Mission Rotunde: Accomplished

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Alright. It's been a week and a half since I've been meaning to really describe the weekend of the 27th and 28th - easily one of the most fun 48 hours of my life! My memory is definitely failing me right now so thank God I had the foresight to scribble down a few notes all those days ago! Hopefully they will be sufficient enough to jog my time-addled recollections.

Thursday, 27th June 2008

So, classes that day passed off in their usual monotonous and homogeneous fashion, with teh only excitement of the morning coming at the bell of 12:30, signaling the end of i cours ! After a quick and cheap lunch of fougasse, a huge hunk of dough stuffed with cheeses and meats, we headed down to have our much anticipated wine tasting session with Bob (of all names), an extremely funny looking American professor who is a self-proclaimed wine connoisseur. You might notice a slightly acidic tone to my writing while describing this, mainly because vast reserves of my skepticism are reserved precisely for, what I think are, pompous charlatans (like Bob) who claim that they have trained their nose to discern the olfactory nuances between the myriad smells of fruits that supposedly emanate from a glass of wine! I mean, during one of the tastings, he actually managed to say, with a straight face, that that particular rose reminded him of HONEYSUCKLES. Really? I could have sworn it reeked of rambutans. Maybe I'm just not getting it and my nose actually isn't sensitive enough but all I need to know is when a wine tastes good to me or not, honeysuckles be damned.

Anyways, we went through about seven or eight bottles of wine between a fair amount of us, although Bob definitely took his lion's share each time, throwing back almost three quarters of a glass each time in one gulp. I'm still convinced it was an excuse for him to get a little hammered during the day! I will be honest; I was able to discern between the several different wines, at least in terms of quality and taste (again, all subjective in my opinion) and definitely learned some interesting factoids concerning the major wine producing areas in France, which wine goes well with which foods etc. I'd imagine it will all be useful one day when trying to impress a girl by pretending like I know what I'm talking about.

Fortunately or unfortunately (getting away from Bob's incessant and increasingly inebriated ramblings in the former, missing out on more free wine in the latter) I had to leave slightly early to meet Ki Karou, a friend of mine from Berkeley (also in Imagical with me) who is essentially couch-surfing his way through Europe. I wasn't actually aware of this until about 2 days before his arrival when he called me and asked if I had a place for him to crash for a few days. His timing could not have been more perfect, mainly because it was the last few days for a lot of the kids here and we were planning on going all out, which we did and HOW. Before I explain what this means, I just have to narrate what was probably the most hilarious thing I have seen in a long time! So it was about 5 in the evening, and I had taken Ki to Le Grillon to show him how the French spend most of their lazy afternoons in Aix - basically sitting around in a cafe for several hours, drinking and watching the world crawl by the Cour Mirabeau.

Our group slowly multiplies in an amoeba like fashion until eventually its myself, Ki, Angie, Katie, Cloe and Rashid all cramped around our tables. Now something about Ki; this guy is probably the easiest person in the world to make friends with! Extremely affable and laid back, he simply exudes amity. I would imagine that this stems from his extreme lack of self-consciousness - if he wants to do something, such as introducing himself to someone, he'll do it, without fear of embarrassing himself. Such an opportunity presented himself when we noticed a group of 3 highly attractive French girls sitting behind our table. At the smallest of suggestions from Rashid that Ki should talk to them (bear in mind, Ki does not speak a word of French), he flips his chair around, introduces himself and next thing we know, the rest of us are staring dumbfounded as he manages to hold the attention of all three of them, basically stumbling and scrambling through half broken English, occasionally turning to me for help in translation. Of course, he would have the luck that two of them were actually studying English! Cherry on the icing, straw that breaks the camels back, whatever used euphemism you need, nothing could top the fact that he finally walked away with all three of their numbers! Of course, he didn't have a phone so I had to step in, still amazed at what just happened, and take down the numbers of girls that I hadn't even spoken to! Of course, its all Ki can do to stop flashing his permanent grin while I punch in the digits..(Reader''s note: We eventually tried texting the girls later that night but to this day there has been no response; highly wishful thinking I'd imagine!)

Following a shower, change of clothes and quick (free) dinner with some new students who had just arrived, Ki and I set off to the Georgian's apartment to begin what would become a slightly wild night (though not as much so as Friday so keep reading!) - we got the night going with the good old fashioned, time and fraternity honored tradition of Edward 40 Hands. For those of you just joining from the previous generation, this game derives its name from Tim Burton's twisted classic Edward Scissorhands. Essentially, you duct tape 40oz (roughly 1.2 liters) beer bottles to your hands, essentially rendering you useless. The object is to obviously finish as fast as you can and no going to the bathroom until both beers are done, which is the only time you can remove the bottles. Of course, you can obviously request someone to pull down your pants and carry out your business for you but this is highly unorthodox.

