Ok, so the travelogue that never ends is down to this post and one more with some drink tributes to the soldiers.

The Landmarks

– The Eiffel Tower is just a heaping pile of scrap metal. I remained just long enough to take this picture then I went looking for a bar.
– The Arc de Triomphe is lovely- for about five minutes, three if it’s rainy, cold and windy (which it was). I snapped a picture then hit a bar.
– I visited the Cathédrale Notre Dame and La Basilique du Sacré Coeur and didn’t burst into flames at either church so if there is a God, I suppose that’s a good sign. I went to Sacré Coeur close to sunset when dark clouds covered the sky so it had a very spooky vibe to it, which I thought was kind of cool. Outside there’s a panoramic view of the city, which I checked out for about five minutes then I headed to a bar (are you seeing a pattern here)?
– I strolled through the Ritz Carlton (on my way to the bar, naturally) but the drink menu didn’t include prices and I was scared that one cocktail would force me to sign over ownership of my car so I turned tail and ran.

– On my first night I met a guy who’s a director at the Louvre. He offered to give me a private tour and since he looked like David Duchovny with glasses I accepted. I decided to go on a Wednesday when it’s open during the evening and I gussied up for the occasion- I wanted to look like I was there to buy. Unfortunately, any convincing swagger I might have exuded was lost somewhere between my hotel in the ghetto and the cramped Metro ride. At the last minute I decided against the private tour. Even though museum geeks are kind of sexy, he was a bit too serious and I was worried I might get stuck hanging out with him after the tour. So I did it alone and right off the bat made a beeline to the most famous of all the Louvre’s paintings, Dogs Playing Poker.

Just my luck it was out for restoration so I settled for the Mona Lisa instead. I don’t know what I expected of the Mona Lisa, perhaps it would be in its own dark room where the glory of the painting illuminated itself while bullet-proof glass allowed you to get close and personal with the big ML. Nah, it’s in the middle of a big bright room with guard rails that keep you back about 15 feet. It’s one of the smallest paintings in the Louvre and I had a better view of it in my program.

After the Mona Lisa, I headed over to see the Venus de Milo, which looked no more spectacular than the plaster replicas you can buy at those street shops that also sell Jesus candles and tiger print seat covers. From there I whisked through the gay porn section (which would be almost every section). It’s amazing that gays are still fighting for equal rights when clearly there were plenty of ‘mos all the way back to the Renaissance. I actually lasted over an hour at the museum, although the last 20 minutes of that were spent trying to get out because apparently at the Louvre the French word for exit (sortie) means “Here’s yet another gallery to bore you.”

What I’ve finally come to accept after this trip is that I don’t have much interest in merely looking at things, particularly when viewing something up close isn’t any better than seeing it in a picture or on video. I did appreciate the spectacular architecture but that was something I could check out on my way to or from the bars. I suppose to some my bar hopping may seem like a waste but I met so many different characters and thoroughly enjoyed the Parisian experience that way. And if anybody ever wants to know about the nightlife in any Paris area, I can tell you about ALL of them (Bastille was my favorite).

The injuries

When I’m home I very rarely get injured or sick aside from the occasional migraine but of course on vacation I had a couple problems. About midway through the trip, I poked my eye and scratched my cornea. I was comfortable self-diagnosing it because it happened once before, which was probably a good thing because it saved me from wasting an afternoon in a French hospital. If you’ve never had the pleasure, it feels like you have a big piece of sand in your eye and the slightest eye movement is excruciating. Luckily it healed very quickly this time but for two days I was sporting one completely bloodshot eye with constant tears streaming from it (but bless those horny Frenchies, even that awful look didn’t deter them).

On my last day, I woke up with a bad sore throat and I had the chills. By this point, I was exhausted and I just wanted to go home and I dreaded the 16 hours of travel ahead of me. I took the high-speed train to Frankfurt then I had to switch to another train for the short ride to the airport. It was a tight squeeze to make the second train and even though I’d piled all my luggage on pieces with wheels, it was still a lot to handle. Two women ahead of me boarded the train and then they stood there. I didn’t know the German word for “excuse me” so I said it about 10 times in three other languages but the bitches wouldn’t move. Even if you didn’t understand what someone was saying, wouldn’t the loud repetition of a word make you turn around and see what’s up?? I was afraid the door would close on me so I started to wheel my carry on bag into an open space and what I didn’t realize was that the entrance sloped downward. So my bag rolled down the ramp and pulled me with it and as I attempted to get my footing on the train, my leg slipped between the platform and the train and I bashed my shin on the side of it. Sure, THAT’s when the ladies jumped out of the way. At least if I’d gotten the 7-10 split with my luggage I would have derived a little pleasure from the situation. Instead, I ended up with a massive black bruise and a big bloody gash that six weeks later hasn’t completely healed. Between this incident and the one with the smoker blocking my entrance and one or two others I’ve heard about, I’ve come to the conclusion that Germans and trains are not a good combination.

