I was already on the road in the early morning. The truck drivers were on strike that day, and I was worried that it may interfere with my plans. I was on the highway ramp in Orange, thumb up, smile on my face, waiting… You know the drill.
I was right to be worried. Nobody cared about picking me up. I was on the spot for three hours, when a first car finally stopped. I got in, and we went north. The whole day went like this: I scored a relatively short ride after a relatively long wait time.
It was already getting dark, and I thought of spending the night on the petrol station. It’s not a pleasant thing to do, but after a certain point, it’s better to call it a day and continue in the morning, rested. I decided to give it a one more try, and I got a hit! It was a small van, driven by an older black man, who actually looked pretty young. He said that he was 62, while I though he was 50, at most. His secret key to longevity? Playing football and smoking weed, apparently. I was halfway there. He asked me not to do either one in his van, and I obliged. It was a pleasant ride, we had a lot to talk about together, but the main thing was, he went directly to Paris, as I did. Some 500 kilometers north.
I had enough of the whole thing. It was almost two months since I was gone, I was pretty homesick, and I couldn’t stand another day with B. My plan was simple. Spend two days in Paris, then take a bus to Prague, and then a few more hours in a bus to my hometown. What did I expect to find there, I don’t know. I don’t think I ever knew. Looking back, I would’ve stayed where I was. Maybe I would go to Barcelona, maybe I would try my luck on the apple harvest. But I guess there was a reason to go home.
We arrived to Paris in the early night hours. The guy dropped me off in a remote suburb, and I had to take a train from there. I had a place to stay – a mattress on the floor of some random guy’s flat. Couchsurfing is fun.
The train was just about what you’d imagine for a Paris train. People smoking in the aisles, stink and filth all over the place… Slovak trains are the first class compared with this. I got off who knows where, and I went in the rough direction of my accomodation. It was too late to be outside, I had no internet and my phone was dead. I roughly remembered where to go, and how to get inside, and I only hoped my host was still up and waiting.
I finally found his tucked-away flat, I figured out how to ring the bell, and I was finally inside. The guy was a likable twenty something living alone in a small, yet somehow spacious and cozy appartment. We hit it off quite well: we had the smoking hobby in common. We stayed up late, talking.
In the morning, a loud “FUCK” woke me up. He overslept his alarm, now being two hours late to work. He stormed out of the appartment, and I was left alone. I made a breakfast, I looked around the flat, and caught up on messages from friends. I wasn’t particularly interested in walking around Paris the whole day, as I wasn’t there to do that. I smoked a few spliffs, treated myself to a coffee, and finally decided to go out.
The streets were unimpressive, at best. A big city. Nice, but nothing special. Full of cars, people, rush and chaos. A striking contrast with the calm rural south I spent the last few weeks in. I bought some pastry, which was average. A girl stopped me in the streets, and told me about the homelessness problem, and that she was raising money for those affected. I’m not sure if she thought I could chip in, or if she thought I was the one in need. I found out that she was Polish. Unfortunately, she never stepped foot in Poland, and the few broken phrases I used didn’t impress her at all. At best, they scared her. We talked for a while, and then I went my own way. She told me to visit the meeting of her organisation anytime, but I had to decline. I would visit her, personally, but since I had girlfriend back home, I passed on the opportunity.
I walked around the streets aimlessly. I was literally wasting time. I was in a Limbo. I wasn’t home yet, but at the same time, I wasn’t travelling anymore. This was the aftermath of the last few weeks, of all the grapes, sun, parties, drugs, people and Life that I experienced. The post journey depression was already creeping in, but I couldn’t tell. It was only in the days after I got back home, that it dawned on me. I was on a trip of a lifetime, and it was already over before I could realise.
As luck had it, I stumbled upon the Eiffel tower. I didn’t want to go there originally, but I have to say it was impressive. I decided to sit down on a bench in a park underneath, and smoke a spliff. I was just getting it ready, when…
“Hi, can I sit here?” a young man asked me.
“Sure, why not.”
“Do you smoke weed?”
“Yes, I was just about to roll a spliff,” I answered.
“Good, we can smoke together! I have some from Italy. Look.”
And we so we became friends. Fast. I was too tired of smoking French hash, and he showed me some very tasty lookin’ flower, which, it seemed, you couldn’t get anywhere in France. Only the brown stuff. Yeah, the brown stuff… At first, it was new and exciting. I enjoyed it. We never got hash in Slovakia. I scored my first one out of pure luck, as we got in a car with a French rastaman near Châteauneuf-du-Pape, my second day in France. However, after a few weeks of smoking it everyday, it was dull.
My new friend was from Italy. He smuggled the weed in plane. When I asked if it wasn’t too risky, he answered something along the lines of: “Italian police can’t do shit.” I took a mental note of that. He came to Paris to visit some of his friends who were there on Erasmus. They were in the school now, and he had some free time. He explained that he didn’t come to the Eiffel tower that often, but he did it day, and when he saw me, he felt an urge to talk with me. And there we were.
We got along from the first moment. He was well read, and recommended me Luigi Pirandello’s One, None and One Hundred Thousand. I borrowed it from library later, and it was exactly what I needed at that point in my life. We smoked a spliff, and talked for two hours. After that, his friends called, and he went to meet them somewhere else. I, on the other hand, had to figure out how to get “home”. I didn’t have anything specific arranged with my host, but his friends were visiting that evening, and I was invited to have dinner with them.
When I got there, they were already done with cooking. We ate pasta and talked for few hours, until it was too late, and everyone went home. One girl stayed though, as she lived on the other side of Paris, and my host offered her a half of my mattress. I was too tired to even think about it. I would go to bed earlier, but since it was in the same room as everything else… Finally, we turned off the light, and fell asleep. In the morning, I was woken up by a loud “FUCK!” meaning my host was late for work again. He quickly grabbed his things and went on his way. The girl made us breakfast, and we talked for a while, before she went away as well. I stayed inside until it was time for the bus ride.
I had 15 hours crammed in a bus seat ahead of me, so I smoked a huge spliff before boarding. The bus wasn’t too crowded, and the seat next to me was empty. We departed in the late afternoon, and I watched the country rolling out behind the windows.