So let’s talk about my tour group first, or as I call them, my “keys to survival.” I found the people I met fascinating, so bear with me.

Dillon, our tour guide. A young, terribly enthusiastic, and laid back Aussie. While I considered the flies spawns of Satan, he described them as “just very friendly”. Definitely looked the part of an avid bushman, you could tell this dude could be content without showering for days and it seemed like he actually enjoyed being out in the outback (a totally insane concept to me). Had great taste in music** (Jack Johnson, CCR, Foo Fighters) and loved talking about the crazy weeklong, nonstop Australian music festivals where you don’t shower for days.

The rest of the group consisted of a variety of European couples, two British solo travelers, and myself. All very nice and interesting people with much longer stays in Australia than I could ever fathom as a member of the US workforce. It took a few days into the trip, but I eventually came to terms that Europeans view the United States as New York City, Hawaii, and Los Angeles. Connecticut is too much of a foreign concept. Fun trick though, if you tell them that you’re only given two weeks vacation, they will flip their shit.

Lastly, the 4WD tank, the new love of my life. This thing was a monster, and is truly the only vehicle one should drive through Kakadu (or anywhere). It was large, loud, and had little concept of suspension. My favorite joys as a kid was rolling down the windows as my dad hydroplaned across a puddle of water after a recent rainstorm. Bumping around in the 4WD as it crossed rivers, boulders, trees, and dunes brought me back to my youth. My goal is to own one of these tanks before I die.

Sweet ride, huh?

So Day 1 in Kakadu:
- First, I should say that Kakadu National Park is about the size of Israel and covers about a dozen or so totally different environments. Driving anywhere, including to/from Kakadu involved at least an hour drive (often 2-3 hours) of bumping around dirt roads listening to Jack Johnson or CCR.

- Australians are very proud of the fact that they think about or are drinking the minute the sun goes up. Stop one was to a roadside stop to purchase beer…at 9 in the morning. There were emu’s in the parking lot. Definitely not in the States anymore.

- Our first stop was the Mamukala Wetlands. It had an assortment of birds and ducks around a waterhole that really was an oversized puddle at this point in the dry season. I don’t know, I found it fascinating, but then again, Australian dirt gets me excited. I wasn’t as weathered of a traveler as the rest of my group, I guess. On our way over to the viewing area, a monitor lizard had crawled from the edge of the watering hole into the bushes. Missed photo opportunity, unfortunately.

There's a monitor lizard in this photo. Can you find it?

Kakadu more or less runs on two seasons: wet season and dry season. The park is an entirely different environment in wet season in every shape and form. However, the dry season allowed us access to fun watering holes to swim in, relatively free of croc danger. “Relatively free” being the key term.

Lots of birds

- Our next stop inside the park (not counting the entrance) was a middle-of-nowhere picnic area on the bank of a small river/swamp. It was my first introduction to what would be a common theme during this trip: being out in the middle of nowhere after hours of endless driving in a potentially dangerous environment with no one around for miles except your group who could just as easily desert you. As we prepared and ate lunch amongst the flies and made introductions, it became very clear that everyone in the group only came to see crocodiles. Poor Dillon had to assure them that crocodiles would be seen…on Day 3. We were not pleased by this turn of events.

Croc infested watering hole, a perfect place for lunch

- We stopped at an aboriginal center as well today while Dillon filled up the tank with gas. I didn’t take too many notes on it, because amongst all the natural scenery, aboriginal culture was the least of my interests. However, months later, the aboriginal culture is what continues to fascinate me about this country. Not that I wasn’t interested in what I was seeing, I just wish I had paid more attention.

- Maguk/Barramundi Gorge was one of those watering holes. After getting changed in an outhouse with a giant cricket-spider-cockroach amalgamation, we hiked through a recently burned stretch of forest and grassland. Some of the trees were still smoking, and the whole place seemed to be one thrown cigarette butt away from another wildfire, but like the true outback bushman he is, Dillon was unconcerned. He instead showed us the debris that sat atop on the treeline above our heads as proof of water levels during wet season. To me, that debris just seemed extremely flammable.

The hike to Maguk

The water is thhiiisss high during wet season

- Well, if you know me, I don’t really swim. So plunging into a beautiful soul-cleansing gorge underneath a perfect waterfall did me wonders…until I realized I couldn’t swim and flopped around with the fishes. While my group admired the waterfall up close from a rock perch in the middle of the lagoon, I clung to the edge of the rocks 50 feet away and bobbed my head in and out of the water, examining my lack of buoyancy.

Maguk...my little piece of Eden

When it was time to move on, one of the German siblings, Alex, stopped me as we climbed out of the water.

“Mike, do you not know how to swim?”

“Umm…not really.”

“Do you want to see the waterfall? I can help you swim over.”

Humilated, “…No…it’s okay…thank you…* heavysigh*” …dignity gone…fml.

- Nearly getting eaten by flies…no (additional) comment.

Near Death Experience: Nearly drowning in Maguk. Although, I thought I got the hang of the swimming business right as we were leaving. Honest…

Then it was off to a primitive camp-site in the middle…of…nowhere. It looked like this was a campsite that could accommodate a few groups, but I’m fairly positive our group was alone out there. Some highlights of the evening:
- Rediscovering my faith in humanity when the Dutch guy in my group saw me struggling with my tent setup and helped me out.
- Getting my own tent! Everyone else was coupled, except for the two British guys, who shared a tent. This made me very pleased.
- Rediscovering my faith in mother nature when the flies disappeared the minute the sun went down.
- The amusement of Dillon trying to educate a group of Europeans on the mechanics and rules of cricket. I think I had the advantage of having at least known baseball, but this seemed entirely foreign to everyone else except one of the Brits.
- The Czech couple sharing homemade apricot gin to the group. Strongest shot of alcohol I’ve ever had. It could knock out a moose, but it was delicious.
- Brushing my teeth in the dark and spitting it into the ground. Hey, I’m not outdoorsy, this felt badass.

Setting up camp

My room. Equipped with swag and see through tent for stargazing

And with that, a very eventful first day in Kakadu was over. As I laid in my tent looking at the beautiful Southern skies at night, I was amazed I lasted this long doing what I had done.

**I dwell on the musical tastes of my guides because of its importance to the morale of the group. Every activity during the day is split between hours of endless driving of desert, bush, or some combination thereof. Trust me. Good music really passes the time.

IN THE CIRRRRRCCCLLEEE....THE CIRCLE OF....LIIIIIIFFFFEEEE

I just sat on a beach to watch the sun set in all its Lion King Circle-of-Life-like glory. I think that officially means I’m on vacation. Let’s roll it back to September 30th when my trip technically began…

The flights to Australia treated me as kindly as 24 hours in sardine class could treat one. I struggle every vacation with the amount of valuables I bring and the onset panic attacks when I realize I don’t know where my handful of valuables are at all times. Even with just one carry-on, I’m constantly fretting over where my wallet, camera, mp3 player, video camera, laptop, etc. are at all times. So it comes to no surprise (if you know me) that at the LAX stopover, I left my Zune on the plane upon debarking. Luckily, I was paged and reunited with it before re-departure. Eights hours into my trip before my first crisis is actually pretty good for me.

