Last night Paul played a party outside of Paris. The party train started at Rue de la Mare with me, Paul, Roxanne, Magalie, and Amanda. Our group grew as the night went on when Magalie's boyfriend Michael and his Scottish friends (and a Brit) showed up to rock the party.
Paul's set started late and the crowd was peaking when he was playing. Acid tracks, techno, and tech house scrambled the mind of the crowd and united them as one. A good time was had by all and as the night winded down I was one of the Scotts, and a fan of the second place Celtics who play for first play today.
While the crew were saying good byes I was the lone wall flower and was approached by a gentleman and his lady friend. After a few lines of broken french were conversed the gentleman told me I looked sad. I told him it was late and I was tired that was all. I will now attempt to recreate the dialog:
Gentlman and his lady friend walk up to the wall flower.
Gentleman: What's wrong my friend? You look (pulling his face into a frown) sad.
Me: No, I'm ok. Just tired.
Gentleman: Do you like the party? Are you having a good time?
Me: Oui. My friend was Djing earlier.
Gentleman: Why are you not dancing now? Do you not like the women? Here this is my friend.
Me: Bon soir.
Lady friend: En chante.
Gentleman: Come we will dance. ( I'm pretty sure he meant the three of us).
Me: Non merci. I am waiting for my friends. We are leaving soon.
Gentleman: There is nothing to worry about. She is not my girlfriend.
Me: Oh, I understand. Mais non, merci.
Gentleman: Why? Just for two minutes. Come. (The lady friend walks away.) What is wrong do you not like parties and dancing.
At this point I'm smiling because I don't want to look "sad."
Me: Non merci. I am leaving with my friends soon.
Gentlman: There is nothing to worry about. You and I, we are gentleman. It's ok. (The lady friend comes back.) How old are you?
Me: Veinte huit.
Gentleman: Twenty eight?!? (Turns to lady friend.) Twenty eight?!? No! You look twenty two, maybe twenty three.
Me: Merci.
Gentleman: (Takes an firm and uncomfortable hold of my left wrist.) Come lets go. We dance for two minutes.
Me: (Breaking his wrist and walking away.) No really. Thank you. (The lady frind walks away again.)
Gentleman: (Gets a little closer and looks at my face.) The french women, they do not like the mustache. You have a mustache.
(Jesus I'm shaking right now as I type this cause it's still freaking me out!)
Me: Um, yeah. I didn't shave.
So anyways you get the point. In the next five minutes of the conversation Paul walks by and I try desperately to say "help" with my eyes. It doesn't work and the chess game continues to a stalemate. He tells me something about him being Arabic and Morraccan and this is how gentleman do it.
Apparently I'm not a gentleman, and I think I'm ok with it.
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Paris in the spring
It's still not too warm here. I haven't had warm weather since the first two weeks in Spain. The shirt I'm wearing smells like the room I had in Lisbon, but it's clean I think. C'est la vie.
I flew into Paris on Monday from Lisbon. Since I stayed in Spain for so long I didn' t want to spend the time to take the bus or train through the Basque country, even though it would have been nice to see Bilbao and San Sebastien. I also had been telling Paul and Roxanne I'd be here soon. The first time I said that was almost three weeks ago.
Paul and I (and Roxanne for a bit) walked around Paris most of the afternoon. i recognized a lot of the streets we were on and had a good idea where we were because of my last visit here a few years ago. It's a cool feeling being in a foreign city like Paris and kind of knowing it already.
We had lunch at one of the many kebab places here, and one of the guys working there, who also was the guy making our pita, was a total dick. Usually I most people here are polite when I speak my shitty french, and yeah I kept throwing some spanish in there, but fuck I just spent a month there and si and oui are so damn close. So finished making the pita and I asked him, "quatro euro?" He said something like Si quatre, but like I said before was a dick about it. I was apologetic and tried to tell him I was in Spain, but he didn't really care.
