Venice

Venice Day 1. I manage to wake up when my alarm goes off, dazed I get off to the shower, go through the morning hygiene ritual, and am at the train station on time, ready for Venice. I've only got the day here, and providing I can reserve a ticket the same day, will be taking an overnight train to Vienna.

The train ride is pretty uneventful, my chair faces another one across from me, and my long legs fall asleep and get cramped as I politely keep to my imaginary foot and leg zone. Suddenly the water appears, and I can see we are now in Venice. After spending about 45minutes in line, I'm able to successfuly secure my overnight ticket to Vienna, so this stop is strictly a one day affair. I drop my bags off at the station, and am greeted by the awesome watery scenery that is Venice.

Its like a movie-set, this place is so surreal. It apparently consits of 117 islands, and does not permit cars (how could it, the streets are purely narrow alleyways and waterways). There are bridges everywhere and its comical to watch fairly young newlyweds with baby strollers in tow, navigate the two hundred or so bridges that are splattered all over this city. The city itself is bigger than I expected, and the views are amazing. Its utterly crawling with tourists, and I'm surprised any locals still stick it out. Later as I walk through a park, I happen to stumble upon a fenced in 'locals-only' area. I was just trying to find a way out of the park, but they shake their head and say no. So that's how they cope!

There's definitely no grid system here, and you can't help but getting lost at least six times when finding your final destination. In my case, this was en-route to the Piazza San Marco, which defintely does look like the pigeon-filled ice cream cake that my guidebook described. Its awesome, but the pigeons are flapping and flying everywhere. Some tourists are actually paying 1 euro to put some birdseed in their hands and have these disease bags perch and eat from their arms and shoulders. Sheesh!

It is while standing in San Marco, that I overhear an American on a cellphone, mutter to her better half that there was a terrorist attack in London. Instantly pangs of fear begin to creep and crawl over my skin and I seek out the nearest payphone to try and get in touch with Jas. I can't get through, and am deeply concerned so I call my mom, and explain what I'd overheard. Its 8am in Canada and she hadn't yet heard the news. Fortunately after playing about 6 person phone tag, she's able to eventually relay the good news that all are safe and sound. In the intervening 3 or so hours, I more or less functioned on auto-pilot, snapping pictures and exploring the sights, with my mind locked into other more important things and places. It was a really tough struggle, and gave the trip a new perspective. During those 3 hours I felt completely helpless.

I get laundry done (it costs an arm, and half a leg here), and of course the dry cycle doesn't really dry my stuff, so I stuff it back in my backpack wet, and board my second overnight train on this trip this time bound for Vienna. I opted for the cheaper 2nd class couchette, and they cram 6 of us into a space the size of a prison cell (its about 6x6x8 feet in total). There's 2 german girls, and 3 spanish girls in my compartment, but none of them make any effort to mingle, or cross the language barrier, so I just write for a bit, brush up on basic german, and try to get to bed early.

Roma the III

Note: there was server maintenance over the weekend, so anyone who was expecting an update, probably won't see it until now.

Rome Day Three.

I'm the last person in my 9 person to awake this morning, and proceed to meet fellow bleary-eyed crawlers for breakfast in the kitchen. We recount tales of the previous evening, and discover that the sidewalk kissing montrealer and his friends eventually made it back on the city bus a couple of hours later, not too much worse for the wear.

Today I decide to venture out to the ruins of the roman forum solo, and get an up close and personal look. Its still hot hot hot, and my pastey-white skin shows that pinkish sunburnt glow that I'm accustomed to. I decide to seek out a traditional pasta dish for lunch, and my eye catches 4 euro lasagne. Sizing up the excellent price, I decide to shell out for it, thinking that it will probably be extremely taste but in a small portion. Boy was I wrong. As the waitress brought it out to me on the terrace, my stomach and taste buds did a double flip and groaned. I realize why it was so cheap, the stupid thing looked like stouffers! Complete with white papery-plastic tray, it was definitely a microwave job. Runny on top, and rubbery all the way through I still ate it all up, but swore off sampling cheap versions of local cuisine for the rest of the trip.

Crapsagne in my belly I arrive at the ruins in the valley of the Palatine Hill, my spirits lifted by the awesome dusty reds and whites of crumbled ancient rock before me. You can walk in and amongst the ruins, but are tapered off by small fences. I find a shady former piece of 2000 year old column, and set upon to write in my journal and think about those I miss.

