The Breakout

As awesome as Paris is, my living situation has been pretty sketchy. I’ve spent the past five weeks in a hostel. At first, it wasn’t bad at all. By week six, however, it started to go a little downhill. Across the street from the hostel is a mental institution. You know, like the kind used in the phrase, “Mental Institution? Isn’t that just a euphemism for an insane asylum?” Well, they must have had a massive breakout or something, because the patients have been roaming around the hostel and screaming at all the people staying here. They keep coming up to me and speaking this crazy French babble, but I usually just walk away.

Well, run away.
With my arms flailing.

On top of the Mental Hospital Breakout, by week six, I started breaking out all over my face. It seemed like every time I looked in the mirror, a new pimple had sprouted. I started naming each of them after corrupt African politicians in an effort to help me study for my African Politics final, but I kept confusing Leon M’Ba with Jomo Kenyatta, and then Omar Bongo and Gnassinbé Éyadéma sort of merged together into one giant mass of pimpley corruption. That’s not weird or gross. Right?

I realized that I was probably breaking out because of all the germs around my hostel, and in the Paris metro trains. Each hostel bed has a pillow in it, and strangely, they don’t have pillow covers. Considering how much of a drooler I am, I decided against using that pillow during my last few days.

Oh, and as far as the metro is concerned, I just tried not to touch anything at all there. It wasn’t easy, though. In fact, when you exit the subway, you always have to pass through these doors that say “Poussez Ici,” pronounced POOSE-SAY E-C, or in English: “Push Here.” When you think about it, so many people touch that door with their disgusting hands every day. So how come everyone in Paris isn’t breaking out? Maybe not showering helps? I am so confused.

(This probably isn't a good idea.)

So, yeah….some advice for any of you planning on traveling to Paris: Don’t Touch Anything. And if you do, just try to wash your hands frequently. And never touch your face. Believe me, even if it says to “Push Here,” it’s still filthy. I’m telling you right now…be careful. The entire city is filled with some really dirty “poussez.”

Score:

France: 7

Paul: 3

The Fondue Refuge

We found a really cool fondue restaurant in the heart of Montmartre called “Refuge des Fondue.” The entire place was about the size of a dorm room, and we had to climb over the tables to get to our seats. Once seated, we had several choices. The Cheese Fondue came with a pot of hot, melted cheese and endless bread for dipping. There was also a Meat Fondue, which involved a pot of boiling oil and some raw beef that could be cooked inside, along with some potatoes and a selection of sauces on the side. Naturally, we had all of the above.

Side Note:

I'm basically a pimp.

On top of all this, the entire meal came with unlimited red wine. The Catch: You had to drink it out of a baby bottle. And when you ran out, you had to cry “Wahhhhhhh!” to get them to refill it. It was weird/fun? Oh, what will these Frenchies think of next…

Sitting on the other side of the restaurant, (and by other side, I mean essentially in our laps,) were a group of students speaking several different languages, including English, French, German, and something that sounded like all three languages put together, but then spoken backwards. When we asked where they were from, they all had different answers. One girl, however, told me she was from Michigan. When I told her that I went to U of M, she started rattling off names of people asking if I knew them.

One after the other, she said a name that I didn’t recognize at all, until she said “Steve Pappas?”

Me: “Pappas?! Pappas is my hero!!!”

Turns out that this girl knew Pappas from high school or something and dated Pappas’ housemate. So I called Pappas on her phone and he seemed slightly confused to here my voice…from another friend’s phone number…from Paris. Small World.

Still, if you know Pappas, you probably aren’t surprised. He is a man among men, and his legacy extends beyond the limits of the state of Michigan, and he has touched lives across the globe. Pappas, I salute you. My hero.

Current Score:
France: 5, Paul: 3, Steve Pappas: 6894

Me and my hero.

Another old and, slightly bizzare, picture of me and Pappas