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| Listening to some crack heads music at the train station at 6 am
Cannot explain the week I have had so far,
but the fact that I’m writing this on the shitter drinking water concerned for
my heart beating like a double kick should help set the scene. I’m on the
French Riveria, one of the most beautiful places in the world, crystal blue
water, lushes mountain ranges, rustic cafes, French perfume every where, but
unfortunately I’m in a cabin, sweating buckets and watching myself cringe in
the mirror as I befoul yet another ensuite. Maybe writing down what I have done
for the past couple of days might help pin point the cause of my present
struggles. I met Mitch at the hotel when he arrived. I was excited as hell as
it had been 3 months with out seeing the greek bastard and 3 months is along
time. In this 3 months he had managed to grow his hair to his shoulders and
grow his stomach to the floor. Hahah I hope he reads this. We instantly were to
go out for dinner next door, which I felt a little nervous for as I was about
to make 51 one first impressions and I know that mine and mitches vulgarity can
be confronting for a first timer. We nestled ourselves down at the finely laid
table and ordered a few beers for courage. I instantly realized that of this 51
people only about one third are male and I instantly did the math and created a
mental calculation as to my chances of maybe finding one I like. I like those
odds. I instantly realized that this is basically an Australian group and that
bar a few south African and US voices among the chatter, Melbourne was where
the majority hails from. I chatted with a girl from Melbourne opposite me to
find myself with the expected question “what part of Melbourne”. “I come from
the Dandenng ranges” Ok, I know where Dandenong is. Fuck, Great start to the
trip. For those who don’t know the area the dandenong ranges have tourists
flocking and ogling it’s beautiful landscapes where as Dandenong is where the
dregs of the suburbs, congregate to live and smoke bongs fashioned from coke
bottles and sprinkler heads. This looker began to look elsewhere. Hahah good
effort. After dinner straight to the Eifel tower. I as usual wasn’t listening
so couldn’t get the canon to capture the spectacular sight that is the tower at
night, but Mitch snapped a few on his newly smashed Iphone. We were walking on
the second tear of the eifel when he lost his grip on the phone, smashing on
the concrete then being stepped on byself dazedly walking and looking at the
view. Haha I was glad that my trodding on it was the sealer. The tower was more
beautiful than I had ever imagined. The place greatly exceeded my expectations.
A great day of sight seeing and touring. The group seemed great with no
dickheads or louts (Besides Hatley) and I was looking forward to how this tour
was going to pan out.
The next morning we were dropped in the
main section of Paris and set free to walk at our own device. The three of us
walked around map in hand, twisting and turning it in attempts to make some
sense of the thing. So impressed by the tower the previous night we grabbed
baguettes, cheese and salami for lunch on the grass. Was one of the highlights
of my trip so far, sitting in the shadow of the famous monument, eating the
finest bread and watching the dumbass asians shoot thousands of photos of them
500 metres away to create the illusion they are holding the top of the tower. I
obviously knew she wasn’t holding it as saw her take it, but I’m sure such
trickery will be assumed legit by her pacific rim friends back east. I took
some really good snaps, including one point of view photo of me giving the
tower the bird. After the tower we headed to the top of the hill to a
restaurant where we ate escargot and drank red wine. Me and O’dwyer sat talking
to a few blokes Hung and Dan, who were great company and definitely as keen to
suck down the bordeux as I was. After a bottle of red in the system we headed
down to an irish bar a couple of doors up from Moulin Rouge. It was awesome and
being the first opportunity we all had to party, we did just that. I was well
oiled after the red, but a few pints in the guts put me over the edge.
Everybody’s true personalities were appearing and I got to laugh and fool
around with the whole group. The bloke on the tour we call Phelps due to his
unbelievable resemblance to Swimmer and acclaimed bong head Michael Phelps,
began dancing with a big bootied black woman and I knew the night was on. The
place was awesome and some of the others from the tour were coming back from
the Cabaret show( I gladly skipped on) and soon the entire group was dancing
and drinking like animals. I knocked off phelpsy glasses and began trying to
pick up women using extra intelligence I thought the glasses gave me (there was
nothing of intelligence coming out of me I’ll assure you). Street florists
where leaning over the smoking barriers and trying to flog roses to give to
girls. I told a rose dealer to piss of like 5 times and wondered why he kept
persistently asking me when I kept telling him no. I got a look at the sexy New
Zealand girl. “Quick mate give me one of those”. Hahaha. She loved it, and
danced with me for a while until she was flanked by another pissed romeo who
gave her a second rose. The rose manouvre is a sure thing but I was out rosed.
