Paris 2: Electric Boogaloo

The prophecy is fulfilled, Paris 2 has been brought on. Right now I’m queueing for security and there’s a teenager screaming and swaying side to side in the line. I have to assume he has some kind of learning difficulty, either that or he’s just really dramatic. If it's the latter I kind of get it.

The queue is pretty long so I might as well contextualise the trip. Initially, the plan was that myself and Dan were going to fly from Manchester together and stay for 8 days (Monday to Tuesday), that way, Juliette explained, we could go to a hip hop club event on Tuesday, a rave on Friday and her country house in the week. However, Dan’s parents got covid, so he fled to London to stay with his sister, meaning I couldn’t fly with him- not a major change but important for the plot. As I often say, the gun must go off. Yesterday evening, Sandris told us that he was joining the trip, which of course I was delighted to hear. Bad news struck this morning though, as Dan found out his sister has tested positive for everyone’s favourite lingering kill joy (chk-chk, boom). Dan is negative, and is accordingly being a little naughty and catching his flight anyway. Let’s hope we’re not all violently ill this week.

I’ve come through security now. Maybe I’ll get Burger King, we’ll see. I went for upper crust in the end, as it was the cheapest option. The inflation of Manchester airport needs to be studied, because 13 quid for a burger and 6 for a pint is diabolical. I do want a pint though, so I might have to bite the bullet. Pint or another sandwich? We’ll see. I asked phoebe for advice, she said pint, and so I’m having said pint, waiting to board at gate 9.

On the plane and about to start reading. Landing was safe and perfectly lined up with me finishing Death Note volume 5, only one left now. Dan and Juliette are waiting for me outside the baggage claim, exciting stuff. They’ve picked me up now, lovely to see them both. Juliette is now attempting to drive out of the airport. Immediately she beached the car on a high curb and dented it pretty heavily. I don’t want to be mean, but all I’ll say is that I’m quite frightened. The flight was safe but the aftermath may be less so. Hearing a few too many “oops” for my liking.

Surprisingly, the car journey was pretty uneventful. Dan was quite tired and I wanted to let Juliette concentrate for obvious reasons. It was also 11 pm, so I couldn’t repeat that sense of wonder I felt whilst watching the white-gold buildings fly by me on the train as I entered the city last time; I suppose that will come tomorrow. When we arrived we were faced with the return of the terrifying elevator, limited to 150 kg. Bearing in mind that I weigh around 100kg myself and Dan can’t miles off 100 either, I was a little nervous. It worked though, and Juliette’s mum met us at the door, being careful to keep 2 metres from Dan. Her welcome was incredibly warm nonetheless, and she brought us through to the kitchen for melon and ham, which was needed given my choice of pint over sandwich. In the end, I had another sandwich anyway. We watched Lupin, a French tv show about a Parisian gentleman-burglar based on Maurice LeBlanc’s classic novels. I’d say Lupin is the French equivalent of Sherlock Holmes, and the series’ influence is just as colossal; there’s even an anime about him.

After that, we went to bed and I inevitably kept the others up by snoring like a lawnmower. I’ve been writing this over breakfast pastries left on table by Juliette’s mum. She’s ridiculously nice.

Now we’re going to go out for groceries before heading to montmarte, which juliette describes as “a really nice area that’s really French with a big basilica and it’s uphill so you’re going to have to walk.” Sounds like the perfect reintroduction to the city of love.

Just finished shopping and we’re on our way home now. French supermarkets are expensive as shit, but I didn’t mind so much because there was an extensive cheese section to gawk at. The only real problem was that we forgot to ask the cheesemonger to clarify whether every single cheese was indeed cheese. For whatever reason, I was elected as group sommelier, and I went for a 2021 Riesling since I tried it for the first time with my dad a few weeks ago.

Since we got back, we’ve planned the week, had some water and booked the Louvre. It has taken nearly an hour. It’s 30 degrees and the heat is making things difficult; we’re all a little lethargic.

We’re waiting for the metro now since we missed the one we were supposed to get. When I say missed, I say that with a pinch of salt, as in reality we walked down the stairs, saw the train there with the doors wide open and Juliette said: “Oh shit we missed it,” despite the fact it was very clearly in front of us. Because of that we chose not to run for it even though, as I say, it was literally right there.

I’ve been spectating Parisian fashion all day. Last time I was here the only thing that bugged me was the fact I couldn’t blend in, so I intend to change that. So far I’m seeing a lot of button up shirts and polos, so I think I’ll go for that tomorrow. Right now I’m in black shorts and a very flamboyant cream T-shirt covered in pictures of flowers, butterflies, the moon and the sun, so again I’m sticking out a little. Juliette blends in of course, but Dan… Dan Dan Dan… he’s repeating my mistakes, sport shorts and a Levi’s shirt with a bean-head trim. Quintessentially British.

Juliette has been imitating sounds again, as expected. She’s got it down to an art form; she knows the tone of each announcement, when to take a pause, when to speed up. She even knows how to recite the German translation of the safety announcement. Maybe I’m repeating myself now, I probably said all this in Paris 1 when I mentioned the little sibling behaviour.

