Trust your instincts?
So, all week I had been thinking of something to write about, and now I've finally found something. As a few of you know, I've had more than a few drunken adventures. By adventure I mean stumbling around aimlessly and ending up in the middle of nowhere, and having to walk for hours and hours. The all time record is a 5 hour walk, which includes a small 20 minute sleep in a park.
Well, now I have a new record, but not for time, definitely distance. Last night, because Yann and I are so damn intelligent, we went straight to the bar after work and drank until midnight straight. No dinner, nothing. Just pure hammered. Well, I was anyways. So, thanks to Yann's friend Pablo, I could rent a Velib bike in record time so that I could continue my journey home for a falafel and pass out. "It'll only take you 30 minutes, no problem, right?" Yeah, no problem. So I'm on the roundabout at Place D'Italie, which is about a medium sized one for Paris. Going home in the right direction, it was perfect. But being drunk, I get seemingly good ideas. So right when I was supposed to turn left, I turned right. Why you may ask? Because it felt like it was the right direction. Serious. So I started climbing this monster hill on my bike, all dressed in nice clothes, and I figured, well I'll see the Seine sooner or later and then just follow it home. Easy as pie. Fast forward to 45 minutes later, I haven't seen the Seine yet, just continuing on my little path...in the opposite direction. I finally found the Seine, and a road going parallel. I can only judge now that I must have been following it in the wrong direction, because it certainly didn't lead me home. The scenery was getting less and less busy, and more and more like suburbia. Yet, I still had confidence in my abilities. This is about an hour and a half into my 30 minute bike ride. Then because of all the bike riding, the soberness started to kick in. "Hey, I have absolutely no idea where the hell I am. But there is a sign pointing to Hotel De Ville, that's close to my house." What I seemed to forget was that each of the suburbs surrounding Paris has a Hotel De Ville. I finally get to it, and the signs start saying "Vitry Centre". Plug in "Vitry-sur-Seine station, France" into Google Maps, and then plug in St. Paul, Paris, France, then you can see how far away I had gotten from my original station.
This is now panic time, I have no idea where the hell I am, it's 2am, and I just have the clothes on my back and a this damn Velib which is constantly squeeking. I figure this is when I should find a map, but all the bus stops in Vitry have their maps stolen or just no map at all. Beautiful. Also, to find the street names in suburbia is next to impossible, there is just posts at intersections pointing in the direction of various landmarks. None of them say Paris. I managed to find a bus stop with a map of the route of the bus. It shows that I'm fucking far from Paris, but not much else, so I start to follow the bus route, stopping at every bus stop to ensure that I am still on the correct route. Eventually, I get back to Paris, and where do I end up? Place D'Italie. Goddamit. It's 2:40, and I figure I can get it right this time. I did manage this, and ended up back at home at exactly 3am. Beautiful.
This morning I have skipped my boxe francaise, I figure I got my workout last night. I don't want to leave the Marais again this weekend.
Here is me in front of the impressive sculpture by Rodin, the gates of hell.
I hope all is well with everyone, I'm still alive and kickin.
Well, now I have a new record, but not for time, definitely distance. Last night, because Yann and I are so damn intelligent, we went straight to the bar after work and drank until midnight straight. No dinner, nothing. Just pure hammered. Well, I was anyways. So, thanks to Yann's friend Pablo, I could rent a Velib bike in record time so that I could continue my journey home for a falafel and pass out. "It'll only take you 30 minutes, no problem, right?" Yeah, no problem. So I'm on the roundabout at Place D'Italie, which is about a medium sized one for Paris. Going home in the right direction, it was perfect. But being drunk, I get seemingly good ideas. So right when I was supposed to turn left, I turned right. Why you may ask? Because it felt like it was the right direction. Serious. So I started climbing this monster hill on my bike, all dressed in nice clothes, and I figured, well I'll see the Seine sooner or later and then just follow it home. Easy as pie. Fast forward to 45 minutes later, I haven't seen the Seine yet, just continuing on my little path...in the opposite direction. I finally found the Seine, and a road going parallel. I can only judge now that I must have been following it in the wrong direction, because it certainly didn't lead me home. The scenery was getting less and less busy, and more and more like suburbia. Yet, I still had confidence in my abilities. This is about an hour and a half into my 30 minute bike ride. Then because of all the bike riding, the soberness started to kick in. "Hey, I have absolutely no idea where the hell I am. But there is a sign pointing to Hotel De Ville, that's close to my house." What I seemed to forget was that each of the suburbs surrounding Paris has a Hotel De Ville. I finally get to it, and the signs start saying "Vitry Centre". Plug in "Vitry-sur-Seine station, France" into Google Maps, and then plug in St. Paul, Paris, France, then you can see how far away I had gotten from my original station.
This is now panic time, I have no idea where the hell I am, it's 2am, and I just have the clothes on my back and a this damn Velib which is constantly squeeking. I figure this is when I should find a map, but all the bus stops in Vitry have their maps stolen or just no map at all. Beautiful. Also, to find the street names in suburbia is next to impossible, there is just posts at intersections pointing in the direction of various landmarks. None of them say Paris. I managed to find a bus stop with a map of the route of the bus. It shows that I'm fucking far from Paris, but not much else, so I start to follow the bus route, stopping at every bus stop to ensure that I am still on the correct route. Eventually, I get back to Paris, and where do I end up? Place D'Italie. Goddamit. It's 2:40, and I figure I can get it right this time. I did manage this, and ended up back at home at exactly 3am. Beautiful.
This morning I have skipped my boxe francaise, I figure I got my workout last night. I don't want to leave the Marais again this weekend.
Here is me in front of the impressive sculpture by Rodin, the gates of hell.
I hope all is well with everyone, I'm still alive and kickin.
posted by Poshy at 5:14 AM
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