So Erica and I spent the weekend in Monmartre (as in Moulin Rouge and Amelie). The streets on one side are lined with sex shops galore (the side where the famous Moulin Rouge resides) and down other streets, what Erica likes to refer to as "one large Big! Lots district." Definitely dodgy. But hey, we are dirty backpackers on a budget and want to get to know every town we stay in.
The hostel we stayed at I won't name here because I don't know if I would want to advertise it, but other than its broken sink in our room, and super-cramped three-level bunk bed rooms, we met such a cool crowd. There is a courtyard where everyone congregates at night for communal food that some of the girls would cook together and for music and conversation. Names were often forgotten, so sometimes we would refer to one another by country--or in our case, by state. So when someone would call out, "California," it would mean either Rica or I.
The nights were freezing, and my toes felt like falling off ("Am I endanger of frost bite?" was a constant question in my mind), but it was great company. There were several guitars going at once, we were often caught in blues jam sessions, or often caught trying to remember the lyrics to some song. It felt like the defining moment of my travels this trip: caught in a crowd of like-minded individuals (perpetually homeless, by choice nomadic), sitting together sharing food, music, and laughter. It was in a word, beautiful.
