkalache@gmail.com