There’s 2 yanks and a Londoner on the train talking very loudly. One of the yanks has a blonde moustache and no beard, the other has a CA (California) cap; zero effort. I hope we don’t stick out as obnoxiously as them.

Montmarte was a seriously tough walk in this heat. Reminiscent of Po walking the steps to the Jade Palace. Definitely worth it though; stunning view, stunning building. We’re now walking through the surrounding streets and we’ve come across two separate men singing La Vie en Rose whilst playing the accordion. I couldn’t ask for anything more Parisian. Actually it got more Parisian: we had cheese and ham crepes.

I bought a little chat noir tote bag for Phoebe, and Dan bought some funky glasses. Now we’re waiting in a café, sweating our arses off. We got water and some iced coffee, which is going down a treat. The streets around here are gorgeous, very classically European- tight and bendy, my favourite (hehe). There was a very obnoxious American man attempting to speak French next to us, and I feel that the more of these tourists I encounter, the more I’ll come to understand why everyone in Paris is so perpetually rude.

We walked around the centre of Montmartre, flanked by hand painted artwork, caricatures, and incredibly expensive but undeniably beautiful restaurants, all adorned with fancy names written in calligraphy letters. Now we’re getting cocktails in a slightly cheaper bar outside of the centre . The view is incredible every way you look. The drinks were not cheap in the slightest, 70 between the three of us. Dear me. The conversation was nice though, spread between evolutionary biology, French history and childhood friends.

We’re off to the centre of Paris to get dinner with Juliette’s friend Lucas, the one who complimented my style and told me I owned the room last time I was here. I hope he likes me as much this time.

Lucas did indeed like me as much this time. Immediately he told me that he’d felt a connection with me, and that after meeting me once he wanted to be lifelong friends. He also told me that if his girlfriend wasn’t there he’d have kissed me. I keep telling everyone that I just have that effect on people but no one seems to listen. Anyway, he brought us to a quaint restaurant (whose name I’ve forgotten) that he assured us served high quality food for cheap, which in Paris is gold dust. We waited around 20 minutes for a seat as the waiter refused to seat us until everyone had arrived, and Lucas’ girlfriend was late. When she arrived, we were told there was still no table and we’d have to wait in the nearby sister location- an underground bar- until they had space. It was quaint, tasteful and most importantly a welcome respite from the 30 degree heat. Perhaps even more importantly than that, Lucas treated us to drinks to apologise for the wait, much to the (albeit feigned) dismay of myself and Dan. In the bar Lucas provided a live translation of the French conversation between his girlfriend, two friends (named Nolan and Eva) and Juliette. I didn’t speak much to the girls, but Nolan was incredibly warm. Half French, half northern Irish and studying in Belfast, he had all the charm you might expect from that combination. We discussed Stranger Things, obviously, as well as the rave on Saturday. The more we discuss it the more my excitement seems to increase.

In the restaurant I sat across from Eva and next to Lucas (again… obviously) and Dan. Lucas is intelligent, interesting and shockingly well spoken in his second language. He also very much likes demonstrating those things by talking, so myself and Dan didn’t get much of a word in edgeways, and I certainly didn’t get chance to speak to his friends. We discussed socialism, Foucault, video games and myers-briggs personality typing- pretty standard for myself. The food was exactly as he described, dirt cheap and delightful. I had Camembert to start, as anyone who knows me might expect, and le poisson de moment as my main. The fish of the moment; fitting for a trip organised by Juliette “moment” Bejani. Lucas ordered escargot and insisted Dan and I tried some. Of course we were a tad apprehensive, but I must admit, Lucas wasn’t wrong when he said it was some of the most tender meat I’d ever taste. When I last tried snails they were gritty and bland, but this little slippery bugger was fresh, soft and dripping with garlic oil. I probably could’ve finished his plate, though my Camembert filled a gap pretty sufficiently, while leaving me just hungry enough to inhale the fish with some Sauvignon.

After a while I managed to find a moment’s break in Lucas’ continuous, though decidedly riveting monologue to make conversation with Eva. I’d felt rude up until this point since I’d sat across from her and not said a word. We exchanged degree titles and the various other small talks, before inevitably broaching the topic of my writing. I say it’s inevitable because when I tell people I study English they always want to know whether I write creatively, and since I love to talk about myself, I can’t help but tell them that I do. From this follows questions of genre and form, but typically the conversation ends around here, as people generally don’t care all that much (and I don’t blame them). However, in Paris, I’ve consistently found that this isn’t the case- everyone always wants to know more. They want to read my writing, which is obviously incredibly flattering. It happened 2 years ago and it happened tonight, both times to overwhelmingly positive reception. I have to say it gives me a buzz and definitely helps to counteract the disappointment of my second year project. Needless to say, I’m in a pretty good mood right now.

After the meal we walked to the Seine, sat for a while, then headed back home on the met where I began updating this. I’ll be back tomorrow.

