Sweet Paris

Sweet Paris,

What is not happening in Paris should be the tittle of this blog so I can keep it short, so I do not have to choose between all of the amazing things that happen here.

Paris is not a city which I would have given strong desire to without seeing, originally I had little interest in this place and would have passed on it for a lesser place in France or another country all together.

"The French people are rude" "You will not get by in France, without at least some french" "They have body odor" 

All bullshit, sorry. The french were amazing, the city was grand, beyond grand. The only thing that stunk, was having to leave.

Where to begin, where to end. Paris itself has over 2 million people but the metro and surrounding areas bolster it to a stunning 11 million.

I arrive into Paris early from Milano and my back is killing me, probably something to do with the 5 hours spent on the autostrade trying to get the fuck out of Genoa, sorry Barcelona! Maybe next time!

I nestled into a hostel and hit... a nap; Yeah thats lame, but fuck man gimmie a break, I am tired. 

Again, what is not happening in Paris? From the Louvre to the Eiffel Tower deal, this is it man, remember when I said that everything in Genoa was big? Well turns out the french invented big.

One of my favorite things was this roundabout by the "Arc De Triumphe" The Arch of Triumph. 12 lanes of crazy bat shit nuts french suicide drivers pouring into a virtual cycle of destruction. No lanes, no rules. It is said that an accident happens here every 30 minuets (I sat there for an hour on more than one occasion and did not see one) it is also said that no insurance company will cover a claim made in this bees nest of chaos! this photo I took, does little justice.

So, as I was about to leave, saddend again that I did not see a crash, something better happened. I was thinking to myself, man, what a fucking nut job you would have to be to walk across this pandaemonium, well... Here comes this man of all men strutting across the roundabout in true heroic fashion.

The world could have been crumbling beneath this man, the entire mongolian army could have fallen victim solely to his glare; every strong man you can conjure up in your mind to compare him to, was just sent home for soiling their pants in his presence.

I looked at him walking towards me (to afraid to photograph him as though my camera would implode) and I grabbed my own junk and motioned to him as to congratulate him on his unusually large area of what we lesser men consider a groin or balls, he has entire solar systems down there.

He just looked at me as if I were a coward for not just assuming this, as if he needed reassurance. I could hear is displeasure in my lack of manlyhood "Pfft puny american sissy, would not cross roundabout!! Pisha!" all in a french accent for effect of course.

I could literally go on forever about Paris, about what it has to offer. I did all the cliche things that a man does in Paris, I filled my heart, and made some stories, and then, I left with the Idea that of all the places I have been, sweet Paris; I will come back to you.

Thanks for reading. Here are some photos I took, some are extended exposures from atop the tower, you know the one. Its hard to get them right, because it sways back and forth by up to 6 meters on top, thats a lot and you can feel it. 

Cheers.