Hey everybody, Nate here, fresh back from a 15 day vacation to France and a short excursion to Amsterdam to cap it off. I have no idea what’s going on with the band, but I know I had a freaking blast the last couple weeks. So, instead of talking about what I know isn’t happening with TBBT, I’ll just tell you about my trip.
March 27-LAX > Toronto, flight is 4 hours-ish. I had the whole row of the plane to myself, which is cool. About an hour and a half into the flight, this totally smoking hot blonde comes and sits in one of empty seats in my row. She has a VERY SMALL DOG in her backpack. I’m tempted to facepalm, but the dog was actually more well behaved than most of the children on the plane. Also, she was pretty friendly, so I just left her stupid dog alone.
Toronto airport sucks. I bought a beer and then my bank froze my account. I told them about the travel plans less than 48 hours prior. Assholes.
Toronto > CDG (paris) Again, nobody next to me on the plane. I slept.
March 28 Magically, I woke up in Paris, on an airplane. DOPE! After fearlessly embarking on the Metro, I find my hostel, the “Peace and Love.” It was, indeed. My room was on the 6th floor. No elevator, 45lb luggage and a staircase exactly 18 inches wide. FUN! After making it to my room and nearly vomiting, I left the hostel in search of food. I found an awesome kebab joint on the same block as my hostel. I had kafta. It was gooood. It was around 4pm, I decided to make my traditional spiral walk in a foreign city, which is how I like to get my bearings. I found it difficult in paris, because the city itself is kind of a big spiral. You’re bored, I’ll move on.
ITS MY FIRST NIGHT IN PARIS!!!!!!! I got too drunk, made friends with this Polish dude, Grant, who apparently lives in Culver City(wtf?) and somehow got urine on my passport.
March 29 Magically I wake up in my hostel room. There are two women, kind of whispering to each other in Slovenian. Also, they’re gorgeous, and laughing at me when I wake up. Not a good sign. I don’t ask, they didn’t tell me. I lay back in bed and they take a shower in front of me, like totally NBD style. Then they left for a job interview. I never saw them again, and am very happy with the way my trip has started off so far. After another hour of sleep, I head to the cafe in the hostel. I made friends with Sam, a pretty Aussie girl who’s blonder than the sun. I’m hungover badly, I order a cafe au lait, for some reason. I definitely never drink them at home, and I was immediately reminded why as soon as I drank it. French milk is strong, too. As I’m nursing my hangover, Grant joins me on the patio equally, if not more, hungover than I was. We’re smoking a cigarette, trying to piece together the previous night. Nobody knows anything. As we’re hanging out, this Canadian dude rolls up on his longboard, and is like, “OH THANK GOD YOU’RE SPEAKING ENGLISH” and plopped himself down at our table. He’s Julian, and has the ‘nuckiest accent I’ve ever heard. As the four of us are sharing a table, the two most-perfect-women-ever join us. Bonnie and Charlotte. They’re from Liverpool and Southampton, respectively, “on holiday” to go to eurodisney…The rest of us hang out by the quay, drinking more wine and beer…kind of just because we can. We’re introduced to Cody, a new New York hipster. He’s a carbon copy of an old roomate of mine, John Fay. I hate him immediately. He drinks too much and by late afternoon, he passes out in the sun. Julian, eager to impress Bonnie and Charlotte, decides it’s a good idea to prank Cody as he’s passed out. He asked Charlotte for her sunscreen, and promptly spooged about 2 tablespoons of it right on Cody’s forehead. I laughed pretty hard. Cody was pissed. He huffed off back towards the hostel. I would find out later that Cody and Grant nearly came to blows because of some arguement about socialized healthcare. Whatever.
