The Great Paris Debacle, Part Deux

So where we last left off my stomach was stubbornly against all things Paris, and after eating chicken liver, I couldn't particularly blame it. Since I was completely unable to consume anything alcohol related, and because I wanted to get my friends pretty trashed, I insisted that they drink while I photo-document the whole thing.

Now beer in Paris -- actually I take that back -- everything in Paris is about three times the price any sane normal person would expect it to be, meaning to spend a lot of time looking at the menus at restaurants and thinking to yourself "They're kidding, right?" So after passing on a bunch of the bars to get less than a regular sized can of beer for 7 euro, we stumbled into a grocery store where they have "Amsterdam Maximator" in a tall boy for 1.50.

Yep.

So they split a few, I snap a few pictures, and then we split up so they can go buy some more, and I can stop by the post office. Well the post office is closed, and now my two drunk friends are stumbling about Paris god knows where (See? This is why I do things like keep the keys to the hotel room.)

An hour or so later I realize I have a text on my phone. "Where are you?"

"Back the hotel. Where are you?" I respond, to which I receive...

"eigh twr"

I...what? Oh. Ooooh. They are very, very drunk.

I metro my way over to the Eiffel Tower, and wander around for a while before I give up on searching for them. Well, I'm sure they stumbled to a bar, they're both 23 and can take care of themselves, so I'm gonna climb up this here Tower and check things out.

The view, of course, was fantastic. Not to mention that the thing lights up a bright, brilliant blue at night and on the hour the entire thing sparkles bright white. It's really pretty awesome to see. I mean it's Paris, at night, and you're on the Eiffel Tower. What could possibly go wron--Oh, oh God. Oh God, no, no no no no no.

And thus I flee from the tower clutching my bum in a race against my stomach to get back to the hotel room. The flu has moved south. Thanks flu.

The next several hours were -- and I'm not exaggerating here -- probably some of the most painful of my life. The only way I can describe it is by the saying that it was like someone had taken razor wire, wrapped it around my intestines, and was PULLING as HARD as they POSSIBLY COULD. Had someone been there with me I probably would have found some way to get to the hospital, but considering I was on my own and the metros were going to close soon enough, I decided to stick it out through the night, writhing on the hotel floor and clutching my stomach, for the remainder of the night. If I felt just as bad in the morning, I would get to the hospital.

I drift in and out of sleep for the next few hours, usually it's broken up by me running to the bathroom and expelling things out of orifices I didn't even know I had, but at around 5 in the morning my phone goes off. Low and behold, its a text from my friend saying he's outside the hotel. I stagger down to let him in, but... wait. There were two. There were definitely two friends that I left to their own drunken devices in Paris.

"Nick's at the hospital" was the only explanation I got.

Are you kidding me? Well. All right. If he's in the hospital, my logic dictates to me, that means someone is looking after him. Its five in the morning, the metro doesn't open for another hour or so, so we'll get some sleep and if he's not here in the morning we'll go hunting for him.

Several hours later, Nick stumbles into the room.

Now, from what I understand, the last thing both of them remember is having consumed a total of 7 Amsterdam Maximators (11.6%) and walking towards the Eiffel Tower. One of them seems to remember vomiting into a trash can and "people not being very happy about it," but he said himself that that could've been anywhere. Who knows, he was drunk.

The other remembers being hauled into a police wagon where some French chick laughed at him for a while. He was thrown into a cell and cops woke him up around 4 to kick him out. The other was taken to the hospital because "he was too drunk" where he woke up in a bed, in a hall way that was lined with other drunken bums.

And that's how we spent Christmas.