The 13+ hour leg to Sydney was surprisingly ok as well. It helped that I was in front of the galley, so I could lean back without feeling guilty. I always feel guilty when I lean back my seat, but not when I lean back in da’ clubs, yafeelme? No multiplayer airplane games like my Europe trip, but there was a great selection of movie and tv shows from Qantas. I started The Hangover, but lost interest (man card revoked, I know), and mostly stuck to alternately burning out the Daniel Merriweather album available for listening and watching British tv series. I found the Vietnam special of Top Gear enthralling. And I watched about a half season of The I.T. Crowd (verdict: cheesy but funny).

Somewhere early in the Sydney to Darwin leg was where I went crazy from being in the air so long. The dry eyes, lack of sleep, lack of legroom and lack of personal space finally broke me. What really did it was the fact that this flight had plenty of open seats (rare in this day and age), but I got still got stuck with a full row. Oh, and I think a woman was dying on the plane, as a doctor was paged. I went back to use the bathroom later in the flight and saw the passenger doctor administering shots to a real sickly-looking woman. Jet lag caused extreme apathy at her situation. I couldn’t help to wonder who was having a worse flight, me or her. At least if she died, she would’ve gotten some good sleep, AND she did get the whole back row to herself…jealous… (note: she was fine).

A LONG 6-7 hours laters, I was on the ground in Darwin, all 35+ celsius of it. What many maps fail to properly represent is the size of Australia. It’s actually about the width and length of the U.S. or Western Europe. So a flight to Darwin is like a flight from JFK to Seattle.

Checked into Dingo Moon Lodge and found I was rooming with Matt, a German fellow traveling on holiday after just graduating. I would later meet Pinky and David, a Taiwanese girl with only rudimentary English understanding and an older (like 30) Scottish guy, who had been staying and I think traveling together in Darwin looking for work to get their holiday visa extended. They were attempting to be fruit pickers.

Matt and I went to Mindil Beach because I wanted to see the sunset markets. This was like a farmer’s market on crack, insane amounts of Asian food stalls, a whip stall (with expert demonstrations), digeridoo concerts, and all sorts of local crafts and goods. One stall was called the Roadkill Cafe, and they pandered to all the tourists who wanted to try “exotic” Australian meats. I bit and bought a Croc kebab. Tastes like chicken, just really rubbery.

The icing on the cake was the sunset. Watching the fiery red sun set below the sea line with no clouds or anything to obstruct the view while eating greasy Asian food from a stall on a beach was a spectacularly zen experience and a great end to the day. Apparently, this happens daily in the dry season in Darwin. I’m extremely jealous.

Later that night, the Matt and I joined Pinky and David to have some beers and discuss our wanderlust, fruit picking, and my lack of vacation days. It felt like those first nights in college when everyone and everything was new and exciting. I’m happy my trip started so effortlessly, social-wise. It’s a little disappointing I leave for a tour tomorrow morning and can’t get to know them more, but they should still be around when I get back three days later.

Near Death Experiences

This is a new feature I’m introducing for Australia edition since I’m on my own and no one is around to prevent my mishaps. The amount of stories I’m sure I will accumulate on this topic probably warrants its own section.

Today’s near death experience was actually my first steps onto Australian soil. The airport shuttle bus had conveniently dropped me right across the street from Dingo Moon Lodge. Having not quite grasped that Australians drive on the other side of the road and what that meant, I looked LEFT, saw nothing, and started crossing the street. Next thing i remember was some swerving, honking, screaming, and mild embarrassment. Note to self, look RIGHT first (note from Future Mike: I never quite grasped this concept until about the last day, which now leads to problems at home).

I don’t have a crystal ball, but I’m sure this section will only get better as the days go by.

Stunning little canals, colorful townhomes, quiet, desolate cobblestone streets, and lots of chocolate. Every 100 paces or so in this town could go on a postcard.

We never really intended to go see Bruges, but Brussels was a bit of a bust. On a suggestion that Bruges was a must-see, I pushed for Plan B to only minor resistance (Ezeibe wanted to stay in, relax, and use the internet…no comment). Our Brussels hotel, Le Meridien, was conveniently right across the street from the local train station. Even better, there was a train promotion that got us round trip tickets to Bruges for 8euros each. Huzzah for cheap daytrips!

The train ride to the countryside was pretty spectacular. I didn’t get a seat in the crowded cabins, so I hung out by the doors feeling like a stowaway. I didn’t even bother taking a seat when some became available. Just me and lots of green grass, small village rooftops, an occasional windmill, and European countryside whizzing by. Pretty great.

When we got to Bruges, it was just a day of strolling. It’s great when there are no expectations of a place, and you can just explore. We just wandered aimlessly (surprise) and got lost amongst the cobblestone streets and small parks. No one minded a bit. Bruges was utterly charming. The canals were smaller, but just as stunning as Amsterdam’s. Nothing is big and pretentious here. Long lines and plenty of people about shopping those post-Christmas sales in the boutiques and in the Christmas markets, but still, it never felt all that crowded to me.

Nothing like a stroll down a canal to lighten the mood

You know a place a is pretty romantic when there are horse-drawn carriages on cobblestone and brick.

Zeebs and Alan have an epic chess match.

The canal bridges are worth the visit alone

The Good:
- The three of us, after being fairly thrifty thus far, practically bought out a small chocolate shop. The prices seemed reasonable and Ezeibe brought up a good point: Who doesn’t love chocolate? It was the perfect gift to bring home. We tallied up close to a 100euro bill each on chocolate. I ended up eating most of mine before giving it to my friends. So if you never got a souvenir from me, now you know. The owner was awesome, claimed he ate chocolate every day, with every meal. I kind of worried for his teeth, but his passion for chocolate only led me to buy more chocolate. In comparison, there were some super fancy chocolate shops we passed that wouldn’t even allow you in the store without dropping 50euros on their chocolate.
- Besides the chocolate, all the other food we had in Bruges was amazing too. 2euro frites. Might have been the tastiest fries yet, and definitely the cheapest we had come across. I also made Alan and Ezeibe stop everything to order a bratwurst dog in the Christmas market. Every bite was orgasmic. It rivaled the first dinner in France. Ezeibe ended up eating half of it, which annoyed me greatly. He should know that my definition of sharing is 80/20.

The Bad:
- Locals would be crazy to be in the medieval section of town during the day. The tourists literally run rampant through the village. It kind of felt like we were just going through an outdoor museum of sorts, as there were no signs of local life. Just tourists and out-of-towners.