March 30 Tourism day for me. I took the metro to the Louvre, where I met some Algerian kid who exchanges cameras with me for about 15 minutes, we photograph each other. It was kind of cool. I was relieved when he didn’t ask me for any money. Inside the louvre is absolutely insane. Paintings the size of a bus. Statuary everywhere, its gorgeous. SEE IT! I wandered around the museum for about 4 hours, spoke to nobody, took a lot of pictures. After exiting the museum, mind-blown and nearly in tears, I decided I was hungry and dehydrated. I had a ham and cheese sandwich. It was awesome. And water. Duh. I wandered around the park in front of the Louvre, looked at all the beautiful and drunk french people, walked along the Champs-Élysées to the Arc, which is huge and gorgeous, like EVERYTHING in Paris. Its getting cold and dark. I retreated to the hostel. Later, Grant takes me to meet his mom, who takes us out to dinner at a nice restautant in le Marais. She’s a nice lady. Very cordial.
It’s about 1am, I miss the last metro train and have to take a cab back to the hostel. The dude running the hostel, Milen, invites me and an adorable Brazilian girl, Barbara, to an underground party at a hostel nearby. We go, but the underground party is lame. This Palestinian dude came and tried, too hard, to hit on Barbara and she almost slapped him. It was pretty awful. She wanted to leave, and it was at least 1.5k back to our hostel, so I walked with her. We get back to the hostel, its locked, but the lights are on. We ring the bell. An enormous savage of a white man opens the door, asks to see our room keys, and lets us in. Its about 4A.M. We totally make out in the staircase.
March 31 My last day in Paris. I’m kinda tired from the night before, but I wake up at about 9:30AM after about an hour of actual sleep. I know my sister, Alli, is coming to meet me today because I got a dozen text messages from her. I’m relieved because this kid speaks French an I have no idea how to buy a TGV train ticket, and I had to get to Bordeaux somehow. I head to the cafe, and have a plain espresso, having learned to avoid the milk. After futzing wth the WiFi in the hostel, I finally get all the info I need to meet Alli and go for lunch at a random cafe, where we both enjoy fantastic Croques Madames, which is the most advanced evolution of the ham sandwich to date. Look it up, seriously. During lunch, Alli notices how tired I look, and I decide after lunch its time for a siesta while she goes to her hostel. Weirdly, she was staying at the very same hostel the underground party was at the night before. Alli and I have awesome dinner plans at a restaurant called “Les refuges des fondues,” or something close to that. My French sucks. Anyways, the restaurant is freaking amazing, and they serve their wine in glass baby bottles with rubber nipples and everything. Cute. The food is awesome here. After gorging ourselves, we call it a night, knowing we have a train to catch the next morning at eight o’clock. I don’t remember anything after the meal really, because I had no blood to spare for my brain, it was all in my stomach.
April 1 Packed, checked out of my room, ready to hit the train to Bordeaux. Its early, cold, and dark. I’m hauling my luggage over the cobblestones to my sister’s hostel, about one and a half kilometers away. We meet up, and head to the station, where I enjoy another delicious ham sandwich. We embark on the train and haul ass at like 200mph to Bordeaux. It takes about 3 hours. Pretty cool. We arrive in Bordeaux, its mid-afternoon. I’m beat and Alli wants to go home for a bit. I agree. I get to meet my sister’s roomates and her boyfriend, all good people. Nula and Katie are both from the UK. Nula’s a sweetheart and a lush, and Katie is kind of a betch. They both liked my cooking, so I don’t care.
Ok, I’m gonna depart from the timeline here a bit for a couple reasons: Hanging out with my sister is a tiny bit chaotic because of her highly sociable nature. Secondly, I came down with a terrible sore throat and fever and am quite certain I would have died if I hadn’t slept for 36 hours. Also, I was drunk almost the entire remainder of the time i was in Bordeaux.