This morning we’re all dead. I think the combination of booze, salty food and intense heat has left us dangerously dehydrated and extremely lethargic. Juliette woke up early to pick Sandris up this morning while Dan and I slept in, so I owe her for that. Anyone who knows Sandris knows that he doesn’t take kindly to lethargy. He has injected so much energy into the house already, doing flips on the gymnastic ropes in Juliette’s room, playing drill songs and a thirteen minute remix of “Relax and Take Notes”. I’m sure a few hours and a coffee or two will help us all catch up to his level.

We had croissants for breakfast and plan to have a sandwich in the park then take a boat trip. All sounds good, but Dan has intelligently observed the likelihood that Sandris will intentionally capsize us, which is less good.

We’re all lying in the park now having eaten baguettes, ham, brie and reblechon with the Reisling. Juliette is playing French music and we’re all most likely burning to a crisp in 34 degree heat. We sat around for a while longer, but it became apparent pretty quickly that we couldn’t stand being in the heat much longer. We decided to do the boat ride ASAP then head home, both of which were intense trials that tested our resolve. I felt like Bear Grylls in the Sahara, scavenging for hydration in a white vest. Oh yeah, my outfit today is a pair of cream shorts, a white vest and a salmon pink unbuttoned shirt.

Since we got home we’ve been lying in bed avoiding the heat. It’s been around 6 hours and has given me time to finally finish Death Note. The ending was a tad underwhelming. I must admit I wanted Light to win, and felt it made sense narratively for him to do so, but oh well. Maybe I feel that way because he’s literally me.

I also cooked everyone some chicken pesto pasta which seemed to go down a treat. As I say though, apart from that we’ve just been lying down. The party started at 7; its 9 now, but we plan to meet Rob and Finn- two friends of ours from Lancaster who happen to be in Paris- in an hour and a half or so, pre drink then arrive at 12. I can’t imagine we’ll stay all that late even if the music is incredible; the heat just makes the situation a little dangerous.

Celine Dion in the hip hop club is crazy.

I was wrong. The above is a note I wrote in the club at 3 am, but we stayed until 5. The club was incredible; it was outdoors, had 4 bars, a sprinkler system to keep everyone cool, a full on MC/ Hype man and played mainly popular American hip hop. The only exceptions were wildcards like the aforementioned Celine Dion. Even the people were nice, which is shocking for a Parisian club. Everyone just wanted to dance with everyone else and have a great time. There were a few grouches who got annoyed when their toes were stepped on, but not enough of them to be really annoying. We’d pre drank at the Eiffel Tower with Rob and Fin on two bottles of rum, so drinks weren’t an issue, though we did get 4 vodka red bulls that set me back a cool 48 euros, nearly three times more than I spent on my entire meal the night before. Anyway, it was worth it- I’ve never been to a better club. The others seemed to be in agreement, and we’re all still buzzing a little.

There’s only one problem right now, and it has been ticking away since yesterday morning (it being Thursday today). When we arrived, there was only one roll of toilet paper left. Obviously that was used very quickly, as there were 4 people in the house. This left us with nothing for wiping. Consequently, Juliette offered us kitchen roll as a temporary alternative. Kitchen roll is usually too thick and tough to dissolve correctly in the drainage system, and that was true in this case, as it blocked the toilet. We discovered this around the time we were due to go to the park, so juliette essentially left her mum and sister to deal with it, assuming that it wouldn’t be a serious issue. Throughout the day however, it became increasingly apparent that it was a pretty serious issue, and juliette became increasingly anxious about it. This morning we woke up to the news that a plumber had quoted 1000 euros as the cost to fix the toilet. Not good…

Today, we plan to take Lime scooters from the Arc de Triumphe all the way down the Champs Elysee into the centre of Paris, then visit the Musee D'Orsay, a famous art museum. We did just that, and the scooter trip was fantastic- definitely the best way to see the city, especially in this heat.

*Cleopatra’s Needle and also Dan Craddock.*

When we arrived in the centre we decided we'd need to eat before walking around the museum, so we sat in a café which had white outlined drawings of people on the wall. One of them was labelled Dio, and a man walked us past selling a newspaper called le monde- the world. I felt very bizzare.

The food in said café was rather pricy but not astronomical and the quality was good. Sandris got two hot dogs, because... when in Paris. Dan had smoked salmon and I had tuna. The waiter was a Parisian arsehole who was reluctant to bring us tap water and scoffed when I asked him for a new fork because mine was covered in brown mush. The difference between how the three of us are treated by ourselves and when we’re with Juliette is unmistakeable. I’d thought all Parisian waiters were pieces of shit but it turns out they’re only that way to outsiders; to Juliette they’re a dream. Shame she’s off celebrating her birthday all day. Selfish really.

After the Café we finally headed to the Musee D’Orsay. I missed it last time I came to Paris, so I was excited to go. However, it is an art gallery, and accordingly I can’t say the three of us were confident we’d enjoy the experience much.

