Back to work...

...by which, I mean fencing.

The very next morning after the fencing, I travelled back to Paris on the 7am flight.

I trained as usual on Tuesday and Wednesday. I wasn't to be alone in Paris long at least as my friend, Martin, was visiting for the end of the week.

He arrived on Wednesday afternoon (and I still went to training) but afterwards we to the Chameleon Jazz bar, near St. Michel. Over the next couple of days we did all the touristy stuff that I've all but ignored since I've been in Paris - The Eiffel Tower, Musé D'Orsay, The Louvre (although I go there pretty regularly) and all that sort of thing.

...

Thursday night we ate in the Refuge De Fondue. I'd invited David from the Irish College along the day before but for some reason he thought it wasn't a fondue restaurant. I still maintain this was the fault of the temporary insomnia he was suffering when I invited him, rather than my sarcasm. Words cannot express the guilt I felt when after coming all the way over to the restaurant he decided to leave, as he hates fondue.

Eventually we were seated next to a group of Americans, who we got talking to throughout the meal. They'd been there 3 times in a month which is a true testament to Americans fondness for cholesterol. The loudest and most drunk soon pronounced herself to be Irish-American, her parents having left Belfast when the getting was good. A conversation soon erupted, spewed if you will, over the nature of origins. The other Americans, Two Jewish Americans (one Croatian-Jewish American man and one quiet polite Jewish-American girl) and one loud Romanian-American.

Like the congealing cheese in front of us, the conversation soon turned far too heavy, for our tastes and became some sort of rant on the meaning of existence by Romanian-American who was countered by the Irish-American girl telling him he was full of crap. Then there was some sort of debate over the validity of national identities - this nearly crept into questioning the validity of the Jewish-American identity, which was immediately rebuked by the Zionist Croatian-Jewish-American.

Myself and Martin, watched on amused at how these people who were obviously American to us could tie themselves in knots over such a trivial matter such as where their ancestors came from. Anyway, that provided plenty of entertainment for us for the rest of the evening.

...

The Longest Weekend Part 5: Hidden Bonus Track or Monday

Monday Keith and David were to leave for Madrid and deliver me from the hell i'd been living in for the last couple of days.

As it happened Dave had to stay behind to give his keys to his parents on Tuesday...

That evening I'd agreed to sit for Mick O'Dea in the Irish College, so at least that delayed the onslaught somewhat. I posed for two drawing in my fencing gear. Funny things happen to your body when you stand still for that long. The blood pooled in my feet and my arms ached from supporting the mask. While all this was going on Kerry as me questions around the night she had spent at training and about fencing in general. These artists were determined to capture every interesting detail of me - in return I demanded 10%. They still haven't got back to me on that.

The result of the evenings work were two fantastic large pencil sketches on hand made paper. The first one is a fantastic drawing (pictures to follow shortly) of me looking particulalry serious and menancing, the second is a variation of this from a different angle. What is particularly exciting about the seconf is that Mick is allowing me keep it.

At about 11.30 we decided to call it a day and have a pint to relax for a bit. David joined us and we enjoyed some of the excellent Leffe bear Mick had in his fridge. Just to draw a line under proceeding we went for one down at the Bombardier down the road. After a half-hearted attempt to think of another pub open nearby and with no results, Mick decided that was enough for him and we probably should have done the same.

...

There was apparently only one pub open in city centre Paris at that time. The highlander. We sat back reminiscing on what seemed like a decade of in-jokes and memories from the weekend until it was finally time to go.

Just for old times sake we had one last steak au poivre at an all night restaurant at 5am. In hindsight that may have been a steak too far...

The Longest Weekend Part 4: Sunday At Le Stade

Sunday awoke a bright but chilly December morning. When we awoke Sunday morning was long but the chill had remained. Furthermore, it was nearly time for the Stade Francais Vs. Sale Sharks Heineken Cup match at Parc de Prince. The other two had bought tickets several weeks earlier and I intended to try and get one at the gate.

We were packed like sardines on the long metro journey back to Porte De St. Cloud as the crowds swelled because of match day. As if by magic, I found a man selling unwanted tickets at face value right next to the gates and gladly parted with a poultry €10 for unreserved seating. I was in a segment on my own for the match, in my thin fleece, but it was a great atmosphere and quite an exciting match.

