Ok we’re finally starting to catch up. No spoilers but has been a pretty busy week, with some big wins, and a couple of annoying things to handle. Much more momentum moving forward now that I don’t have to go back and get all the Mexico stuff in order or pop off about corporate culture, but we’ll wrap up Paris in wholesome fashion and I look forward to publishing some insane Albania material shortly.
(editor’s note: gonna force myself to stop editing so much, and just shit out some words like Steven King; dragging this out like I’m writing Game of Thrones. Welcome to my stream of consciousness)
Paris (Day 2):
So we’re officially the Blitz Society champ. Which is basically France champ in my head, come at me MVL, I’ll be waiting for you. We also are trying to figure out the C situation, and to top it off, some very fun, close, McGill dudes are coming into town over the next couple days. Vidy arrives today from Berlin, and he’s made a reference to our friend Imge also being around. We also have loose cannon Shaon, who I dicked around with well into the twilight of my McGill days, hopping in a couple days later.
But eyes on the prize! Pour yourself a glass of wine and sip with me as I regale ya with tales of lost love and romance. I don’t want to get into details that are too personal out of respect, but C and I have some stuff to talk about at this point in the story. What I can say, is that when we kicked off our relationship, she was the sweetest thing to ever exist, and definitely saved me from the worst heartbreak of my life in L.
In addition to being sweet as hell, C’s also sharp as nails, funny, and really fun to be around most of the time. The breakup in Montreal, with her headed back to Paris was amicable, a bit tragic, but planned for by both parties and foreseeable. Less foreseeable was that it would be almost two years before we’d be in contact again (through no fault of my own), but to keep things short, it weighed on me a lot. I’ve reflected many times on whether or not I could have done things differently or been a more perceptive boyfriend, and had an overwhelming urge to just follow up and make sure she was doing well. Spoiler: she is, and I couldn’t be happier about it. I had had a decent amount of excitement at the prospect of spending some time in Paris with her and getting to catch up, and that’s kind of where we kick this off.
So here I am in Paris, day two of a day six layover before the “true” midlife crisis journey to Tirana begins, and I’m the Paris Chess France Chess Champ of the Chess World. Let’s go! Dot those ‘i’s and cross those ‘t’s, we’re going to figure it all out.
Hostel bar is still dead in the late morning. Vidy has arrived late last night, but after learning from my first Mexico trip about how ya should let buddies figure out things on their own pace (BIG DEEZY taught me that), I leave Vidy alone for a bit to settle in, and Camille and I coordinate plans to cross the stupid Eiffel Tower off my Paris list.
We meet halfway, around the Seine via metro. Jesus, just call it the St. Laurent and Paris can be a Montreal clone. Link at a coffeeshop, grab a pastry, I figure out the stupid Velib app finally (theres a button at the TOP LEFT for any potential Paris visitors, that lets you input profile information, and it’s just that easy, maybe I was drunk the previous night. I did pregame for a chess tourney, sue me!), and we go for a really enjoyable bike ride.
I think that’s how I know I’m old as fuck. My parents used to love going for family bike rides back in Calgary. Chinatown dimsum, PEI park, etc, def the stuff you enjoy more as an adult, and now I guess I’m one of them, fuck. Paris bike ride was great, breeze flowing through your hair, some cool monuments to look at, watching the occasionally mega-hippy Paris lad with dreadlocks try to roller skate down the not-so-smooth Paris bike paths and secretly hoping he’d eat shit.
Now I’m out here admiring the architecture. Some of the statues are pretty cool, and I’m in serious danger of becoming cultured. But we have a mission in mind; skip all the garbage and get to that iron monstrosity that is the Eiffel tower. And we do.
Make decent time, prob about a fifteen to twenty minute bike ride. Notable about Paris: compared to Montreal Island the actual cityscape is massive. I’d loosely guess close to twice the size. I’m guessing through drunk Bixi minutes compared to sober Velib one’s, but I can’t be that far off.