We made fun of the situation and I told Paul that I should smack him across the face with my white glove, tell him he insulted me, and challenge him to a duel, like Homer did in that episode of the Simpsons. We had a good laugh and Paul asked if I had a white glove on me. No but bitch slapping him would get the same point across, no? We ran with the dueling idea for a few more minutes and decided the weapons wouldn't be guns but knives. Since I didn't have one and Paul is my second in teh duel he'd have to lend me his.
OK. It's all set then. Outside the kebab place on the rainy street in the latin quarter with knives. Just the way gentleman do it. Well, when it all went down his blue haired wife came running out and told him to go see a doctor, but bhe told her the bone stopped the knife. He would go see the doctor after mince meat pie.
So really happened was we ate the pita and talked shit about the guy then left.
I flew into Paris on Monday from Lisbon. Since I stayed in Spain for so long I didn' t want to spend the time to take the bus or train through the Basque country, even though it would have been nice to see Bilbao and San Sebastien. I also had been telling Paul and Roxanne I'd be here soon. The first time I said that was almost three weeks ago.
Paul and I (and Roxanne for a bit) walked around Paris most of the afternoon. i recognized a lot of the streets we were on and had a good idea where we were because of my last visit here a few years ago. It's a cool feeling being in a foreign city like Paris and kind of knowing it already.
We had lunch at one of the many kebab places here, and one of the guys working there, who also was the guy making our pita, was a total dick. Usually I most people here are polite when I speak my shitty french, and yeah I kept throwing some spanish in there, but fuck I just spent a month there and si and oui are so damn close. So finished making the pita and I asked him, "quatro euro?" He said something like Si quatre, but like I said before was a dick about it. I was apologetic and tried to tell him I was in Spain, but he didn't really care.
We made fun of the situation and I told Paul that I should smack him across the face with my white glove, tell him he insulted me, and challenge him to a duel, like Homer did in that episode of the Simpsons. We had a good laugh and Paul asked if I had a white glove on me. No but bitch slapping him would get the same point across, no? We ran with the dueling idea for a few more minutes and decided the weapons wouldn't be guns but knives. Since I didn't have one and Paul is my second in teh duel he'd have to lend me his.
OK. It's all set then. Outside the kebab place on the rainy street in the latin quarter with knives. Just the way gentleman do it. Well, when it all went down his blue haired wife came running out and told him to go see a doctor, but bhe told her the bone stopped the knife. He would go see the doctor after mince meat pie.
So really happened was we ate the pita and talked shit about the guy then left.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
New country, new language
I'm starting every conversation with the french like this. Je parle petit français, d'accord? And they kind of look at me like "so what retard." Then I give them a fucked up combination of french, spanish, and english but we figure out what I need. As long as you at least try to speak the lnguage people are willing to help.
Speaking of language Portuguese totally screwed me up, especially after Leila and Wili gave me a great crash course in Spanish. Some stuff carries over to portuguese, but not a lot. Now that I'm in France I have to switch to french mode. I'd like to take a moment to thank Mdme. Eaton, my frech teacher in high school. I know enough french to communicate what I need. Je voudrais allez eau v.c. s'il vous plait.
Lisbon and surrounding areas in portugal were cool and people are generally nice there. I went to two Moorish castles and a palace which was pretty cool. I'll put pictures up soon.
Speaking of language Portuguese totally screwed me up, especially after Leila and Wili gave me a great crash course in Spanish. Some stuff carries over to portuguese, but not a lot. Now that I'm in France I have to switch to french mode. I'd like to take a moment to thank Mdme. Eaton, my frech teacher in high school. I know enough french to communicate what I need. Je voudrais allez eau v.c. s'il vous plait.
Lisbon and surrounding areas in portugal were cool and people are generally nice there. I went to two Moorish castles and a palace which was pretty cool. I'll put pictures up soon.
Sunday, April 10, 2005
Change of plans
Last night we (Nathan, Edurne, Paul, Leila, Zoe, and I) watched Sin City, and had a few bottles of wine and beer. At close to one, when the last metro runs we went out to meet Edurne's friends. This is a very typical thing in Spain, since some nights dinner isn't until 10 or 11.
