And One for Bart (and His ‘Raris)
Liz and I stayed up pretty late, so I did not want to get out of bed. I kept flailing and hitting the alarm. Will didn’t want to come out of his badger den either, so I don’t feel too bad. Will and I checked out of the hostel and made our way to the PIZZA HUT BUFFET that we had seen with Walker yesterday.
It was closed until noon. Will and I were briefly despondent, but then we realized we could just watch the Deadliest Warrior episode that came out last night. We went back to the hostel, downloaded it, and watched it. Shit was rigged so Joan of Arc would win, but whatever (there were explosions, we don’t care).
Finally, the time for Pizza Hut buffet arrived. It would be the first since London. It wasn’t quite as glorious as we hoped. It was more expensive, and there was neither a pasta bar nor an included salad bar. Furthermore, there were no infinite refills on drinks. Sadness. Whatever, we were full.
Will and I grabbed a bus to the train station and tried to book a ticket to Paris. Their computers were down, so they told us to go to Brussels (no reservation required). Will and I got on the train, ready for the one-hour hop to Brussels. We don’t really understand the concept of a one-hour train anymore. Do you remember that time we accidentally went to Bucarest? Yeah, that kinda happened again. We ended up in Liege. Naptime happens.
In Liege, we had a soda and booked a one-star hotel in Paris (cheaper than a Paris hostel). We tried to get a ticket to Paris, and they said it would cost us like 27€. I asked if there were a cheaper way, and the lady said we could take a train to Lille, then transfer to Paris. That would only cost us 3€, but would get us in at midnight. That was fine with us.
As expected, we got into Paris late as well. We promptly got lost trying to find our hotel. While trying to find it, several things happened. First, the French were extremely snooty about their language. I had more than one conversation like this (if my French is spelled incorrectly, I don’t give a shit. They should learn what letters mean and not throw them around like maniacs):
Me: Pardon, parlez vous Anglais?
French Person (in French, rough translation): You are in France! You should speak French.
Me: Uh…pale Italiano? Hablas Español?
French Person (still in French): Hah! No! You are in France! Speak French! FRENCH FRENCH FRENCH *laugh at Andy, mock him*
This seriously happened like four times in 40 minutes. Back home, if someone doesn’t speak English but they give me three language choices, I feel bad for not understanding them. They are clearly worldly, they just happened to learn languages that aren’t mine. That’s not a problem, I just feel bad I can’t help them. I don’t fucking make fun of them.
The language thing is the only thing I have against the French. They’re nice and they generally want to help you or have a good time. They just suck when it comes to their language (and maybe cheese *coughCLOTILDEcough*).
We finally found our way thanks to a lovely French woman with awesome dogs (neither she nor her dogs gave us shit about the language. The dogs just licked our faces and wagged their tails). She even drew us a map! As we were walking, these two drunk-ass French dudes started giving us shit about not speaking French (surprise!). They actually came out of nowhere to do this. However, they gave us free beer, so we didn’t mind.
We got upstairs, watched a little Apocalypse Now (I was too sleepy to finish because it’s three hours long, and it gets really boring near the end), and went to bed.
Will’s Corner
I guess I’ll have my Apocalypse later, if you don’t mind.
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Dear Joe,
You don’t have to fight for your right to party. Other people will do that for you. You just keep on raging.
Love,
Will and Andy
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