We park the bikes and amble off, small detour where C points out her grandma’s house, and here we are. Well, I mean, I guess it’s a tower. Hundreds, or thousands, of tourists, just fucking everywhere, queued up in this insane line for the tower. This would be a recurring theme for the major Paris tourist attractions; call it French Tulum, it’s overrun by idiots, and nobody’s got time for this.
We check at the ticket booth, and it turns out due to the capacity, we can each pay 20 EUROs for a ticket, to walk the stairs, to go halfway up the tower. Fuck that. If C works out we’ll go when I’m back in Paris, and we’ll go early; I’m not a halfway kinda guy. All-in to the top, or fuck off.
So we opt out of the tourist cesspool, and I get a hold of Vidy, who’s staying at Imge’s nearby. Sit down at a nearby cafe to wait for him, but because C doesn’t want to order a drink (I’m keen for some 1pm cocktails), the stuck up waiter in his stupid summer tuxedo jorts (I have no idea how to describe his outfit, but it’s dumb, like him) clears us off. Like for fuck’s sake bud, I’d order 2 drinks and she can have a sparkling mineral water. But C is a bit wary (cheap) when it comes to tourist traps and probably saves me 30 Euros.
Vidy walks in a bit late while we are sitting on a bench, rolling up with a girl who definitely does NOT look like the Imge that I remembered from school. It’s been like 12 years (though I’m reminded that I saw them once, briefly, for a couple hours in the interim, while smashed), but the girl definitely does not look dark skinned like a Turkish woman. Embrace Vidy warmly, he’s put in the effort to catch me and fam over the years, beautiful brown-skinned bastard who just floats effortlessly through social circles. Probably has more friends than Deanna and I combined, which is insane, he’s just an absolute legend who it’s impossible not to fall in love with the second you catch his easy-going vibe.
“Imge” is a bit more problematic. But in my head, that’s who he’s with. So I greet her with a hug and a “hello Imge”. Gamble does not pay off; it turns out its his gf V who I’ve apparently met once three years ago or something. I was probably smashed because I have zero recollection, but to be fair, I’m pretty shit with names in general. Oops.
Anyways, Vidy and V are here on a little couples getaway that coincides with my trip perfectly. Almost too perfectly. Vidy’s a stalker, ya heard it here first. But to be fair, hopping around Europe is way too easy and cheap. I’d be travelling all the time if we weren’t getting pegged by carrier oligopolies across Canada.
We agree to take a double-date (HOPEFUL) stroll down the Seine. Stop for some pastries, and C refuses to buy water at the pastry shop, but literally holds up a line for 30s guzzling water out of a public fountain, making me laugh my ass off. The day is glorious. It really evokes memories of simpler times back in Montreal, years and years ago.
V+V inform us that they’ve booked a burlesque show for the next day, and C + I are super down. I’m all about entertainment; I’ll chat your ear off, but after a few hours I need that sweet sweet mental stimulus or something to do; activities for life!
Walk is good, Vidy and I catching up, the ladies bonding fairly quickly, and I’m not too perturbed by the fact we are walking past all the same stuff we just biked past. C points out landmarks and gives us some details while doing her best tour guide impression. Couple years ago, I’d say, “some statues, some buildings, fuckin’ who cares, things built by man are boring for the most part”.
I mean I think I’d lose my mind at The Great Pyramids, and The Coliseum in Rome (watched Gladiator too many times drunk with Jeff over the years), but other than that, I kinda just always saw buildings as a testament to a bunch of pretentious architects going full Roark, who never understood how physics works or basic efficiency. But I think I’m starting to come around and understand that of course they get the rules; it’s only once you have them mastered that you can get away with breaking them.
It’s art, duh. I’d still prefer to watch a lion chase a gazelle, but the appreciation for culture is inexorably starting to creep in on me. Gross.