I wander around the colleseum some more, and slowly make my way back to the hostel. I meet up with Joe, and we decide to go out for some real italian food for dinner. Scanning the menu, my eyes deliberately pass over the pasta section and lock-on to a sausage pizza. Joe and I chat about Scotland, Canada, travelling, and everything in between. I feel good, my belly feels good, and things can't get much better than this.

We grab a couple of big bottles of beer, get back to the hostel, and play cards for a bit. Joe teaches me a couple of new card games 'danish' and the 'scabby queen', and we watch a soundless version of the movie snatch as we shuffle and dole out the cards. We decide at about 10pm to meet up with that evening's pub crawl just for a pint, as I have to be up at 5:30am to catch my early morning train to Venice. We get to the second bar before the new beer-swilling herd of the evening arrives, and the owner gives me a big handshake when I enter and order. I exchange emails with Joe and we make plans to meet up in a couple of weeks in Edinburgh, on the royal mile. I leave Joe and the crawlers behind, make my way back to the hostel, chat with some of my roomies for a bit, and pack my stuff for my early departure the next day.

Rome was exactly what I was looking for and things couldn't have gone any better in terms of the weather, the sights, the hostel, the co-travellers etc. Here's to hoping the good streak continues.

London Bomb Updates, Roma the II

First off, I've now gotten confirmation that Jazzy, Lara and her Nan are all safe and sound in London. What a relief! I spent a lot of my time yesterday trying in vain to get through by phone, but can now rest a bit easier knowing that all are ok.


My first full day in Rome starts pretty early, and I head down to the kitchen for another mediocre free 'breakfast'. At least there's some variety this time, and I make myself a bowl of cereal, tea, and some sort of chocolatey wafer bar. I had made plans with Scottish Joe and Jacqueline to visit the Vatican today, but after searching all over the hostel for Jacqueline to no avail, Joe and I decide to head out without her. We enter St. Peter's square and my initial thoughts go back to all the coverage over the preceeding pope's death, and election of benedict the XVI. As expected, there are tourists snapping pictures everywhere (myself included). The square is quite a big place, and off to the right we find the queue for entrance into the Basillica. 15 minutes later, we make our way in and I'm very much in awe of the world's most famous church. The ceilings are well over 100 feet tall, with every square inch of wall and ceiling covered in ornate frescoes, gold leafing, and marble decadence. I get a good look at Michalengelo's Pieta sculpture (he completed this at age 24, and its his only work to contain his signature). Every pope has a monument/sarcophogus inside the Basillica, and a couple of them are even "on display" in glass cases. This is definitely the type of place you'd want to be buried in, though for some strange reason I don't think that'll happen for me. There are nun's and priests everywhere, and you can enter a few rooms off to the side to hear mass, and pray.

We leave the Basillica and I grab a panini from a little truck outside. Joe picks up cold pizza, and simultaneously puts down his camera. He realizes this not 5 minutes and 50 feet later, but when we return to inquire about it, it is nowhere to be found.

From there we cough up the outrageous 12euro for entrance into the Vatican museum (home of the Sistene Chapel), and make our way through many halls of marble busts, sculptures and frescoes. We pass through Raphael's room filled floor to ceiling with tapestries, and finally into the sistene chapel. You aren't supposed to take pictures inside, but I can't resist snapping a quick ceiling shot, as I stare in awe at the 500 year old work above. It's definitely cool to see, but I think I was expecting something more lavish or polished than what actually appears in the chapel itself.

We get back to the hostel and I grab some dinner (pizza, what a surprise!), and a big bottle of italian beer. We decide to do the pub crawl that night, and I bring my bottle along for the journey. We're about 25 people strong as our guide takes us through some of the evening sites and explains some of the history in a hip, informal manner (just like my last tour). We hear a ghost story, and I stop to throw a coin into the wonderfully lit Trevi fountain (thus ensuring my return to Rome).

Our guide warns us (and particularly the girls of our group), of the somewhat comical tight-pantsed, hair slicked species known only as the Italin male. The girls are informed not to make eye contact with these wild creatures as we descend the spanish steps, for risk of being taken home to meet their parents (with whom most of them still live). We hurriedly descend the stairs and I can't help but laugh at all the whistling and calls of "ciao bella" at the girls beside me.

