Monday, June 14, 2010
Beiruti Beach Bunnies
We got there just in time to see two tourists arriving in a service just in front of us. We stood behind them, but they were pulled aside while we were ushered straight through. I looked over at Mr. US questioningly and he said, "They came in a service." REALLY?? They weren't allowed in because they arrived in a cab? They're tourists, of course they'll show up in a taxi. Mr. US shrugs, "They're also two guys; if they had a girl with them, maybe they would've gotten in." REALLY?? What is this place, some sort of flashback to Studio 54? You need hot wheels and hot chicks to get in? I think to myself, if this is what it's like at the valet depot, what's it going to be like inside the place?
I didn't have to wait long to find out. Every chick there looked like she could be carrying a sign that says, Hi, my bikini cost $5,000 and so did my boobs. I look down at my $5 Gap flip flops, Old Navy beach dress and tell Mr. US, "I hope I don't embarrass you with my lowly Victoria's Secret bikini." I don't add, even though it's your fault that I'm at this ridiculous beach to begin with (which I have avoided up until this point because of its reputation of catering to that kind of crowd).
While swimming in the pool, I see a woman, probably in her early 40s, strutting up and down the pool in an itsy bitsy two-piece, fully made up (complete with bright pink lipstick), perfectly coiffed hair, jewelry galore and ... high heeled pumps, just begging to be noticed. When the strutting doesn't work, she then starts to dance, yes dance, poolside in front of everyone all by herself. It is strange, sad and hilarious all at the same time. The things people do to get attention! Next thing you know, they'll have stripper poles installed.
As I sit and sun myself, nose in book, iPod blaring, I look up to see a Paris Hilton wannabe waltz in with bad blond extensions and a flower headband across her forehead. She's also clutching a Louis Vuitton bag ... at the beach. I guess she didn't get the memo that a) Paris Hilton is so 2005 and b) beaches are not fashion runways. By this time, my non-coiffed hair is a mess that I tuck into a hat, my tan is uneven with a bright red strip going down my left leg where I missed the sunblock and I have unintentionally flashed half the beach after my strap comes undone. Luckily, I'm so disheveled that no one takes the time to look at me much less notice my bikini malfunction.
When Mr. US is ready to leave, we head back out to get our car from the valet. Two women are already standing out there and have been apparently waiting ages for their car. I hear the parking attendant yell something about a Honda into his walkie-talkie. Mr. US hears this too and gives me a knowing look, like you see, that's why they're waiting so long for their car. Yes, how absolutely horrendous that they should own a non-luxury vehicle! I look back at him with my Really?? expression. He just shrugs and says, "Welcome to Lebanon." As we get in our car and take off, the poor ladies are still waiting.
And that's how you get a tan Beiruti beach bunny style!