Beautiful houses, but anyone home?

- Going back from the train station, we got back with some time to spare before our train departed. So we grab a seat in the station lobby and rest our feet. Not smart. When we got to the train platform, the train was already packed in with people who were smart enough to wait in the platform rather than the lobby.
- There’s a belfry tower in the middle of Bruges, but we decided the line was too long and too expensive to go up. I still kind of regret that. I think the view would’ve been spectacular.
- Alan and Ezeibe didn’t let me go ice skating in the Christmas Market.

No ugly from Bruges. It was the perfect way to spend our last day.

We got back with a whole evening to enjoy. Ezeibe and I decided to spend even more money and buy more chocolate by our hotel. You can never have enough chocolate.

Hot choco by the Brussels chocolate shop. I'll take a Venti please.

Our last supper would ironically be at a Vietnamese/Thai restaurant. We kind of just wandered into Vietnamtown part of Brussels while searching for another restaurant and just ended up there. Ezeibe wanted to get back quickly to watch a documentary on world religions (don’t ask). My parents would’ve been pleased. We ordered off the prix-fixed menu and had another minor paella incident when Alan and I thought a 3-course meal for two people meant we were splitting the cost of the meal, which was reasonable. Instead, it meant, we were both paying the cost listed on the menu. Alan and I were not pleased. I also remember dessert taking a ridiculously long time, because I think they forgot about us, but it was still delicious.

Ezeibe had left halfway through dinner to try to catch his documentary. It turns out he got the time wrong and it didn’t even start for another hour or something. Alan and I got drinks at our English pub we found the other day and watched some European football. I again tried to convince Alan to do karaoke at said pub, but we didn’t quite know where it was going on (turns out it was in the building next door) so we joined Ezeibe and his documentary.

We packed ourselves up and got an early night’s sleep, because tomorrow, after 16 days of traveling together, we were finally going home! And you had no idea how exciting of a prospect that was.

And another train station, another debacle. You see, it doesn’t matter that we got there a full hour before the train departed at 8AM (quite an accomplishment after last night’s New Year’s). Why? Because I had forgotten to pick up our tickets in France. You know, when we nearly missed the train to Amsterdam.

I pre-ordered our tickets in France, which meant we could only pick it up there. This dawned on me as the ticket machine failed on me once again. The lady manning the ticket counter expressed her sympathies, but I still had to purchase three new tickets at full price. Ouch. She offered to book tickets to the train leaving in two minutes. The thought bubbles rose from my head of the last time we tried to catch a train with only two minutes and I refused. I didn’t tell Alan or Ezeibe of this oversight until a good week after the trip out of shame.

Brussels got off to a bad start, when the three of us spent a good half an hour trying to figure out how to get to the hotel. Alan believed we could walk. I thought a metro would be more fitting. Ezeibe wanted to get a cab. Ezeibe won out, and it was a good decision, as the hotel was miles away from the train station. In the process, Ezeibe accused Alan of being a racist while cab driver and I stared at each other uncomfortably.

We stayed at a Starwood Le Meridien hotel in the heart of the tourist area. Great location, fancy hotel, except I booked the room for two instead of three (I actually had no choice). I was too chicken to ask for an extra cot because of our reservation thinking that I might get charged more. I volunteered to sleep on the floor the remainder of the trip because the other two were too diva about their sleeping arrangements.

Unfortunately, almost everything was closed because it was the day after New Year’s. Hungry from traveling, we basically chose the first restaurant that sold food. It ended being a big but cramped cafe that served delicious Belgian waffles and frites. The Belgians, much like the Dutch, know how to make fries. I can’t stress how much I miss them.

The streets were definitely quieter, and that silence had its own charms. We saw Royal Palais, the big plaza with these insanely ornate facades surrounding it. Behind those facades, nothing really struck our fancy or was closed.

Alan snaps a few picks of Royal-Palais. This square is the definition of ornate.

And therein lies our issue. After seeing two amazing cities with spectacular scenic views and cultural museums, Brussels really couldn’t measure up. I think we would have been more impressed if we started off here, but by Day 15, it was simply charming, not really cathartic.

If you ever go to Brussels, you will inevitably go to the pissing statue, Mannekin-Pis. I can tell you to no end that it is a huge disappointment, but you will still go. It happened to me, it will happen to you. The issue is that Brussels markets Mannekin-Pis to all get out, that you’re brainwashed into believing that this tiny fountain is a must-see. Only in Brussels can a statue smaller than a bedside lamp of a little boy peeing can be a major tourist draw. It’s an interesting case study on how to attract stupid tourists, I’m sure.

Unofficial slogan: No, really, that's it. Now go buy a keychain.

Really, that’s all we saw. We chilled in a cool bookstore/record shop for a bit, thought about going to a beer museum, but otherwise, we were scratching our heads what to do next. Ezeibe’s answer was charging my hotel room with 20€ internet. My and Alan’s answer was to drink at the local Irish pub a few blocks away. That pub was awesome because of their strong Belgian beers, European football matches, and the fact that karaoke happens most evenings. No, we didn’t go to karaoke. Yes, I regret it.

For dinner, we ate at Le Cap, on the recommendation of the concierge. Apparently, it was a pretty trendy restaurant that served local Belgian cuisine at a very reasonable price. We all walked out of dinner fairly pleased with the recommendation. Ezeibe even tried a mojito.

Just a fair warning, you can already throw this anecdote in the “How did these three even come back to the States in one piece?” pile. Let’s go through this chronologically.

Night before – We all get back fairly early, do some initial packing, and set the alarm for 5AM. The plan of action was to be packed, ready to leave by 5:30 and take the bus up to the Gare du Nord train station, where we would pick up our tickets and go to Amsterdam. Our main concern at the time was that Sick Ezeibe doesn’t oversleep.

5:00AM – We all begrudgingly wake up. I vividly remember Ezeibe wondering why we had to get up so early.

5:40 – We exit the apartment, fully satisfied that we are only 10 minutes off our plan.

5:45 – We get to the bus stop. Except the ticker says the next bus isn’t coming for 45 minutes. Shit.

5:50 – “Okay, let’s just take the metro. There seems to be other people with luggage going down” I says.

5:53 – I fail at getting both my luggage and myself through the turnstyle. I go and buy another metro coin and try again successfully.

5:55 – The next train doesn’t come for another 28 minutes. Shit fuck.

5:57 – For the first time, I look at my train confirmation sheet. I had it in my head that our train left at 6:40ish and boy were we cutting it close…the confirmation email said our train actually leaves at 6:24. FUUUUCCCCKKKK!!!

6:00 – Panic sets in. We decide to take a taxi. I just paid for two metro coins for nothing.

6:02 – We get in taxi.

6:05 – Our taxi could not be going any slower. I want to kill myself.