So we walk through, admire the scenery. Vidy and I crack immature jokes like we are 18 year old’s back in McGill and it’s fabulous. Pass by the “boats” docked on the Seine where the burlesque show will take place the next day, joke about how bad we all need to take a piss, cut up through the city center. It’s a national holiday for France (one of their fifteen labor day equivalents, where it’s illegal to work, might have to move here but I’d prob die of lung cancer), and we pass by a perfume shop that’s having a small party.
Oh, I forgot to mention, we tried to take a pee at a very fancy hotel and got declined based on dress code, we stopped for a drink or two on the way, and we scooped my Uni / poker buddy Aniel, who’s Albanian but lives in Paris now. Really nice guy, we didn’t get to catch up as long as I’d like, but he was very game to be part of the crew and catch up with me, he’d departed Mtl maybe a year prior and is just an all around good dude.
So the perfume shop has free lemonade and water. C’s fucking all over it, first into the shop, just swigging away like she owns the place. I’m a bit more hesitant; we’re thirsty, but I’m not taking free shit unless I’m buying something in the store, and I’m not buying perfume. I mean no one is, but the scents are nice and the people are friendly. Feels to me like we’re crashing a family gathering, but my sentiment’s not entirely shared by the group. Live DJ set playing some electronic chill music, nice vibe, but we mosey on, stop by a by-the-roll dim-sum shop, and then try to plan our night.
We decide to hit the top of the mountain for a drink and a view of the city, and then send some dinner plans, but hiccup; C again wants to bail and shower after a long day. Fuckin’ hell. I’m not overly disturbed but I do have a lot I wanna say to her, and after last night, not sure if I’ll get the chance tonight either if she’s tired after the shower . But it’s sunny, I’m in Paris, I’m with really good friends I haven’t seen in forever, and we’re gonna make a night outta it.
We take a million stairs and climb a thousand hills, and the 4 of us (Vidy, V, Ani, myself) make it to the top. Just fucking packed with tourists too, but we find a patch of grass to sip some beers, and take in the incredible view. Fuck I’m old.
I mean but what a view. You can see the entire city. Makes sense there’s infinite tourists clogging the place, you get an idea of just how vast and deep Paris is. You don’t get that in NA, there’s something about the richness of the history here, grandparents grandparents grandparents ancient ancestors just duking it out on the soil for this patch of land. Cities rising in abundance, stone piled onto stone, and it just laying here, and growing, for about a dozen centuries. My favorite building is the ugly pristine black one that stands out like a sore thumb, an iconic New York hedge fund looking building amidst the caveman polished stone, a big fuck you to the rest of the cityscape… but I’ve always been a bit of a contrarian, probably my mom’s genes. If everyone hates a building, I will love it.
Sun is setting, on a day that’s been pretty much perfect, I talk a bit more with V + V + A about the C situation, about how much I love them, about how I should have come to Europe years ago to see some of my best friends in the world. Something I’m starting to realize, that’s so obvious… the ones who reciprocate the effort, the one’s where it’s effortless because it’s just so natural and obvious that you should be hanging… are really the ones who mean everything. Fuckin’ love these guys.
Our dinner plans are scuffed due to an extremely long line, A takes his departure, but the rest of us find a suitable replacement and C manages to link back up with us for some asparagus and ice cream. She fuckin’ loves ice cream, to the point where it just makes me happy watching her munch away at it. Big sweet tooth. To be fair, she’s not wrong, at this resto, it was probably the best ice cream I’ve ever had in my life.
What I’m less impressed with is the “Filet Mignon”. I’ve had an idea floating around in my head, of sitting in a cafe, smoking, drinking a wine, and munching some Steak Frites since I got here… and I kinda just skimmed the menu before pulling the trigger on a suspiciously cheap filet mignon thinking I could fulfill the dream. It’s fucking pork. Come on now, these guys make a killing scamming NA tourists. No juicy thick steak wrapped in bacon, it’s a bunch of pieces of pork cut into medallions, some tourist trap bullshit. I should have heard alarm bells ringing when I asked for medium-rare and he said I couldn’t choose how they cook it (I figured it was a proud French chef sort of deal), but what a fucking scam.
