The start of our glamorous Parisian vacation began around 10 p.m. when we pulled into Paris Nord or something. I could get into the gory details of navigating the metro station with two large pieces of luggage and two small American brains, but I won’t. Let’s just say that Paris didn’t exactly roll out a red carpet fabricated from food-dyed crescents. (I might invent this.)
After getting to our hotel, Zach and I sat down for our first big Parisian meal: an orange, a Clementine, and two apples. We ate them in the confines of our tiny room, sort of just starring at each other and shaking our heads. Total meal price: 9 euro.
The next day began with a nifty American import: Michelle! The three of us quickly threw on some clothes and hit up a café. The food was great but some seriously bizarre parade interrupted the meal. People were like trying to seduce Zach and Michelle with black silk scarves and to put a coffin on our table. Something tells me these parade-goers take the “Twilight” movies way too seriously. Team Jacob!
After lunch, we split up: Zach and I wandered through the Louvre and Michelle glided through her old stomping grounds. (She lived in Paris for a bit.) The Louvre kind of reminded me of a mall that only sells old naked statutes. I was expecting to find a Le Auntie Anne’s Pretzels at every corner. Never found one, but Zach and I did end up finding both the bathroom and the Egyptian exhibit. This feat is pretty remarkable because Zach and I never verbalized to each other what we were looking for (I wanted to walk like an Egyptian and Zach wanted to pee like one), so every time we took turns asking a security guard for directions, we essentially cancelled out the previous directions we were working off of. Needless to say, we accidentally spent like nine hours in the damn Greek exhibit. I want a Greek salad.
Oh, we also saw Mona Lisa. Mona sort of looked like a celebrity walking down the red carpet with a swarm of paparazzi surrounding her. Pretty sure we heard people call out “Mona, what are you wearing?” and “Mona, flash us a smile!” It was dumb.
The Louvre really exhausted Zach and he basically stopped speaking for two hours. After a couple of “Zach, I think you need to go to Le Hospitales,” he eventually got a bottle of water (Price: 6 euro), and completely rebounded.
That night, the three of us had dinner at some Italian spot. The food was delicious and the wine was red. Nothing too shocking happened here other than making the wait staff stay like, 45 minutes past their normal closing time. Oops! But we’re just fat Americans, so what do we know.
The rest of the evening was spent at a variety of interesting haunts, including one bar that was none too pleased that we walked in, peed, and headed for the exit. The bouncer kinda became aggressive when we tried to leave. After escaping, we called out things like, “Yeah, well I left the seat up!” and “I peed on the seat!” (This is an example of me making stuff up.)
The taxi ride home that night was also pretty memorable. Why? Because our idiotic driver essentially dropped us off in Barcelona. Didn’t he see the itinerary! Barcelona ain’t until tomorrow! Anyways, the dude clearly knew he fucked up because he actually popped out of nowhere a minute or two later, took one look at our aimless wandering, and asked if we were alright. We said Qui, so he drove off. Apparently he doesn’t know that the actual translation of Qui is “Does it fucking look like we’re alright!” Anyways, we made it home and slept like actual rocks. Seriously, moss growing and everything.
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| Purple Label Shit |
Coming soon: a comprehensive explanation of why easyJet is the most ironic name ever. Oh, and Barcelona!
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