When given the choice between supporting Le Stade de France or PSG over the coming year, I think I'll side with the prawn-sandwich brigade rather than the anti-semmatic murderous facist hooligan brigade. This decision ways heavily against the chip on my shoulder developed through a hatred of South Dublin rugby playing schools but I feel that this situation is sufficiently detachted so as to reduce much of the inner turmoil which would otherwise exist.

...

We stopped for a few bites of sushi as an entree to our main meal of steak au poivre in the Old Navy. Two Parisien guitarists and €5 bottled water (after the last place's warm tap water) accompanied our meal. It was all very pleasent.

It was unilaterally decided that we needed to take it easy that night. So myself, Keith, David and Phil went bowling with a few beers just to ween ourselves off rather than going cold turkey. The bowling alley was in a basement off Moufftard and was excellent value compared to the Leisureplex(i?) back home.

This was the first time since Thursday that I'd got to bed before 1, just barely.

The Longest Weekend Part 3: Saturday Fencing and Drinking

The next morning David and Keith awoke on a floor in the Irish College to discover they were covered in pink permanent marker. A crude drawing of a penis seemed to be the most popular design with one or two each adorning their foreheads. There was also an address to a Bebo site scrawled down one arm and multiple penis down the other. It wasn't until the next day the Keith spotted the large pink swazkita on his shoulder, however. That being said he didn't realise about his forehead till well after he'd enter a bakery to get a baguette at 8 o'clock that morning.

I had spent the night in my own bed (which was still a sleeping bag on top of a bed, as they had interupted my house shopping on Thursday). My plan for the day was to head for the French National fencing championships which were to be held in a large stadium near Parc de Prince at Porte de St. Cloud (home of Paris St. Germain Football Club and the recent riots after the shooting dead of PSG fan as he was part of a mob attacking a Jewish Tel Aviv fan by a plain clothes police officer).

But I digress. The top 32 in France were fighting it out for bragging rights over one another. I arrived around 2pm with the finals at four so got to see all the semi-finals across the six weapons. By the time of the finals it was amazing how few of the national teams across the weapons had actually reached them. All in all the finals were disappointing, save for the Men's Sabre. The lads who had dragged themselves in just before four and who had found me during a break in the women's epee agreed. When I get a chance I'll try and post the final of the Men's sabre somewhere (Julien Pillet Vs Nicolas Lopez) - it was a very exciting match.

...

Once the dust had settled, it was agreed that we all needed sushi. Paris is littered with sushi restaraunts of various standards, we found a cheap one and tucked in.

There was business to be taken care of however and we were soon back at my place for an impromptu house warming and some wine. With the six of us in my tiny apartment it was pretty much packed so at around 11 we decided to seek out more space. Keith and David returned to the Long Hop (where the staff there would continue their attempts to kill the two of them). I decided to go with Phil, Liz and Rachel to a Reggae club that Phil had heard of.

Thinking that the club was only at Nation I decided not to bring a coat and wore only a light fleece instead. The club was actually near Mo Nationale, which is much further away in the South of the city. We found it slightly amusing that there was a reggae club on a road called Rue Des Noirs (french racial segregation in full flow), less funny when the road actually Rue Dunois and even less funny when after travelling the length of the road we found nothing resembling a club or even an open pub on it's entire length. On the return voyage the result was exactly the same.

Phil rang his friend from the jazz club to find out where it was. Apparently the small community hall we had passed was the place where the gig was on and it finished at 11 O'clock, not started at eleven o'clock. Either which way it was very much closed when we reached it at twelve. Suspicions that the rasta who gave him the information may well have bin praisin' de almighty Ja wit dem holiest mari-ji-juana spread quickly about the group as we wondered how the hell we'd get back to civilisation, or at least the proto-civilisation that was the Long Hop.