I have never been so happy to return from a trip in my life. It was so great to return to warm weather and go to my familiar 7-11 where I could speak English to the Pakistani cashier who doesn’t speak English but dammit, I didn’t have to feel guilty for not speaking his language. And it felt wonderful to sleep in my own bed with my own down comforter that I could freely touch without worrying about its festering semen content. It was good to be home.

Twenty four hours later I was on the horn trying to book another trip. What can I say?

I swear, one of these days this travelogue will be completed. I just remembered something that should have been included in the language section. I was kind of looking forward to hearing the French say my name since I thought they’d make it sound fabulous but it turned out they couldn’t say my name- none of them! Numerous times I wrote it down with the accent ague and even threw my “Like Renée with a J” line at them. They had no problem saying Renée but then they’d say my name and it would come out like “Juh-nee.” Totally, totally bizarre to me. I also neglected to mention in the language section that everywhere you go they play American music, which makes it even stranger that their English isn’t better.

The Men

If you are a woman with any self esteem issues, then Paris is the place for you. I’m telling you, I had more men fawning over me than I had even in my early twenties. I don’t know if it’s all that wine they drink or if they just heard that American women are easy but they were showing me some major amour. However, I didn’t find them to be the romantics I thought they were supposed to be, they were merely aggressive. While the attention was kind of fun, it was actually somewhat annoying at times.

Five minutes after I arrived and dropped my bags in my room I was pounced by a guy on the street who then offered to show me around. It continued from there with no less than 15 guys over the course of 10 days either declaring their love to me or outright asking me to sleep with them. I even had one guy wearing a wedding band ask me, “How much?” Mind you, at the time I was wearing pants, boots, a turtleneck sweater, a scarf and a big coat so I was hardly sporting the ho look. I was somewhat flattered, though maybe if I’d found out what I was worth I wouldn’t have been. On the last night, there was a bartender who was all over me and literally begged to go home with me. My polite excuse was that I had to get up in a few hours so I had to sleep, to which he said he only needed 15 minutes (like I said, real romantic). At 3 am my phone blared because apparently in France all you need to know is someone’s first name to call their hotel room. That screwed up the rest of my sleep because every time I dozed off I dreamed that sounds outside my window were him climbing up the second floor awning, which woke me up. Needless to say, the phrase laissez-moi tranquil (leave me alone) came in handy a few times.

Fortunately, the men were quite generous about buying drinks, which honestly saved me at least a couple hundred dollars during the trip (yes, I drank a lot). I realized after I returned that I’d neglected to take a midnight walk along the Seine River but frankly, it was so damn cold that I would have bitched the whole time and it hardly would have been romantic. But I did get a taste for the French experience through some little adventures including one that landed me in an itty bitty studio apartment with a dozen people all smoking with the windows closed (France just passed smoking bans in public this year so they smoked heavily). It was kind of nostalgic for me because it had been many years since I’d been in a similar environment. I hadn’t been able to access the Internet for a few days so I took the opportunity to shoot off a quick email to my family to let them know I was alive. Little did I know that the French keyboard is very different from ours so I was useless with it. It took me about five minutes just to type in the URL to check my email and then all I could get out to my sister was, “In Paris. More later.” After I sent it I wondered if such an unusual message from me would concern her more than hearing nothing at all.

Viva la France

They certainly owned up to terms attributed to them, like french fries. They serve french fries with everything. I’m pretty sure even an ice cream cone comes with a side of fries. Luckily for me I didn’t know the French words for “side of ranch” or else I would have gained quite a bit of weight (side note: I thought I must have gained a few pounds from the alcohol alone and was shocked to return home and learn I hadn’t gained any weight)! I also have to give them props for the best french onion soup and quiche lorraine I’ve ever had.

I learned why we borrowed the term menage a trois from the French. I had two pairs of guys offer me that opportunity and if I thought my room could even hold three people I might have taken them up on it. And plenty of guys offered up french kisses as if they were souvenirs every American needed to have. Maybe I didn’t need to have them but when in France…

My post-Afghanistan plans were supposed to include Paris and London but because I was making my travel arrangements at the last minute, I opted to simplify things and just do Paris. So I spent a night at Ramstein Air Base in Germany and booked the high speed train to Paris (only 2.5 hours) for the the next day.

