Apres Paris

Apres Paris I was haggard. To much wine guzzled over to few nights;  to little food farmed out over to many days had begun to wear me down. My clothes, were begining to look and like they were cut from the finest quality potato sacks, and I was beginning to smell.

After the other Couch surfers left Paris, it was to late to make new friends but still to early to leave. I had originally hoped of catching the sleeper down to Nice and then to Bologna, via the riveria. I had even considered a short sojourn in Provance, but Paris had hammered both my time and budget.

Instead I was taking the TGV from Paris to Lausanne in Switzertland and from there a local to Genva, to pick up a connection in Milan and finally a sleeper in Bologna down to Bari. I had created a pyramid scheme of train reservations and connections.

The transfer in Lausanne to Geneva was just  six minutes. One of lifes natural panicers I was panicing.  I had left the Hostel at 6am, and I was running on just a hostel room of sleep. The nigth before an international conspiracy had kept me awake. My Brazilian, American and Singaporean room mates had synchronised their breathing into a continuous, gutteral growl. It was like listening to some avant glass classical, at first it amused but not for long. The American had the heavy laboured breathing that was as good as a confession for fried foods and state fayres. The Brazillian was a cough, cough, splutter sputtler, teeth grinder, who  acted as precussion. But the star, the prima donna, was the petite Singaporean who slept like a middle aged man after a large curry.

I’ve never been one to bury the hatchet, to  turn the other cheek. So  I set my alarm for six, awoke from the doze, blazed on the light gathered my my things and as I marched out the door.

“Au Revoiur mon Amies” was my parthian shot.

My extra days in Paris had reinforced my belief in the brilliance of couch surfing, its aims, its goals and its achievements.  I had met a Chicago-American, who had been working on a commune in Israel on a right of birth project. He had been in Athens for a month attempting to buy a bike, but become frustrated with lack of progress , the greek way of doing business. He told me that the frame arrived, the forks, then they disappeared, to have the wheels delivered a few days later.  I laughed at the image of this straight talking, American – Isralie, the two bastions of the “Deal” trying to do business in Greece. He had come to Paris with the belief that his luck would be better here. It wasn’t. And I presume this was predicated on his refusal to speak french while ordering, assemling and negoaitng.

He told me he was going to Berlin where he had a “Good feeling”. He spoke no German either and I got the impression that his band luck may follow him.

At the Couch surfing party I had met a Serbian-Swede who had grown up in America. She was surfing in Paris and  we all met her host. Sleaze is international and it dripped of this chap. As I was talking to her I saw a flash of claws wrapped round waist form behind. He said something to me in French but I didnt understand it.  It didnt matter , my eyes could translate any real meaning, verbal or not. I have always been plagued by foot in mouth  and as he went to the Bar, like a spasam, I said

“God he looks a bit Seedy”.

She replied “Really? no way he’s lovely”.

I was begining to doubt my intution, afterall these French chaps are such elaborate lovers, but the American cyclaist had seen it too and added:

“Nah, he is definitely going to try it on”.

It became the talking point, the joke of the evening, in the way that drunk people often take things too far. I was concerned though and as I left the bar I slurred after the lady.

“Be careful”.

I woke in the morning and tried to go to breakfast but the booze still had the better of me. I recalled that I had arranged to meet the couch surfer, but when I tried to email her.

“You still alive?” The email bounced back. I had taken it down drunk and used the one eye trick to help me focus , but it hadnt been enough. So much for the vigulant Watchmen.  I dozed in and out of sleep, my laptop balanced on my chest, with the large american and wallowing around in the bunk above me. Sometime before mid day, his lamb shank legs dangled down and brought me out of my sleep. I had a message and after a quick phone call the Serb and I had arranged to meet at two.

Ever the gentleman, I arrived at 2:48. I was still, drunk you must understand and as often happens to me I had lost a Lyons, share of the day. She was sitting on the steps smoking Dunhill menthal, I whole –heartedley approve.

I made a genours stab at conversation, I really did, but while the booze had aided me last night, its residue was now an inhibitor. I was sweating too, that sickly post drink sweat.  Enough was enough.

“Look, do you want to get a couple of bottles of cheap wine and just get boozed?” I asked.

“Definitley”. Good girl, I thought.

We brought two bottles and the three spot four five Europe’s bottle opener came to more than the bottles. We went back to Sacre coure, my hands were pawing at the bottles, like a horse panting after a gallup I was desperate for a drink. It  was all to much though, I was to heavy handed for the bottle and in my bear like grip I broke the cork screw. I was distraught, heavy with dispear; she was too.

A grand french madmosellie had been eyeing us, and I thought she was about to rebuke my behaviour and rebut my antics, she grabbed the bottle, it was all going wrong, but with the inteligance of Astrix and with the strength of Obelix she showed us how to pop the cork.

With Sun shinning, the wine and hence the conversation flowed. The bottles picked me up like a double expresso in the morning. When you travel, especially if you are on your own, making friends is easy; doubly so if you are still on the good side of youth. Opinons havent been callsified, opennes is de-facto, no one knows if they will be the hero of they’re own lives, so everyone is just concerned with having a good time.

 I asked about the lizard last night and said I was glad she wasnt in a body bag.

“Ha Ha, you made me so parinoid the whole night. I was terrfied when we got home”

I am such a massive arse hole sometimes. 

“He did try it on though”.

I refute my previous statement.

BAM. There is nothing like you gut feelings.  We spoke about why we were abroad. Neither knew, you either want to travel or you dont. For some people though the purpose of just wanting to see what is around the bend is enough.

We exchanged details and pushed off. It must have been the sun and the wine but I had a great day. Friendships established on the road dont always last. The knowledege that chances are you wont be seeing each other again can add an annonymity to conversation that makes all participants open and intimate, but the friendships not always enduring. I hope this one does though as I had a blast.