But fuck it. C is loving life with the ice cream, the rest of us are just having one of those close friend chats where you realize you’ve spent half your life away from the people that really matter, and the evening is incredible. We’re outside, the bill is fine, and life is good. We lock in evening plans for the show the next night, and I offer to walk C home; part ways with V+V and then it’s just C and I.
She’s not much of a drinker, and it really could have just been a walk home. But the best thing about getting older is how you start learning how to prioritize your own feelings and stop tippy toeing around bullshit; live through mistakes, not regret. I tell her I want to have a chat and we make a pitstop halfway on a terrace towards her home. Order a mojito and she grabs a water; this is going to be thematic of the trip.
I think from my side, I sorta just numbed myself a bit with regards to our whole prior dating experience. Still a little heart broken, you find a nice one, but you know it’s going to end at a set date, and it’s hard not to automatically check out, at least a little. But then in spite of the walls you’ve thrown up, she starts to creep in… and then as it’s building up, boom, just like that, she’s gone. Maybe forever. A bit jarring really. Kinda ironic that in life it’s often a lot easier to appreciate a good thing once it’s gone (not to say that I didn’t while it was happening). Maybe should work on appreciating the present more, but I think I’ve been getting better at that. Though I do have a habit of looking back at all my memories, particularly of people, with rose tinted goggles.
We run through it all, my thoughts, my feelings.. we catch up properly, and there are some emotions, but it’s nice. Interrupted for about fifteen mins by an old classmate of hers who pops by, and half the conversation swaps to French in the middle of the deepest part (fuck sakes haha), but I’m ok with it. Really nice dude, just funny timing.
Anyways, I don’t wanna exaggerate or underrepresent the situation with goofy jokes. I think a core point is that, she has some feelings, but doesn’t consider me particularly reliable, and has a bitttt of a problem with my drinking. L did as well. Well, fuck right off! Haha ok I don’t mean that. I mean they have a point, but at the same time, I’ve grown a bunch since dating both of ’em; think I actually have a pretty good handle on it these days.
She’s in good shape, I’m on what could be my last dumb trip of a lifetime, we’re in a good place and are planning to hang out the rest of my Paris jaunt. She’s come out of a breakup a few months prior, and leaning much more towards just being friends. Of course I have some dreams of this being a Paris love story (I really am a bloody romantic), but I’m honestly ok with friends too; it’s just really nice to see a person I care about a lot doing well, and getting to spend a few days catching up.
Anyways, I walk her back to her parents flat in Paris. An absolutely gorgeous flat. Gorgeous enough that I start to jokingly tease her a bit about how she let me cover rent for both of us for the year ish that we lived together (just tease though; have sort of been raised from the old school mentality that the man should provide, and I was working while she was in school. She did cover groceries). Fuck, maybe we should get married!
She gives me the tour, and we chat a bit more. She’s in her bed, and I’m sitting respectfully in a chair away from the bed. We’re chatting a bit more, about the past, about the days we spent apart, about the future. No more pouring the heart out, it’s just a fond, cozy, chat. A look comes into her eyes, a certain kind of look, and she asks me to come sit on the bed with her. Ask if she’s sure given our whole conversation at the bar prior. She’s sure, and I make my way over. We kiss and it’s magical, whole thing just dripping in nostalgia. Passion, regret, reconciliation… just holding and kissing someone you care about deeply. I missed her, a lot, and probably more than I realized; in life, sometimes you have to stuff those feelings deep down in a box to keep putting one forward in front of the other.
