Ryan and I eventually begin speaking again. Not so much on the way to San Sebastian but really once we got there considering I slept the entire train ride and at this point our conversations are eerily reminiscent of scenes from Rain Man. Even when we are talking we don’t have many topics of conversation untouched so we discuss possible news stories (we don’t know any real ones so we make them up e.g. The Spanish are going to use all that gold from the treasure ship to buy Mexico again, but they will only pay the net worth of the country, about 12 euro).

We check in at our hostel, drop our bags, drop our clothes, and crawl into bed. We sleep for about 4 hours to catch up from the previous night’s lack. Finally we start moving and head to the grocery store where we purchase rations which obviously include several bottles of cheap vino. Come back to the hostel, cook a dinner which includes vegetables for the first time in probably 3 weeks and begin punishing our grape juice while our digestive tracks suddenly battle the influx of vitamins to which they are unaccustomed. Ryan starts to get a little tipsy and strikes up a convo with some Aussies and an Irish guy who works at the hostel. Somehow he convinces me to go out that night. It went something like:

R: “Hey Ben, you want to go out with these guys?”
B: “Yeah sure, I don’t care.”

Convincing me to go out is about as easy as Geico auto insurance.

We head out with this hilarious group of Australians that somehow even though they don’t know each other, they are all from the same city and all equally alcoholic. I guess it’s not that hard when the city is Sydney and they are Australian.

We bounce around a couple of bars until we hit one which is completely deserted…except for a foos-ball table. Apparently the men from down under love the game and immediately load the table. They have an open spot and me screaming “Put me in coach, I can do it!” from the side. So I fill in not having played really since high school when my buddy owned a table. Let the good times roll because these guys blow and were easily steam-rolled by Ben “Quick Wrists” Click. I received that nickname for several reason but that’s not the point here. After several beers and games we cruise to the next bar.

San Sebastian

Upon entering we spot two decent looking girls at the bar. I walk up to order a drink and begin speckling them with the ole Click Charm. They are American. Ryan starts wingmaning the other. My girl was in a study abroad program and never went back to America and became an au paire yet somehow said she had two degrees? I did not question this discrepancy because I quickly realized how boring she was. Somewhere along this one-sided conversation Ryan blurts out, “Hey Ben, want to go to Bordeaux? This girl (other girl) lives there and says we can stay with her on our way to Lyon.” I respond with my usual lackluster, “Yeah ok, why not?” Ryan gets her number.

Ryan walks to go somewhere. His girl stands up from the bar. She is HUGE. I burst into laughter under my breath. Ryan returns and comments on how big she was once she stood up and tears up her number (the next day).

The Aussies say that they are leaving and sensing that this is my only escape from Only-Decent-Girl-Who-Won’t-Shut-Up, we go too. Things start to get a little blurry here, mainly because I am writing this several days later. But the Aussies decide to go to a club and Ryan wants to go too. I tell him that I am heading home (for once on this trip I am the voice of reason) and so he follows. But he doesn’t just follow. He jumps out in front of the herd I was leading and walks alone. Aussies ask what my friend is doing. “Oh he always does this. He has the map and he won’t tell you where he’s going.” We follow him home circa 4 am.

Next day, pretty boring. Cloudy weather. Went on a heterosexual hike then I went to the beach to oogle at boobies through my sunglasses (no matter how mature you think you are, every guy does this) while Ryan stayed indoors to read. That night Ryan continued his indoor stakeout and internet playing while I went out with some American guys and some French-Canadian girls…who absolutely sucked. The girls played leapfrog and tag while we walked to the bar. Then they sang songs inside the bar trying to out-voice the actual person hired to sing at the pub. And they were awful. After some beer chugging and belittling the French-Canadians, the Americans decide we need a better selection of girls. I don’t know what really happened to this idea because I woke up in my bed (chugging pints typically ends in this fashion). Meh, oh well. I didn’t wake up with any scars, physical or mental so I shrugged it off.