6:15 – After the longest 10 minutes of our lives, we arrive. We quickly pay the driver (who really drove less than 2 miles) and all dart into the station. We get to the gate and see our train. Shit, we still need our tickets.

6:16 – I start walking quickly over to the help booth. Alan tells me to run. I ask the lady, who clearly was still setting up and hadn’t started her day where I can purchase tickets. She points me to the ticket machine.

6:17 – I’m now at the ticket machine. It tells me to put in my credit card. It doesn’t recognize or read my card. I try a few more times hoping for a different result like an idiot. I press every button on that screen. Still no ticket. Technology is failing me.

6:18 – I spot the line at the ticket booth. It’s about 5 people deep. Our train leaves in 5 minutes. But I’m out of options. I wait in line, hoping to die.

6:20 – One couple is monopolizing one of the agents. I want to throw a shoe at them, George Bush style. The other two agents seem to be going through their customers at a snails pace.

6:22 – “Well, of course it didn’t read your card. Our ticket machines don’t recognize US cards” – The teller tells me. Okay, whatever lady, just print out my tickets.

6:23 – I get the tickets. I start running. Our train leaves in…one minute. Ezeibe and Alan spot me running and take off as well. Now, they were at the gate, but unfortunately, our 2nd class entrance was actually SEVERAL dozen cars down from where the train ended. Oh…I should also back up a bit.

So of the little shops along the street where we got our bread each morning was one devoted to luggage, coincidentally enough. The day before, I was finally able to replace my torn up suitcase. The shopkeeper didn’t speak great English at all. When I attempted to ask if there was anything bigger than the bag I was holding, he gave me a discount. I immediately bought the suitcase I was holding. I still paid a good 50euros for a questionable and ordinary bag, but like all good dupes, I left the store feeling good I “haggled” the price down. And hey, the bag lasted the rest of the trip, even with my continued abuse of overpacking.

So back to present moment, I had run off to catch the train, ignoring any all possessions and travelers not attached to me. This left Alan to carry my overpacked suitcase that I had disregarded…in addition to his giant suitcase. Essentially, Alan did a 200 yard sprint with 75 pounds of extra weight. If anyone asked me what the most selfish thing I’ve ever done, I will tell you it was this moment.

There’s a good ending to this story. We did catch the train. The second the three of us got in, the doors closed literally 5 seconds later and the train was off. Unfortunately, poor Alan nearly died of cardiac arrest. Sick Ezeibe also sprinted 200 yards with his two bags and heavy sinuses as well. If you want to break it down, I had a slightly stressful but oddly invigorating morning jog. Ezeibe and Alan essentially ran a linebacker drill at 6 in the morning. And because I’m a douche who can’t pick up on unspoken signals, the minute we got in, I made some ridiculous comment in jest to the effect of “At least we didn’t waste any time just sitting here waiting to leave” that really, should’ve costed me my life. Alan claims this was a rather life-changing experience that will make him reconsider all his material belongings and material lifestyle.

We make it to Amsterdam, and again, our lack of preparation bites us in the ass when I realize we have no idea where our hotel is other than “It’s right by the train station.” A little bit of help from very cute Dutch girls, and we make it in. I fall in love with the receptionist, Famke, a cute Dutch girl with short blonde hair and a magnetic smile who said she was here to serve me. That’s the fluttering of my heart you’re hearing. She said it with a Dutch-English accent that made it seem like she had a bit of a lisp. I would find this sexy in all Dutch girls who attempted to speak English to me.

So we spent the rest of the day (and really, all of this took place before 11AM, if you can believe it) getting our bearings around Amsterdam.

Cool Things About the rest of the day
- European “frites” are the best fries you will ever taste. They are 10x more tastier with a tiny tasting fork. For the next four days, I had a batch from a roadside stand daily.
- Canals are awesome.

Picture perfect

Does the boat come with the house?

- Plenty of English speaking tourists and locals.
- Finally out of a cramped apartment and into a luxurious hotel.
- Ezeibe and Alan decided to take a nap in the afternoon to recover from the morning mayhem. I had such a good hour of zen at the cafe attached to the hotel, just drinking Heineken at 3 in the afternoon by myself watching people freeze their asses off outside.

All I need for travel.

- Hotel Concierge dude (Super Mario, as I called him) recommended a really good Dutch restaurant. We discovered Dutch cuisine is just American comfort food (beef stew, chicken, etc.).

Not-So-Cool Things
- Alan keeps us wandering for hours in the cold because he can’t navigate a horseshoe shaped city with just one of those ambiguous tourist maps. Magellan, he is not.
- It took us FOREVER to find a restaurant for lunch. We were clearly all hungry, but there was an excuse to NOT eat at every place we visited. The cafe we ended up at was my idea, but we literally walked in, walked out because we got confused because it was busy, walked around another 2 blocks arguing, and then walked back in to the very same restaurant. I had a great pint of beer here though. I wish I had gotten the name.
- In trying to ask the concierge for dinner recommendations, I first had to put up with two really annoying, snobby women from New York City/Jersey women. They could’ve been cast members out of The Real Housewives of NYC.

Downright Disasters
- Re-read the part where we didn’t almost make it to Amsterdam.

There is plenty more to say about Amsterdam, but I’ll save it for Day 14′s post.

This was a horrible idea, to go to the biggest, most luxurious shopping complex in Paris only a few days after Christmas. We should have learned our lesson at the Champs l’Elysee a few days ago, where the sidewalk was overflowing with shoppers. The sidewalks were twice as small, and the crowds were ten times bigger. It was a mess.

Somewhat undeterred, we ducked into Galeries Lafayette to find the food section. There was some type of butter my family wanted that I never did find, but the food part of this mega-store was out of control. Imagine a Whole Foods in a department store, but the selection is fancier. It’s true, there’s a fancier grocery store out there than Whole Foods, and it’s in Paris. This place had an aisle devoted to gourmet jams, multiple chocolate and dessert kiosks, and a spice aisle that was neverending. Aisles devoted to just olive oil. It was crazy. It seemed to have every type of butter made in France EXCEPT the one I was looking for. I won’t hold it against them, the food section was amazing. I got lost multiple times trying to find Alan amongst all the food and ingredients. There were multiple mini-restaurants where you can sit down and just eat the food from the kiosks around you: sushi, chocolate, bread, meat, everything. Then I found Alan together we proceeded to get lost and claustrophobic in the rest of the store. Again, this was a bad day for two dudes to attempt shopping. Some notes in our journey:
- This place was selling some high end fashion. I don’t know how you women do it, but I could never pay that much for a LV bag.
- There was an art gallery in the department store. Because why not?
- You know at the mall how you can look up from the ground floor and see everyone shopping about on the other floors? Imagine a department store the size of a mall with the same effect and you have Galeries Lafayette.I felt like I was in the middle of an ant hill, except the ant hill is made out of gold.

