l'cab.

while l'cab is the name of a popular night spot located conveniently in the first, near the louvre. THAT is not what this post will be about.

cabs.

yet another form of transportation around the glorious city that is paris. the metro, while speedy and convenient closes tres early. i don't know the exact hours. i just know that whenever i want to go home, its closed.

cabs have become my good friend since my arrival. living with dana makes it easy, we normally go out together and therefore split the cost, making every ride approximately 5 euros. not too bad.

here have been some of my favorite interactions with transportation in the le form of taxi:

#1: Louis

dana and i join dana's friends from home in the 11th arr, at the pop in. this tres hipster joint is small, two levels, crowded, and hipter-loaded. its fun, an introduction to the 11th to say the least. as dana’s friend steps out for a cig, i join her to get some fresh air and walk around. cue french boys eager to speak english. they chat, ask how long i’ve been in paris. i say 4 days. yadda yadda, small talk, boston, yadda, CELTICS, yadda. every french boy that asked me where i was from proceeded to yell celtics after i said boston. yes, boston. yes, the home of the celtics. cue louis. louis tries to convince me he knows the us because he did an exchange program and lived in north carolina. no offense to ely. living in north for 8 weeks does not mean you have experienced the united states.

whatever. i linger outside, the crowd of french boys seems to be doubling and getting more wasted, i go in, find dana, and soon we are off. the group of us is good sized, 5 girls, 2 guys. we walk back towards the main boulevard, we have a visitor. louis. for real? the first night out i find the one creepy french guy who wants to “take” us. (sorry mom, i know i wasn’t supposed to watch it the night before i left, but it is good background knowledge to have).

dana and i find a cab, dana slides in, i slide in next. door closes. knock on window, cab driver rolls down window, LOUIS. for real? like I am so confused. “no” i say to the cab driver. “go”. louis is asking the cab driver where he is taking us. i am borderline tears (drama is not a regular emotion for me, but it shines through when nec). dana, naïve dana, has never seen taken, she doesn’t know better. as nearly hyperventilate, dana is shouting our address at the cab driver, louis is at the window. bye louis. leave louis.

bleh. finally, we go. ten euros later we are home. i have caught my breath, bbm’d everyone important to notify them i was almost taken, and we make it into bed.

#2: L’GPS

cab drivers here love the gps. oye. dana and live on a major boulevard, and they love love love to plug that bad boy in. what this leads to is the most round-about way of getting to our lovely residence right near the buffalo grill. dana and i have caught on however, being the saavy duo we are. we decided to do some research and find an address on the actual circle we live on, rather than our boulevard, so this is avoided. yes, we have made the plan. no, we have not executed it. but, one day. one day we will.

GPS whoa round deux occurred when dana and i went to buddha bar. it was froid and we cabbed it over to avoid exposure to the harsh elements. the cab driver plugs in to his GPS and 8 euros later we arrive at a construction site outside a hotel. news flash mister cab driver, this may be numero huit. but this is not buddha bar. confused on how to proceed. dana and i pay, get out, and wander a few feet. we are yelled at by guards to get on the side walk. duh. then we arrive at the hotel, where the men outside point us around the corner to number 8. thanks for almost getting us there GPS.

#3: navigating home.

while dana can speak french, we have established i cannot. i am learning. i have learned numbers one through ten. parfait. i live at number 116.

have no fear, in my trusty bberry is a memo that reads address. in it, it says my street number AS WELL AS the name of the boulevard i cannot pronounce for the life of me.

the other night i went out sans dana, and when it came time to get home fear struck. i snipe a cab. pop in and freeze. do i even try to speak french? no.

me: hello, err. i don’t speak french.
cab: okay
me: i have my address written down (show blackberry)
cab: okay

we pull away. two minutes later MIKA “love today” plays on the radio.

me: do you like MIKA. i love MIKA

pause.

cab: I LOVE MIKA. YOU LIKE MIKA? I LOVE MIKA

turns it up.

i would declare that success, if I do say so myself.