I win at Paris

Last night, after the Lourve and a huge plate of Cara’s spectacular spaghetti, Sean and I headed out to see Jules, Neil, Justine and their mate Ryan at the ‘Oz bar’. There’s a bunch of these Aussie pubs scattered around Paris and I like them better than the Walkabout pubs in London. The Walkabout pubs have floor to ceiling posters of Shane Warne and serve snakebites, which we never drink in Aus, but the Oz Baris decorated with famous street signs, mostly from Melbourne, and Aboriginal art and kangaroos and stuff. Still cheesy, but it ain’t Warney. We finally found it and it was packed, but we promptly discovered we were the only Australians in there, apart from the bartenders. This worked in our favour – we got free shots. It was awesome!! Two French guys heard me speaking English to the bartender and promptly decided to practice their English on us all night. They were really sweet and helped me with my pronunciation and taught me new words. They told me the French were the best kissers and that I should try them out but I pointed out Sean and they introduced themselves to him and started nattering to him. They joined our table later on and kind of crapped on to all of us. Justine occasionally had to act as translator, and they were pretty relentless in recommending stuff to do, but I was just enjoying speaking so freely and conversationally to actual Parisians. I had a ‘Darwin Sunset’ and a ‘Great Australian Bite’ cocktail – oh the cheese! – but it meant that over the course of the evening I had consumed rum, tequila and Jager, which for me is a lot of drinks. Sean and I were nicely pissed by the end of the evening. By an awesome stroke of fate, Jules is staying at a hotel at the end of our street! Out of all the streets in Paris, we end up on the same one. Epic. Jules and Ryan asked us if we wanted to take a taxi home with them and Sean was pretty keen, but I was adamant. We have a travelcard, why pay for a taxi when we can use the metro for free? I very righteously dragged Sean out of there slightly early and we hopped on a train with Neil and Justine, only to say goodbye to them and discover the last connecting train to our stop had already been. In our tipsy, hazy state, neither of us was freaking out, but I was dimly aware we were stuck in a foreign city with no trains and no idea of which way to walk. Never mind. We walked up onto the street and found a taxi rank and I very politely greeted the driver, and in my best French told him we were Australian, and asked did he speak any English please? He smiled, shook his head and went ‘no no no no no no no’. Ah. Right. No matter. ‘Cite Joly?’ I tried, which is the name of our street and he went ‘Ah! Cite Joly!’ and promptly drove us to our door for 6 euro. Despite the irony of paying for a taxi when I was so adamant we should train it for free, I WIN AT PARIS.

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