At this point the crawl begins, and we are given a free shot at each of the 4 bars we venture to that evening. I chat with the usual tourist grab-bag of Brits, Americans, Canadians, and Australians, and everyone's having a good time. The last bar is actually more of a club, and everyone is well oiled from the booze. We stagger around and try and dance and mingle with some of the locals. Its great fun. A fellow group of montrealers has a bit too much fun, and Joe and I leave the bar to find one of them hugging the pavement outside. He's made a deposit on the street, and when we try and help him and his buddies into a taxi, the driver takes one look at him and refuses to let him in. Joe and I end up hoping into the cab instead, and 5 minutes and 10 euros later, we're back at the hostel, about ready to collapse.

Roma the I

I awake in Italy, feeling really isolated for the first time in my trip thus far. Sitting alone in my cabin built for 6, I worry about being a foreigner in a foreign land, not being able to mutter a single word in the local tongue. From here on out I'll be left to my own devices for survival. As I exit the train station in search of a grocery store to grab some breakfast (gatorade and an egg and prusciuttio filled sandwich), my language fears are eased. I had spent some time this morning trying to memorize some key italian phrases to help me cross the language divide. As I stood in the ever decreasing checkout line, my moment approaching the cashier took one look at me, and said in perfect english "that'll be 3.50".

From there its up to the hostel to check-in. I realize right away that I made a good choice this time around, and would equate this with the ritz-carleton of all hostels (its supposedly one of the top 5 in the world, and after my stay I wouldn't refute that). It's called Yellow, and the check-in area looks like a cross between an ikea showroom and a martini bar. The place is spotless, offers free internet, no curfew, no lockout and a free breakfast. They also run day tours intended for the younger traveller and a pub crawl/night tour every evening.

I sign up right away for their all around Rome tour, grab a quick shower, then hussle down to the meeting point (acclimitzing myself with the fairly simple to navigate 2-line Rome metro system along the way). I meet the 6 or 7 others signed up for the tour, and our guide approaches. He's about my age, from New Orleans, a history major, and also studied mythology so he's certainly got the background. He informs us he's lived here for almost 4 years, and came basically for the scenery. We start in circus maximus and I realize right away that this will be unlike any other guided tour I've been on before. "Alright check it out, in 753 bc, two bros Reamus and Romulus, reared by a she-wolf mother where pitted against each other by their godly father in an all-out fight to the death at this very place. So goes the mythological founding of Rome". Our guide goes onto explain the origins, rise, and eventual decline of the roman empire, as we walk and stop at several key locations along the way. He's got a razor sharp wit, and tongue-in-cheek sense of humour, and it keeps the factual information light and easy to digest. Walking up against fallen temples, with huge bleached-white marble columns in 4 and 5 large chunks just strewn off to the sides of streets and walkways is an awesome sight. Its tough to realize that this was the place where everything went down more than 2000 years ago. Being able to touch a carved piece of stone that is that old, surprisingly makes you (as a living breathing life form) a little bit inconsequential next to an inanimate chunk of rock.






The tour takes us past the site where Julius Ceaser was stabbed 17 times and muttered the immortal "Es tu Brute" line. An interesting tidbit is that the place is now basically a bus stop. The ruins are excavated and lie about 15 feet below the street. Pearing inside where 3 temples used to lie, are tons of stray cats. Apparently these cats have long been fed by nuns who would give every last cent they had to ensure their survival. These cats have all now been made honorary citizens, and have a full time staff that ensure they are fed. It's definitely la dolce vita for them!

From there we make our way inside one of the most famous, and best preserved relics from ancient Rome, the Pantheon. Buried inside are several former Italian Kings and the painter Raphael. Looking up and out the perfectly circular hole in the roof, carved from a single (monolithic) piece of granite that stands about 100 feet in the air is definitely an amazing accomplishment, its coolness magnified by the fact that the ancient romans figured out a way to cut, hoist and perfectly position this huge piece of rock in 27 bc. The hole is not covered even to this day, so when it rains, it pours right into the marble building, the sloped holed floor collecting the water. The light cast from the hole also illumnates a particular point of the building and was used to help tell the time long before the Rolex hit the scene.

We stop for gelati and pizza, then the tour continues on to the ruins of the old roman forum, and what was probably the worlds earliest shopping mall (3 stories no less!). Then in the background we see an image of the most symbolic of all roman treasures, the colosseum. Our guide tells us about the type of events they had (man vs beast, beast vs beast, man vs man), how they even sold tickets (again remember this was done in ancient times), and some of the women there setup tents and practiced the worlds oldest profession out front of the arches.