That over and done with, in the spirit of young bloods we continue to drink, eventually moving the party outside onto the street (by this time, our number had grown to more than 15) and by the time we were sufficiently rowdy, the time had come to migrate and tear up Aix, bringing joy and infusing life into her sleepy cobblestoned streets (and since I was with Americans, I suppose we also spread freedom and democracy). Apart from our usual haunts, we also finally ventured into the much talked about Scat Club. I will admit, on an extremely good night ie. one with a lot of people, this place is definitely where you need to go in Aix. Thankfully we went, the place was packed to the brim. You walk down a flight of stairs (for some reason, practically every bar / club in Aix is underground, giving them all a spooky, cavernous feel) and with a decently sized bar to your left, to you right is the stage for live bands opening up into an extremely deep room littered with couches at the back. That night, the band playing was obviously a regular hit because the crowd was nothing but wild! Even though they were all completely French, they still belted out classics from Nirvane, R.A.T.M, Radiohead, Presidents of the USA etc. that had EVERYONE moshing like crazy! From time to time, the singers would have to consult a huge book of lyrics and there were definitely moments where she sort of just mumbled along but it didn't matter; all of us had gang banged the front so for almost every song, we just leaned in and screamed ourselves hoarse keeping the song going - I'm sure that she appreciated the helping voices!

In addition, much to my pleasure, I discovered that there was also a further extension to Scat; another tunnel-like room that pumped only the bass heavy electronic and dance music that I have recently become extremely attached to. Unfortunately, not many people in my group are into that kind of stuff so we spent most of our time rocking out with the cover band.

I believe that by the time we left Scat it was no less than two in the morning and since I had already consumed a sufficient amount to drink, I can't imagine it would have been that hard to convince me to head over to IPN - that god awful, filthy, grotty, cover charging, over-hyped and under-ground American stronghold that has yet to show me a good time. It really is just me who hates the place. Correction - it's not really the place but more so the people - irritating American exchange students who really don't want anything to do with the French and sleazy French guys who want everything to do (or to do everything) with the American girls. But that's not what is central to this story.

The trek from Scat to IPN ( the shortest way at least) takes you down some really windy, narrow and dank alleyways and if you're not familiar with it, it is painfully easy to lose yourself in the labyrinthine rues of Aix. Now, I have already mentioned Ki's unerring tendency to chat up anyone/everyone. Now couple this with several drinks and an extremely false sense of security brought on by said drinks and the shit begins to hit the fan. It isn't 10 minutes that we're in IPN that I realize that the bugger is nowhere to be seen, heard or smelt within a 200m radius! Furthermore, he doesn't have a phone, and even if he somehow made his way back to my apartment, I still had the keys! Did I mention he doesn't speak even a syllable of French? Naturally, I run out and grab Cloe along the way ( simply because she knows the streets far better than I do!) and somehow, by some miraculous stroke of luck and chance timing, we stumble across Ki just chilling at a fountain within 5 minutes - and he's not alone. Yet again, this guy manages to hold the attention of COMPLETE strangers just by speaking English and with the aide of wild hand gestures. Unfortunately, this wasn't a group of attractive females but more so some of the city's numerous pseudo-homeless, who patrol the streets with their army of dogs. Anyways, problem solved, I jump in, thank the strangers for not mugging / raping my friend (in my head anyways) and drag his ass back to the bars. Obviously, Ki was a little oblivious to the fact that he got lost in the first place but alls well that ends well. However, the rest of the night I didn't let him out of my sight - not even when he went across the street to piss in the alleyway I still went along and kept an eye in case he decided to strike up a conversation with an alleycat.

Night ends at past 4. Go to bed. Get up less than 3 hours later. Went to class extremely tired. Fast forward to Friday night.

Friday, 28th June 2008

And finally, the last night for many of us arrived. Of the many emotions that we were feeling, I definitely noticed that among them were anticipation and fear; the anticipation that all of us were going to be nothing short of royally lashed and fear that some of us might not make it. Ok, that's a bit dramatic but you get the idea. However, impatioence definitely ruled over all because between the guys, we had made a pact that at the stroke of 3:30 a.m, we would drop whatever we were doing and beeline for the Rotunde, where we would make our last stand in front of the entire city by swimming in the great fountain! Basically we were going to make this a night to remember and the fact that I am still able to clearly recount it today, almost 3 weeks later, might be an indicator of success.

Again, we start the night off at the Georgian's, hit up O'Shannons, Manoir and then head down to Scat, to try and see if we can do a repeat of the night before. No dice. I had since adopted a new dress style, rocking the shorts and dress shirt combo with my favorite leather sandals. I didn't have a problem on Thursday night getting in but I'm guessing because this time it was a weekend night, my kind wasn't welcome inside their hallowed walls. Not one to back down, we simply re-grouped and went down to IPN. Note that this time, I don't sound too bitter because for once, and only once, IPN proved to be a blast! After reluctantly paying the five euro cover charge, I suddenly found myself inundated with drinks that Ki and others had bought for everyone. Soon after, there was a natural progression to the dance floor and this is when it began to get electric. EVERYONE who I had met over the last month was there and time just flew by as we threw ourselves around with the tacky club music, changing partners every song, every other lyric and generally making asses out of ourselves while having a crazy time. There is one quote from Miguel that I have to put in here, and it's mainly for my own memory's sake: "Raging wood!" Ask me what that means, don't make any filthy presumptions please.

