Franki Chan Blog


PARIS, FRANCE: DAYS 1 & 2 CHECK THE PHOTOS HERE: MARK THE COBRASNAKE and I got off the train from WALES, in LONDON, with a dead cell phone and no plan. we stood in the middle of the train station debating our next move, stay in LONDON for the night and go to PARIS in the morning or jump on a train right then. we said fuck it and chose the latter. With no clue as to where we were gonna go and no way to contact anyone, we bought our tickets and hopped on the last train to PARIS. the train ride was pretty amazing. we ended up getting half of a middle car to ourselves. we lounged about and i kept coming up with excuses to walk through the latter half of the train to the bar/food car. i just liked looking at all the french people and listening to them talk, but the side effect was a drunk FRANKIE, trying to maneuver through a swaying car. not the smartest combination. we finally arrived in PARIS at around midnight. a) I was stoked. b) It cost 1 euro to take a piss. you ever hear of a pay-bathroom? So rude. We walked out of the train station onto the mostly empty streets of downtown PARIS. We turned around and looked at the building we'd just walked out of and were blown away by it's majestic presence and intricate attention to detail with in the architecture. MARK said, "this way," and I said, "ok," and off we went, into the night and began our adventure. It lasted about 15 min. we quickly realized that we had no clue where we were going. The baggage was weighing us down and it was quickly getting cold. We had to figure a few things out. We found free internet outside of a mcdonalds (yeah, mickey ds in paris have wi-fi!) and bought a phone card at a corner store. Almost everything was closed and everyone we called didnt answer. It was late on Sunday night and our gamble didnt pay off. MARK and I were homeless in PARIS. A nice lady on a bike we met (who insisted we know she was polish and not French) directed us to a more populated area of town. She was one of the few who would actually talk to us, the rest either feigned ignorance or ignored us completely. Once we found the square she pointed us to, we partook in a late night snack of bad food and classic French charm, then went on the search for a hostel. Another stranger, this time a very odd older man, who claimed to be a doctor (which I didnt believe) and a student (maybe), asked us if we needed help, then directed us to the closest, cheap hostel. I was thankful he found us, but thankful he finally left us as well. He creeped me out a bit, but I feel bad saying that, ultimately, we would have been lost without him. We headed to our room, climbed into our individual bunks, blasted the DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE and said our goodnights. Tomorrow would be better day. The next morning we awoke with one mission, find WOMBAT, a local promotion company who makes these really neat grab bags full of cool advertisements and posters depicting their favorite current artists. This months artist? None other than MARK THE COBRASNAKE. PARIS was all about the COBRA. Wed walked into a new country and already, MARK was on the edge of celebrity. THE WOMBAT CREW welcomed us in with open arms. They were noble hosts and a shining light in the dark tunnel that PARIS had quickly become to us. The main man behind WOMBAT, LAURENT, quickly invited us to stay at his house. He fed us, gave us weed and gave us directions to highlights around the city before having to return to work. The first thing on MARKs list: THE LOUIS VUTTON STORE. We navigated our way pretty successfully through the subway system with little or no communication conflicts and emerged right in front of that huge arch thing they have in PARIS. Whats it called? It was breathtakingly huge. We stared and gawked at its sheer mass, then LOUIS came a callin. We arrived at the store, only to find a line. You had to wait in line to get into the LOUIS VUTTON store. That is fucking crazy, so we did it. Once inside, I stared at things that individually cost more than everything I own, combined. I couldnt comprehend and I think the pattern kind of stinks anyway. After this was the obligatory trip to the Eiffel Tower. We stared at it from underneath and then ate pizza and watched it from a distance. Its so big! On the hour, it lit up with the new light show theyd built into it. MARK ran out into the street, screaming with delight, I quickly followed. What we should have done next was wave signs in the air that said tourist. Eventually we made it back to LAURENTs house. We smoked some weed and he rcommended a club. MARK and I hopped in cab and went down there. It was pretty dead. We talked with the dj some (she was british), went to the bar next door (where mark almost got into a fight with a skinhead who tried to steal his camera), then ended back at the original bar where I befriended two german girls who I thought were French at first. The girls were hilarious and as we downed our 2nd, 3rd and 4th beers, they only became more funny. The bar finally closed, so we moved to the bar next door again. It was rasta night. All the dread heads were out and we were drunk enough to join in the dance party. LAURENT made a late night appearance and picked up MARK who wanted to go to bed. I stayed to party with the ladies until they finally found their calling as well. I found myself all alone in PARIS at 4am and decided it was time to take a walk. I spent the next hour wandering the streets and finding my way back to LAURENTs. I killed time by tagging iheartcomix all over the place with the paint markers wed aquired in AMSTERDAM. I figured it was better than, franki chan was here, which is what I wanted to right. Another life goal fulfilled. I can scratch PARIS off the list. Stay tuned for PARIS DAY 3