The tour ends, and I walk back to the hostel just drenched in sweat. To combat the constant heat, there's an underground spring water system, and on many of Rome's streets you can find these taps distributing potable and very palatable water out of things the italians call "noses" because of their shape. I rehydrate myself constantly to keep with the cyclic evaporation of water from my pores, even at night its still quite muggy and hot (no air conditioniza in the hostel is about its only fault, if you can call it that). I'm still pretty exhausted from the lack of sleep the day before, so I just chat with some of my new single-serve friends for a bit, meet a brother and sister from Richmond Hill, an Aussie who's just freshly arrived in a foreign season and hemisphere, and a Seattle-ite who's already been here a few days. I hit the sack early, and make plans with my new Scottish and Seattle friends to go see the Vatican city (the world's smallest country the following day).

Paris le 3eme

I begin my final full day in Paris in a fairly shocking manner. All throughout my trip thus far I had been getting stares and dirty looks from the locals because of my big chops. Combining that with the hot weather, and the cheek sweat, I decide with razor in hand to do something drastic (sorry Jazzy, and you can thank me later mom!). I finish removing my sideburns and see someone five years my junior staring back at me in the mirror. They'll be back, but for the rest of the trip, its sans favoris.


I scarf down my continental breakfast and make my way to the Louvre. It's the first Sunday of the month, which means that it and almost every other museum in the city is free. That being the case, its totally teeming with other budget minded foreigners and locals. This museum is absolutely humongous, and I suspect that if you just wanted to walk through the entire thing, without even stopping to look at any of the works it would take about 6 hours. Since I don't have the legs or the stamina to do that, I use the map to seek out some of the star attractions. In the basement I explore the dungeon and part of the original palace of Louis the XV (I think). Its neat to see the meshing of the old and the new (same with the glass pyrimidial?? entrance jutting out from old world concrete).







From there I see the Venus Di Milo, in and amongst tons of other marble statues and busts. The problem with this place is that it is just teeming with great pieces, and you end up with sensory overload. I see the 200+ carrat crown jewels of the king, and napoleon the III's apartment. I pass through some massive and massively vulgar religious paintings and frescoes. I really enjoy the winged victory of the samothrace, and am a little underwhelmed by the mona lisa. Its so packed I can only get within about 15 feet, and I'm surprised at how small it actually is. They put it on display by its self on a huge 40 foot wall which only emphasizes the size disparity for me.

I slowly make my way back to the hostel and soak up as much of the parisian streets and buildings as I can, pick up my bags and head for the train station. It's my first eurail pass experience and I want to make sure I have lots of time to avoid any screwups or hassles. It was a relatively simple procedure to get my pass validated, and stamped and I board the train feeling much relieved. I find my first class couchette compartment and am greeted by this very sweet, and just as friendly old italian couple. We break the language divide by moving to neutral french, and he tells me how he works in Paris, and lives in a tiny village in the north of italy. I offer them some of my baguette, but they politely refuse, and we chat a little about the EU and its recent monetary slump, which has helped me to stretch my canadian dollar a cent or two further. I watch the vineyards and small villages built into hills zoom past me, and after about an hour we rise from our seats and set up the couchettes. The wife heads for the bathroom, at which point the husband informs me to watch out because she snores. After the hostel I just stayed in, I feel I can sleep in just about any situation now so I remain unphased by the comment. I write from my top bunk, while the couple drifts off to sleep. Even though the noise isn't a factor I still toss and turn and get very little sleep that evening. I'm stirred awake at 5am, as the old couple are now at their destination. We say our goodbyes, and I try and catch another hour or so of restless slumber, before I awake to similar little villages and vineyards nestled into the Italian countryside.


At 10am, I exit the climatized train and the heat of Rome smacks me right in the face.

Paris le 2eme

Sorry for the delay but trying to track down time to get on the internet is proving difficult (I´m 2 full days into Rome as I write this).

Day 2 in Paris, I wake up at about 10am, miss the free ´breakfast´ and nurse my hangover instead. I pick up a baguette and some ementhal swiss, and head out to a nearby park for breakfast. The sun´s shining, and there are just a few marshmallowy clouds in the sky, so I make my way to Montmartre.

I don´t have a map of the area on me, and spend my time jostling with the tourists through the zig-zagging elevated streets. I head for the least crowded road and start to climb, not entirely sure of my destination. Once I can´t climb further, I follow the tourists and end up in front of the basillique sacre cour.