Off to Lyon to meet up with my friend, Amy who is just beginning to study abroad. We get to the local station and have the train lady set us up with a sweet set of connections in Paris (France) and then to Lyon which should get us there by 6 or 7 pm. We get on the train and I fall asleep because of my at this point habitual hangover. I wake up after about 4 hours and Ryan informs me that gentle train lady screwed us over big time because she made our train to Lyon leave before our one to Paris actually arrived. Shit balls. One would think that with the level of sophistication and clarity of the European train system, there would be some idiot-proof computer solution that would protect against this sheer stupidity. Shouldn’t be that big of a deal because trains to Lyon from Paris leave every hour, right?

What do you think now-time-invested reader, having read of our past luck with trains?

We get to Paris and head to the Gare de Lyon which almost exclusively serves the Lyon area to reserve our new seats. There we are informed that the next available train leaves at 9 pm…and the station is at the end of the line. Cursing the hag railway lady who will hopefully die miserable and alone, we board the train to our station. It takes us an hour to get there. We try to leave the station. Like DC metro stations, you have to use your ticket to leave the station in addition to entering. This effing gate says our tickets our invalid because we did not use them in the allotted one hour time frame. Well, no shit we didn’t because the stupid station is almost in Germany and took us over an hour to get there. Not the worst part oh no you little eager beavers. There are no machines on the inside of the station to buy new tickets to get out. What the hell kind of perverted system is this where I am sure the stupid frogs are watching us on security cameras and laughing while eating baguette and cheese and discussing how they didn’t REALLY need any help in either of the Great Wars. Using a trick we saw on MacGyver once, we finally just throw our bags through and squeeze through a door with a tiny gap. Sadly, an English lady in the same predicament couldn’t fit through.

We left her.

Oh well, we’re going to hell anyway.

Ryan at EuroDisney!

We get outside the station and realize where we are…EURO DISNEYLAND! This fact alone almost alleviates our anger and frustration with the days events. We take pictures and I giggle like I was 7 again getting Goofy’s autograph and getting ready to ride Space Mountain during which I almost pee my pants and have to recite in the words of Kevin McCallister, “It’s only my imagination.”

Childhood was a mixture of triumphs and hardships for me.

Eventually we get to Lyon, find our hotel and pass out while watching Wet, Hot, American Summer (cult classic for you mainstreamers out there). The next day we sleep in until 2 pm and go grab some lunch, wine, and do some day drinking because hell, we won’t know anything in Lyon and were not interested in the Letter Press Museum, the Silk Weavers Museum, or the Museum of Musical Instruments that were the highlights of our map.

We meet up with Amy and her roommate for studying abroad and grab some dinner and bottles of wine and champagne. We pregame and head out to bars with surprise surprise Ryan leading the pack. We go to a Spanish bar because I can actually speak Spanish (and all my linguistic thinking was still in Spanish) and place an order without looking too retarded. Based on previous successes I order a round of tequila shots. I recall Amy’s dismay as some mixture of muffled “I can’t, I can’ts” and ferocious head shaking. I give her the old Click pep talk and we shoot. She downs the whole thing and is giddy because apparently that is her first full shot ever (she used to take them in sips) and a pretty wicked one at that. We applaud and congratulate her for successfully graduating from 11th grade. We go to a club and it is deserted and expensive so we try to find better ones. Ryan just asks people on the street in English while the two French speakers hide nervously in the wings. This bodes well for their study abroad experience.

Megan, Amy, Ben in Lyon

Circa 3:30 am we decide to get in a cab to go to a club…only after learning that our cab driver just started and doesn’t really know where to go. We drive around for a bit and watch the meter climb. I notice Amy’s roommate starting to freak out a little. Apparently she needs to puke…soon. I tell her to effing hold it until we get her home because that’s where we are headed. We bid Amy and terrible drunk roommate adieu and go back to our hotel.

Two hours sleep and we wake up to catch our train BACK to Paris. So close to being done with this not sleeping thing I can almost cream my pants.

Now if you will excuse me I am going to fondle my sweaters.

I mean…make fondue with cheddar. Yeah.

Subscribe to Our RSS Feed