Here are some things I did while in Bordeaux: Ate AMAZING seafood dinners. Drank a LOT of wine and some beer too. Visited the grape fields of St. Emillion, where some of my favorite wines come from. Ate everything I could find, including more ham and cheese sandwiches, and a gigantic “maxi-pain au chocolate,” which was the size of my head. Visited the daily market, where I could live happily forever. Ate more Fondue. Made a friend at the laundromat, Bastide. He took me out with his friends and got me drunk and smoked me their weed. Found the Royal with cheese. Partied with Renaud, Alli’s boyfriend and some of the rest of her friends. Ate an incredible steak dinner with some good wine and duck fat fries. Bomb-diggity.I love Bordeaux. Resume timeline:
April 8 Depart from Bordeaux, towards Amsterdam. On the train, there is a little boy, maybe 3 or 5 years old. I dunno, I’m terrible with kids. Once we’re underway, his mom busts out this huge bag of toy dinosaurs for him to play with. For anybody who doesn’t know, I LOVE dinosaurs, and I have a giant purple T-Rex tattooed on my left calf. I decide to show this kid. He liked it. So did his mom. 4 hours later, I arrive in Amsterdam, I’m pretty excited to be there, but TOTALLY fucking lost. I hire a taxi to get me from Amsterdam Centraal train station to my hostel in Leidseplein area. The cabbie rips me off, but I don’t care. I get to the hostel, and after some fuckery by my bank, who have ignored the three other travel updates I’ve given them, I think I can finally check into my room. The first room was full of four sleeping French people. I return to the reception area to ask for a new room. They down grade me to a 6 bed common room without offering any refund or compensation. Assholes. I find my room. My bed has been slept in by someone. Great. This has set the tone for my Amsterdam trip. I’m prepared for disappointment. I set myself up at the hostel, and head out into the night. I find a coffee shop, buy some weed and some hash, and a pipe. Oh yeah, and some tea, because, you know…who cares? To get stoned in a foreign city where you know ZERO people is, well…weird. After attempting conversations, I decide the people here are too stoned, and kind of give up on making friends in Amsterdam. I start to walk. Carefully. I learn my fate is to die crossing a European street. Its dark, I’m pretty beat, so as I’m thinking to myself “Go to bed,” I look up and notice the red light district has become all lit up. I see crowds of people milling around, I decide its worth a look. I must’ve walked around those 4 blocks for about 3 hours that night. I couldn’t stop long enough to look, and I couldn’t look away. Those girls in the windows, some of which are absolutely horrific, and some of which are completely gorgeous, are interesting from far enough away. I never stopped walking, and I definitely got very uncomfortable everytime I accidentally made eye-contact with anybody else in the area. I’ve never felt I’m a prude individual, but I am here. Walk back to the hostel. I find my room still unmade, but all the people are gone. I knock out.
April 9 Finding breakfast in Amsterdam is a no-brainer. There are fantastic pastry shops and pancake shops EVERYWHERE. I have a ham, cheese and onion pancake the size of a bicycle wheel. I continue walking along the canals, intent of sight-seeing. I make it to Anne Frank’s house, but, having less than 48 hours of vacation remaining, decide against the 3 hour wait outside in the rain to get inside. I feel bad, but not that bad. More walking, This whole city looks like a museum. Everything is old, covered in green moss and mold. I’m starting to learn the difference between Grachts and Straats, as the shape of the city is kind of a big horse-shoe. I find another coffee shop that was recommended by a friend, the Grey Area. Cool people, mostly Americans working. I try their top end strains, which were very, very nice. I think we have better weed here in L.A. I met two Englishmen, who are sociable enough to share some hash with me, and we make quick friends. Dan and Dave, as I learn, are studying in Copenhagen, and on spring break. Meaning they’re young. We smoke our stuff, and then proceed to walk to the redlight. Mind you, its about 2pm, and not much action happens in the redlight district in the day time. One of these English kids has a wild hare up his ass to get a hooker and nothing I say seems to deter him. I resign with Dave to a cafe, while Dan continues his hunt for pussy. Dave and I roll up a couple fatties, smoke them and enjoy some pineapple juice, and decide Billiards tables suck when you’re stoned and that table tennis would be much more fun. About an hour later, Dan comes back to the cafe, smiling in a way I’ve never seen a man smile before. Its clear his “mission” was accomplished. He told us he got a 2-for-1 deal and I pat his shoulder, mostly to avoid touching his hand, knowing pretty much where it’d been. I return towards my hostel, and en route I noticed a man in a tiny boat wearing a yellow slicker, playing a coronet, and a crank auto-piano. I watched for about 5 minutes, and left before anybody asked me for money. Win. Its late afternoon, I decide to have a Donner, which I regret immediately. I think King’s Kabab back in Culver city is better. I return to my hostel, where I am offered a complimentary extra night as compensation for their shitty service the day before. I wish, but my itinerary is tight and I can’t take the extra day. The guy hands me a voucher for a free canal tour, I take it. I head to my room and knock out for a couple hours. I wake up about 8 pm, head out for a beer and to try again to talk to people. I find the old Heineken brewery, where they used to give tours, but now they just sell cans of the stuff for 1 euro. I wander around the city some more. I decide I’m old and, after another couple beers and walks along the canals, I return to my hostel. To my surprise, my room has been made and there is another brazilian girl bunking next to me. She doesn’t speak English. I don’t speak Portuguese, but we managed enough communication to end up in the same bed that night. I never knew her name and I never saw her again. Travelling is so much fun.