After that, Alan and I quickly retreated home very exhausted, shell-shocked, and unfortunately, a bit empty-handed. Ezeibe was in a chippier mood, as he was heading off to dinner with a friend from work who just happened to live in Paris. Whatever Ezeibe.

Since it was back to my day, I made the decision to go eat by the Latin Quarter, as it was one of the main districts/neighborhoods we kind of ignored thus far. This would give us at least a passing glance of Notre Dame as well. Alan decided on a vegetarian restaurant closeby to the cathedral. Before you accuse of being all yuppy, this place was divine. I don’t even like tomatoes, but I downed my entree which was a tofu stuffed tomato. This was some pretty spectacular food and it was a full three course fancy meal for only 17 euros. While we kind of missed the mark most of the other days of the week, at least our first and last dinner were exciting, affordable, and memorably delicious. This restaurant nearly made me want to convert to vegetarian. The only not-so-cool thing about this restaurant was that it was again tiny, and very, very, intimate. You would think this place was couples-only, as there were only couples and seating for two per table. This made Alan and I extremely uncomfortable. A nice restaurant and ambiance to take a girlfriend, certainly not a dude friend.

No real pictures from today, except for Notre Dame Cathedral. I thought this was a pretty good nightshot.

The Latin Quarter was as expected. Just lots of narrow alleys and streets full of restaurants and souvenirs. As we strolled the streets, Alan and I were happy we decided on a restaurant and ate dinner before going into the Latin Quarter, because we would’ve wandered aimlessly and passive aggressively for DAYS in that area trying to find the right restaurant. We were prepared for the pushy restauranteurs because of the practice from the pushy sex shop owners the night before.

Notre Dame was still pretty awesome. We couldn’t go in or anything as it was already closed, but we got our requisite blurry night shows of the place.

Other than that, we retired early that night. Alan and I, rather than being sensible and buy nice wine from Galeries Lafayette, decided to stop in the only open bodega nearby our apartment and buy some cheap bottles of wine to bring back home.

So looking back at what I just wrote on how we spent the day, I just realized I totally had a full-on date with Alan…That’s kind of uncomfortable to think about.

And dick never did call me back. I thought we had a connection too…

The Good Surprises:
- Museum du jour was Rodin. I was pleasantly surprised at this small museum. All we knew was that The Thinker was there. Wiser from yesterday’s ordeal, we made sure to hit the museum early. While we didn’t have to wait in much of a line, our plan backfired when half of the museum was actually an outdoor sculpture garden. And yes, we froze our asses off. Nevertheless, the gardens were pretty, had sculptures, and lacked any vegetables or bees that can sting you. Just the way I like it.

Probably due to the cold and early morning, but all the sculptures were pretty much alone for us to admire. There was maybe only three or four other people with us at The Thinker, Rodin’s most recognized sculpture. I got to admire a masterpiece up close, without 20 million cameras and tourists surrounding it. That was pretty breathtaking for me, and a moment I had been yearning to have at each museum since the Louvre.

The rest of the museum was pretty cool too and gave a good glimpse into how Rodin created his sculptures. In hindsight, I probably should have done the museum first where it went over Rodin’s process and drafts of some his most famous works, and then seen the final products out in the sculpture garden. When we left, the line to get in and crowds were definitely building. A pat on our back for finally being smart and planning ahead.

He's not thinking, he's silently judging me...

All the single ladies...wuh oh oh...

- Sunday Brunch. Now hungry and with no other options for blocks around, we settled on the cafe restaurant right across the street from the Rodin museum. It was bound to be a pricey disappointment, but we were again pleasantly surprised. The prices were not unreasonable at all, I had an amazing potato and ham omelette for Sunday brunch. Our waiter was the surliest, stereotypically French waiter we had ever met. Upon entering the restaurant, he made some sarcastic comment in French that was clearly mocking the two American tourists who just walked in the door and his waiter buddies all har-har’ed at the sight of us. This oddly felt inviting.

- Hotel des Invalides. We kind of went here on a whim because the Rodin museum didn’t take up much time and we still had the entire afternoon to kill. It was just down the road from Rodin Museum and it had Napoleon’s tomb. And you know how we feel about dead people. What we didn’t expect was that the Hotel des Invalides included an overwhelmingly comprehensive war museum and a medieval history museum to boot. What we thought was an hour-long distraction turned out to be five-hour French Military class. 10 things I learned:
1) For what is assumed to be a very small guy, Napoleon sure has a big ass tomb.
2) Note to self: Get buried in a mausoleum after death.
3) If I had more of an attention span and patience for crowds, I would’ve read the description of the 60+ letters in order written to get an account of Napoleon’s personal life and his military strategies. Can you believe at one time, people communicated and fought wars through written correspondences?
4) It still feels weird to be snapping tourist pictures in front of a tomb. It didn’t stop me, but I’m just saying.
5) World War I and World War II were some pretty devastating wars for the Europeans.
6) I didn’t realize Risk was as true to life until I saw the military museum and their visuals on major World War battles.
7) The French have a very different history of the World Wars than the Americans. For example, Pearl Harbor and the Holocaust are just notable footnotes in their history. But the invasion of Paris, invasion of Normandy, or African colonialism…don’t get me started.
The Hotel des Invalides have a ton of suits of armor. Weapons too.
9) I have no idea why the three-barrel split hunting gun (three gun barrels pointing at different angles) disappeared. Because that was a fuckin’ hardcore gun.
10) Gun existed way further back than I expected. Medieval times. Why use arrows and crossbows then?

Whatever could they be looking down upon?...

The tomb of Napoleon!

Alan looks for ways to kill me...

Two guards in a glass box. How this helps keep the place safe, I don't know. Plus, what happens if one of them farts? Instant death.

- Baby bottle bar! The name of the bar is actually Zero de Conduite, but it’s real name is “Awesome Hipster Bar for People Who Want to be Five Again.” It’s run by a pretty mellow dude, and the bar, like all places in Paris, was tiny. It draws a mostly college/university crowd. All the drinks were cartoon or comic book characters and you were given a whiteboard to DRAW your drink requests. I drew Babar (an elephant face), Aladdin (a stick figure on a magic carpet with genie), and Nemo (a generic fish, circle plus triangle for tail). So our drinks came in baby bottles. And to top off the cake of awesomeness, you play games while you drink! We were given Uno. I think we messed up the rules, because it took forever for one of us to win. I didn’t win, so it’s not worth mentioning who did.

A toast with the big babies.