Funnily enough, those feelings really did start to resurface about a week before the trip. Just swapping texts, getting excited to see each other again… I remember when I got to the airport a day ahead of my flight, I wasn’t upset about the fact I was a dumbass and didn’t check my ticket properly. I was upset that I was going to get to spend one less day with her.
Additional aside: I didn’t end up meeting her parents the whole trip. Which felt a bit wrong, I definitely would have liked to, but they were out of town for a few days and timing just didn’t work out. Initially I was invited to stay at their place (which I definitely should have accepted), but it felt a little bit weird (improper?) for me to accept in advance, since we were exes and not dating.
Which means that I have to make my way back to the hostel. C’s parents flat was fairly far central / North, and my hostel is all the way back on the southern outskirts of Paris (Gentille). I started walking back, but after about twenty mins, I got a little bit tired of walking and decided to hop on the metro. Should be easy right?
I was only two stops away from my station, and we stop by the first one without a hitch. But instead of stopping at my station, the train proceeds to skip the next three stations. I have no idea what’s happening, and then finally, I figure out that the faded lights on the display for the middle three stops mean, “TRAIN DOESNT STOP HERE”. Cool.
So I get out at the first stop I can. It’s about 2am and now I’m way the fuck south of Paris. Middle of buttfuck nowhere, and to make matters worse, I have about 3% battery on my phone. Getting stuck out on the streets overnight is a serious risk, but luckily, there’s at least one last train headed north, in about twenty mins.
So I ride the train all the way back, and get out one stop closer to the one I initially boarded the first one (the 3 stops are skipped overnight or something). My phone dies partway through the walk back, but luckily I have my wits about me and manage to navigate my way back to the hostel. Buy some smokes from a cornerstore (would later find out these are sold illegally), and crash out exhausted after one of the best days I’ve had in recent memory.
Paris (Day 3.)
More kebabs for lunchski. C is busy during the day but we have plans to see the burlesque show later, and I want to give V+V some space to have their own Paris romantic adventure. I’m also fiending for some chess. So after I eat, I head out towards Park Luxembourg.
I also shoot messages to Axel, Sahit, and Mikhail; they’re all around my rating and would def give me some good games. Sahit and Mikhail are busy, and Axel has some lessons to teach, but he will be free later on, and we make plans to link up at Blitz Society around 4 or 5.
I pull up to the park around 2pm, and start sweating a few different boards, trying to figure out if there are any decent players, and if I can weasel my way into the rotation. I initially have these old guys picked out, but then I notice that one player has hung a rook. When his opponent doesn’t take the rook on his next turn, I turn away in high-ELO disgust, and look for stiffer competition.
I do in fact manage to find some. A group of three guys around my age, maybe younger, are rotating in and out. Moves are coming out fast and crisp, the positions and ideas make sense… it’s easy to spot strong players fairly quickly. I strike up a convo with them from the sidelines, and ask if any of them are strong; the Asian lad who is clapping his buddies asks if I have a title. I have to say that I do not; I really need to get back to playing some classical at some point. Maybe I’ll add Kosovo onto my tour; it’s next door to Albania, cheap as hell, and they run some big international chess tourneys. But I do drop my 2500 chess.com rating on the park bros, and it’s enough for them to let me into the rotation.
Asian smacks the dude with a British accent around, and then I’m up against him. He’s also around 2500 on chess.com and is providing some stuff resistance, but he inexplicably hangs a piece early, and I convert fairly easily. Plenty of banter with the boys throughout, and I work my way through the rotation of the other two players without much trouble to come back to Asian lad.
At this point we have a nice group of maybe 5 or 6 voyeurs, checking out the best blitz in the park. But it’s park blitz, not overly serious, and after I drop my next game to the Asian when my attack fizzles, I ask the lads if they want a beer. I get a few yesses, and spend my time in the rotation running out to the store to grab a six pack.
