Hot and humid, crowded and expensive, then there was a terrorist attack; you get the idea.
Danimal and I arrive at Gare de l'Est in the afternoon, immediately greeted with muggy air and a blazing sun. Figure out how to get to our Airbnb alright but once again, my o2 sim does not work. (Eventually I get myself a local sim a few days after, people tell me that they changed the regulations and do not allow roaming as of last week. Lovely timing.) So we get to the front of the building after a healthy walk from the station, but no way to get in touch with the host. Try to look for her in the list of residence but no luck. Tension amounts as we stand helpless, drenched in sweat. Quiet of the neighborhood contrasts the inner frustrations. After walking around for about an hour I finally see a vaguely familiar face coming out of the building, looking rather concerned. Ines, our lovely host was patient enough to wait for my dumbass before heading out for the Father's Day. I feel deeply ashamed.
Once we make our way to her flat, the mood turns 180. Her two big windows open above almost every building in sight, and right in the middle stands the Eiffel, telling us without words "Guess you two assholes made it, eh?" Of course in my head she's speaking French. With our empty bellies we go down to Ménlimontant, but all the cafes have closed their lunch shift by then, so we pick up a whole rotisserie chicken, some fruits, veggies and baguette nearby, plus a bottle of Bordeaux and set up our late lunch with the aforementioned view. Throw on some Edith Piaf, take a deep breath and think; I don't wanna go anywhere. Why don't we just hang here, write, woodshed and later we hit bars? No harm in that.
Upon taking advantage of wifi while Danimal snores, I find out about Fete de la Musique, the international day of music which is a day after we leave Paris. Now my plan to go back to Ams seems less attractive; if I stayed here till the day the streets fill with guerilla performances of all kind, I can head straight to Switzerland in 4 hours instead of 8. As much as I would love to reunite with some faces in Ams, I have to do this - make a Skype call to NS Intl. This comes back to haunt me later.
The D'Animal awakens and we head to Le Seine, the most romantic places on earth, or so been told. With the blood orange sky and the centuries-old buildings standing along, a glass of Champagne at a riverside cafe goes down like a life potion. Countless youths sitting along the river, drinking, dancing to some French hiphop on a Bluetooth speaker, laughing, making out. Sure looks more interesting than my youth; Paris young adult love random picnics on any lawn, as we see at Champ de Mars looking up the Eiffel's light show that occurs at the top of the clock. Upon initially catching from the distance, I laugh at the irony of how we in Cali joke about the tackiness of the Eiffel in Vegas and how dumb of a tourist trap it is, then see the real thing, trying hard to be this sort of a Disneyland trick, not even with the synchronized music like Bellagio does. Once closer, seeing its magnificent scale and the joy in Parisians' faces - No, it still looks dumb. Cool I've seen it. The most fun we had was trying to negotiate beer price with the middle eastern youths asking 5 euros for 2 bottles. They come down to 5 for 4, but I insist on 5 for 5. Almost had him I swear.
15min later we pay 5 for 2. It's too goddamn hot. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Next day we hit Montmartre. Another mega tourist spot, so we skip the line and snap a few promotinal shots for D'Animal. I'm happy to see most buskers seemingly making their wages, but I just cannot allow myself to hear any more note of Richard Clayderman coming out of a harp, I just can't. Walking away, I see a string duo playing Saint-Saëns Dance Macabre and I'm in love right away. Not with two lovely ladies, but this moment; on the side of Sacré-Cœur, surrendering to the sweet, seductive tritone under flaming Parisian sun. Moments like this make every negative aspect of travel worthwhile. And the list mounts high at the moment.
Then comes the chaos. As we walk by Champs-Élysèes, we see and hear a few dozen police cars flying through pedestrians and taxis, sirens blazing. After about 20min of constant siren we start to get concerned. We're still offline and there's no way of telling what it's about, so we keep walking. When we meet with Ben, a Lyon native and Dan's in-law who's been residing in Paris for years, we become aware of the terrorist attack. Speechless. Not so much about the timing, rather the frequency of it. They just had one in the same place. London just had one. Terrorist attacks in Europe has become the new sad norm as mass shootings in the US. Speechless, the reality we live in. Ben acknowledges, but says what else do we do other than to live on? We raise our glasses somberly.
Ben, who wears a blazer as a motorcycle jacket on a hot day, gets us a bottle of chilled Rose, a drink I wouldn't usually go for but it cools you down, then orders a round of pastis; 40~45% ABV anise-flavored spirit you dilute to taste, another perfect summer drink. Now, I ate 2 different edibles and truffles in Amsterdam and felt rather normal, but this, gets me high. Almost like cocaine high. No wonder this replaced Absynthe. Even Ben is starting to feel the mind-numbing effect. We say farewell to our handsome host and hit the street, but the rest is kind of a blur. The walk that Ben suggest we'd take is certainly scenic, but a jazz bar that we try to locate is closing in a few minutes, so we find an Irish bar with reasonable price tag and shoot a round of Jameson. The rest, needles to say, is even more blurry.
We wake next morning miraculously on time (alcoholic level = Bavarian) to pack and clean Ines' place, give ourselves enough time to secure Danimal's return ride to Amsterdam at Gare du Nord. I'm pretty confident that Danimal's reservation is intact but I don't wanna risk it. Also, not so sure about my updated itinerary to Zürich, sice the E-ticket says it's for 20/7/2017. We wander around a bit to find a window with a SNCF representative, needless to say that proves to be the least of our worries. I show him the confirmation email, but he doesn't see our reservation in the system. #facepalm. But here's the confirmation email! Do we have tickets or not? Do you recognize, and/or accept tickets you yourself sell online?
I try my hardest to be patient, then a guy I assume to be a supervisor stands inappropriately close to my face and starts yelling to our guy behind the window, like a bully ordering a skinny kid to go fetch him lunch. The breath, the smell, the heat. A true test of my patience. Remember to pack a sweatband next time. I'll be rocking it like Dirk Diggler circa You've Got the Touch session. Or C. Riley. Eventually this Bully with bad breath takes us both to the platform, and talks to a dreadlocked black guy standing by TGVs who says "No, Thalys does not deal with E-tickets. You just have to show us your email." I show him the email and he goes, "Yes, he's good to go." Then the TGV points at me and goes "YOU, I have a big problem, but him we have no problem with." Relieved, Danimal almost goes for a hug, me not so much. Well at least one guy who travels today gets on a train. Guess I'll have to spend another hour or two on a phone with NS Intl.
I turn to my D'Animal and say farewell as this is the end of #danimalandshinja - I regret that I feel annoyed and frustrated but it does not concern him. Thanks to him, we explored the borders that I hadn't planned to, ate and drank more than ever in quality and quantity, met people that taught me the true meaning of #zerofucksgiven. I will cherish the night spent air guitaring to Rust In Peace in our boat after the bar hop in Amsterdam, re-establishing that it is THE BEST METAL ALBUM EVER. It's been a true adventure, my friend. See you back in beautiful South Bay.
Soundchaser/two-time Independent Music Awards finalist. Currently travelblogging at #beatvagabond and working on new material.