- Crepes! We had one drink at the baby bottle bar (see bad surprises for why) and went to eat crepes at a restaurant next door. Ezeibe and I were craving them. Alan had given up on being disagreeable. The crepe place was really good. They had a mixture of both dessert crepes and dinner/breakfast crepes. All equally appetizing. We ate as the restaurant was closing. It was a quiet end to the night…

- Paris Red Light District. …except for Alan and I, our night didn’t end there! You know the clubs we were looking for by our apartment? Well, we happened upon them this night, and then realized, those clubs and bars made up the Red Light district of Paris. That’s also where the Moulin Rouge is. We were harassed by strip club peddlers trying to get us to enter. What was odd (and really, it shouldn’t be), but there were a lot of regular couples, middle-aged, that were just casually strolling down this strip of road, entering and shopping at the various sex shops. It’s like catching your mom and dad here, it’s awkward to even witness it. It was getting to the dicey part of the night, so we just did our passive-aggressive “Where should we go” walk around the area and decided to just call it a night. The Red Light District wasn’t quite our vibe, I guess (their vibe being sexy, hip, and club-banging. Our vibe being lame, beer, and anti-social).

The Bad Surprises:
- It was Alan’s day for picking dinner. If you thought Ezeibe’s dinner choices were questionable, Cheapskate Alan wanted a homemade pasta dinner. As with everything we do, this was easier said than done. All the markets and shops were again closed because it was already Sunday evening, including the grocery stores. So we went to a bodega at the corner of our street at the end of our day and ran into Ezeibe who had hobbled out of bed to buy some more tissues. And together, we bought a box of thin spaghetti. Nothing else. So for dinner, we had a plate of spaghetti and olive oil. Because although we talk a big game about a luxurious vacation, we’re all just starving college students at heart.

- Unfortunately, when you’re already having cocktails with low’ish alcoholic content, sucking it out of a baby bottle isn’t conducive to getting drunk. Someone should’ve warned us.

- My karaoke bar…we found it in the Red Light District! I’d been researching it all week. Unfortunately, at midnight, it was sparsely populated with a kind of sad mix of middle-aged folks with a crazy ass white woman singing on stage. Unfortunately, not the type of crowd I was shooting for. But for the record, I would’ve still joined had Alan not talked me out of it.

Ezeibe was mostly out of commission today. Poor guy tossed, turned, and moaned all night in his sleep. Waking up and hearing him struggle to breathe in his sleep was somewhere between fascinating and horrifying. With Ezeibe still in bed fighting the bug, Alan and I did what good friends do…we left him alone all day. Sickness during a trip is kind of an awful thing. It’s also inevitable. One person always falls ill when traveling in a group of more than two people for some reason. There are a lot of ways travelers deal with “the sick one,” none of them convenient or less awkward from the other. Leaving Ezeibe at home seemed to be the most mutually agreeable option. Ezeibe was getting tired of our museum obsession. Alan and I were tired of Ezeibe’s complaining of the cold and walking too much. Plus, Ezeibe was content being glued to his internet and phone. So hey, to each his own. I guess everyone was happy, except maybe Alan, who was still stuck with me all day.

So our museum du jour was the Musee d’Orsay. We had a rough start to this museum. Our day started late which meant we got to the museum during peak tourist hours. Unfortunately, the security lines for the Orsay are not quite as efficient as the Louvre. Alan and I waited a good 45 minutes outside in the freezing cold to even get into the building. Worse for me, there was a school group of Japanese tourist children one row behind us. Japanese tourist children are one level up in the irritating scale from Japanese tourist families, just slightly below the worst of all evils, Japanese tourist teenagers. I couldn’t fathom why they had to take pictures of themselves throughout the entire wait in line outside in the freaking cold. There was a separate, shorter line for groups, I don’t know why they were in our ticket line. I nearly popped a vein on my forehead every time we were adjacent to them in the queue. I wish I could’ve punched the chaperone or something to lower my anxiety and blood pressure. Sorry to make you uncomfortable with my race-hating rant, I just had to get that off my chest.

Me amongst the Japanese-tourist-children posse. Don't get it twisted, that's the smile of a psychopath who has been pushed too far.

Musee d’Orsay was Alan’s and my favorite art museum of the bunch we visited. First, the museum was a former train station, which is inherently cool. Second, the art is much more relatable. The art in the Louvre is far too biblical and academic for the normal person. And modern art pretty goes over the head of everyone as well. Orsay holds art between mid-19th to mid-20th century art, which includes the Realism, Romanticism, Impressionism, and Naturalism movements. Essentially, the time period where everyone chucked out the Bible but before they started painting surrealist, whatever-pops-up-in-my-disturbing-dreams phase. The Impressionism wing is worth the price of admission. Any Impressionist painting or poster that hangs in your house is probably in that museum (mine is Monet’s Nympheas).

So cold outside, even the polar bears went indoors.

The main area of the museum. The exhibit rooms were along the side.

The clock that sits on top of the Orsay museum. A really cool view

When we were done with that, we went back to the apartment to grab Ezeibe for dinner. Since he was in the apartment all day and was sick, we decided it should be his day to pick the restaurant we would go to. And that’s how we ended back in Japantown, sitting on stools eating Udon noodles in the corner window of a tiny hole-in-the-wall noodle restaurant. I’d rather not say any more.

Alan and I still had some juice in us after dinner. After about nine days being lame, it was about time we went out for some drinks. Alan’s girlfriend had recommended a bar where you drink out of baby bottles. Good enough hook for me, so off we went to the quiet 6th district. If I ever move to Paris, I am living in this neighborhood. This place was hipster central. We wandered a bit trying to find the bar. Unfortunately, when we found it, baby bottle bar wasn’t taking walk-ins (more on that tomorrow). Luckily, there were plenty of other decent looking cafes and bars in the neighborhood. First, we stopped in a Taschen bookstore, which is the very definition of a hipster bookstore. You may be thinking, aren’t bookstores by nature hipster? Apparently, not quite. It was amazing that this place was open at 10:30 at night. I guess they have these in the major cities in the States as well, but this was my first experience in it. I contemplated dropping 100+ euros for the Big Book of Breasts.

We went to a hipster lounge called Cafe Jade. It was a really well-designed interior, with names of famous people decorated all over the walls. There was a DJ playing techno music and plenty of cute college girls all having girly drinks. The beers we had were kind of pricey (my hipster wanna-be downfall), and I think the ambiance made Alan more uncomfortable than he led on.

Hipster bar! I mean, Oscar Wilde is tagged on the wall. You can't get more hipster than that.

We had one drink, took in the atmosphere and caught the metro back to our area before the last train ran. We figured we’d just drink by the Montmartre area where we had seen some nice cafes and bars earlier in our trip. The issue was we made some poor navigational decisions and ended up nowhere close to the nightlife. We gave up and went back to the apartment and called it night.

A somewhat forgettable day in the grand scheme of the trip, so thank god for writing this all down.

