And One for Prophecy
Paris is a cursed city.
Every time one of us has gone to Paris, something terrible has happened. The first time Will went, his flight got delayed for three days or something, and I think he got mauled by a bear. The first time I went was earlier in this trip. If you’ll recall, we didn’t have a hostel the first night, and everything was booked. Paris has been the only city where that has happened. Beer was inordinately expensive at the one hostel we DID stay at, and both of my attempts to go to the Catacombs (I’ve always wanted to go there) ended in failure.
This time was no different. We woke up early and tried to get out train ticket and go to the Catacombs. At the train station, the only tickets we could get cost 183€ MINIMUM. That was the cheapest fucking ticket. Were we dumb not doing it in advance? Yes. Does Paris suck? Bigger yes.
Then, we tried to check our bags in a locker. Guess what? Gare du Nord was full. Yes, every single baggage locker in their massive facility was full. We had to pay an extra metro fare to get to Gare de l’Est and check our bags there. Goddamnit.
At the Catacombs, there wasn’t just a line. There was a line that stretched around THE ENTIRE FUCKING PARK. Even if I had waited, I wouldn’t have gotten in before 16:00, when they close. Will called this like two months ago. He said I’d never see them. He’s like the Oracle of Delphi, but he’s from Rhode Island, and he’s not a female Greek virgin tripping balls on volcanic fumes (well, maybe he is that last part).
I drowned my tears in the absorbent fries of McDonalds (it has free WiFi, and it’s the only affordable thing in Paris). The French McDonalds franchise has created something epic. They have self-service kiosks that work in 5-6 languages. They only take credit, but you can put in your order and customize it however you want. For once, Will was able to get his cheeseburger without pickles and mustard. There was much rejoicing.
I had been trying to see Camille, since she was in town. However, that didn’t work out. She was off doing Camille-type things, so that was sad. Will and I got on our train and went to London. On the train, Will finished Apocalypse Now. I was certainly there, the laptop was in front of me, and I had earphones in. Did I mention how boring the end is? I passed out. Again.
We got into London and went to our hostel. It was Friday rush hour, so the Metro was packed. Will had murder in his eyes. It was bad. British people were standing in one place, saying shit like, “You can’t even move!” My standard response was, “Yes, you can. *push through*” That’s how we do it back home.
When we got to The Green Man (yeah, we went back), we saw Mimmi (she uses two M’s,” apparently) and Jaan. We were happy to see them, and they were happy to see us. Mimmi checked us in, and Will and I ordered four beers, two each. We also told Mimmi stories of our fantastic voyage.
After a beer and a half, I realized how angry I had been all day. I didn’t realize how pissed I was until beer made me happy. Holy shit, I was angry. As with the Catacombs, Will called this. He knew I was pissed, and he knew just how much beer it would take to solve that. Once bouncy and joyous again, Will and I went to get some fine British cuisine.
Did I say British cuisine? I meant WOK TO WALK. Yeah, there’s one in London. It was delicious (suck it, Viv). We also brought some back for Mimmi. Jaan poured us another Staropramen (brilliant!), and while we were drinking it, these two Irish guys started talking to me. First, they were shitfaced. Second, they were hung up on the idea that Americans don’t know how to insult people properly. The Irishmen explained that heavily insulting your friends is the key to building a rapport. One of them started going on and on about women about two inches from my face, then maybe five from Will’s. He was spraying spit everywhere every time he talked. His main topic of conversation was “riding sluts” and how it “must be done” (i.e., it was required). He also had a very low opinion of Irish girls. I quote Jacques on the matter, and he agreed fervently. He loved Americans girls, though…just like Jacques. Irish, waaaay-drunker version of Jacques? Perhaps. Less creepy than Jacques? Hells yeah.
After escaping the drunken Irishmen, Will and I tried to book a bus to Dublin. The night bus we took last time was full, so we had to book the 06:30 bus. Mimmi let us use the hostel’s office printer to print out our ticket. Thank you, Mimmi. You’re the best!
Will and I then went to sleep as fast as possible, since we had to wake up in like…three and a half hours.
Will’s Corner
Your pain. My amusement.
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Dear Joe,
You’re not cursed. You’re blessed…with the power to rage. Still, avoid Paris at all costs.
Love,
Will and Andy
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