Tag: blog

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.

Ok, now I’m caught up on the first round of COVID Mexico, and I can finally start weaving the words together on my current adventures. I’m excited to share and a little bit wine drunk, so buckle in.

Paris. How did I end up there? To be completely honest, I’m doing this whole Europe thing on a shoestring budget. Call it a midlife crisis, after I quit Ubisoft (after working fucking seven years there), I got a job as a video game dev at Behaviour Interactive.

(If you wanna skip to Paris, hop down this post to the Paris – Day 1 Section; this turned into a bit of a ramble about work).

I did a year and a half there on a new IP. As a senior game dev, in Unreal (game engine), that they promised they’d train me in. Hired as a gameplay programmer, and they chucked me into a role as the UI senior dev. So take away all my gameplay experience, put me into a boring fucking job I didn’t apply for making buttons and menus, in an engine I don’t know, and ask the world of me.

But I was on a bit of a high. I had finally said fuck you to Ubisoft, escaped the monotony of five years on Rainbow Six Siege post-launch… I studied for a month for interviews, and got three offers to make about 35% more. You should all quit your jobs, they’re fucking you. They will bleed the years of your life dry, and give you the least they can. Welcome to capitalism.

I worked my ass off at Behaviour to catch up. I worked my ass off like I never have before. I actually fucking tried. And it wasn’t enough. Behaviour is known for exactly one IP, Dead by Daylight. It’s kind of a trash game to be honest, probably could have been cobbled together by four dipshits in their mom’s basement, but it found a niche amongst horror lovers and funded the whole studio.

So not knowing any of this, I took the job there. 7 weeks of vacation, staff kitchen cooking free lunches every day, and a flexible remote schedule, not to mention it was about three blocks from my apartment. Cushy as hell. I had a friend working there in the marketing department, and I was counting on him to introduce me to the cute ladies at the first 5a7. That’s a CINQ A SEPT, or happy hour, for you non Frenchies.

They fired him first. Before our first 5a7 sadly, so no introductions for me. I don’t think the dude is a genius, but he’s not dumb, and to boot, he’s super lovable, friendly, and works his ass off.

At Ubisoft, it was basically impossible to get fired; the only person I ever saw get laid of was a dev tester buddy, and he would regularly show up to work at 11am. Then Pokemon Go came out, and we’d go out on lunch break catching Pokemon… I’d come back to the office, but buddy would sometimes stay out the rest of the work day. Catching Pokemon! I guess he got addicted or something, wouldn’t surprise me if he actually caught them all. It took Ubi about six months of this to finally lay him off.

So my buddy gets shitcanned at my new company without a ton of justification, and that’s the first sign of trouble to me. Because the dude can obv crush a marketing job, it’s Dead by Daylight, everyone already knows the fucking game. Marketing, what marketing? They do collabs with famous horror movies / novels and rake in the cash. MTX, grind those microtransactions baby (oh how far the game dev industry has fallen into corporate bullshit since the glory days of early Blizzard, Westwood Studios, etc…)! Robo-pilot that shit and collect cheques, some corpo politics involved maybe, who fucking knows.

Anyways, I get to the first 5a7 a month in and have made friends already with a few of the devs. I convince half the programming team to come out to a local bar nearby afterwards, and we just get shitfaced. Including the team lead T. Fuck, I was going to tell the Paris story and this whole thing is a preface to it. Sorry not sorry.

So we get really fucking drunk at this local bar I love, Melrose, I get half the dev team wasted. We get some discounts, and everyone loves me for it. Putting the team in teambuilding baby! BUT, I miss the prog Teams call in the morning. I admit it was because I was hungover on death’s door (like a fucking idiot; I’m way too honest sometimes. though to be fair, T was at the bar with us so it’s pretty obvious what happened).

T has it out for me at that point. I mean, it doesn’t help that I’m frantically playing catchup with Unreal; my “training” was an online course they threw at me that I got fucking 2 days to look at before they chucked me in the deep end of the pool. “Please architect an entire feasible UI framework with zero Unreal knowledge, here’s a ten day course we will give you 2 to look at, GO”! I do like a challenge though.

Actually, funny story, my first day at BI was on the entirely wrong project; they didn’t even know what team I was supposed to be on. Instant chemistry with the lead for that project, he seemed like an absolute beauty, but sadly it was not to be.