Its gorgeous, with spectacular panaromic views of the city below. I walk down the to the little park out front of it, and have an Amelie moment (the pointing and blinking green statue is nowhere to be found though). I perch myself halfway down the elevated park, and watch the pickpockets and scam artists go to work on the unsuspecting foreigners below. They´re extremely pushy and try and tie a bracelet around your wrist really quickly then demand an outrageous sum of money for the cheap piece of string looking back at you. If you´re really unlucky, one of their accomplices steals your wallet while you´re distracted. Needless to say, I exited the park in a hurry, avoiding any contact with these ´park employees´, and ensured my belongings were still with me once I got to the street.


From there I make my way over to the moulin rouge. Its nothing too spectacular and located in a seedy neighbourhood. I wasn´t about to cough up 80 euros, so there would be no can-can kicking in my near future. I read online that the cafe featured in Amelie was just up Rue Lepic a bit, so I make my way up there, and sure enough its there. I peak my head in and take a few pics, but its way too crowded to sit, so I just make my way back to the metro. The tobacconist part actually doesn´t exist in the real cafe.

I then make my way over to the outdoor terraces and literary cool of st. germain. I find the cafe deux magots where Hemmingway, Sartre, F. Scott Fitzgerald and other geniuses were known to hang out. Again I´m frustrated with the lack of a place to sit, and the 4 euro price tag for juice or coffee, so I walk up the street a bit to another cafe, park myself down on the patio, and watch Paris pass in front of me for a few hours. I could definitely get used to this lifestyle, but it would probably be nicer if it weren´t for all the tourists (like me), with camera bags draped round their necks, and sandals draped round their feet.


From there I make my way back up to the river, and enroute to the cathedral Notre Dame. I´m awestruck by the ornate detail, and can definitely see why it took 200 years to complete. The original purpose of the scenes and images depicted on the front was to illustrate the bible to the poor Perisians who couldn´t afford their own paper copy. My feet are feeling pretty tired, and I must have covered about 15km on foot so far that day, so I make my way over to the jardin du carousel and soak up some rays for a bit.

I see boats cruise down the Siene and on the advice of a co-traveller, I decide to take the trip in the evening. Trying to find the place where the boats depart becomes a bit of a walking nightmare, and I end up sauntering all way back to the eiffel tower before I find where I can board. It´s now dark outside and the eiffel tower looks amazing in its yellowy evening glow. I board the last boat of the evening and settle into my hour long cruise.



Seeing all the sights at night is amazing, and easily the best thing I´ve seen on the trip thus far. The bridges are aglow in blues and reds, and all along the banks of the Siene, are local couples sharing late night picnic meals, and wine, all complete with candles. There are a couple of places where crowds are gathered to watch people tango dance and juggle sticks of fire. The locals all wave and shout as we pass, and we return the favour from our seated positions. I´d love to come back and experience the same trip from the other side, but my feet are too tired to walk all the way back.

The boat cruise ends, and I pass through the eiffel tower. It´s packed with people young and old alike, just chatting, playing cards, or enjoying la vie en rose. When I´m almost through Champ De Mars, the crowd lets out a big cheer, and I turn around to see the Eiffel Tower in a dazzling, sparkling silver light display (it supposedly does this on the hour for a few minutes).

I stop for a yummy chocolate and banana crape on my way back to the hostel, and retire to my noisy room, feeling fully satiated by the ´moveable feast´ that is Paris. Absolutely amazing!

Paris le 1er

I arrived at Gare Du Nord, just north of the city after 8pm on the 30th of June. After a quick acclimatization of the metro I'm successfully riding the rails, and enroute to the hostel. I'm staying at the 3 ducks hostel, and the first thing you notice is that the check-in/out desk is actually also the bar. The bartender/front desk clerk checks me in, I open the door to my smelly 4 bunk room and deeply exhale. I decide to head out and explore some of the neighbourhood around the hostel.

The first thing that I visually soak up, are the tiny streets, pepppered with tons of little bistros and closed up shops. The night is cool as I stroll out 5-10 minutes in each direction using the hostel as a central hub (no bread crumbs, no map, and a poor sensee of direction require this tethered method of exploration). I find a small asian restaurant and grab something to eat. I return back to a somewhat lively bar (err I mean hostel), order a pint, sit out in the back terrace and proceed to plan the next days adventure. It's getting late and I'm getting sleepy, so I retire to my bunk and meet my first roomie. He was from Korea, had already been in Paris for about 4 days, and you should have seen his eyes light up like christmas tree decorations when I told him that I had spent time in his hometown of Daegu. We chat for a bit and swap travel tips, then its time to sleep.

