A South African In Paris (Part 1)

This is going to be a series of posts, because I don't want to leave anything out. 

I was hungover as shit on Saturday morning when I woke up, hungry from the night before partying until 5am with a ginger MMA fighter whose name I can't remember. I woke up at ten and got some food. I will get to Paris. 

I got in the shower and started chanting to myself "PARIS PARIS PARIS PARIS!" After dressing myself like a Eurotrash asshole, I packed and bag and headed to the station. I was ill, feverish from the vodka the night before. As it turns out, high speed trains are not good for hangovers. To make matters worse, I am stuck in one of those booths with a middle aged Brommie mom and her two teenage children. 

For the first two hours of the train journey, I tried not to throw up all over the Eurostar. Then I chatted to these teens for a bit and naively optimistic as they were lacking in basic social skills, they were absolutely lovely. 

When I got to Paris, my 3G wasn't working and for about half an hour, I cursed the French as they rudely barged past me on the streets as I waited and waited for my maps app to load - it never did. I wondered around until I found a bus stop map and thankfully, I found my hostels road on the map. It was right around the corner from Gare de Nord and I wondered over to the top of Rue de Dunkerque and found the hostel. It was huge and friendly. But absolute chaos. 

Maybe I wasn't excited because I had no idea what was about to happen or how I was about to have my dream Paris weekend. As I put the keycard on the access pad for my dorm room, I couldn't imagine the fun that waited inside. 

To be continued...

Peace & Love

Xo Xo