Long story short BI busted on a game called “Meet Your Maker”. They met their maker, the game completely flopped, and BI missed annual revenue projections across the board by about 70%. Welcome to game dev. Except as a large, non-publicly traded Indie company, that tends to have some consequences.

So they’re just firing people left right and center… in the middle of an acquisition of 3 UK studios, that go through because the paperwork is signed. I’m training some of the UK juniors, and honestly, at least 2 or 3 of them probably deserved to get shit canned. I have no idea how they got hired in the first place; without being an asshole, objectively, reviewing their code had me thinking they should be flipping burgers at McD’s. We’re talking code that barely compiles, makes no sense, and doesn’t even come remotely close to closing the JIRAs. Those were the first to go, but the rest of the juniors soon followed… really makes me wonder why management wasted my time training them.

Game dev is saturated by kids with a glow in their eyes, happy to think they’ll be making their favorite game of all time, and ok getting paid jack shit for it. My intermediate and junior on the UI team were fucking rock solid programmers with plenty of Unreal experience, absolutely loving it, and making like 60-70% of my salary. Loved working with those guys; they definitely should have been Senior / Intermediate. At a certain point it becomes tough to compete value wise though, when it’s a race to the bottom. The guys could easily be making close to double what they are if they were valued properly; if I was running a company on a slippery slope, I’d be cutting myself first too.

Company struggling, cuts made, and in the end, I got snipped. Third broad round of layoffs, but at least I survived the first 2. T had said that she would have shitcanned me by Xmas (they actually fired my original team lead, who had spent the whole year telling me I was doing great, right before yearly evals), but she saw me working my ass off and decided to keep me around a while longer because of it. Very morale boosting, thanks T! Production schedule for an important milestone was a mess, and I pulled some long hours to make sure that we got everything on the in-game HUD running crispy clean; we pulled off the milestone UI side without a hitch, and I can honestly say I was proud of that.

I’ll say this one thing; all the nights that I was working overtime, T was right fuckin there in the office plugging away with me. Last two at the office every night, for about a month and a half straight. 8pm, 9pm, etc. I have no idea what she was doing; not sure who you can be emailing to make the work done better/harder/faster/stronger while producing nothing (don’t get me started on the management class in general), but she was putting in the hours as well, not asking anyone to do something she wasn’t willing to do, and I respect the fuck out of her for that.

So finally, laid off, as part of a cohort, with a very healthy severance. Might have been the final straw for me with the corporate world / management bloat. I had just tried my ass off at a new job, and failed. With me putting in 100% effort, which is rarer than it should be. Took about a month after that for L to break up with me, and we’ll unpack that nuclear bomb another time, but all together, I’d just had enough, and desperately needed an excuse to shake things up a bit. (I’ll fill in more on the interim period between then and Europe another time.

My friend from Uni / poker buddy D had invited me to come to Greece, but he changed his mind last minute and wanted to send Albania instead. I was initially skeptical, but I have a couple of really good uni friends here, cost of living looked promisingly low, and so I said fucki it, we booked an AirBnb for May, some flights, and my midlife crisis officially began.

Never been to Europe as an adult, but it turns out that with all the Frenchies flying back and forth, the cheapest ticket into Europe from Montreal is through Paris. Had at least one person I wanted to see there, so I decided to fly through Paris and see the Eiffel Tower. Which is how this story actually begins, holy fuck that was a big dump, but in the end we got there.

Paris Day 0:

You guys are going to ask how Day 0 can be a thing. I fucked up big time. I booked a flight, I booked a hostel, I told my Paris ex, C, that I was coming today. I get to the airport, try to enter my flight reservation, and can’t find it in the terminal. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck is going on, I’ve already subletted my place… and it turns out that my flight isn’t until the next day.

Cab back home, drive of shame, down eighty bucks, and remind myself not to be completely retarded.

Paris Day 1:

Ok. So holy shit, after all the hassle, I get on the fucking plane. It takes off, we fly in the air for a few hours, and all of a sudden I’m on the other side of the world.

Flight attendants chuck all the lights on paging for a doctor; they have oxygen out and a defibrillator on standby. Pretty lucky they didn’t have to use the defib, because I have some serious doubts that the EMT and Doc who answered the call actually knew how this model worked, based on the parts of the convo I could catch. Everyone in the section watching intently like it was a live theater version of Grey’s Anatomy. I’d call em sick fucks, but I have some dark, grumpy, sleep deprived thoughts of my own. If you’re going to die, you could at least die in silence and quickly, so the rest of us can get some fucking shut eye (yep, I’m burnin’ in Hell boys). Obviously didn’t really mean it though.