Or so I thought. I had read the reviews of this hostel, and lately saw lots of complaints about the noise factor. As I said the bar is not 15 feet from our room, and of course people get rowdier and rowdier as their blood-alcohol level rises. Worse still, the Metro rumbles past about every 5 minutes until midnight, so the bed and walls bellow as this happens. The end result is a very sleepless first night in Paris.

Day 2, I get up early to make sure I'm ready for the free breakfast at 8am, only to find it consits of a pre-sliced half a baguette, serve yourself jam & butter, and exactly 1 cup of orange juice (don't even think about motioning for a second cup... the staff will make sure that that ain't happening).

The hostel is close to the Eiffel tower, so I head out in that direction on foot. Starting with L'ecole miliataire and the Champ De Mars, I leisurely stroll along, edging closer and closer to the tower.

I get a good look at it from the ground, and well it looks exactly as you would picture it looking. Thousands of criss-crossing 45 degree lines, people on foot and in elevators at various hights of the tower, and overcast skies in the background set the scene. I had planned on going up at least to the first floor, thinking it was gratuite, but if they make you pay .40 euros to use a public toilet, you can bet they are going to charge you for the privelege of burning calories and seeing the view. Since I'll soon be a starving student, and am trying to complete this trip on a budget, I instead decide to walk under the tower and think about what the view would look like instead... not bad!

From there, I spend some time in amongst the water and statues at the Jardin Troquadero, and make a b-line for the world's largest roundabout and the arc du triomphe.

The drivers here are just as crazy as you'd think, and I'm shocked to not witness at least one car crash while standing around the arc. Again I opt to not pay the 5 euro fee to go stand in the middle of the roundabout, so I stroll down the Champs Elysses instead. It's very tourist filled, so along with that are the overpriced postcards and tacky merchandise. I make my way up to the Palais du Congress, and stop for a rest in the Jardin Du Carousel. The garden is lush and statue filled, and laying about are some real comfy seats that I decide to park myself in. About 15 minutes later, the skies open up and I'm forced to postpone my Hemmingway Cafe afternoon adventure. Instead, I opt for a celinged adventure, indoors at the Museee D'Orsay.

I walk along the river Seine, and soak up the surrounding architecutre.





Its mostly off white buildings, with navy roof highlights and white pigeon dropping accents. Inside the museum, I'm amazed by the quality of the work, and walk around pretending that I have a clue about each authour's work. I make sure to check out all the big name pieces, like Rodin's gates of hell sculpture (his best work in my opinion), the birth of Venus, Van Gogh's self-portrait and starry night. Lots of cool Renoir, heaps of Monet, a Matisse painting I've never seen before, and some humongous frescos that are easily 30 feet high, and mostly religeous in subject matter.

I leave the musem feeling mentally satiated, but gastronomically undernourished. I Pick up a couple of Merguez sausages at a Kebab house on my way back to the hostel, and try and grab a nap for an hour.

I get up and begin to mingle with my fellow budget travellers in the bar. I meet a couple of Californian's named Mirren and Matt, and we make plans to hit the city that night. An Aussie named Mike joins up, and we're off on the Metro to Bastille station (where one local informs us that the drinking is good). On the train, this crazy woman instantly begins berating Matt and Mirren (and Mike and I by default), for being American. I don't say anything, though I understood most of what she said, and we laugh it off and continue on to our intended destination.

We find a cafe, order a couple of rounds, and with my tongue loosened a bit by the booze, I decide to test my french competency, chatting with one of the locals. I'm actually surprised at how well I'm holding my own, and the local actually compliments me on my french. I become the designated translator between my tourist friends and the locals we meet. One guy I chat with is from the neighbourhood, sells and repairs motorcycles, and cites the Police, the Rolling Stones, and... Scorpions ?!? amonst his favourite bands. The bar is closing so we head over to a 24hour grocery store for some cheap wine (2.90 euros!) and drink on the metro, on our way back to the hostel. Normally we aren't supposed to bring outside liquor into the hostel, but we bribe the bartender with tips, and he lets us drink it out on the terrace.

I finish the wine while chatting with a group of girls from the netherlands, who are in town for Live 8 which takes place the next day. We all sit around chatting until about 4am (which is probably the time I would've fallen asleep anyway given the noise), then I get to bed and crash.

Not a bad first full day!