’Sup crazy cats! Just got back from a weekend in gay Paris. The surf has been massive, unrideable, onshore crap in Anglet for the last week or so, so it was good to get away for a bit. I flew Biarritz to Paris Orly with Air Chance – they didn’t lose my bags this time because I didn’t check any in. Then hotfooted into the premier arrondissement on the scummy, cramped RER – but at least it’s fast and cheap. Swung by a mate of a mate of a mate's house party (before it got shut down by disgruntled neighbours threatening to phone the po-po) and then ended up at a swish discotheque called Le Paris Paris. There was no queue and the bouncers only made us wait outside in the rain for 15 minutes. We cut some serious shapes on the dance floor and I discovered that drinking vodka & cranberry juice gets me hammered and I don’t necessarily have to blow chunks the following morning. Walking home at 6am, we asked some French dudes for directions and they thought it’d be funny to send us on a wild goose chase. Half an hour of walking in completely the wrong direction, a good night turned into a pretty shite one and we had to get a 15 euro taxi ride home... cheers.
Sunday afternoon, we stopped by the Louvre to take in a bit of culture innit. Winter’s a good time to visit Paname. It’s not heaving with American and Japanese tourists and the dreamy, low-arching sunlight bounces off all the blue slate rooftops. It’s pretty sweet. We had a quick butchers hook at the Italian section before closing time. 5 bored security gimps then tried to arrest the Basque bruddah I was with – admittedly, he was being a little slow leaving the premises - but one knobber even went to radio high-level security which was kind of unnecessary/amusing. Now I understand why everyone in France hates Parisians.