Finishing up the France chronicles:
Friday, March 17.
My last full day in France. So Rodzilla and I spent the day walking around Bordeaux, buying things for me to sneak through customs on my way home. We packed up her camera and headed for the Jardin Public. Again, we ran into another of her students. I hate being introduced to people when I don't speak their language, because I always end up standing there with this stupid "Goll-ee!" look on my face. So I just played aloof and hid behind my cool-guy shades. I was trying to continue the Asian chic look. She thought I was British. For some reason, I thought that was kind of cool. Anyhow, it was yet another beautiful day in the park. There were all manner of creatures there. Various water fowl, dogs, little lizards, little kids. A very picturesque scene. So naturally I took a lot of pictures. One of them is the last one on the entry from the 19th.
Rodzilla, doing her best "bored millionairess" look.So after that, we fooled ourselves into thinking that we were going to get lunch, then Rodzilla decided we should just go to Haagen Dazs instead. So we did. Not much else to be said about that.
We walked on over to the Meriadeck, a little mall. On the way, I used a public pay toilet. I only used it because I was really curious to see the inside, and it was well worth the two francs to find out. I wasn't sure I was using it properly. I there was no discernible drain, just this little kind of divot in the plastic. There was what appeared to be a fecal streak, so I just peed on that. After I got out, I heard all sorts of whirring and buzzing as the public toilet cleaned itself. I really wanted to see that. Rodzilla told me it was activated by your weight, and after it sensed that you got out by the absence your weight, it flooded the joint. Rodzilla also told me there was a rumor she heard that a little girl had drowned in the toilet, that her weight was insufficient for the thing to register her as still being in there. I'm not quite sure I believe that. It's kind of sick, to die in a mixture of water and your own pee.
Outside the mall, there was a begger with a sign that said something, in French, like "Need money to buy foie gras." Foie gras was the duck liver pate which was a specialty of Bordeaux that I have grown to love. Apparently, it's a pretty uppity food, since this guy was making a little joke. I thought it was kind of funny. Most of the beggars in France aren't close to the level of resourcefulness the NYC beggars are. So I thought this guy's joke was the best that they had to offer. And at the same time, it made me feel like an uppity fuck. But man, that duck liver's the best goddam thing I ever ate. I didn't give him any money. I also needed money to buy foie gras.
After that, I couldn't take it anymore, so we headed to Baud Millet, that cheese restaurant that we went to on Monday. I was disappointed by my two-trip to the cellar performance, so I needed to redeem myself. I had been fantasizing about it all week. And on monday, i had eaten a meal before the cheese. But now I was primed. Still, i had a healthy share of duck liver before i went for the cheese. Over the course of two hours, I gorged myself mightily. I've thought about that meal every day since I got back. I really, really like cheese.
Being St. Patrick's Day and all, we had to go out that night. To an Irish bar, of course. So Rodzilla, her roommate and I headed out to find one. When we got there, Andrea ran into some of her students. She chatted with them, I did my usual uncomfortable shuffling. Rodzilla introduced herself, and they greeted each other the European kiss-kiss way. So finally Drea introduces me, but not really, so I was feeling weird. This one girl leans in to greet me, but I guess I just couldn't decided which way to go, so I completely botched the kiss-kiss thingy. Basically, I just head-butted her. I knocked the glasses off her face. I hit her so hard I thought I cut the side of my face on her glasses. So that was awkward. The best recovery I could manage was "That was just like my first kiss!"
Anyhow, the joint was packed, so we headed someplace else. I kind of wanted to stay. I wanted to be in a crowd. I was feeling particularly social, even after knocking off this girl's glasses. She didn't put them back on. I think I broke them. I can hear her now. "Ahmairheecahns! Bah!" Anyhow, we found some place called Jupiler, which apparently was some sort of chain. It was aight. Drea left after a while, then so did we. It wasn't exactly a very boisterous St Patty's day. oh well. I'm not too keen on that shit anyway. Still, i wanted to be around a crowd. I was feeling rather bold for some reason. Girls would walk by from distances, and I'd stare them in the eye for several seconds, even turning around. I'm not sure why. I didn't really see it as a slight on Rodzilla, me scoping out the girlies standing right next to her. We'll just call it a cultural observance study. The conclusions? French girls, drunk on St. Patrick's Day, don't seem to mind engaging in prolonged eye-contact with clumsy Asian-American men.