In the end I took over 100 photos and we spent three hours there. At first we were just pointing at funny sculptures and giggling, but as the sculptures became increasingly intense we began to focus more. Dan started to utter “that’s fucking cool that” more frequently, and I started to pay attention to the story behind them. A lot of them were ekphratic retellings of classical myths, and I had fun guessing which myths they were from. There was one of Hercules fighting some birds whilst hanging dong that made me feel a lot better about myself.

The sculptures held our attention for a good while, but the paintings truly grabbed us. I can’t remember exactly what genre we started with, but I can remember the picture. I believe it was called “a chaste woman bathing” and the foreground depicted just that, a nude, pale woman hunched over and looking out of the painting through the side of her eye. She holds your gaze briefly, but the revelation comes when you analyse the background. At first it appears to be a simple forest, but on closer inspection an old man’s face peering intently at the woman can be seen hiding in the trees. This is shocking enough, but as your eye wanders even further, you see that he is not alone: another man, apparently dressed in papal attire hides behind a wall with a lascivious smile on his face. Very unsettling.

We spent a good while exploring every section of the museum, and took pictures of at least one exhibition in all of them, though our favourite was the impressionist floor. It housed an extensive Monet collection that helped us finally understand the hype around the guy. But more importantly, the museum is the home of both Van Gogh’s self portrait and one of his Starry Night paintings. The latter is worth millions, and I say with little reluctance that I understand why. The beauty that mankind can create is almost proportionate to the horror, which was depicted enough throughout the gallery’s exhibitions. There were also three funny cat paintings which brightened things up.

As I mentioned, we stayed there for over 3 hours and saw everything but a section of artsy furniture. The walking took it out of us, and my feet were sore, but we had to meet juliette, Lise and her girlfriend at the Louvre to watch the firework show at the Eiffel Tower. We were late, but juliette didn’t mind all that much once we explained that it was because we’d loved her favourite museum. Lise and her girlfriend were also late, so we were definitely in the clear. Lise’ girlfriend studies philosophy and loves Heidegger. I do not like him all that much- he makes me feel very dim- but I have at least read him, so I could pretend to be more knowledgeable about philosophy than I am- my favourite hobby.

Lucas, Nolan and his sister joined us soon, and brought life-giving McDonald’s. I expected Lucas to hone in on me like a missile, but instead he sat with Sandris. This hurt my pride a little; I was no longer his special interest. Sandris maintained his attention for hours, while I took it back for barely a moment by complimenting his Jiraya T-shirt. It was around this time, sat in the Tulliers gardens by the Louvre, that a group of women in front of us decided to stand up, blast music, and dance. This would have been ok if it had lasted a few minutes, but they kept it up for nearly an hour, attracting more and more idiots to come and dance with them. This included a very fat, bearded man in a bikini who was slaying far too much, and his skinny, also yaasss-slay accomplice. Their antics began to seriously irk Nolan and his sister, who became visibly agitated, as they worried that they might not be able to see the fireworks.

In the end, none of that mattered. When the show started everyone realised that a tree was blocking the view. Chaos ensued as people scrambled like eggs for a better view. I got lost in the discord, but managed to wander aimlessly for a few minutes before finding the guys. I suppose I was the homing missile all along.

The show was pretty impressive when we could see it. Plenty of ooooos and aaaaaas- mainly from myself for comedic effect. The atmosphere carried the show though, the sense of patriotism almost making me soften my stance of France hatred. I now believe I would be very hard pressed to name a greater city than here. Where else can you watch a firework show at the greatest landmark in Europe whilst enjoying a chicken sandwich in the classical statue-adorned hedge gardens of the greatest museum in Europe.

After the show we hung out with Lise and her girlfriend a while longer, before heading home to watch Lupin, though all the walking meant I fell asleep for most of it.

All I remember from the time after arriving at Juliette’s house, aside from flashes of Lupin, as I drifted in and out of sleep was the following interaction:

Sandris: Are there catacombs under Paris?

Me: Yes

Sandris: Why don’t we go?

All: *laughter*

Sandris: I saw this film…

Me: Yeah, where the gates to hell are in the Parisian catacombs.

Sandris: Exactly, it’s some Skyrim shit, we gonna see draugr...

Take from that conversation what you will.

I’ve been updating this sat on various cramped trains to the countryside. This morning we woke up around 1pm, then rushed out of the house to make as much of the country as possible. We grabbed breakfast at the infamous wasp bakery which remains distinctly waspy. Right now I’m walking through Gare de Lyon station, the most significant cultural heritage site in the country: the place where Mr Bean ate seafood, zoomed his camera and accidentally kidnapped a child. Choo choo Gare de lion.

The train to the countryside took about 40 minutes, most of which I spent having generic football chats with Dan. When we arrived at the correct station we amused ourselves by playing with the bollards outside. Unlike in England, they were rubber and bendy, providing a number of fun-filled minutes spent kicking and pushing them. This helped us kill time until Juliette’s mum arrived to bring us to the house. The surrounding area, a village called samois sur seine, is almost prelapsarian in its serenity. The seine flows calmly along, ever-glistening in the sunbeams, flanked by green banks and cedar trees.