A little sleep deprived, we reach the other side of the world; except it kinda feels like we never left Montreal. It smells like Oldport. It sounds like the Oldport. It looks like Oldport. I went from a land of Frenchies to another land of Frenchies with proper grammar. Actually, funny aside; I realized that I can in fact speak French through pure osmosis, after living in mtl for 12 years. It’s the Montrealer’s who can’t speak French, tabernac esti, they cram four words at a time into one and make a beautiful language make zero sense. I spoke French in Paris about 80% of the trip and I fucking killed it.

C is at the airport waiting for me. She joked that she couldn’t make it last minute via text, which got lost in translation and made for a confusing arrival, but holy fucking shit, she showed up to play. We’d talked the week leading up, and she said she’d grab me from the airport… and she just looks stunning. Glowing skin, beautiful dress and heels, petite with pretty brown eyes. Oof. She did preface this trip by saying we would be “just friends”. But shows up dressed like that; to be honest, not sure she ever wore makeup or heels around me the entire time we dated. But now that we’re friends… Fackin’ women eh boys?

Brief history, we dated about a year total while she was studying abroad, but it was always with the knowledge she’d return to Paris after, so even though she lived with me, we always knew it’d have an end. Amicable breakup, and it’s the first time we’ve seen each other in over five years.

When you’re landing in a foreign country, the people who welcome you are everything. I didn’t understand that until I felt it myself; she certainly didn’t have to scoop me at the airport, but it was one of the sweetest things I’ve experienced in a long time. She also has an ice coffee and pastry for me for breakfast, which was fantastic; delicate, a little crumbly, touch of chocolate… Frenchies don’t fuck around when it comes to baking.

We figure out train tickets to get back into the city, and we catch up a bit; it’s been five or six years and we can’t possibly get through it all. She has to bail for a bit for a family event, and gets off halfway, but just the fact that she came all the way out to grab me speaks volumes about her. And I suppose us I guess. Fingers crossed!

Anyways, I get to my metro stop. I booked a hostel with a private room thinking it would be like Mexico. It was not, at all. Front desk and the public area is fine, but the rooms are trash. Right on the southside of Paris, Jo and Joe, Gentilly… nothing is gentle about the actual living space.

My “room” consists of a hallway door on the fifth floor, that leads into 4 separate doors to “rooms”. Rooms is in quotes because they are a 2×4 entrance with a bed. It’s a bunkbed, and I have a top bunk, with the lower bunk in the other “room”, and some person crashing directly underneath me, separated in the middle by the build of the bed. No aircon, one light, a very very tiny area to walk into, and a ladder up to the bed. Obviously the bathrooms / showers are communal as well. Still don’t know how nobody walked in on me ass naked, should have brought a soap bar just to complete the prison experience. Might be over hostels for a while.

I don’t have any super concrete plans in Paris. C won’t be free until later that night, and another extremely good friend of mine from McGill, Vidy, isn’t in town until tomorrow (super lucky that our trips overlapped). Obviously I have some ideas about checking out the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, etc, but I’m actually more interested in visiting a chess bar I’ve seen some of the famous streamers frequent, Blitz Society. I’m hoping to be able to play in at least one speed chess tourney and throw down.

The day is nice enough, so I decide to walk it up. Grab a quick bite at one of four shawarma joints just outside the hostel, and kick off what will be a forty or fifty minute walk. I do spend about ten minutes trying to figure out Velib, which is the Paris equivalent of Bixi (public bike rental service), but the app is designed poorly and the actually kiosks with the bikes are extremely confusing. Fuck the bikes, we’re walking boys.

It’s probably about 1pm, and my walk takes me through Luxembourg Park, where I’ve heard there are sometimes blitz games being played. Pass a couple of cool statues, and get a chance to try using one of the public urinals (they are very strange looking, extremely tight spaces where you piss into a waterfall; splash risk seems extreme, but I guess they get the job done).

The park is gigantic, with a couple sets of tennis courts, and I’m not spotting any chess, though there are a very large amount of people of working age that seem to just be loafing around, at 1pm on a Wednesday. I would chirp the work ethic of the French, but maybe they have it figured out better than us NA dogs, and it’s not like I’m working a “real job” right now either.