April 10- The LAST day… I will admit, this day is pretty much wasted. I sit around the cafe next door to the hostel, I smoke up the rest of my weed and hash, I find a couple good meals nearby, and start to pack my stuff up for the return trip, which starts at 3:00am the next morning. After packing up all my shit, I walk around the red light district for a couple more hours, debating whether or not to see a sex show. I decide against it, because its 35 Euros and I had gotten some the night before. I see Dan and Dave again, but I just wave and keep on walking. I don’t wanna hear any gross stories about what they did the night before. I head towards the hostel, but remeber I still have the ticket for the canal tour, so I stop at the boat stop (like a bus stop) and hop on the next tour boat. I’m glad I have my camera, I wish I were a better photographer. Its about 7 pm, I decide to call it done. I return to the hostel, sleep for about 4 hours. I wake at 11, head out to buy some beer and munchies, and find Rodolfo, a Mexican, hanging out in the common area. I offer him a beer and some bread, he just takes some bread. I speak spanish with him for about 15 minutes, I learn he’s from Mexico City, where I visited briefly as a younger man. He’s friendly, and also pretty gay. I feign drunkenness and return to my room to gather my things for the last time.
April 11 I check out of the hostel, and take a cab to Amsterdam Centraal train station. Its about 3 AM, there is only an hourly train back and forth to Schiphol airport. Its warmer than waiting at the train station. And they have food and other ammenities at the airport, like places to lay down and knock out for an hour. After a round trip or 5 euros, its approaching 6 am, when my train is scheduled to leave Amsterdam for Paris. My plan is as follows: Amsterdam, to Paris/CDG airport, to Montreal airport, to Washington DC/Dulles airport to LAX. That isn’t what happened. I make my flight in Paris, arrive in Montreal for a 4 hour layover. Three hours and forty-five minutes into my layover, I hear an announcement that my flight is delayed due to mechanical issues and that I’ll be missing my flight from DC to LA. I switch planes and head for Chicago/O’hare, the worst airport in the world. Arrive in Chicago in time to see my next flight pulling away from the gate. I run half a mile to try to catch the next United flight to L.A., but that was the last one. I switch airlines to American, and take the very last seat on the plane, next to a hugely obese woman and a frail ancient lady. I don my headphones, pop a sleeping pill and magically wake up in L.A. I had planned on having Terry pick me up, he’s there ready for me, but my bag is missing. I file a report, hop in Terry’s car and we head to get a beer at Backstage. Marie is working. She’s my favorite. I’m glad to see her, she attempts to speak to me in French, which is adorable but useless to me. I put back a couple Guinness, pay our tab before Marie locks us in for the night, and we leave. Terry takes me home, we sip some wiskey outside my house, before I go inside. My trip is over. I had the time of my life. I’m glad to be home.
I can’t wait to go back again
My bag finally arrived three days later.