I arrived early to get my ticket then waited 45 minutes on the platform for my train to arrive. This is the part where my friends will laugh their asses off and I’ll hate them forever for it. After the passengers exited, a train employee stepped off and blocked the door with his arm while he smoked a cigarette. So I stood six inches in front of him waiting for the okay to go on board. A minute or two passed and a guy in a hat about 30 feet from us gave a sort of “all clear” sign and the dude in front of me put out his cigarette and hopped on the train. I started to pull my bags on behind him and the door closed! Right in front of my face. I rushed over toward another door that was still open and that door closed so I ran alongside the train pulling my 80 pounds of luggage hoping someone would see my exasperated look and open a door. No such luck- my train pulled away.

I couldn’t believe it. Who the fuck blocks the entrance to a train while a person with a bunch of baggage is standing right in front of him??? Furious and frustrated, I returned to the ticket counter and exchanged my ticket for the next train to Paris, which would leave four hours later.

With so much time to kill, I headed to the bar to drown my misery in Hefeweizen, all the while shaking my head in disbelief. I guess some guy at the end of the bar noticed and purchased my beer, then a moment later a Green Day song played. I thought these were signs that things would be picking up from that point so when I spotted some slot machines in the corner, I decided I should try my luck at a little videin schpoker. I put 10 euro in a machine and pushed every button but nothing happened. There was some message on the screen that of course I couldn’t understand so I spoke to the one employee in the joint who spoke a little English and she basically told me the machine was broken and that nobody could do anything about it until Monday morning. She had me fill out a refund request form but I know that’s 10 euro I’ll never see again.

The German guys were very friendly- at least, the kind that hang out at train station bars in the middle of the afternoon were- and continued to buy drinks and chat with me despite the fact that they spoke no English and I spoke no German. One guy came along who did speak some English and he said he’d never been to Paris. That just seemed bizarre to me. It would be like me living in LA my whole life and never going to San Diego, San Francisco or Vegas.

When the next train finally arrived, I moved swiftly to get on it and without any further impediments, made my way to Paris. Rather than daily recaps of Paris I’m just going to sum up various aspects in the hope of finally getting this travel journal completed. I didn’t take a whole lot of photos- mostly self-portraits with landmarks, which don’t provide the most flattering angles but I got a kick out of taking them so I’ll include them.

The Weather

It was rainy, windy and cold for most of the trip. Occasionally the sun peeked out but not for long. While people in many places in the world would probably consider the daytime temperatures (40’s-50’s) fairly mild for this time of year, I thought it was brutal and don’t know how the hell people deal with that all the time. I was quite happy to return home and banish my big coats to the back of the closet and replace them with tank tops and sarongs. People can criticize LA all they want but it’s hard to beat our weather.

The Prices

I was surprised how expensive everything there was, particularly food and drinks. On average I’d say things were about 50% higher (a pint of beer was the equivalent of $10-12)! To make it worse, when I returned home I discovered my bank assessed me conversion fees for every charge and ATM withdrawal. Give me a fucking break- a computer does all the work but those assholes always find a way to stick you with some extra fees.

The Language

I’ve studied three other languages- Spanish, French and Japanese- and French is easily my weakest. I took my first semester of French my senior year of high school. I believe I was the only senior in the class and there were two juniors, Chad- one of the hottest guys in school whom I’d had a major crush on since eighth grade- and his ex-girlfriend Jenny. The three of us sat together and on the other side of the room facing us sat freshman Richard (”Reeshar”) whom we nicknamed the Pocket Pinball Wizard because he was constantly knocking the paddle and balls around. Needless to say, there were a few distractions and I didn’t focus properly. At least, I didn’t focus on the French properly but I did manage to score Chad as my date to the Homecoming dance, which was a debacle in itself that I’ll have to remember to share sometime. The point is, my French ain’t great. I can understand it fairly well but when I try to speak it Spanish words usually come out.

In other countries I’ve been to, I found that most people spoke English well enough that I didn’t have to worry about the local language but in France (and Germany) they weren’t as accommodating. Actually, even when I spoke French some were still difficult, like the hotel clerk who just stared at me when I asked, “Vous telephonez un taxi, sil vous plait?” I even mimed it for him but it was like he’d never heard such an unreasonable request before. I got the same response from about three waiters when I asked for “Eu avec glacé”- ice water. What does the rest of the world have against ice??? It shouldn’t be so difficult to obtain.

For several days I only encountered one person who spoke English as his first language but he was Scottish so it’s not like I understood him any better than the French. On the fourth day when I finally ran into a few Americans, there were hugs all around, which is so not my style but it was a bit of a relief to be able to converse for a few minutes at a normal pace.

By the end, a lot of the French I’d learned in school had come back but since I never use it here I’m sure I’ll promptly forget it again.

Before I get to the European portion of my trip, there are some things I left out of my other recaps for various reasons and I’ll include them here.