Cool Things
- The Catacombs. Alan and I were looking forward to this months before we even left the States. Ezeibe…not so much. We had to wait outside in the freezing cold for quite a bit to get in (as there are limits to how many people can be underground at once). Ezeibe was not pleased. Then we took about 800 or so steps way way way underground. This was like beyond sewer level, it felt like we were walking down to Earth’s core. The stairs were on this tiny spiral staircase that just never ended. Not for the claustrophobic or old, for sure. You walk a good quarter mile or so of tunnels without ever seeing a skull or bone, but it’s still pretty cool. There are sculptures built into the rock, for example, and just being underground going through a tiny narrow tunnel is pretty awesome. But then, the bones. Oh the bones. The catacombs are no joke. It goes on for miles. And it is COVERED in bones. There used to be a time where they didn’t really lock up parts of the Catacombs and visitors would actually get lost amongst the miles of bones down here. Unfortunately, they now provide a pretty clear path you follow. The feeling of being deep underground surrounded by, essentially, dead people, was kind of fascinating. You could touch these bones and skulls. It felt unreal, like I was examining a model skull, not that of an actual person. When I realized that these bones belonged to real people, I went through phases of disgust and guilt for being so disrespectful.

Back in olden times, Sunday worship service was actually held down in the Catacombs to pray for the souls of the deceased.

For obvious reasons, the Catacombs are not very well lit, making it extremely difficult to take photos without flash. That wall behind the pedestal...all dead people.

Not sure how PC this is, but a close up of one of the walls of bones.

- Pompidou Center. I still don’t know how I feel about the Pompidou Center architecture, but I can say it’s at least fitting for the art collection it holds (modern art). I went to the Pompidou Center when I was here in high school, but we never went inside. It’s a good thing we did this time. The collection was pretty spectacular, Man Ray, Dali, a ton of Picasso. It felt like it had the majority of the modern day masterpieces. What I enjoyed vividly about this museum was the description cards in each of the rooms were written out in English. When it comes to modern art, that context was pretty vital. Each of the main exhibit rooms went in chronological order from early 1900′s to today separated by art movement or artist. And the view of the city from the top of the Pompidou was again spectacular.

Modern art at its finest. This was considered a masterpiece of modern art. People actually stared at these three paintings (yes, it's a painting) as if they knew what the hell was going on. Yuppies.

Cool view from the top of the Pompidou Center.

My kind of art

- Dans le Noir. We ate in the dark! If you talked to me before I left for this trip, you know the castle and this restaurant were the two things I was most looking forward to. I got to say, no matter how much research I did on this restaurant, nothing prepared me for this dining experience. In good conscience, I can’t even say we ate in the dark, we ate in pitch black. This isn’t the type of dark like when you leave all the lights off your house but can make out slight shadows of the light switch. This is the dark where you close your eyes but never open them, without peeking. Now, after a really really really long day (see below), maybe this night wasn’t the greatest bit of timing. I felt so bad, I did offer to pay for dinner, this was my dream after all. Ezeibe and Alan at least respected me enough not to deny me of my lifelong dream (you had to book a table days in advance), even if they were slowly melting down. Interesting tidbits about this restaurant
- All of the wait staff are legally blind. Ours was an awesome lady named Sarah who could speak a crazy amount of languages. I felt so reassured every time I heard her voice in the restaurant (since you know, we were in pitch black and couldn’t see her). It’s crazy how they know where all the tables and chairs are in the restaurant.
- That night, we only had the Surprise menu available. The surprise theme du jour was “Orange.” You don’t find out what you ate until afterwards, which unsettled Ezeibe greatly.
- Pouring water into a cup is not easy when you can’t see anything. First, reach for cup without knocking anything over. Dip finger in said cup. Pour until your finger gets wet.
- Things get very loud in pitch black.
- Eating in pitch black must save you a lot of money on decor.
- From what we could gather from echolocation, it was cafeteria-style dining, with one or two long tables and all parties getting seated along the table. I was in between a Spanish-speaking dude and what I think was an empty chair. Ezeibe and Alan were across from me. I was so tempted to poke them in the face.
- Marshmellows are most delicious when you’re not expecting them.
- Upon seeing the photos of what we ate, I’m fairly certain I missed a good third of my main course.
- The “Orange” was mostly pumpkins. Unfortunately, I hate pumpkins.
- I offered to pay for a 300 dollar bill. Sweet.

Dans le Noir restaurant - Isn't the decor lovely?

Not-So-Cool Things
- Douchebags in the Catacombs. Like those that steal skulls and bones and then get caught when they exit and get their bags searched. Who the hell steals a dead person’s bones?! Also, people who are obnoxiously loud and giggling in, essentially, a cemetery. I don’t care how long ago these people died, show some respect!

- Remember those 800 steps down to the Catacombs? The only thing more never-ending is 800 steps back up to ground level. Alan and I had lost Ezeibe in the tombs. We assumed he was taking his time. Turns out, he ran through the Catacombs because of his “fast metabolism” (i.e. enlarged prostate)

- The most miserable walk ever. At this point, we still hadn’t seen the Champs-Elysee. Ezeibe really wanted to see the Arc de Triomphe and go to the top. Unfortunately, I don’t think we could’ve picked a worse time to go, the day after Christmas…on the Champs-Elysee. Think about it. First, we misshot our metro stop and had to walk a good half a mile to get to the Arc, through crowds of people all over the Christmas market. It was suffocating. Imagine the amount of people buried in the tight spaces of the Catacombs, except alive and trying to return all their Christmas presents, and you had the chaos of the Champs Elysee. The Arc du Triomphe could not have been more crowded either. And it was bitterly cold and windy. We decided to not wait in line to attempt to go up top, but did get our pictures from ground level as quickly as possible.

A closeup of the Arc. You guys know what the rest of it looks like (Click the photo to see more photos if you don't)

So, given the shitty conditions, what is the best thing to do after the Arc? Take the metro to the Pompidou Center? Ridiculous. We were going to walk…all the way down the Champs Elysee. I can pinpoint this decision as the exact moment Ezeibe’s spirits died. Refer to the Downright Disasters section to see the result. Yes, we walked, what was probably a good two to three miles down the shopping street of the Champs, across the Tuileries Gardens, past the Louvre (again), and then a couple more blocks to Pompidou. That was a long, cold, crowded, miserable walk.

Halfway there! Note the setting sun...

Suffice to say, a museum was not the most ideal destination, where we would have to continue to stand, stare, and walk some more. I saw Ezeibe just sitting, looking dead as one of those Catacombs bones, in one of the exhibit rooms at one point.

