Quoi de Pont 9?

Last night was kind of exactly what I expected it to be when I heard, "Let's drink under the bridge!" It started out as a plan to drink in public, because it's allowed here. The facebook message went out thursday to get everyone together friday night, everyone being the rippon girls, Claire, Grace, and us bard girls, "the usual crowd," I guess. Oh, and this guy Lucy met on the bus one day. he was invited too (??). He was actually the one who suggested Pont Neuf in the first place and everyone was kind of like, whoo great idea, Joelo.

The evening was "Apportez Votre Propre Alcool," but I was kinda sketched out by the fact we were gonna be under a bridge and all, so Laura and I split a bottle of hard (but mild) cider. Since we still had our plastic champagne flutes from our picnic by the Eiffel Tower, we brought those to be classy. The bridge was the same one where we had our first "Activite Culturelle," a ride on the Seine tour boats which dock next to a little park where we'd waited for the next tour to start. When we left several hours later, after half of our group had peed in the bushes of said park, I thought about how everything comes 'round full circle, but not always under the same circumstances. Turns out, "under the bridge" actually refers to the park and surrounding "walkway" on a little island off the middle of the bridge. There had to be about 30+ other people already there, but we managed to scoot past them along the narrow walkway and settle along the edge by the willow tree. Among the groups of French people, most were drinking/had clearly been drinking, and two people were playing acoustic guitar into the night. One of the players started strumming what sounded like "Fade Out (Street Spirit)" and I got really excited, but he kept repeating the intro and never got to the lyrics.

Our group kind of kept to itself, the largest group of girls there + Joelo, who turned out to be pretty nice. Granted, I've been assuming the worst of people just to be cautious, so anyone who talks to me without first asking for my number or a "French kiss?" or immediately breaking the personal space rule, is "nice." Regardless, he's here in culinary school but leaving for America soon and actually did seem like a nice guy. We also met his friend, Aaron, who goes to the Cordon Bleu culinary school which is like, the best in the world, or something, and is right around the corner from my host home. He seemed pretty cool, too.

Laura, Claire, Grace and I took a break from the river to pick up more wine/the worst premixed vodka and orange drink you've ever tasted. The wine was pretty bad too, but that's what you get for 5 euro a bottle. When we got back, Amanda had just about finished her first bottle of Rose wine and we encouraged her away from the edge of the river which was a cobbled, 70 degree slope into the Seine ten feet below. Everybody else was pretty drunk, but I wasn't, nor did I want to be, plus I have this hellova cold which meant you could only hear every third syllable at normal volume when I spoke... I sounded like a choking chainsmoker. Anyway, it was around this time some guys came by looking for cigarettes. Joelo offered them his and they accepted, complained about his choice of brand, and offered to sell him pot. He declined, but the interaction encouraged others to come investigate our almost-all-girl party. Joelo turned to us and asked, "Do you know the word 'racaille?'" (trans: riffraff, hoodlum)

I only remember the name of one of the French guys we met because he was so impressed I could pronounce it (wasn't hard, but ok), and he was in white track pants, running sneakers, with a plaid cap offset on his closely-shaven head. I talked to him for a little bit, mostly in French although he kept testing out English every once in a while. He had Aaron translate, "I'm really fucked up right now," but got really scared when he heard Aaron say "fuck" because he didn't understand the context and didn't want me to get the wrong idea about him. In any case, I was standing next to Joelo when he came over again and started asking him about me, the translation of which follows:

-Hey, is she your girlfriend?
-No, no, a friend.
-You should try to make her your girlfriend, eh?
Joelo brushes it off.
-Why not? Look, she's so cute...
He motions toward me with puppydog eyes and looks back at Joelo.
-No, no, just friends.
I'm cracking up/hacking up a lung next to Joelo, he laughs too.
-But look! So cute, and outgoing... Me, I can't, but you have a chance, she's so cute...
More gesturing in my direction.
-You know, she speaks French really well. She understands everything you're saying...
Nino is a deer in the headlights,
-Oh, shit!

A while later, Nino and his friends decided they were gonna go get more booze, but Nino was worried about leaving us there, more in an overprotective way than because there was actual danger, our group nearly outnumbered the remaining French people at this point. "We're going to buy another bottle," he told me, indicating his empty handle of Jack, "but I'm going to have my friend stay here and protect you all, be careful, he will protect you!" But his friend wanted to go with them, though, and Nino pulled him back toward us twice before he finally let him tag along. It was just as well because it was late and some of the girls were worried about making the last metro before 2.

Sarah, Claire, Laura, Adena and I ended the night at a cafe on the other side of the river where we were horrified to look at the menu and go, "So, the cheapest items on the menu are... sugar crepes... and martinis..." The next cheapest thing was hot chocolate, so I paid 6,30 euro for that. We left around 3 and had to navigate the night bus from a new location. Adena and Sarah found their bus right away, Laura and Claire were traveling together, but I had to go south... I couldn't find the stop and was accosted by two people as I tried to find an N13/121/62 stop on the other side of the street. I crossed place St. Michel twice with no luck when a guy came up and threw himself on his knees before me, arms raised, I couldn't tell what he was saying, but I half-smiled and quickly walked away. He followed: (trans)
-Would you like me to accompany you?
-Non, non, merci... Laura!
Laura and Claire were across the street at the stop, still, but they were distracted by Nino's crew who had suddenly reappeared.
-Actually, I'm looking for the bus, but I don't know which...
-Oh, you speak English?
-Yes.
Suddenly he was embarassed and said in an Australian accent,
-Hey, I'm sorry about before, it was just a joke with my friend, I'm sorry.
-No worries...
-My friend says there's a station over at Chatelet, maybe you should go there? But I think you'd have to cross-
-Ya, cross back over the river...
I had negative motivation to go back across the river, alone, in the wrong direction.
The guy turned to his friend, "I think she knows more about this than we do..." Back to me:
-I'm sorry I can't help you, and I'm really sorry about before...
Finally they left and I decided I should follow Bvd St Michel until I found the right stop, and at least I'd be walking in the direction of home... it was 3:15. By traveling vaguely southwest, I managed to make my way from St Michel to Montparnasse where I knew the right buses passed, and that they'd be coming by soon, since they run on the 45s and it was almost that time. I was home by 4:15 or so and went to sleep.

When I got up this morning at 11:30, I showered and went on my computer for a while before getting breakfast because I heard an unfamiliar voice and didn't the guests to see me getting breakfast at 1 in the afternoon. My host mother was in the kitchen and I tried to greet her, but my voice is absolutely gone today. "Ah, you have a life in Paris," (??) she said. I gave her a questioning look and she explained, "You go out late, you get back late, you sleep in...and now you're sick. You know, the weather's nice, but..." I felt really embarassed and guilty and sick.