Back home?

by theappliedprocess

J’ai arrivée à Paris. Amsterdam was nice. I was pleasantly surprised by it and glad I didn’t flake off on my trip. Paris feels like coming back home. I hadn’t been here since last year when I lived here. I didn’t have a place to stay. My friend who I was supposed to stay bailed on me. So did the girl I met in Amsterdam. I called my mother and asked for her help finding me a room. I didn’t care how much it was, I just needed a place to shower and drop my compactly packed overweight bag. She proved minimal help. I got frustrated and told her I’d figure it out. I took the train to repulique. Tried checking into the crown plaza, a place I’d been before. It was full. Walked to a couple more places around the corner and finally found a shit place. I didn’t care. I needed that shower.

They offered free wifi so of course I logged on to Facebook and grindr. I spoke to my friend and made plans to meet in a bit. I showered and headed off to see him. I knew my bearing around the area. I’d lived here before. It was a nice feeling.

I saw him outside a bar/cafe on rue de turenne like the ones you normally see all around Paris. We hugged, said hello, and enjoyed a demi. He was with some friends from work. They were nice tho I didn’t really talk much to them. We all parted our separate ways. Me and ‘Dansk J’ headed to some other bar. On the way there we met some of his other friends at a place called le progres off rue de bretagne. They were an Asian girl I’d read about before on Facebook, a German girl with a similar job as mine, and her landlord, a gay Parisian who’d spent enough time in America to have dropped the accent and the anti-American french attitude. They were all nice. As usual, I connected with them right away.

We left said bar and headed l’egoiste, my Parisian neighbourhood bar. Last year when I lived here I was a regular. More drinks. More words. We all slowly started heading out our separate ways. Dansk J had to work the next morning. The gay Parisian invited me to stick around. We did few more bars, and at about 3am I headed home. There wasn’t much action on grindr.

The next morning I met Dansk J for lunch. We went to a sample sale. I bought some unnecessary accessories. He went back to work, I window shopped around the Marais. Then I went to centre pompideu and spent a few hours looking at neon art and an Indian exhibit. I went back to the hotel and waited for D.J. to get off work. We met up at this penthouse apartment he was staying at behind Galleries Lafayette. We had a couple beers and headed off to hotel costes. We met up with his roommate, a McDonald loving snobby Parisian. We drank and expensive (23€) drink and parted ways. ‘Big Mac’ went home, we went to the outskirts of Paris to see Breakbot. The soiree was alright. Good music. Shit people.

The next day I decided not to stay with the girl from Chicago and fork out a pretty penny for my own abode. I found a room near Opera, and dragged my heavy duffle bag to said place. For the day, I planned on going to Colette, Grand Palais, Musee d’Orsay, and Rick Owens, in that order. Instead I did Colette, Rick Owens, Grand Palais, chez moi. I didn’t shop much, I just got a documentary. I called ‘Chicago’ and met her for an awful dinner at pizza pino. A thing I hate about traveling is meeting up with true tourists who avoid eating nice because they think eating nice means spending money, and thus they fall for these tourist traps where they end up spending the same amount of money and end up getting edible shit. We went to l’egoiste after and I texted D.J. It was ‘Dansk J’s’ last night in Paris. He met up with us. His friend showed up a few minutes later. We all headed to another place to meet more people. I felt weird for ‘Chicago’. She stood out like a sore thumb amidst the noir clad clan we were. Thankfully, one of the guys in the crowd brought his sister, a lovely danish girl, yet equally misfit biologist. They connected. I ate nice food and stared at the beautiful waiter.

Après, we went to a bar around the block. It wasn’t much exciting. We left promptly and waited for hours for a cab. Finally, I had the brilliant idea of heading back to my hotel lobby a few blocks away and have the concierge fetch us transport. It worked like a charm. The group dismantled. Me, D.J., the other Dane, his sister, and ‘Gong girl’ headed to a club rives gauche. ‘Chicago’ understood her place and went home.

The club was decent. It was your usual Parisian snobbyness. We didn’t stay long. We left to Le Baron. The Dansk siblings went home.

I’d been wanting to go to Le Baron. I hadn’t been since my last year incident when I got kicked out for drunkenly thinking I could get away with stealing a bottle off a desolate table. I got in without a problem. I felt validated. We met some drunk woman with a shaved head who was nice and offered us the remainder of her champagne bottle. Her beau wasn’t too pleased. At about 5 am and after spending more than I should we left. Me and D.J. took a cab to Opera and without knowing it’d be the last time I’d see him in a while, we said goodbye. I got home and logged on to grindr. I had a few message. One of them said “are you Jorge from Griffin?”. What a small gay world.

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