After that, we stopped at some middle-eastern sandwhich joint, where i had a particularly unsatisfying sandwhich. Then walked home. I was kind of sad to be leaving. Really sad, actually. But I had to pee really bad, so i wasn't able to dwell on anything for too long.
Saturday, March 18.
We got up around 5:45 am to catch the 8am TGV train to Paris. The start of a very, very long day.
The train ride was fairly uneventful. I slept through I a lot of it, although I wish I hadn't. I kinda wanted to see the countryside, but instead I just zone out. Rodzilla slept a bit as well, which resulted in a bit of drool on my shoulder.
My plane wasn't till five, so we just hung out in the airport for a while. We basically ate some more, and took lots of useless pictures with the digital camera. Here's one:
A close up of Rodzilla. Notice the sharp inflection point of her eyebrows. I just noticed that the other day. Makes her seem more sinister.But gotta savor every moment when your girlfriend is across the sea. So I did. United Airlines offered me a $400 credit to fly out the next day, since they overbooked the flight. I was really tempted to take it, since it meant I could basically fly for free anywhere. But I figured I should get a day's rest before classes started again. I shoulda taken it I think. They would have paid for a hotel in Paris, and I woulda flown business class. Oh well.
So after my not-teary-yet-emotional farewell to Rodzilla, I headed for the plane. Of course, I had forgot to call to confirm my flight, so I didn't have a seat yet. I was among the last people called, after waiting for half an hour, and with the plane 10 minutes from taking off. About 8 of us were left, and they called us all up and the guy was like "Thanks for waiting. I've booked everyone in Business Class." I was like "sweet!" but I was still worried for some reason. So i hurried to get my ticket so i wouldn't be last in line in case they changed their French minds. So we walk to the separate business class gate, and I'm getting all buddy-buddy with my fellow business class travellers, when I here, "Mr. Chow!" Fuck. So they call me back to the counter. "A full-fare Business Class has just arrived, so we need to bump you back to economy." "Oh... OK (Motherfucker!)" So I watched him tear up my 2nd class ticket into little bits. So naturally, I was supremely pissed off. So I headed to the separate gate for the economy class suckers. I don't know why I was so pissed off, since I was booked economy anyway. But just to have a taste of it, and to be the only one to lose the seat, really pissed me off. If wouldn't have been so bad if my new seat weren't two rows back from the business section, where I could see right into business class and watch them pour the champagne as they sat in their giant, comfy seats. Meanwhile, I'm crammed into the middle of the 5-row middle section of the economy seats. Even the first row woulda been better, since then there'd be no one in front of me and I could at least stretch out. But as it was I was crammed in, barely able to move, and I couldn't really get out of my seat unless the guy next to me got out first. I stewed for a very, very, very long time. Especially when they flung close the curtain between the sections. They always fling that mutha with such attitude, like they're saying, "Well, no need for you bourgeios plebes to see what's behind THERE!" The fucks...
The departure from France. That's the tube going to the gates at Charels de Gaulle Airport in Paris. That's Rodzilla in black. You can't make out her tears of despair in this picture, but I'm sure they were there.
Anyway, after a long, long flight, I finally arrived in...Washington DC. I swear to god, I'm never fucking around with this multiple flight thing again. I'll gladly pay a few extra hundred bucks to fly direct if it'll save me the mental anguish I had to endure on this trip. I was extra worried about getting through customs, since I was carrying alcohol, tobacco, and firearms. Actually just alcohola and tobacco. But enough to envision an ATF showdown. But like all other airport security I encountered, it was fairly lax. So I sat around for 2 more hours, till about 9, when I got the good news that my flight was delayed. Not one of my 4 flights went off without a hitch. There was something wrong or aggravating at every stop. But United didn't want us too delayed, so they told us their flight crew was hurrying through the safety check. Yes, that made me feel grrrreat. Anyhow, I managed to get home without much else, and my cabbie averaged about 70 mph through crowded Queens and Brooklyn streets, so at least the tale leg of my journey was carried out with some sense of urgency. I got home to find Joanna, Jed, and his new pal Holly in the living room, and soon Jen showed up. We talked, hung out, chilled, shot the shit, etc., for a while, then I called Rodzilla to tell her I was home safely, and promptly fell asleep. I woke up the next morning around 8:30, after about 6 hours sleep. I hate jet lag. I've been having trouble sleeping late all week. I'm on East Coast time at night, going to sleep around 2, but I appear to be on France time in the mornings, getting up no later than 8. So i got to sleep at 8, get up at 8, basically. Still, I've been amazed how much I can get accomplished before noon.