Somehow, though, the house is even more impressive. 5 stories, including a basement and attic, at least twice the length and width of the average house in England, and so beautifully designed. It’s cream coloured with green-painted wooden beams and shutters providing a placid contrast. There are balconies everywhere surrounded by Grecian pillar barriers, perfect for watching the river roll by. According to Juliette’s dad, the house is essentially a listed building and hundreds of years old. As such, the restoration has had to be handled by a French architects guild of sorts, and the architect that worked on the house is one of those tasked with restoring Norte Dame. Put simply, if I were a Parisian ghost, I might choose this house to haunt.

On arrival, Juliette’s mum treated us to a Lebanese egg plant dish. I don’t like egg plant, but this was served with a garlic yoghurt and was quite tasty indeed. After that we had seasoned potatoes and beef; very very tasty. Juliette’s mum is a talented chef and it showed every time we ate her meals.

After food we got a tour of the house. During said tour sandris located a bow and arrow, so the next hour was spent playing with it. We were shooting one of Juliette’s sister's portraits (not of her, by her), and by the end she’d been peppered with arrow holes.

*Here, Dan demonstrates a level of trust in Sandris that I feel borders on dangerous.*

Having exhausted the fun of this little game, myself, Dan and Sandris went for a swim in the Seine. At this point it was around 8pm so the water was a little cold but refreshing nonetheless after a day of stuffy train travel. It’s interesting how much more difficult it can be to swim in freshwater; the Seine made me appreciate the buoyancy that salt provides far more. Really interesting observation there Max- the readers will love that one.

The Seine isn’t exactly drinkable, so we headed in for showers before sitting down for a light dinner of bread, cheese, pâté and red wine. I’ve seen the culmination of my maturing taste on this trip, as I found myself eating 2/3 of the Roquefort blue cheese whilst savouring every sip of the red. The staples of my diet remain the same however: cheese and bread.

Over dinner we discussed British politics, French history and Latvian politics (albeit briefly, as Sandris quickly indicated that he didn’t care all that much about the topic). We even discussed the concept of nationality itself: if myself and Dan are English due to our birth and family, what is Sandris, a Russian speaker born and raised in Latvia to an Armenian father raised in Georgia. What is Juliette’s mother? The daughter of a Lebanese man and a Palestinian woman who has lived her life in France, Luxembourg and Beirut at various times, and cannot return to her mother’s nation.

Juliette’s mum told us a pretty harrowing story over dessert. She told us that the cakes we were eating were Juliette’s favourite, and that as a child she had asked for them on her sixth birthday. At that time, herself, her mum and her sister were staying in Beirut, and on the day of her birthday the Israeli Defence force began bombing the city. Everyone else fled, but they had nowhere else to go, so they planned to stay inside. Juliette, however, had other ideas. She was inconsolable about the lack of cake, and so her mum found the only bakery open in the neighbourhood and bought cake in the middle of an air raid. Although Juliette was too young to understand, her dad mentioned that the stress led her to pull out her hair when she got home to Paris. I don’t quite know what to take from the story. Admiration for a devoted mother, hatred for a violent regime or gratitude for my circumstances of birth? Probably all of the above. A powerful story in any case, and having tasted the pistachio flavoured cream cakes, I understand why the 6 year old juliette was so inconsolable.

The house has a cinema room in the basement; fully soundproofed with theatre style seats and a wall sized projection screen. It was here that we spent the rest of the evening, watching music videos and drinking rum. Sandris showed us a few Russian rap videos, mainly Kazakh, and I must say that the cinematographers were geniuses. Every video told a story without me understanding the lyrics, every shot went in a direction I’d never have thought of, and the creativity they showed in their transitions was mesmerising. Sandris said that Kazakh rap is taking over the game and I can see why.

Dan was generally lost when asked for recommendations but somehow stumbled on the video I enjoyed the most, a fan made music video for Mac Demarco’s Chamber of Reflection. It took scenes from a film about what looked like a very depressed, though incredibly handsome Asian man and made the scenes, as well as the song, somehow more lonely. I’ve since found out that the film is called Chungking Express, and depicts a Hong Kong police officer attempting to move on from a lost lover. I will watch it as soon as I can, though I hope it doesn’t ruin some of the video’s magic. I’d quite like it to make me cry, we will see.

We watched videos until 4 am and the fellas woke up at 10.45am. I am now feeling the resulting fatigue while writing this on the train back to Paris. It’s 10 pm now, and I still have to recount today, which has been brilliant. We also have a rave to attend. Should be interesting.

Juliettes mum had been out to grab us pastries for breakfast, as has become typical. Everyone was a little exhausted, so after enjoying said treats, the boys both had a nap, while I woke juliette up. After this we went for another dip, juliette joining us this time. The others spent a while dunking one another, which made me thankful that they haven’t spent enough time with me to gauge my reaction to violence. Obviously I wouldn’t have retaliated, but I appreciate not being dunked. We listened to music by the river and the filthy English boys burnt, unlike Tandris (get it?).