I do eventually spot a couple of chess games going. But it’s literally only a couple, there are a few old dudes slugging it out at one board, and about twelve youngers guys crowded around a second board. Tempted to ask them for a game, but it’s just way too many people and not enough boards. I watch for a few minutes and ballpark their Elo’s as being a complete waste of time for me anyways, and continue moving on towards Blitz Society.

It doesn’t open up until three, so I end up killing a bit of time drinking a beer on a terrace and smoking a cigarette. I was planning on quitting while out in Europe, but it’s going to be hard; they let you smoke everywhere, and terrace smokes feel damn good.

Blitz Society’s location is a little bit weird, it’s almost this hole in the wall in an alleyway off of one of the main roads, but the interior is quite nice. It sort of has a classy cocktail lounge feel to it, except that every single table has a board and clock set up. There aren’t too many people there yet, since I walk in about ten minutes after it opens, but a few games are going. I check them out briefly but the games don’t look that serious, and I turn my attention to the hostess / waitress. Fairly attractive blonde woman in her early thirties, slender with a warm smile, probably Ukranian or something.

Order a beer (obviously), and ask her what the tournament schedule is this week. It turns out that the only proper blitz tournament is actually happening later tonight (5+2 time control). She asks if I was interested in the Under-1400 tourney on Saturday (just a littleeeee below my level) or am interested in taking lessons, which are a requirement for the Sunday 10+5 tourney. I’m certainly not interested in lessons, I’m here to kick some ass, but I don’t give away my hand just yet.

I had really wanted to spend the first night catching up more with C, but the tournament runs from 7 to 9 this evening, and it’s going to be a bit of a stretch. I’m not crazy, if it was the last night chess would be taking a backseat, but it’s the ONLY tournament I can play in and I’ve got close to a week. I call her and check in with her, and she says that I should definitely play, and we can try to work something in after, maybe. Definitely keeping me guessing. So I obviously take her at face value and a green light, and let the hostess know that I’ll be back before the tourney starts; I’m exhausted and want to nap an hour or two so I can perform properly. At chess, obviously.

I end up cabbing back to the hostel, crash an hour as best as I can in the awful bed, and then make the return trip. Total damage is forty Euros; really need to figure out the metro and bike systems or this is going to be a short facking trip.

When I return to the club around 6:15pm, there’s a ton of action. About forty or fifty chess players are all milling around, running some skittles games, or making conversation and sipping wine. And honestly, it seems like a cool crowd; chess might still have a bit of a stigma attached, but I think there’s been a big improvement over the last ten years in terms of social skills and basic hygiene. This ain’t no basement D&D gathering.

I manage to get registered for the tourney without too much hassle (costs 22, 25 Euros maybe), and float around a bit. Make a few friends with some of the guys outside and chat with them hacking darts together. Some sort of Indian dude Sahit, and an eastern Euro type, Mikhail. Love meeting a Mikhail, Mikhail Tal is my favorite chess player of all time, and I take it as a good omen for the tourney. Both are good lads and we swap some short stories. Pretty sure both are in tech (what are the chancessss, at a chess tournament?).

Pairings are up. I have checked in with the tournament director already, they have everyone signed up with their official FIDE rating. I haven’t actually played a FIDE rated tournament since I was about 10 years old at the North American Chess Challenge (U-12), so my FIDE rating clocks in at about 1880 or something. Definitely some sandbagger energy; I’m pushing 2400, 2500 online. But other player’s ratings are similarly inaccurate, so I’m not going to sleep on anyone.

Prizes are a bit stingy; 1st is 100, 2nd is 50, and they have 2 class prizes for 50, but all 200 Euro’s of prizes are for gift cards to the resto bar we are playing in. There are about 35 runners in the tournament (over 700 Euros in entries), so these guys are just making a killing hosting these events. But I’m not here for the money, I’m here to bring Paris some Canadian justice.

I play some extremely good chess. I chop down my first 2 opponents with blistering attacks, straight out of my sketchy gambit opening repertoire. Some very nice games, it’s a shame I don’t have any of them recorded. But the games are a slaughter, just a barrage of pieces flying down the board at the opposing king and no quarter given; I’m feeling myself and that vacation energy.

