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This past weekend, I went to Paris to meet a certain Marlo Manaloto. Yeah, she's Italian, but she's from Jersey. Anyway, my journey there was nearly treacherous. I left work with one slip of paper folded up in my pocket. On it were directions from the airport to the nearest subway stop to the hotel where I was going to stay. At the time that I left work for the airport, I thought not much of it. I thought I remembered the name of the hotel. And with all the travelling I have done, you would think I would have known better than to think that I could just pop up from the parisian subway and right there would be my hotel. But these thoughts didn't really hit me until after I got to the airport in Paris . When I got to the airport in Hannover, I found my plane with no problems because, as I explained to my brother, airports are ridiculously easy to get around. I found my counter and tried to check in. Now, Marlo had told me not to check any bags because it would take extremely long to get them back on account of the riots. When I checked in, I went through the normal procedure: Reisepass bitte, oh, you're American, we'll do this in English then. How many bags? None. Ok, put it on the belt. No, I have no luggage to be checked. Ok. Put it on the belt. No, I don't want to check this bag. I know, sir, but it has to be weighed. [bag weighs in at a sweltering 10.2 kg] Sir, is there anything you need out of the bag? What's the limit, 10kg? 5. 5? Are you serious? That's absurd. What, sir? Nothing. So I checked my bag. On the plane, I slept/daydreamed about the riots going on in Paris. I dreamt that Marlo led me on some exciting adventures to see the riots. In the dream, we were standing right at the very front of the 'riot line' and I was taking some Time-magazine-worthy photos. All of the sudden, the rioters got pissed at me and started chasing after me. I gave the camera to Marlo and told her to run while I tried to fight them off for long enough for her to get away.














This is a picture Marlo took of me. I think she has it right. It belongs in a 'Welcome to Paris' book.

So the plane lands in Paris at the 'budget airline airport.' I don't know if you've ever flown a budget airline, but I always seem to forget when I buy the budget airline ticket that I'm getting a budget terminal, as well. These places are seriously shit. You either get the shag carpet or the stuff that's so old you can only tell it used to have a color when you look in the very corners where no one has ever walked. If the lights work, they are likely in the blinky-going-out stage of their existance. It's an old terminal. Anyway...I am at the baggage conveyor belt place and I'm standing near the front of the conveyor because I want to get my bag and get the hell out of dodge. As I'm standing there, I'm half-sleepily watching for my bag and memorizing the directions to the hotel. (At this point, I still haven't realized I don't actually have directions to the hotel, only to a certain subway station.) Suddenly, I snap out of my daze and realize that nearly everyone is gone, the belt is empty, and I don't have my bag. I hear some french over the loudspeaker and start to look nervously around me for my bag. The thought enters my head..."I don't have a clue what I would do. I have lost my bags before, but I have had them sent to my hotel. I don't know the name of my hotel, what the address is, anything. I would be screwed." Then, there it is! It's at the far end of the conveyor, about 20 feet from the opening in the wall that eats all unclaimed baggage. As I start to walk the 30 yards over to it, I hear the english translation of that french I heard earlier: "All unclaimed luggage will be systematically destroyed." (I'm pretty sure now, that what they said was 'unattended' not 'unclaimed', but at the time, I was FREAKIN OUT!) So I sprinted over to my bag. I slid into the wall as I grabbed it as it was halfway through the hole in the wall. As I started to walk away, several people started clapping. I took a bow and smiled.















Marlo taking a self portrait and me sneaking in on the action.

Getting to the subway station where my directions told me to go, I came above ground and started to freak out as my optimistic hopes were crushed. I had hoped I would remember the name of the street or that the hotel would be clearly visible right as I stepped out of the subway. It was not clearly visible, nor did I remember the street name. I thought I did, so I started to find that street. Luckily my better judgement overcame me and I decided to step into an internet cafe where I obtained the necessary information. I found Marlo and was immediately relieved. My fears of being raped and left for dead in the streets of Paris were vanishing.


So Marlo and I went to get something to eat cause neither of us had had dinner yet. We found this pretty cool little restaurant/bar/(we found out later)underground karaoke place. I was pretty sure that the french people would be mean to us, but Marlo is Marlo, so everyone was super nice. We had a carafe of wine and some delicious french bread. I had a three course meal with some mozzarella and tomato salad (no lettuce, extra delicous), Delicious Duck, and chocolate mousse. The mousse was absofuckinglutely incredible. As we were leaving, Marlo started talking to our waitress. They started talking about the movie Amelie. Apparently, they both love it. So the waitress left with us and showed us where one of the scenes from the movie was filmed. She gave me her number, completely unsolicited. That reminds me, I should email her, I forgot. Anyway, she walked and talked with us for a little bit along this cool little canal through the city. By the way, I love the way to say goodbye to french girls. You do one kiss on each side of the face. Like, not actual lips on the cheek, just press cheeks, make a kissing sound, then do the other side.


So after seeing the canal, Marlo and I went for a walk. We met these cool drunk/high french guys and a girl. They were singing and yelling in the street. The guy was telling us about how New York is Babylon. We had no idea what the hell he was talking about but he was so funny trying to explain it to us. He would say, "Babylon" then some shit in french. We would look at him and shrug. He would turn to his friends, speak some french, they would look at him and shrug. Then he would turn back to us and make the hand signal for money (rubbing his thumb against his fingertips) and say "New York is Babylon." followed by some french again. The entire conversation we got about three things that we could associate together. Reggae, 'Babylon', and New York.


The next day was relaxing, but is better described with the photos, I think. We spent the time at the Cathederal of Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower, in the Louvre park, and in a supurb french restaurant. We went back to the hotel and I immediately passed-the-fuck-out. Sorry about that, Marlo. I was a lame-o. K-Y-L-E-O, K-Y-L-E-O and Lame-o was his name-o.


On Sunday, we went to the market and bought a couple baguettes (fuck spelling french words), some cheese, and a bottle of wine. We took the subway to the Cathederal of the Sacre Coure. On the way up to the Cathederal, we stopped in a nice wine shop and asked the guy to open our 3 euro bottle of wine. Marlo handed it to him and he looked at it and kind of made a face. I said, "we should have gotten our wine here, he sells good wine." "He made a grunt and said "This could be good, I've never had it before." Haha. Anyway, we had our stereotypical french lunch on the steps of the Sacre Coure overlooking the city. It was absolutely beautiful.

Then I came back to Hannover. It was a great trip. Thank you, Marlo. You are a great travelling buddy.

Here's one more special picture...