I’m still writing this on the train home, and I’ve just caught a glance of myself in the window. I'm looking very worse for wear, with my hair flicking violently to the right and huge blue bags under my eyes. My reflection is staring back at me through the space between Dan and Juliette. I'm feeling like the Hong Kong cop right now- spending some time away can be hard.

Anyway, back to recounting the day. Next, we dried off, walked back to the house and set the table for lunch. This was possibly the best meal of the trip so far. Juliette’s mum played 50s American music, your Sinatra, your Ella Fitzgerald et al. She served us rosé, garlic and tomato pasta, more cheese, and then hand whipped cream with summer fruits. I don’t know whether it was the sun, music, conversation and atmosphere that made the food taste so good, or simply Juliette’s mum’s talent, but either way, the above made for one of the most genuinely enjoyable meals of my life. If I were one of those traumatised children from early 2000s films, this might be my imaginary happy place to return to mentally in times of stress.

Afterwards we showered then headed into town. This was around 4 pm, so the heat was intense, but the walk was pretty enough that I can’t say anyone really cared. Besides Dan, that man fries in the sun.

Side note, Dan asked me to grab something from his bag earlier, but I checked Sandris’ by mistake, and found at least 50 condoms. I don’t know why he has so many, why he brought them to Paris, or who he thought he’d be fucking. I have elected not to ask him about this and secretly hope he loses interest in my writing before reaching this point, as I feel it would be inauthentic not to include this detail.

Anyway, we found a little Italian restaurant to grab beers in. Just as we sat down, the waiter brought a speaker out and began to blast Jack Johnson. Sometimes I feel like life is a simulation made only to entertain me. If that’s the case, the simmy did it’s job in this restaurant. We had two beers each, Sandris and I had a pizza and Dan had a calzone. We started telling stories to entertain each other. The idea was to pick 4 people and create a narrative involving them. Naturally, mine evolved very quickly into the green man joke, which Dan realised in seconds, but juliette did not, as she forgot I had told her the joke. I have told her three or four times now.

When we got back we realised we needed to rush to get the train, and I was a little tipsy, so it remains a flash in my mind. All I know is that we forgot the booze. We are almost at Juliette’s house, but the question lingers: however will we go on?

The fatigue is definitely taking its toll. Whenever I’m tired I become pessimistic, and right now I feel like the chamber of reflection man all the time, which is crazy since I have a girlfriend and am not even moderately lonely. I’m on holiday with three good friends. My brain is cuckoo bananas when I’m tired. Maybe I’m a little sad that my boys from home are on holiday without me for the fourth time, but realistically, it can’t be better than this trip, so I guess suck these nuts.

I may or may not have mentioned that we had tickets for a rave on Saturday night. In any case, we did, and in spite of our tiredness and utter lack of booze, we fully intended to go. Juliette’s friend Natalya came round, injecting a little energy (especially into Sandris) though myself and Dan were still very evidently worn out. She brought a bottle of blue curaçao, and we managed to scavenge some vodka, grenadine and rum too. We had no mixer, so the boys suggested shots, but anyone who knows me knows this wasn’t a viable option. Instead, being the mixological genius that I am, I used the grenadine as a squash stand-in by diluting it with water to make a vaguely red-flavoured soft drink to mix with whatever else anyone wanted. It wasn’t awful, so that was a result, though I’m certain I’d have drank far more if we’d had the booze from the countryside. To cut a long story short, we left for the rave around 2 am in two very expensive Ubers, almost stone cold sober. I suggested juliette went in one car, Natalya in the other, to avoid confusion with the French drivers, but this was shrugged off. Obviously when myself and the boys got in our Uber he bombarded us with questions in French and we had to call juliette for help. I am almost always right.

The girls arrived earlier than us, and were told by the security guards that the neighbourhood, a Parisian suburb called Saint Denis, was too dangerous for them to wait outside for us. This set a very pleasant tone, and made me a tad apprehensive if I’m honest, but this was fairly quickly dispelled on arrival. Even if I confirmed that raves aren’t exactly my scene, I can’t deny that the people who attend them want nothing more than for everyone to have a good time. It was an incredibly loving environment, and I only felt bad that I couldn’t reciprocate that love. It took place in a carpark by a warehouse, and lasted from 7 pm to 6 am, though we only stayed until 5. The primary storyline of the rave revolved around Sandris’ flight home, which was at 7 am. He was enjoying the rave perhaps more than anyone, as you might imagine, so pulling him from it was incredibly difficult. Dan had to painstakingly remind him that he couldn’t cancel a flight that departed in 4 hours, he couldn’t afford to simply pay for a new one, and he would definitely regret missing it in the morning. In the end, he said a very typical goodbye to us all, hugging us, then pressing his forehead against ours and screaming. To soften the blow a little, Sandris’ game worked its magic on Natalya, and she gave him a goodbye smooch.

Little else happened after Sandris left, and as I say, we went home around 5, utterly shattered. The only solace came in the form of a suggestion from Natalya: we should get brunch in the morning.

