Even though the Parisian citizens might not like the Pyramids, they do make for a good photo.
Amongst the small group of us that actually traveled to Paris in the Fall, this has become a story which will live on in humor. Before I delve into the evenings events it would probably be smarter to start a little earlier in the day, which set the tone for the rest of the day.
It was somewhere between 6:00 AM and “Way to Early to be “F”ing up on vacation” and we were up preparing for our trip into Germany. As we get our stuff packed we head out into the early morning chill of Paris and the Seine.
Most days, and this does not count as most days, the public transportation is second to none.
Paris is well known for the user friendly Metro, and a plethora of cab companies. So we did not expect traveling a few miles to the train station was anything “to shake a stick at.” As many things on this trip we were wrong.
We aren’t standing on the side of the road for more then five minutes when I start to see cabs and I start to attempt to wave them down.
Sidenote: The cabs in Paris are an intuitive creature most of the time pulling over before you even raise your hand to hook you up with a ride.
This morning they were as stubborn as an old mule.
We spread out throughout the area, two on one side of the road and myself on the other trying to wave down a cab, but none would stop. Most just passed us nodding their heads at us… “WHAT THE F%#K!!!” This was the craziest thing I had ever seen, cabs that didn’t want money. After about an hour of doing this we finally had one that was willing to stop, and take us to the train station. If I was smart, which I wasn’t at the time, I would have asked the “Cabbie” what the hell was going on, but I didn’t…
We get to the train station, and I felt like we walked into a church. It was so quiet. There were people scattered hap hazardously around the station, but it didn’t look normal. So, we walked up to the automated ticket machine and start typing our request.
“F%#K!” Everything is booked. “How is this possible, no one is even here…” After about 30 minutes of cussing and trying every machine in the station we give up and make the 5 mile walk back to our hotel, because we are obviously not going to catch a train. “I LOVE PARIS.”
Backside of the Sacre Couer
As we walk back nobody talks, we are all so pissed that if we start to talk we would probably just rip each others heads off… As I walk back I still can’t fathom the reason all of the transportation would be down. As we get to our Hostel the desk clerk greets us and hooks us back up with a room. He writes us in on the board as “USA” just in case they forgot that they had Americans in their place.
We were the only ones. After we go up stairs and drop our stuff we all take a nap until around 1100.
After we get up and head down stairs we ask the attendant what the heck was going on with all of the transportation. He tells us that it is a strike. “A strike, for what?!!!” He explains to us that it is to protest the new economic changes the President Sarcozi is planning on implementing, and that it probably wouldn’t cease until the following day. AWESOME.
I gather the troops and put out the game plan. “Men, on this “O” so special occasion we are still in Paris, therefore it is time to go and find something to drink.
” By drink I mean alcohol. We find this little café that wasn’t much to speak of, but it sold wine by the bottle so that was all I needed to get the day started. From here my friends and I made short work of the bottles and lunch and moved on with the day.
Here is where it gets a little fuzzy in our minds. To be honest the three of us have blacked out the afternoon. The coming drunkenness in the story most likely depleated those specific brain cells. “DAMN ALCOHOL!!!” From the pieces that I do remember I believe we were stupid enough to do some afternoon pub crawling, but I can’t be sure. Who knows…?
On with the part of the story that I actually remember… It is around 8:00PM and we have changed, and are heading out for, drinks, dinner, and the night life.
We head back to the Greek Quarter near to Notre Dame. And find a restaurant that suits our needs. Of course, still having a buzz from our afternoon exploits did not help my decision making process at this point. We all had very nice meals, and it was my decision to add 4 bottles of wine to our meal enjoyment. I believe we were drinking Sancerre or something like that. We had it a night prior and it was awesome, tonight was not different. This, of course is where things got a little “Dicey.”
Another cool place in Montmartre
Flashback: Just to give some scope. The night prior we went to this crazy Greek restaurant where people were throwing plates all over the place, laughing, singing, getting slammed, and eating huge plates of meat. All in all a very fun night.
As we were leaving one of the managers must have noticed that we had racked up a significant sized bill, and of course paid the bill and wanted to thank us for coming in.
Pretty much he wanted to thank us for our money,but he did tell us to come back before we left for complimentary drink, so that was cool.
His might just be better. How much do they cost...?
Sidenote: We drank Ouzo on that night in the flashback. If you have never tried it then you are definitely not missing out. It has to be one of the most disgusting things I’ve drank, personally. It reminds me of black liquorish which is putrid. Just thinking about it makes me want to barf!
Back to the story: As we walk out of the restaurant we are all definitely passed Tipsy and headed towards “Drunk as F%#K Land.” As we migrate down the street. We start to pass the Greek restaurant from the night before, and who would have guessed, there was the manager.
He starts to usher us into a great table as I start calling out an order request. “OUZO, OUZO, OUZO…” Yep, that is the direction I took, straight for the toilet water.
Unlike the night before where we got a shot of OUZO, I guess the manager figured we were ready for the “Gold Medal” round of Ouzo drinking. Out comes the waiter with three water glasses of OUZO. I kid you not. The first sip reminded me of the possibility that I might be praising the “Porcelain God” later that night, but I didn’t care. The second sip, “OHHHH YEAH THIS IS SOME GOOD S%#T!!!” I think at this point my tongue was pretty well numb and so was Preston’s and Matt’s.
As we plow through the first and second glass I notice the very large table of, only women sitting behind us.
I know all the guys reading this are saying “SWEET,” because that’s what I was saying. At this point I now officially I am “Drunk Steve,” which means that I do stupid S%#T. So I turn around and introduce myself and join, there already, in progress, conversation giggling about us slamming the Ouzo. We all have a good laugh and we start talking about why we are in Paris how we got stuck there past our leave date, and they told us how they were American college students in country for studies. We offered the some Ouzo, and of course they took in the festivities and had some. None of them could finish the glass, as one of them described it as “tasted like licking the inside of a toilet bowl.” I don’t know what that tastes like, but she might have had some prior experience.
Retirement Paris 2007
Now I am completely smashed around glass 4 and one of the girls bets me that I can’t do 20 clapping push-ups, and that if I succeeded she would down an entire glass (Clapping Push-Ups: Doing a push-up but on the way up you throw your body in the air just enough to clap prior to having your hands back on the ground).
At my stage of drunkenness this seemed like a good idea. So there I went, I finished and started congratulating myself, and she is not looking all to thrilled that I won or that the fact that she would be drinking that stuff, but a bet is a bet. Just before she could pay for her mistake one of the waiters walks up and does a push-up and claps behind his back. I am not happy getting shown up, and I want to do many unspeakable things, but instead I play nice and laugh along. “HAHAHAHA… you better hope I don’t see you after this…HAHAHA. But in the mist of my defeat I still was able to enjoy watching her drink the worst drink ever created by humankind. The after effects did not sit with her well.
My best photo of Notre Dame ( Not really check my others)
The main thing I learned is that S#%T days, can sometimes be sweet, and that I will never drink, smell or look at OUZO, or Black Liquorish AGAIN.