The walked in the frigid air sobered me up so I had to get my drink back on. I can't remember the name of the bar we went to, but we had a drink (or two?) and Leila convinced me to stay in Madrid for a few more days. And I was this close to getting out of Madrid. I was going to catch a bus to Lisbon tonight at 11.
Afterwards we went to another club called Kathmandu and had more of everything, well just whiskey and coke. I woke up this morning and either I lost 20 euros or I spent more than I thought last night. Most likely the latter. Even with last splurge on the funds, thanks to the free lodgings, I'm still spending less than I had budgeted.
At present I'm waiting for my hangover to set in. It always seems to wait for me to think I'm ok and then comes in to kick my ass right about now. Owwwwww!
The walked in the frigid air sobered me up so I had to get my drink back on. I can't remember the name of the bar we went to, but we had a drink (or two?) and Leila convinced me to stay in Madrid for a few more days. And I was this close to getting out of Madrid. I was going to catch a bus to Lisbon tonight at 11.
Afterwards we went to another club called Kathmandu and had more of everything, well just whiskey and coke. I woke up this morning and either I lost 20 euros or I spent more than I thought last night. Most likely the latter. Even with last splurge on the funds, thanks to the free lodgings, I'm still spending less than I had budgeted.
At present I'm waiting for my hangover to set in. It always seems to wait for me to think I'm ok and then comes in to kick my ass right about now. Owwwwww!
Monday, April 04, 2005
Some negative thoughts
There are bound to be some creeping up. here goes:
1. The exchange rate. I'm getting about 70 cents to the dollar or paying $1.30 ish for 1 euro.
1. The exchange rate. I'm getting about 70 cents to the dollar or paying $1.30 ish for 1 euro.
Also to add salt to the wound I tried to the wound I tried to withdraw money from an atm, forgetting how weak the dollar is, and got charged a finance charge for each attempt (three total).
2. The mullet is back in style in Spain. I was told by a British girl living here that if you don't specifically tell the person cutting your hair not to give you a mullet, they'll cut it that way. There isn't enough space on my memory card to take a picture of all the mullets. The same British girl told me it has already reached the UK. Will the craze cross the Atlantic and wash up on the shores of New York? Countrymen beware!
That's all the bad I can think about. Now for some good thoughts.
I've swam in the Mediterranean four times in four different places. The water isn't very warm, but it's fun to jump into the sea.
I had the best paella in Santa Pola. I thinks that's the third or fourth time I've had it and this by far blew the others out of the water. I still think about that episode of Seinfeld everytime I hear the word paella.
The American expats here have all but stolen my passport to keep me from leaving Spain. They were all surprised yet not surprised when I showed up at a birthday party last night.
I was at a Spanish BBQ where I had a blood sausage, quite tasty actually, I thought they were going to tell me I was eating bull testicle or ox tail or worse.
I met my friend Guillermo's parents and 94 year old grandmother. His mother is like all mothers, almost force feeding us when we stepped through the door. His grandmother even at her age is still very spry. As we were doing the customary fairwell (and greeting) of kisses to both cheeks I mumbled adios and she, standing tall at 4 feet 5 inches and not needing her cane at all, squeezes my face with her hands and says something to me in Spanish. Even though I didn't understand her, I deciphered the meaning as "stop mumbling and say adios to me properly" which, to her delight, I immediately did .
In conclusion exchange rate and mullets - bad, Spanish people and people living in Spain - good.
2. The mullet is back in style in Spain. I was told by a British girl living here that if you don't specifically tell the person cutting your hair not to give you a mullet, they'll cut it that way. There isn't enough space on my memory card to take a picture of all the mullets. The same British girl told me it has already reached the UK. Will the craze cross the Atlantic and wash up on the shores of New York? Countrymen beware!
That's all the bad I can think about. Now for some good thoughts.
I've swam in the Mediterranean four times in four different places. The water isn't very warm, but it's fun to jump into the sea.
I had the best paella in Santa Pola. I thinks that's the third or fourth time I've had it and this by far blew the others out of the water. I still think about that episode of Seinfeld everytime I hear the word paella.