Suddenly, while that bloody song 'American Boy' is playing for the sixteen gajillionth time, I glance at my phone and between all the flailing limbs around me, I manage to make out that it had just hit 3:25!! Like squadron leaders rounding up the troops, a few of us just went around dragging everyone we knew by the collar and taking them outside, no explanations required apart from a tap on the watch and a few swimming motions. We started off slow, simply keeping idle chit chat going and occasionally stopping to take a few photos a long the way, simply prolonging the inevitable. As we rounded the corner of the Cour Sextius, we started picking up momentum. Step by step, we became more rowdy as the adrenalin slowly secreted its way to the tips of my extremities; the guys started to shove each other and talk more and more shit, always trying to one up the other but still not one word was spoken about the Rotunde. However, the entire time we were wordlessly preparing ourselves by taking off our watches and emptying our pockets of cell phones, wallets, keys and stuffing them all in the purses of the girls with us. Finally, when we all knew we couldn't take it anymore, one final step and there it was - the Rotunde in all it's brightly lit up glory like an oasis protected from all angles by a concrete moat, with the ever encircling cars acting as its automated and emotionless sentries, just daring anyone to try and cross their path into the forbidden territory.

At the sight of the enormous concrete lions, the gay dolphins with huge spurts coming out their mouths, the little miniature heads with puffy cheeks that spit out their own jets and the penultimate rose of water blossoming at the summit, tiny invisible switches tripped in all our heads and all thoughts cleared out of our heads save one - get in the Rotunde and conquer it, ravage it and rape it, claim it as our own so that all who pass by will know that we were there that night, drunk on alcohol and high on life. In a scene reminiscent of 28 Days Later, all of us pumped our legs furiously, ripping off our shirts, madly whooping and yelling all sorts of gibberish while practically foaming at the mouth at the thought of being the very first one to get there.

What followed was about forty five minutes of pure ecstasy - at the beginning, as soon as we were in we literally didn't know what to do with ourselves but we had far too much energy to just sit still! So we literally just ran around and around screaming and yelling, climbing up and down the Rotunde, pushing, shoving, laughing, stealing each others shoes, wrestling each other only for everyone to fall into a helpless heap and eventually all the guys got together on the second level of the Rotunde, arms around each others shoulders and drunkenly belted out a Capella ear grating interpretations of classics such as Backstreet Boys 'I want it that Way', 'Oh Champs Elysees' , 'Buttercup' and so on. Again for my own memory's sake, I will mention that there is a very memorable quote from Shauna after she lost her shoe, which is far too vulgar! Years later when I read this, I will hopefully be reminded of it without actually having to write it down!

The actual memory of stepping in escapes me and all I remember is that one instant I was running along side the boys, and the next I was standing sopping wet on the mane of one of the lions, like some kind of quasi-deity with the mystical fortitude that enabled me to tame such beasts, peering out over the main streets of Aix as all around us, late night revelers and cafe dwellers all stopped as they realized that no, they weren't seeing things - there really were about 15 half naked people jumping, yelling kicking, screaming and singing all over the most recognizable landmark of their city. But they just shook their heads and carried on with their business, some yelled at us and some simply turned away but for most of them, their emotions were betrayed by the smallest of smiles that I could make out from even such a distance as one some level, I'm sure they wished they could just drop everything and join us, perfect strangers brought together by the knowledge that sometimes, life demands that you take a break and just let yourself go without any inhibitions. If that means getting drunk with people I have known for merely a few weeks and doing something unforgettable that I never would have with friends of several years, feeling all my problems and responsibilities dissolve and be carried away one by one by each rivulet of water that fell from my body, exposing so much energy and happiness that I never thought possible, then so be it.

This all may sound highly melodramatic but I assure you, words cannot even begin to describe the strangest of sensations I had while there; I honestly felt as if the world, which has been constantly growing into an increasingly gray and dark monster, full of dangers, pitfalls, doubt and worry, waiting to bite and devour you whole without the slightest hesitation, had suddenly recessed back into the little ball of putty that I had imagined it as a child; small, soft, harmless and malleable to the point where I could shape it according to my every desire. In other words, I truly felt that the rest of my life could be spent like this; in constant joy, wonder and excitement and that I had the power to make it so. Life is ultimately the beautiful opiate that transcends all highs - you can either deny all it has to offer and delude yourself with temporary escapes or let yourself go, imbibe in all its glory in an infinite number of ways that all yield the same, pure result - happiness.

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