Eat. Drink. Eat. Drink. Sit. Relax. Enjoy. Walk. Eat. Drink. Drink. Drink. Drink.
Get on a train.
Drink some more.
Get on a plane.
I dreamt of eating my fill in the months leading up to our few days in Paris.
I awoke at 3am on our second day with strange gut cramps and spend the next 4 hours on the toilette shitting and puking until the sun was up.
I could barely eat a thing all day. Which upset me more than the sickness itself.
The Louvre was a hothouse. Swarming with people taking selfies with phones mounted on sticks. A Magnificent palace full of centuries of art. That barely got a second glance from my self pitying arse.
And in the afternoon we climbed the steps to the Sac re Cur. We went inside and a placid looking 50 foot tall Jesus greeted us with open arms and a kind smile. Nuns started singing and it was kinda magic.
We bought a coolish Heineken on the steps of the church and looked out over the rows of alleyways hills leading to the guts of the city as the sun dipped.
I ate a piece of stale baguette for dinner and slept well knowing I’d make up for it tomorrow.
Shit. We Walked a lot on that first day. Just cruising about, taking it in.
Coming from Aus, its a pleasure just to walk the streets of a city with such insane architecture and history.
We could have stayed for weeks and just walked and ate and walked and drank and walked and ate then drank then walked some more and so on…
Paris has a lot going for it. We got to spend three days there. Three full days taking in the great city of light.
Mostly spent walking around eating and drinking. Which isn’t a bad way to spend your time anywhere.
We spent the first night with my Cousin who had he comfiest sofa bed in Europe. Then we went off to our flat we had rented. A small dusty studio flat with unvarnished wooden floors and french windows opened up over the rooftops. If you pressed your face to the wall you could just get a view of the Sacre-Coeur.
We cracked a cheap bottle of wine, tore a crust off a baguette and got excited for the things to come.
I didn’t go in the Louvre, no time. Who would make time for the greatest collection of art in the world? Someone else. A considerable amount of someone else’s were making the time. The queue looked like it was going to stretch out the the Champs-Elysees before long. Past the big Egyptian phallic thing in the roundabout where they once rolled out a guillotine to cut off a few royal heads. Louie and Mary. Napoleon put the obelisk there. It was an offering of peace from Egypt. History stacked on history. They’ve ran out of places to put it.
The last thing I saw in Paris was a Romanian fella playing clarinet in the Metro. He was good. I gave him a few Euros.
A huge thanks to Madj and Shaz who put me up for a few days and showed me awesome shit like, 59 Trivoli and that cool Squat/venue with all the band flyers and mad graff. I know without you two my experience in Paris would not have been close to what it was. Cheering.
Where is that iconic skyline? That iron triangular structure that can be seen from every window in every silver age film set in Paris? You’re standing on it.
If you find yourself standing beneath it, gawking upwards as some fella is trying to sell you key-rings, if you’re considering going to the top – Take the stairs.
It used to be an artists squat, now its a gallery. There used to be good parties there. The art was cool. The space was great. Didn’t feel comfortable taking photos of it. It felt like a space where something real had already happened. Like walking through an echo of cool. Go check it out, see for yourself. Feel that hollow thud. 59 Rivoli.
Notre Dame. We didn’t go inside, the queue was obscene. Whatever, big old church. Then, padlocks, “HOLY FUCK! LOOK AT ALL THESE PADLOCKS!”. I am an uncultured, shitty tourist.
My kicks are cheap.