Closest store is about two blocks away, but unfortunately it’s more of a wine store, and only has craft beers. Six pack runs me 24 Euros. With the Canadian dollar in the shitter, this is a big ouch. But it’s all they have and I’m not gonna run around, so I grab em and bring them back to my new friends. We spend an hour or two swapping stories and putting some games of varying skill up on the board, and it’s a great time.
I invite them to Blitz Society, but they all have plans that night. British lad is playing a tournament in the south somewhere, and thanks us all for the warmup before departing. We wish him luck against the army of underrated kids he’s going to have to take on (RIP his ELO), and I part ways from the group myself to meet Axel at the chess club.
We play a few games, I buy him a beer on my gift card (no idea how I’m going to spend it all), and we shoot the shit while swapping games back and forth. He’s a chess coach, super passionate about chess, and just a really cool guy in general. I invite him out to the show, but he has plans to hit the club later on; under normal circumstances I’d probably join him, but I’ve got a burgeoning romance with C to explore, and this will be the calm leg of my trip.
Meet up with C near the Seine, we grab ice cream, and then mosey our way over riverside. The burlesque show opens at 9pm, and it’s taking place on a boat. We are expecting to see V+V roll up any minute, but they are on European time and running late, so we pile into the boat with all the other viewers.
There’s a stage in the bottom deck of the boat. A lot of the middle rows are full, but the front row is very suspiciously sparse / empty. C grabs my hand and drags me right up front and center; I’m pretty convinced there’s a reason why they are empty and protest a bit, but in the end we sit down. Suspect C may have a bit of voyeur in her haha.
The boat is rocking a little in the weather, it’s dark, and it’s a little hot and humid inside. I’m sure at least a couple people got seasick. But my sea-legs aren’t bad for a ‘Berta boy, and soon enough the red curtains open up and we have our first act.
There are 8 acts total, with each performed going twice. Starts with some very classical cabaret with ferns type shit, we hit actress #2 who is rocking some insane assets (C said she’d never seen breasts that big before), and then for act 3, we have an amazing gay male sailor performance, pipe and all. Mime meets Popeye?
Lots of laughs, raucous applause, plenty of amusement and spectacle throughout. The coolest act of the night is insane though, definitely cirque du soleil quality. The stage is pitch black, and a woman comes out in almost no clothing, but she’s nothing more than a silhouette in the darkness.
In sync with the music, she twists around, the faintest outline of human form. Opens a couple of cans on the floor in front of her, and a bright, white, glow in the dark paint shines from both. Dips two paintbrushes into the paint, which you can only see once the paint starts coating them, and begins to apply the paint to her body.
Gasps in the crowd and more applause follow, she’s painting slowly, with both hands, symmetrically. Dramatic splotches followed by long, slow, thin strokes, it’s a testament to art and the human form. An outline around her body soon appears, and soon after she’s started on the contours on the interior of her body; breasts, thighs, belly. The music has been soothing, melodic, and peaceful as she finishes the first phase.
The calm is shattered as the music takes a more violent, dark turn. Now instead of an appreciation of her body, it’s an artistic rejection of it. Insecurity, loathing of the self, in the face of society’s unrealistic expectations for the female form. She’s angrily splattering wads of paint over herself, crossing out the lines she’s drawn, her once smooth and precise movements giving way to spastic fits of rage and chaos.
I can’t precisely say why it spoke to me so much, but it was insanely powerful, and beautiful. She ends the performance on her knees, head bowed, destroyed by her insecurities, paint fuckin’ everywhere, and the small room is filled with deafening applause. Extremely emotional performance, I think V+V were both in tears. I was close. Best 20 Euro’s I’ve ever spent on a show. Cultured Brando indeed.
We hang out with V + V and their one friend they brought along for a quick drink afterwards, but everyone is pretty bagged. C has seen my sad hostel setup, and probably at least partially out of pity, has said that I can crash at her place for the next two nights. It’s an offer that I’m happy to accept, and we hang out a bit more before calling it a night.
Brando's Rambles 
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