One aspect of military tours I really love is getting to do things I never would have had the opportunity to do otherwise. Probably the coolest experience for me this time around was shooting an M4 semi-automatic weapon. A can was set up about 30 yards away and I plugged away at it, hitting it on each of my first three shots. Here you can witness my prowess with the M4:

I was pretty proud of my shooting, especially considering the only other time I’ve ever shot a gun was at a gun club and after firing off about 10 rounds I had to ask where they went and learned that because of the kickback I’d been hitting the ceiling.

Another unique experience I had was driving a humvee. The soldiers wanted me to go full speed through the mud puddles but I knew with my luck I’d somehow flip the truck and have to explain that. So I left the crazy maneuvers to the experienced drivers but I still had some fun doing a little off-roading (actually, the roads are so ripped up in Afghanistan that even on-roading is the equivalent of off-roading).

Soldiers in war zones have some tight rules, including no sex, no booze. But of course that doesn’t stop them, they just keep it on the down low. Here’s a picture of me and Ira partaking of a bit of Stoli. I think it was the only time Ira smiled the whole trip.

A few times the topic of the military’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy came up and I was pleased to find that most of the guys I talked to said they didn’t care if someone in their unit was gay and a couple guys said they knew at least one who had admitted to being homosexual. But there was one soldier who spewed some “fags go to hell” comments. It took a lot of restraint on my part not to lash back but unfortunately the law of the land prevented me from trying to enlighten his ignorant ass. There was one civilian contractor who was obviously gay and he went out of his way to make anti-gay comments. I understand he can’t tell but going to lengths to lie just seemed silly to me.

At the end of the Afghanistan portion of the trip one of the soldiers asked me what I’d missed while I was gone. I told him I missed “Lost” and I really wasn’t joking. A few weeks away from family and friends is nothing for me but knowing there were new episodes of “Lost” that I couldn’t watch was pure torture. I also missed ice. I’m a big fan of ice and a lot of the bases didn’t have any. None. I wish there was some way to pack that.

All right, that’s pretty much it for Afghanistan. Paris (recap) is calling.

Our stop at Manas Air Base in Kyrgyzstan was supposed to be a brief one. We arrived after midnight and thought we’d be on a plane back to Germany the next day. No such luck. We weren’t greeted by MWR people so we handled the lodging arrangements on our own. There was a problem involving Ira’s Visa that I was stuck dealing with and it got me to bed quite late. I finally crashed in my windowless room, figuring someone would wake me when it was time to go. After almost three days with little more than cat naps, I slept until after noon then tried to figure out what the situation was. The situation was Ira managed to book a flight back to the U.S. (via Ireland) later in the afternoon and I think there might have been a chance for me to get on that had someone notified me (and I’m not sure why that didn’t happen since my room was right next to the terminal).

I spoke to the flight agents and learned there weren’t any flights going anywhere for four days.

With four days to kill, I spent that time trying to find other travel options, taking advantage of the cheap beauty salon and hanging out at Pete’s Place, the rec. center/bar- yes bar! Beer and wine were served at Manas but there was a limit of two drinks per 24 hours, which they were very strict about. But at least they had 7% beer in 24 oz bottles so it was probably the equivalent of 4-5 American beers with which to drown my sorrows.

Manas serves as a sort of transitional spot between US bases in Europe and the Middle East so there’s a lot of traffic going through there. During my stay I met two other entertainment acts passing through on their way in. The first was a group of NFL football players. One thing I’ve learned from seeing them and from living in Hawaii during the Pro Bowl is that if you want to gather a bunch of black women in one spot, advertise NFL football players. In Hawaii, I’d see a handful of black women throughout the year but Pro Bowl week bunches of them suddenly appeared like snails in the rain. I don’t know where they were hiding in Manas but they came out in full force for the NFL.

This hottie with me is Luis Castillo from the San Diego Chargers. His group was about to do roughly the same tour I did so I gave him the lowdown on what to expect and he was pretty freaked about the possibility of going on a convoy (I love it when I can incite a little fear in a 250 pound tank). When he expressed his anxiety it was the first time I realized I hadn’t been scared or nervous for even a second of my trip- which has to mean something is seriously wrong with me- but I think it allowed me to enjoy the whole trip all the more.

The second group of entertainers I met was a country band called Pete Ford and Texas Hold ‘Em. The manager of the rec. center had asked me to perform and I gladly accepted so I did a 30 minute show in between the band’s sets. Afterward I hit it off with the band and we seriously discussed the possibility of me joining them for their tour, which was taking them to Kuwait and United Arab Emirates. The idea of a last-minute road trip through the Middle East amused me and I definitely would have done it if we’d been able to coordinate it in time but when my flight on day five wasn’t further delayed I had to take it and settle for Paris instead. Finally!