I was hammered so I thought it necesssary to buy a pack of cigarettes (I don’t
smoke and after one puff I remembered why). I gave them away after one butt.
Mitch in the smokers area got chatting to a homeless guy who looked like Morgan
Freeman, and the resemblance compelled him to donate to his cause. Mitch
dropped him a couple of Euro and said “c’mon mate get a beer”. Turns out he
wasn’t a homeless guy and asked why he was given money. Haha. Mitch decided to
buy a rose, but had different ideas of its use. He did not agree with my ways
of finding a pretty girl and presenting it boyishly, he just ate it. I bumped
into Dan at the bar and he shouted a round of tequila shots, which I fucked the
routine of, by sucking the lemon first. This was lights out. Pissed as Frothies
Mcbitters after breakfast, I walked onto the street for some air and to gather
some composure, so as not to do something that could be used against me for the
next 25 days. Out there I got chatting to a bloke and we worked out we were
walking in the same direction. The hotel was an hour walk and I needed to work
some of the beers out of my systems. My head was pounding and the taste of
tequila loomed in the pockets of my mouth. So we bought a couple of beers for
our journey home. Hahah what logic. The hotel is located in the roughest area
of Paris, but managed to avoid being mugged, raped and/or murdered. Phelpys
turned up to breakfast with his glasses bent out of joint and I immediately
thought of my escapades playing the drunk scientist may have played a rolein
the damaged optics. Turns out he dropped them and some girl (probably the curvy
black chick) had danced right over the top of them. Hahah fuckin Phelps.
Paris behind us and the trip to Beujolais
in progress I decided that this will be the death of me. The body bent out of
joint from the previous night and Bangarang amongst other dance songs filling
my head with a dull ache. I will probably murdeer nicky minage if I bump into
her. I was working out that the bus rides are going to be a tedious task and
that forgetting to charge my ipod to be the costliest mistake I’ve made on the
trip so far (although an ipod is no match for the bus speakers playing
skrillex). I tried to sleep but I knew it was going to be a tough gig. I
thought of home a little bit and the thought of my couch watching Simpsons,
with the warmth of my dogs. I missed home a little bit the night before Contiki
as I knew I was lone wolfing it to Paris in the morning. I think leaving Kris
and Trent was the cause as it might sound weak, but those two people are home
to me. You cannot say you don’t feel a little homesick at points, but loving it
to death, experiencing this is worth it. I feel guilty that I’m not home as my
brother has just broken his wrist and helping him out with some support and
morale I feel is a duty as the big brother. hours, seems like days when such a
preoccupation hits. We arrived at beujolais at around 5 o’clock and got it
under way with some wine tasting. Some arrogant Canadian from another tour kept
cracking gags and his lack of ability to realize that he was a moron peeved me. a good call or quip cannot be
manufactured at the rate he was trying and I hope we don’t see him again to
soon. The smell in the air of the Vat rooms made my head spin, but I tasted the
red and I’ll assure you it had nothing on bowlers run. The chateu is fucking
awesome, the building the views, the pool. It is paradise. The night began with
the fall of the sun over the vineyards and such a place has to be soaked from a
far. You can only be startled with such a joint. I quietly eazed myself back
onto the suds and before I knew it me and Mitch were singing, could have been
champions songs. Fuck, this place is classy and singing “Deep in our hearts
everyone barracks for Fitzroy” could be seen as a sub class. The new joke was
everytime the sensor light gave in we would clap and when it came back on. We’d
say it’s a clapper. Childish stupid, but intrinsically funny for us. 2 girls
came up to us that hadn’t spoke a word and introduced us with the phrase “I
feel like taking a shit in the pool”. Fucking rad. I kept offering to walk her
down so she could carry out the ghastly act in the deep end but she was all
talk. I was disappointed. Got a little tipsy, had a great night. Met a few
people, made up a few new gags to run and had an all round blast in the French
countryside.
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