Downright Disasters:
- Today was the beginning of the end for Ezeibe. Alan said it best when he described his body balancing on a fragile combination of germs, viruses, bacteria and healthy immune cells. I think we all felt this way after beating up our bodies so brutally in the past week with the awkward sleep schedule, weird food, and new environments. A slight passing wind would’ve knocked our sensitive bodies into full-on sick mode. Germophobe Ezeibe lost his battle this day, and it really took until the last day of the trip to recover. Poor guy…

- The end of the honeymoon phase is typical on any trip. No one ever escapes it if they travel long enough (any more than 3 days together). I think it really began on this day for us. Before you go off thinking that we all hated each other and the trip was miserable from this point on, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be further from the truth. But exhaustion was setting in, patience was wearing thin, quirks became annoyances, change of scenery became homesickness, and stubbornness became outright rudeness. Being lost and cold and indecisive all of the time was wearing thin. And then to stick us in a tiny apartment to boot. But honestly, we all had the decency to suppress our emotions like the introverts we are. I write this more as a footnote, not as a memorable event. We had been arguing throughout, they just began to last a little longer. People got a little crueler or huffier. Some solitude was just a little more cherished. Even so, I don’t remember any discussions, fights, or disagreements (I can’t even call them arguments) that didn’t end in a joke or laughter.

I should add that we got back to our apartment from the Eiffel Tower the night before (see Day 7) exactly at the stroke of midnight Christmas Day. It was cool to me, at least. Then we all slept, for a really long time. This day I’m about to describe started around 1PM’ish.

I’m going to flip the script a bit on this post. Today is what I refer to as “Alan’s Day.” Alan had a few things he wanted to get out of Paris, and today was his day to do it. It’s not like Ezeibe or I were opposed to any of his suggestions. In fact, we were equally enthused or at least indifferent enough to not tell him otherwise. Unfortunately, Alan maybe reached a little bit in his expectations of Paris. We’ll go through it event by event.

A visit to Sacre-Couer
- Alan’s expectations: See the beautiful cathedral on a bright sunny day and call his love from a phonebooth at the base of the hill that Sacre-Couer sits on.
- Alan’s shattered reality: There were no phone booths in front of Sacre Couer, just a LOT of aggressive street peddlers. And it was pretty cloudy and cool on Christmas Day. And it being a church, the only types of buildings open on Christmas Day, the visiting tourists were essentially mobbing this area. I still found the cityscape view from the top of Montmartre pretty inspired. The sun peaked out a few of its rays onto the skyline which was pretty cool to look at. Also, there was this awesome French street musician who had amassed quite a crowd. He was really good, and sang fun singalong classics like “Stand by Me.” Alan and Ezeibe were too fed up to let me sit on the steps and listen to the dude play his guitar and sing all day though.

How do you tell a hundred people that they're in the way of my shot?

The heavens shining down on Paris on Christmas Day

Alan’s traveling buddies
Alan’s expectations: That he traveled with two sane and sensible co-workers who wouldn’t fall for the tourist pitfalls.
Alan’s shattered reality: Are you kidding me? Ezeibe and I totally fall for the tourist pitfalls. I bought a santa hat with flashing lights that read 2009. 2€. I still justify this as a reasonable expense. Alan hated this hat and hated that I embraced it, wore it, and rocked it so adoringly. Ezeibe and I wanted crepes, so rather than walk a few blocks to the local street stands and restaurants, we settled for crepes at the Haagen-Daaz in front of Sacre-Couer. To be fair, we were hungry. And secondly, even though it was a chain and overpriced, they were damn good crepes. Alan just wandered around in disgust while Ezeibe and I (now in a flashing santa hat) waited a good half an hour to order our crepes. There was only a woman in front of us, but she apparently had like 20 kids to feed, because homegirl ordered a bunch of crepes and waffles. One her kids sneezed onto the ordering window and left quite a messy booger trail. Ezeibe, the germaphobe, freaked out. This would prove to be horrific foreshadowing.

Alan's worst nightmare.

Onto Pere-Lachaise Cemetary
- Alan’s expectations: Visit the famous cemetery and pay his respects to Jim Morrison, who is buried there.
- Alan’s shattered reality: Ok, yes, we spent Christmas Day in a cemetery. It’s not like we had a lot of options on Christmas Day in terms of open attractions. And as far as cemeteries go, this one is a big deal. It was actually quite peaceful and quiet. And the cold, dreary day just made this cemetery the perfect place to be at. The three of us started off walking together, until Ezeibe’s fast metabolism kicked in and he wanted to find a bathroom. Alan, ever the beacon of patience, popped a blood vessel and decided we should split up and meet back at the entrance at the specified time. A few hours later, the poor guy never found Jim Morrison’s grave. This was a big-ass cemetery people. You could probably walk about a mile and a half in any one direction and still not be at the edge. Of the famous people buried here, Ezeibe and I found Balzac’s tomb and Gericault’s tomb (painter of Raft of Medusa! Talk about full circle). There were a few other famous French people I’m sure we passed and saw, but none that were famous to me.

Ezeibe does his best zombie expression.

Raft of Medusa! The Tomb!

Christmas Evening
Alan’s expectations: A nice home-cooked dinner with friends in a cozy, warm atmosphere.
Alan’s shattered reality: Three dudes in a tiny apartment playing Scrabble and figuring out how to heat up our store-bought, pre-cooked pork. I should back up a bit to explain how we got to this point. When we got back from our day at the cemetery, it was starting to get dark. Most of the local markets and street vendors at this point were long closed (if ever open at all). All we had was the big supermarket up the street. Now sure, a supermarket has everything, and we probably could have made a nice fancy 4 course Christmas dinner, but…1) We were cheap. 2) No one trusted each other to cook such a meal. 3) No one was sure what we had back in our kitchen. 4) We didn’t have a real oven, we had this weird oven/microwave combination machine that slightly concerned us. 5) When everything is in French, you tend to doubt your ability to identify what you’re buying. It’s best to stick with the basics.

So, we went with pre-cooked lasagna, delicious salty chips (the kind you know wasn’t made with the healthy corn oil shit they’re using nowadays in the States), a package of frozen carrots, and, as a Fuck You to to those who said we weren’t adventurous, we bought this weird stuffed pork log. A giant log of pork is the only way I can describe it. All of which were ready-to-go or only required a microwave/toaster oven heating.

Ghetto Christmas dinner, just like home.

Don't worry moms, we ate our carrots.

The Scrabble Incident
Alan’s Expectations: Alan found a Scrabble board game in our apartment in one of the drawers. He expects no one else to find it. And even if one of us did, who would want to play Scrabble while we’re in Paris?
Alan’s shattered reality: “NO WAAAAYYYY!!!!!! Our apartment has fuckin’ Scrabble!!” I yelled. The dining room table was cleared in one fell swoop, and gameplay immediately began before either of the two realized what was about to happen. Three grown men were about to sit down on Christmas evening and play…wait for it…Scrabble. If that’s not a Christmas miracle, I don’t know what is. This would soon become a sensitive subject for me though because I felt robbed of a victory. Cava is a legit word, people. Unfortunately, we defined legit words as landmarks we visited thus far or words found in The Official Scrabble Word Guide, written in 1957. And for the record, Ezeibe does not know how to play Scrabble properly…at all. Anywho, Alan ended up winning, his one redeeming moment of the day. Otherwise, Paris really raped Alan this day.