And brunch we got, around 5 pm the next day, still utterly shattered somehow. We went to the same place as two years ago, a café called au petit pain. It closed at 6 so we were in a bit of a rush, but not so much that it ruined our enjoyment. Brunch was also sweetened by the knowledge that Sandris was home safe. I ordered a platter with tabouleh, smoked salmon on toast, a bread basket and granola. I was pretty disappointed, as each constituent item, bar the bread, was hardly a mouthful, and it cost 26 euros. They padded out the plate with a colossal salad that they’d obviously placed in the French small print. These Parisians know what they’re doing. The only saving grace was the fact that they brought Nutella to the table, making my bread basket into a meal anyone could envy.

When we arrived back, Dan napped for a good while, and I chatted to juliette before making us all dinner, some 1 minute tortellini. Afterwards, since Juliette’s parents were away, we decided to utilise the whole house for the first time by watching a film on the huge TV in the living room. We went for Castle in the Sky, one of the earliest studio ghibli films, and a huge influence on the steampunk aesthetic. The plot revolves around a young girl discovering that she’s the lost princess of a floating island named Laputa, and her efforts to find the island using a magic necklace. It didn’t wow me quite as much as howls moving castle or spirited away, but it was definitely brilliant, and having watched so much anime, it’s influence on the form is evident.

Anyway, we went to bed after the film and woke the next day around 12, ready to head for the Louvre. Around this time, I realised that my flight the next day was at 11 am rather than pm, and that this was in fact my last day. I also realised I would have to leave the house at 8 am, a very unwelcome surprise. Knowing this, I set out to enjoy my last day in Paris.

We began the day with O'tacos, the delicious, carb loaded fast food of Paris 1 fame. All three of us ordered a wrap filled with fried chicken, fries, two cheeses and barbecue sauce, topped with yet more cheese and bacon lardons. Undeniably delicious, but as Dan said, I'm very glad the chain hasn't reached the UK. If it does, I worry that the two of us will be instrumental in the governments battle against the obesity crisis, used as equivalents of the men with holes in their necks and such that you see on cigarette packets.

After our hearty breakfast, we managed to navigate our way from the house to the museum via the metro. Juliette elected not to come with us as she has seen the Louvre so many times, but she did give us instructions on how to get there. We had a little trouble as she sent them backwards, but a pair of honoured bachelors such as ourselves were perfectly capable of solving the puzzle.

The heat made this a challenge as it reached 39 degrees Celsius, however, luckily for us the Louvre is well air conditioned and mainly underground, keeping it very cool. The only problem was that some of the exhibits were closed due to the heat. I’m not sure why this was, after all the heat stays relatively similar regardless of whether the exhibit is open or closed, and the exhibits that were closed were things like the French Crown Jewels, which hardly seem perishable. Maybe it was simply that those rooms were particularly cramped, and the museum organisers worried about the fainting risk.

Nonetheless, we saw a good portion of the museum, starting with Ancient Egyptian artefacts, which are endlessly interesting, even simply due to the dates they range from. The timescale of Egyptian Civilisation is mind blowing. It completely dwarfs that of the Greeks and Romans whose artefacts we looked at next. We also saw the Mona Lisa, of course, though the heat and cramped nature of her room made the experience relatively unpleasant. We enjoyed some of the paintings, but nowhere near as much as those of the Orsay. A room full of medieval armour, decorative shields, swords and guns captivated our male psyches, and we proposed various situations in which we might find ourselves adorned in the weapons and armour. We suggested stealing a suit of armour, decorative pistol and shield, then waiting at home for the police to arrive only to vehemently deny any such theft while still adorned in the outfit. I recognise that this doesn't sound all that funny on the page, but believe me it gave us a giggle or two. However, the gun room wasn’t enough to pull the Louvre up to par with the Orsay, and I would overwhelmingly recommend the latter over the former.

The Louvre is connected directly to the underground metro through a system of tunnels, and by sheer luck we found our way back to the train while avoiding the Saharan climate above. The journey home was uneventful, punctuated by an occasional remark from Dan that he would have killed for a burn, though by this point these kind of remarks were almost background noise. He is a fiend like no other. I'd like to take the time now to draw attention to the quality of my fit for the museum: cream and black gore-tex air force 1s, Killua (from Hunter x Hunter) socks, cream shorts, a navy Moncler polo courtesy of my Dad, and a navy and green argyle sweater vest. Very tasteful indeed.

On the way home, we stopped for beer, Orangina and snacks. On arrival, we found Juliette had been asleep for the entire time we were in the museum, and was accordingly full of energy. Dan was not, so he napped. I, however, cannot nap in the day, so I killed time giving myself some silly little space buns whilst drinking ice cold Orangina. I'm almost glad they don't sell it at home; it makes it more of a treat to come away. When I was younger, I used to hate the fact that they included pulp, but everyone knows that maturity entails realising that seeded brown is better than white, and orange juice should always have bits.

Dan woke up pretty soon, and we started on the beers as we got ready for a final meal. A last supper if you will. I suggested the same place that Lucas had taken us a few days before, and everyone agreed. I didn't include the name of the restaurant when I described it earlier in this account, and I don't intend to include it now. This is partially becuase I like to gatekeep nice things, and partly because I don't want to check the pictures on my phone. Anyway, if any of the three people that'll read this ever go to Paris, let me know and I'll find out the name.

