What Up, Vienna? when a girl and a guy from los angeles move their asses halfway across the world

paris, franzen style!

Alex was in Chicago for the week at a conference. What was a hip, happenin', globe-trottin' girl to do? Go to Paris for the weekend to see her old college buddy Zachary Franzen, naturally. (Go Badgers.)

Now, I had never been to Paris. So I was really looking forward to wine, wine, cheese, wine, cheese and some more wine. However, my host Zach is a bit more of a Coke, Coke, McDonald's, Coke, McDonald's and some more Coke kind of a guy. In retrospect, perhaps, I should have set some more realistic expectations.

I got in earlyish on a Friday afternoon. For that evening, Zach had suggested going to a friend's restaurant to meet a couple people. Sounds good to me! However, we get to the restaurant and a couple of Zach's amis seemed to have multiplied to ten or so of them. And all of these Frenchies agreed upon two things: They liked to drink Heineken. And they really, really loved hamburgers. They loved hamburgers so much, in fact, that they ordered a hamburger for me. They said, "Why would you want wine and cheese and pate? This is the best hamburger in Paris!" Okay, mon frère, I is from a little place called the United States of WEKNOWBURGERS and, even though your country has some of the best goddamned food in the world, something being the so-called best hamburger in Paris, even if it is a 100% true statement, probably means very little. I should just end this paragraph here because you know how it ends. I didn't get wine, cheese or pate. I got a mediocre hamburger. I know you already guessed that. But I had to continue the paragraph so I could tell you everybody ate their burgers with knives and forks. MON DIEU!

The next morning, Zach already had plans to take part in something called the Beret and Baguette Bike Ride.

The startpoint of the ride was at the Eiffel Tower. I was sans bike so we picked me up a fancy CityBike right outside of our apartment. CityBikes are bike rentals you can find in many, many cities in Europe. The bikes are sometimes crappy but completely rideable when needed. It was a great early morning adventure to bike through the streets of Paris to the Eiffel Tower. When I got there I rewarded myself with pastry. Note the bereted boys in the background.

After a couple hours of hanging out with the bereted and baguetted biking folks gathering for their ride, I was getting a bit antsy. It was almost 10am and I hadn't had a glass of wine yet! Thank god, my new best friend Chris showed up to remedy that. Well, this was really the first time we met but it was pretty much instant bestfrienditude. So I bid Zachary Franzen adieu, then Chris and I ventured off into the city to stir up some shit.

We started off on a mission to find me a hoodie as I made the mistake of dressing lightly for the chilly morning. Then, we got a tad sidetracked with some cafe coffee drinking and crepe eating. Next, our wanderings took us out amongst throngs of tourists. The famous Notre Dame Cathedral was just right across the way but the line to get in was a couple blocks long. So I was going to just have to be content with some nice exterior photos.

My new partner-in-crime Chris was not having that though as he decided to eff that line and cut in front of everybody. Even though it seems kind of dickish, it actually is a very European thing to do to completely eschew a line. I have been cut in front of many a time waiting in line for something. Rather, I have elbowchecked many a person trying to cut in line in front of me many a time. Nobody elbowchecked us though and we strode right on through. Suckas.

Well, Chris is a man-about-town and he, unfortunately, had to leave me to do some of his requisite about-towning. He pointed me in the direction of a worthwhile walking-around area and we parted ways. At this point, it was just before lunchtime and I really needed to make up for the burger fiasco from the night previous. I came upon a pretty nice little area with tiny streets lined with bistros. I would tell you what this area was called, but my gin-soaked memory fails me. Now, choosing a restaurant for what is your only lunch for your short Parisian weekend involves a lot of discerning assessment. After circling a good five block radius, I got really good foodie vibes from a certain establishment. The prix fixe menu looked promising and the decor was nice and didn't seem forced. It was suspiciously empty however that turned out to be just because it was a little early yet. Just after I was seated and working on my wine and olives, the place started to really fill up. I spent the next two hours there eating and drinking. To start, I had the aforementioned olives, then some amazing house-made pate and onion confit, followed by sausage and pommes frites, and finished off with this insane chestnut chocolate pudding whipped cream concoction. It was so fantastic that after every bite of food and drink of wine, I just wanted to high five somebody.

I met up with Zachary later that day and we spent the rest of our evening rabblerousing our hearts out. We hit a houseparty thrown by another American ex-pat where I met more Americans than I have in my entire time in Vienna. Chris was also in attendance as well as another one of my new Parisian homeboys, Kyle. After hours of imbibing on the things kids worldwide imbibe upon at house parties such as this one, we caught the last Metro train home and called it a night.

The next morning, before we had to Le Metro it to the airport, Zach and I tried to get in a bit more sightseeing in the few hours we had left. We killed two birds with one stone and headed over to the Champs-Élysées which conveniently ends with the Arc de Triomphe.

By the skin of our teeth, we made it to Charles De Gaulle in time for my flight. For a few moments, it seemed like Volcano Eyjafjallajokull aka Volcano I'manasshole was looking to keep me in gay Paree for one more night. Every single other flight to Vienna had been cancelled up to that point. I could not have that. When I am in the direction of leaving somewhere, I want to keep heading in that direction. Thankfully, Mr. Volcano decided to do me a solid and allowed my plane clearance to take off.

Au Revoir, France!