We ventured forth to Place D'Italie where a massive taxi queue left us pondering our next move - until we saw a bus to Gare de Lyon. This was in the general direction that we were going and we thought we could get that towards the Long Hop. Although the bus said Gare Du Lyon on it several stops later we realised we were heading out towards the Banlieue. Rather than go through a midnight stroll in some of the most dangerous areas in France, maybe in Europe, we decided we needed to get off the bus. The minute we had, we saw another bus for Gare Du Lyon heading the opposite direction and hopped onto it without a second thought.

On this extra-pleasent, journey a woman threw-up at our feet and a drunk who smelled of petrol approached us for a light. Declining we got off at Place D'Italie, where we'd started, and began to walk. Highlights of the walk included the Paris zoo where we saw some ostriches and the several times where I felt I might be coming down with hypothermia (see my mention of only wearing a light fleece).

Eventually, we reached the Long Hop only to find it closed. David and Keith were at the lock-in ongoing inside. While the staff of the Long Hop did their level best to end the lives of my two friends, the rest of us went to the Pomme D'Eve to wait for them. It was at this point, as I sat down in a chair in the cave that three nights of excess began to catch up with me and my eyelids became intolerably heavy. When the lads arrived they were in a similar state perhaps induced more by having vodka poured directly into their mouths rather than tiredness but none the less the spirit of the evening had turned distinctly tired and/or emotional.

Whatever was going on in David's head he decided that we should leave, minus Keith, and having no more energy to resist I gave in a followed him out of the bar. We paused briefly to have a photo taken with the South African flag outside and then headed back to David's for a respite before tomorrows fun. Keith eventually followed after an hour or two later with the assistance of Phil. This didn't stop him from trying the door code on the wrong door for a good while but that is a story for another day...

The Longest Weekend Part 2: Friday Night

Friday began with the stiffness of a night lying on the floor, it also began around 1pm.

The search for food began immediately and lead us to our first steak au poivre of the week. David knew a little place just off the Champs Elysee which did €14 steak au poivre with unlimited chips (yes, that's right, unlimited). By the time we had walked there from the Assemblie Nationale we were all starving.

After asking for a non-smoking table we were directed upstairs where we stood waiting for about ten minutes. Eventually we asked the young thin waiter with greasy slicked back black hair, dressed all in black with far too tight trousers for a seat. He gestured vaguely towards some seats directly in front of us besides the stairs. Spying the large comfortable booths behind him by the wall we asked could we sit in there instead - we were informed that that area was closed.

With no other choice we sat in the small table and began looking at the menu. A fruitless venture since we were all going to get the cheap steak and chips but none the less it turned out to be a lengthy one as our friend in black systematically ignored us. At one stage David nodded and waved at him to get his attention and he nodded and waved back, then just turned around and continued with what he was doing - which may as well have been cloud-watching for all the work he was doing.

Eventually a waitress who had been frantically running around are section picking up the slack left by the moron in black. Came to take our order - "Three steaks and chips please."

Hours seemed to pass before the steaks and chips were delivered on a large platter. We were also given tepid tap water to drink when we ask for a jug of water so struggled through the feast with little or no rehydration. When we had a fill we settled down for the wait for the bill...

...

That evening our plan was to return to the Long Hop. I headed to the Irish College to gather a possy while David and Keith checked there bank balances at a local internet café. With David, Liz, Phil, Rachel and Suze in tow I headed for the Long Hop to meet up with the lads - who weren't there.

They arrived after a brief trip to VD's where a friend of David's had provided an early jump-start to the nights festivities. The night began to pick up momentum as the bars profit for that night was being cancelled out by the free drinks and shots which Dave was receiving.

It was getting late by human standards but as we left the Long Hop spirits were high and we were all miraculously still standing considering that enough alcohol to kill a rhino had probably been consumed. The Villen Dingue (VD's) was the next port of call. The weirdest and possibly seediest little cave club in Paris was probably what this pub was but not without its charm as David once again new a barman.

The night was whiled away with witty stories and occasional polite jokes until it was time to leave. Back to the Irish College for some tea and crumpets. As my senses returned to me I realised what a terrible mistake I had made bringing these drunken fools into a place where people like to sleep at 3am in the morning. I tried for a while to convince them to leave but pinning me down to draw genitals on my face was the last straw and I decided to leave them to their own devices.