On the walk to the metro, I realised many of the black railings that decorate Paris' cream buildings resemble penises. No kidding. There are cocks and balls lined up side to side by a number of balconies. Paris is truly the most Oh La La city on the planet. The metro trip itself was equally memorable, as we saw a little boy run out of the doors at a stop. His Dad emphatically shouted "No," ran after him, grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back on through the closing doors, Indiana jones style. Everything about this city is whimsical.

The wait for a table was just as frustrating this time as the last, as a group of four women spent twenty minutes chain smoking before paying their bill, and a couple tried to snatch our table. Needless to say we weren't having any of it, and we soon got our table. This time I ordered a portion of snails for myself, having been sold on them by Lucas. They didn't disappoint, and I am now team Escar-GO. For my main I had a very creamy pasta, which wasn't quite as good as I'd hoped, though Dan and Juliette's mains were decidedly better: steak for the former and a beef bourguignon for the latter. My dessert simply had to be French Toast. It seems the French sure can make toast.

Earlier, whilst waiting in the heat for the table, a kind man offered Juliette a napkin to dab her forehead. The man was also very stylish, wearing a black leather vest and sort of beret-flat cap hybrid. After our meal, he approached us again with a friendly smile on his face. He invited us to a party and told us he was a dancer, before suddenly starting to contort his arms behind his body. At this point we were a little drunk from the beers and litre of wine we'd shared at the restaurant, so this was incredibly entertaining. We told him that we had to fly tomorrow, but he insisted we come to the party anyway. I agreed (lying) and he gave me a hug. The difference between Paris and say London, is that if a random man approached us on the street, invited us to a party, and tried to hug me in London, I'd have been terrified, and probably checked whether my wallet was still in my pocket, while in Paris I didn't feel the need. I was left with my phone, my wallet and a nice warm feeling inside.

Like last time, we headed to the Seine to admire the night-time view. The riverside buildings are lit up bright orange, and their reflections wobble and glisten in the flowing river. A number of rats scuttled past us, causing Juliette to exclaim "Ahhhh Ratatouille!" each time. I'd say she's a child trapped in an adult's body, but that'd be inaccurate, as she is only three inches taller than a legal dwarf. A child trapped in a child's body, then.

We got the metro home around 12.30, and the guys wanted to watch a film. However, given the time, I decided to pack and get as early of a night as possible. Juliette realised that this was the last time she'd see me properly, as tomorrow morning she'd be too tired to really interact. As such, her and Dan began showering me with compliments about how much of a stand-up guy I am, which is true, but obviously means a lot anyway. We shared a semi-emotional goodbye- I say semi as I'll be seeing them next week for graduation in order to say a fully emotional goodbye- and then I went to sleep.

In the morning, I rolled out of bed at 7 am, and beyond that I can't recall much. I'd packed the night before and left my clothes laid out on a chair, so other than shower, all I had to do was get directions from Juliette and leave. Since I am now sat in Wales finishing off my account, I'm inclined to believe that I did both of those things.

The metro trip back is less of a blur, as I kept a little record of what happened: I’ve been stood up on the metro for nearly an hour because some Russian arsehole took up a seat with his bags. Not ideal on 4 hours of sleep. It’s nearly 9 am now. I woke up at 7 and left the house at 8. I recognise that I could’ve simply slept earlier, but in all fairness we only finished our meal around midnight, so it couldn’t have been much earlier. Also, I’m covered in freshly squeezed orange juice. Insult to injury.

The orange juice fiasco was the result of seeing one of those machines they have in European supermarkets that squeeze oranges into a bottle in front of your eyes. A few years ago I'd had a bottle of this ethereal nectar in Cordoba, so faced with the possibility of enjoying yet another bottle, hungover me had no choice but to indulge. The problem was that I hadn't fixed the lid on correctly, hence being covered in the stuff.

I won't bore all three of my readers by recounting how easy the airport security was to get through. There was no airport cat this time sadly, and I was too knackered to go and buy food, so I just lay down on a sofa and eavesdropped on some yanks sat next to me until it was time to board.

I decided to finish Camus' The Fall on the plane, as I had been saving the last chapter. I'd enjoyed the book immensely so far, and was sad to finish it. Jean-Claude Baptiste's intense hubris and inability to take life seriously reminded me a lot of myself, for better or worse (definitely worse) and I was anxious to know how his story ended. Honestly, the final chapter was a spectacular disappointment. Maybe I was just too tired to appreciate it, or maybe it was just rubbish; I'm not sure. In any case, I plan to read it again, if only to enjoy the earlier chapters once more. The orange juice, the Russian man and Camus meant that the trip ended on a sour note, but that's ok- I enjoyed the rest so much that the end was hardly a blip. If distance doesn't cause the gang to drift apart next year, I'd very much like there to be a Paris 3.

Paris 2: Electric Boogaloo

Barbados [Unfinished]

Prague