I’m still chatting to Mikhail and Sahit in the breaks between rounds, and they are starting to realize that I might actually be good at chess. My opponents are also starting to take a bit more notice as well, though it doesn’t help them; I put down my 3th round opponent with relative ease.

Pairings go up for the 4th round in the seven round event, and at 3-0 I’m feeling like a million bucks. Starting to wish I wore my Chessbrah hat to represent the boys, but in the end I had opted not to. Sahit and Mikhail let me know that my next opponent, Axel, is the real deal; he’s got his name at the top of their classical tournament leaderboard, and is somewhere around 2100 FIDE, which isn’t particularly scary on it’s own; but he’s also apparently somewhere around 2600 on Lichess Blitz. Ok, we all know Lichess isn’t a real chess website, but 2600 is not an Elo to be slept on, and he’s also 3-0. We’re potentially playing for the tournament here on board 1.

I end up with the white pieces, and still manage to stumble and drop a pawn out of the opening. Fuck, one day I’ll put some work into my “real” openings. Some very light initiative as comp, but 5+2 plays a little like rapid, where these types of edges can actually be converted with enough precision. So I abandon my plans of playing a stable game and throw another pawn away to muddy the waters; minor pieces are dancing all over on both sides, but the action is taking place close to his king where I thrive.

Some more pieces come off, but finally he stumbles in the complications as we near a time-scramble type situation. My king is a bit loose, and I end up missing a killer, decisive blow, and am close to losing, but I find enough comp that we end up in a king-rook-1 pawn, vs king-bishop-2 pawns, and though we shuffle around a bit, the increment is enough for us to avoid serious blunders, and the game ends in a draw. I wasn’t happy to have missed the killing blow, but was lucky to save the game, my tiebreakers are looking good, and we have another 3 rounds vs the field to put some pressure on each other.

The next 3 rounds are all extremely messy for me. Solid play gives way to some loose pawns and blunders on both sides, but I’m finding a way to navigate the complications. I manage to flag a dude in the 6th round in a pretty drawn position despite the 2 second increment, and in the 7th round I flip a losing endgame with some precise moves to finish with a near-perfect 6.5/7.

Axel is still playing his 7th round game, after winning the last 2 for 5.5/6, and he’ll need to win to take it to tiebreakers. Any other result and I win the tourney. There’s not enough time to calculate who’s going to end up ahead if he succeeds, but I notice almost right away while sweating his game that he’s down 2 minors pieces for a rook, and his opponent has a very stable position with a nice edge on the clock. Their moves come in faster and faster, clock making that sweet “thwack” sound as each of them bangs it in rapid succession, big crowd of players who’ve finished their game watching intently to see if the local champ will manage to save his own game and the pride of their club.

And then it happens; in the time scramble, he manages to hang an exchange to a sneaky knight fork that just seemed like it was inevitable given the dynamics of the position, and just like that, the game is over. His opponent finishes 3rd on 6/7, and Axel is forced to settle out of the money on 5.5/7. Canadian justice is served, and we are 1-0 at taking down tournaments at the growingly prestigious Blitz Society. Next time I play there I hope to collect some properly titled scalps.

Plenty of the players congratulate me, I’m presented with my gift card, and I order a celebratory beer and panini on the house. The Ukranian hostess seems a little bit surprised that I’ve won, and dare I say it, a little impressed. Fuckin try to put me in an under-1400 section again, why don’t ya! Maybe I should have asked for her number (chess wheels!), but my mind is in other places.

The only dampener on the night is that after a long day out, C is feeling pretty wiped out. I had definitely set out for Blitz Society with a warrior’s intention to knock out the opposition across the board, and then ride the high into a conversation with Camille to sort out exactly where we stand.

But not in the cards. No biggie, I’m in Paris for six days. So we end up making plans to meet up the next day instead, and I stick around the club to hang out with some of the new friends I’ve made. I play a few 3+0 games with Axel, Sahit, and Mikhail. Much more casual now, I do drop a couple to Axel, and even the tournament director pops in for a couple games against me. I think it’s always fun to meet some new blood at the chess board; these guys have probably all been playing against each other for years. Exchange some numbers with the boys, and then decide that I might as well walk all the way home and get a good night’s sleep; Vidy is arriving tomorrow, and we have plans to all link up at some point.

Make the trek all the way home, sore feet be damned, and call it a night.