Click click click…… playlist……..click click click……..recently played……..play. Good Charlotte – Dance Floor Anthem jumps to life on my ipod. I love the driving bass line in this song. The cool Parisian air fills my lungs as I walk down the business district of Paris. I have just walked Liss to work and now have a day to kill in my favourite city in the world. Life needs a sound track and thanks to Apple mine now does. As I walk past all the suits Good Charlotte adds to the electricity that Paris exudes. I swear Travolta had nothing on me; I was strutting Saturday Night Fever style. My sound track has slightly less squeaky voices on it though.
I had no plan other than to just walk and take in the sights, this was always risky. With no plan anything could happen……. This would be the start of over 10hrs of walking. I walked past the Arc de Triumph, the Eiffel Tower, went up into the Montparnasse building, cruised past Notre Dame, the Pompidou, the Louver and about every other land mark in the city. It’s lucky that most of the attractions are tall and you can use line of sight to get to most of them because it became clear to me early in the day that my map was broken.
The French are well, French. They are very passionate about their food, they pride themselves on shit service and are a bit wiffy to share a lift with. It is not uncommon to have a waitress stand there, look at you, then just not serve you. It used to piss me off, it is just part of the game now. I’m sure the more relaxed you are about it the more it pisses them off. I have accepted many a beer with a big smile and a friendly “Merci”, after waiting forever. Their reaction is almost one of shock. “Why is zis stupid Ossee smiling, doesn’t he know I am French and it is my duty to piss toureests off”. I love it.
The French obviously assume tourists are smarter than, well……me. For a lot of the attractions the signage stops about a block or two away from the site. This may also just be a french ploy to piss off tourists. I must have been within a 2 block radius of the Pompidou a few times but it took me nearly 2 hrs of walking to find it. I was running out of time and my knee for some reason was starting to hurt. I ended up in a really seedy red light district, sex shops, strippers, prostiutes…..they were all there. It was a culturally enriching experience to say the least. After lapping around for a fair while I had deserted the idea of going into the Pompidou and now it was just a matter of principle to find it, my knee began to swell. It was at this point I worked out the signs stop when you are close to the attractions and I finally clapped eyes on the damn museum. It is the funkiest building I have every seen, huge colourful pipes and tubes surround the exterior, if you haven’t seen it, google Pompidou, its full on. (ahh the internet….adjectives will soon be of the past, well its quicker than trying to explain it).
I was now on a mission to get back to Mels unit, I was running a little late but should be there in good time, I finally decided to pay for a Metro ticket. I figured Mel might not appreciate me getting locked up over a few euro. I never really thought about it till after I got back to Oz last time but a guy got shot a few years ago for jumping the barriers and running away from the guards in Stanstead station, London. The frenchies have fully automatic machine guns, I thought that might hurt a bit, best pay for the ticket. It hurt almost as much as being shot, but I handed over the money.
I popped out of the Metro right near the Arc de Triumph, ‘Sweet’ I thought just a short walk home……at least it could have been. Every street of the over sized round about looks the same. All lined with the same trees, same buildings and same bastard French names. I consulted the map, it was still broken. I have a GPS system in my phone but it only wanted to talk French. I had a few text messages and a missed call from Liss, she had left work early and had been waiting at home for me for hours. Mild panic washed over me. I had only enough credit for one text to her and not enough to make or receive a call. I hoped she had her phone with her. I told her I was proper lost at the Arc, she sent back some directions. As I scrolled down to read the last of the text………’and when you get to the bottom of the hill turn……………. The battery goes dead. ‘Le fuck !’ I thought.
My knee by now was causing me to limp like and injured sea monkey but I was desperate to get home. ‘Time to sack up Crowie’ I thought, and started to run down the hill. Was it left or right? I took a punt, left….things started to look familiar. I ran through the markets, through the tunnel and straight to Mel’s door. I had made it………almost.
To get into Mels building you need a code, one that was stored on my phone, the phone with the dead battery. I tried to turn it on 50 times, it was dead. I tried about 50 codes on the door, nothing. I had finally made it back home but was stranded at the front door. I thought about just screaming out….Meeeeeeeel,……..Melllllllllllllllllllllllll! We have all seen Homer do that one to Marge, its not a good look, she would never have heard me anyway on the 7th floor.
The French are renown for being arrogant bastards, something I have experienced first hand, but don’t judge them all. A random lady was walking past and muttered some Paris talk to me, I looked at her and pointed to the key pad. I was exhausted, in pain and patiently challenged. She reaches over and punches in the door code, it opens……..I can tell you I gave her a big smile and a friendly “Merci”.
