a companion ain't so bad

Travelling alone is all about discovery, you're not held to commitments or obliged to the wants of somebody else. You do what you want. Well, I've been in the big city now for a while and it gets kind of old, especially in Paris when every other person in line at a museum is a couple and they're making out in front of you. Now, I didn't want someone to make out with, but after a day of touring the city alone, you realize after a while that you haven't spoken English to anyone in a few hours.

Solution? Meagan Aylward. Yay! My companion arrived from NYC yesterday morning, and in perfect timing. I was about to ask the burly Aussie brothers to accompany me in my sightseeing pursuits. I left the Young & Happy hostel on rive gauche and set out for rive droite to my new hostel right beside the Louvre. It's considerably nicer and has a central location. It's a nicer part of town, but it lacks the convenience of young student bars, cheap panini's and crepes, and the funky shops in the student neighborhood. It was a beautiful sunny day, so to take advantage, Meagan and I went to the top of the Arc de Triomphe for a beautiful view of the city. It was a good thing I took advantage of the weather because you can't trust a sunny morning in fickle Europe. By the time we were on the Champs-Elysees it started raining. It didn't bother us, so we just kept going, saw Notre Dame, and Meagan went back to take a nap while I did much needed laundry. I got to the Laverie, and felt like a freshman boy away from his mom a month into a dirty clothes pile. I had to ask for help on what to do, because I've never really done laundry at a laundromat. It cost me almost 10 euros for just one load of laundry.

That night we went to Victor's apartment, to pregame before going to a club. I didn't want to take the risk of being underdressed in a Paris club, so I wore a dress only to find the other brazillians all in jeans. We were running late to get to the club before they charged a cover, so we more or less hauled ass towards the champs-elysees, running across to the arc de triomphe, which is illegal apparantly, because Victor and I were almost across the 8 lanes of circle traffic when we heard, "Monsieur, Madamoiselle!" and turned to find Meagan right in front of two police officers, or "cochons". Oops. She managed to get out of it and not die in the traffic, but here's a hint: don't illegally cross a dangerous road onto the grounds of a national French monument at 12:30 in the morning.

The club was my first real dose of culture shock: the kind that really makes you realize you're not in Kansas anymore, Toto. Meagan and I were a bit shocked at the way the French act. First off, they really can't dance. Meagan and I were talking about this when we both said simultaniously in the same sense of shock: "Even the black girls can't dance!" I can't really explain the vibe, it was just very different from an American club, then again, I'm not much of a club person anyways, definitely more for the bars.

We slept in, and I guided around Paris for the afternoon. I got to go to the music museum today which was cool, they had a guitar exhibit which was awesome: guitars from Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon, Jimmy Page, Ben Harper's slide guitar, Bruce Springsteen, well, I was enthralled. I learned a lot about classical instruments as well. Tonight we went to the Highlander, a bar my family and I frequented when we were here, and I was affectionately referred to as Miss Little, although I explained I'm just a Little niece, and more of a Kouchacji. The guitar exhibit inspired me, and I played open mic night, which was spontaneous, but I really miss my guitar. One of the bartenders, Jeremy, is British and really wants me to play some Sublime with him for next wednesday, so we're getting together on Monday and Tuesday to practice. I'm not gonna lie, he's pretty hot! I have no complaints... Paris is fabulous ;)