EPTMy mission? To explore as much of Paris as I could, in one night. A local told me earlier that the south bank of the Seine would not fail me. And it didn't. I luckily strolled along it at the right time, the sky changing hue slowly but unmistakably, my photos at every bridge having distinctively different skies. The light levels would wreak sometimes marvelous results on my cameraphone, but when it got too dark the result was pure fail. I grabbed a quick bite on a street heading north to the Champs Elysees, my second destination for the evening.
Glittered with commercialism was the Champs Elysees, with the highest percentage of Asians that I had spotted in Paris so far (Asian girls and their shopping...) Wheres the cultural heritage and identity? The French mystique? Even though, it was truely Paris - insanely beautiful and chaotic, a delight for the eyes and ears, fast cars, glamourous shopfronts, beautiful, gorgeous, arrogant women, stately confident men, pretty boys, cute, earthy french girls...
I hurried along. I promised I'd meet a friend at the Montparasse station, and I would be late due to the fact that most people on Champs Elysees couldn't give me the right directions! (made sense, it was a tourist destination after all)
As it turned out, I was the first one of the group to arrive, and we eventually wound our way into a upmarket bar, pricey for uni student standards. After ordering and making serious headway into our first beers, the conversation drifted to what one of the students studied - and it was, to me, disgusting. He was designing a valve for a sphincter to help people without sphincter control (old people) not having to wear diapers all the time. He also told me about the time when he touched a tumour inside a cut open breast. "You'll never look at tits the same way again" I quipped. He replied suggestively that he had seen plenty of tits after that incident and he had no problem with it, and I had to mirror his laugh and infectious smile. After a couple more drinks, the conversation on the table suddenly lulled, and I checked my watch. I remembered my original mission - which required me to head underneath the Eiffel tower. I quickly bid adieu to all of them and took my leave, power walking to the nearest metro when it suddenly came to me...i forgot to pay! I was always used to paying by the beer.
I quickly texted my German friend about this, and with a sinking feeling in my stomach I went through the metro gates. Somehow the tower meant less and less to me....I felt really bad, freeloading off students that I just met. I was going to text him again to see if they were still at the bar, but conveniently my phone ran out of battery. He would reply the next morning telling me everything was fine. I was relieved..I just hate the feeling of owing people.
After visiting the tower, I saw a nearby toilet which was conveniently placed. Two people were standing outside it, waiting presumably for a third person. In actual fact the toilet was washing itself. The usual ritual was performed whereby I would greet in French and ask them if they could speak English. Hilariously they butchered the French language equally badly, so I asked them where they were from. They were actually Mexican and enjoying their rare free nights - they were pretty busy from work from what I could tell. The toilet signaled that it was free to use, the Mexicans relieved themselves in turn and left after saying goodbye. The beers were really catching up to me and the pressure was almost unbearable. Somehow when I wanted to use it, the toilet had to wash itself a couple of times, all the while I was hop skipping inside the cubicle with its half closed door, waiting frantically and trying not to piss myself when a constant throng of passers by (returning to the metro after enjoying the tower lit up in gold). I finally had the initiative to reset the toilet because it seems like it was locked in the wash cycle. Sheer physical relief soon followed.
I was exhausted. I proceeded to find my way somehow on the right train home. However the direct line was closed so I had to take the longer route with more stops. I managed to bump into the two Mexicans again. They were telling me to visit their country, and lamenting the fact that Cancun was so heavily Americanised that their cultural and tourist treasure accepted USD as opposed to the Mexican currency in some establishments. I promised them I would try and head over there someday, and bid them farewell. I found a seat to sit down and rested my feet on the seat opposite to me because my legs were rather tired. I was beginning to doze off when I felt my feet being kicked off the seat, and "pardon" was heard with a distinctively fake Parisian accent. I opened my eyes and saw two ppl that must have been university exchange students, a guy dressed in flannelette and a girl in very fashionable clothing. Given that the voice I heard was female, I assumed that the guy did the former and the girl did the latter.
They started talking in English and I could easily tell that they were American. I asked them if they were Canadian, just to be safe, and they laughed it off. They were really easy and engaging to talk to. The guy quickly took his exit at their stop, but the girl deliberately took the long way out of the carriage, walking past me with a really sassy sway - culturally aware and well traveled girls quite sexy.
St Denis was my destination. I mentioned that the direct line had closed, and I had to take the longer route, and it definitely wasn't to the closest station to my hotel. In the daytime the suburb was full of French Africans, and at night (no racism intended) it may have been harder to spot them, but the 15 minute walk was absolutely deserted. I started to creep myself out, questioning each shadow. It was probably unreasonable but it was a foreign city in the early hours of the morning so I was justifiably alert. But it was all fine and I arrived safely. The bed beckoned and sleep came within minutes. My last thoughts were to question whether tonight was worth wasting the entire of tomorrow morning, before I would have to pack for my flight in the afternoon...
Found in translation
My taxi driver was bitching all the way to the airport about his inferior E class vs his friend who had an S class. "Separate tinted windows!" he exclaimed several times in good, but unmistakably non native English. Seriously first world problems but I could sense that it was a pretty important issue for him so I humoured him by telling him he was living the dream already. Cruisy job, cruisy car, 2 kids and a house. He agreed that he was being unreasonable, and he duly returned the humour with several jokes:
A girl was with her mother at the beach. She noticed that the men had bulges in their pants whereas her mum didn't. She curiously asked her mum what it was. The mum hesitated and said it was just where the man was storing his loose change. But then the girl noticed that when the man was looking at her mum, the bulge got bigger. "its changing!" she remarked. (slightly modified to have the pun on change, see below*)
His next joke was pretty much on par with the first:
A guy had sex for the first time. He told his mother who proceeded to tell his father. His dad wanted to have a chat to him about safe sex:
Dad: "So, son, we need to talk, because you do not want to get girls pregnant and catch STD's....but before we get serious, congratulations! How was it?"
The son: "My ass hurts"
The jokes, he said, were from his native tongue*, Afghan (it was not Pashto but the other one - forgot the name). We laughed how the jokes he said were universal and that the original language didn't matter...meeting people from diverse backgrounds is really eye opening! As cliched as it sounds...
"I remember when the hkd was higher than the rmb" "its been like this for a while...really miserable!" - conversation with Travelex employee at Hong Kong International Airport (HKIA).
After my lemon ice tea from Cafe de Coral (using almost the last few coins of my European currency to get the 14 HKD) I had four hours to spend in HKIA (transiting) and the shops were done to death in around half the time. I started people watching and my mind started to wander like my body. I had no idea where I was going, but then I saw the misty mountains of hk through a window 20 metres on the left. I felt drawn to the window, and found a spot that seemed really right for the moment. The spot was between a restaurant kitchen dumpster and a smoking lounge - but the smell was unmistakably Hong Kong. Even though I didn't get a chance to spend any time outside of HKIA, just gazing at the mountains wreathed in fog, contrasting the recently cleaned window from which it was viewed, and with the combined smells resembling the city streets - the stimuli were fused to bring with it a familiar yet strange feeling. It was the first time, that I had felt such a sense of being close to anything that even remotely resembled a home. At least for a while.