The American expats here have all but stolen my passport to keep me from leaving Spain. They were all surprised yet not surprised when I showed up at a birthday party last night.
I was at a Spanish BBQ where I had a blood sausage, quite tasty actually, I thought they were going to tell me I was eating bull testicle or ox tail or worse.
I met my friend Guillermo's parents and 94 year old grandmother. His mother is like all mothers, almost force feeding us when we stepped through the door. His grandmother even at her age is still very spry. As we were doing the customary fairwell (and greeting) of kisses to both cheeks I mumbled adios and she, standing tall at 4 feet 5 inches and not needing her cane at all, squeezes my face with her hands and says something to me in Spanish. Even though I didn't understand her, I deciphered the meaning as "stop mumbling and say adios to me properly" which, to her delight, I immediately did .
In conclusion exchange rate and mullets - bad, Spanish people and people living in Spain - good.
Back in Madrid
Since I last posted I attended Las Fallas in Valencia where sleep was a hot commodity. Then after Fallas I walked 40km over two days and this time I knew it equalled 25 miles.
We started as four on the first day. An hour into the walk Nathan had to bow out, much to his disappointment. Kieran, Jane, and I continued on until we were just outside San Jose. We took a dip in the cold Mediterranean, and set up camp on a random beach where we slept through a sandstorm. The next morning we walked to San Jose for breakfast, then onward to Las Negras.
The day was hot and I cursed every step I took. Finally we arrived at a beach and I was still pissed. I took another dip in the Mediterranean and as night fell our plans changed. The next morning at 5 we would wake up then in the dark make our way to Las Negras. Mind you, we were walking at the top of the cliff (in fog no less) in the dark. Somehow we made our way to the bus stop with time to spare.
The next few days were a whirlwind. I was in some town outside of Cadiz then onto Los Canso de Mecca for a much needed break. We (Nathan, Edurne, et al) had a complex there and walked along the coast of southern Spain. Afterwards I was invited to go to Tarifa, Granada, and Santa Pola with Edurne's friend's brother Guillermo.
La Alhambra in Granada is unreal. We got in line at 7 in the morning and the line was already at least 150 people deep. At around nine we got our tickets and walked around the last Moorish stronghold in Spain. Pictures soon.
Santa Pola was completely chill as breakfat was at 11am, lunch at 3 or 4, siesta, and dinner at 10 or 11. Life is difficult sometimes.
I'm back in Madrid at Nathan and Edurne's and have been told I'm to stay until at least next Monday.
Hasta luego
Viet
We started as four on the first day. An hour into the walk Nathan had to bow out, much to his disappointment. Kieran, Jane, and I continued on until we were just outside San Jose. We took a dip in the cold Mediterranean, and set up camp on a random beach where we slept through a sandstorm. The next morning we walked to San Jose for breakfast, then onward to Las Negras.
The day was hot and I cursed every step I took. Finally we arrived at a beach and I was still pissed. I took another dip in the Mediterranean and as night fell our plans changed. The next morning at 5 we would wake up then in the dark make our way to Las Negras. Mind you, we were walking at the top of the cliff (in fog no less) in the dark. Somehow we made our way to the bus stop with time to spare.
The next few days were a whirlwind. I was in some town outside of Cadiz then onto Los Canso de Mecca for a much needed break. We (Nathan, Edurne, et al) had a complex there and walked along the coast of southern Spain. Afterwards I was invited to go to Tarifa, Granada, and Santa Pola with Edurne's friend's brother Guillermo.
La Alhambra in Granada is unreal. We got in line at 7 in the morning and the line was already at least 150 people deep. At around nine we got our tickets and walked around the last Moorish stronghold in Spain. Pictures soon.
Santa Pola was completely chill as breakfat was at 11am, lunch at 3 or 4, siesta, and dinner at 10 or 11. Life is difficult sometimes.
I'm back in Madrid at Nathan and Edurne's and have been told I'm to stay until at least next Monday.
Hasta luego
Viet
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