That was the thought running through my head before glancing at my phone for what would be the final time. It read 12:10am. That was my limit. I had had a great night making new friends at the Great Canadian Pub on quai des Grands Augustins. We talked hockey, we talked life, we did shots, we smoked cigarettes. It was time to head home.
By getting home, I would have to cross the River Seine and walk ten minutes to Chatelet les Halles train station, one of the biggest gares in Paris. From Chatalet, board Metro #14 towards Gare St Lazare, get off at the terminus station, climb four escalators and hope to arrive in time for the final train to Conflans Sainte Honorine. The train would depart as it normally does, at 12:40am. By leaving the bar at 12:10, I was already running the risk of not making it.
It'll be an adventure, I thought. Besides, my office is a couple of blocks away. Worst case scenario, I can sleep there. And, at the behest of my new Canadian friends, I ordered another beer (if we're getting technical, I ordered a demi-pêche, a beer with peach syrup), took off my jacket, and let my guard down.
Once upon a time, you dressed so fine. Threw the bums a dime, in your prime. Didn't you. People'd call say, Beware Doll You're Bound to Fall. You thought they were just, kidding you.
Living in Montreal and Paris, I've developed a knack for making new friends. Whether it's a train station or a bar or a museum, I'm generally pretty good at striking up conversation, forming a bond with someone, and us becoming, well, mates. It's a nice skill to have.
My Friday night was supposed to play out a bit differently. A friend in Paris had invited me to a party to celebrate her 21st birthday. I had planned on going there, and was actually at her building, before realizing two things: one, that I didn't know her apartment number. Two, that I didn't have her number. After bumbling around her building for a few minutes, I decided to cut my losses and head back. She lived in a very modern area of Paris called La Defense, so the scenery still made it a worthwhile venture.
When I got back into Paris, it was only around 10:30pm. I figured that a pint at my favourite bar wouldn't hurt, so I took the trains and got to Saint-Michel Notre Dame, right across from The Great Canadian Pub.
I got there, navigated through the crowd (it's quite a popular place), and ordered my demi-pêche. Within a minute, I heard what I call Academic Hockey Talk. The two gentlemen next to me, two men I would spend the rest of the evening with. One was a 24 year old political science graduate from the University of Toronto, and a friend of Edmonton Oilers forward Sam Gagner. The other, a 47 year old Anglophone Montreal businessman. I said, passingly, Excusez-moi, monsieur, vous venez de Toronto?
Seven words, and that resulted in us hanging out for nearly seven hours.
We spent the next hour talking, well, hockey. I complained about the Oilers, they talked about PK Subban. I reminisced about living in the great city of Montreal. The point where I knew I'd have more than my self imposed one beer was when the Montrealais asked myself and the Torontonian which team Bobby Orr retired with. I quipped, Chicago. He bought us a round. Win.
The next hours consisted of Irish pubs, Scottish pubs, beer, shots, cigars, dancing…the whole nine yards (by this point there were about seven of us, all but one being Canadian). In other words, a pretty legendary Parisien night, especially considering I had never met any of these people before.
Our final venture was the Scottish pub. Around 4am, the Montrealais asked me to take out my phone so we could get in touch when I move to the city in September.
Jesus Christ.
Here We Go.
I knew it. Somehow, someone had gotten into my jacket, which was laying on a chair beside me, and rifled through. Cell phone: gone. Wallet: gone. Navigo (transportation pass): there. Inhaler: there. Jacket itself (I absolutely love this jacket, a very typical European men's overcoat): there.
After surveying the bar, asking friends and staff about my belongings, I realized that, in fact, I was in a bind. I wasn't angry, but in shock. And sad.
You used to, laugh about. Everybody that was, hanging out. And now you don't walk so proud. Now you don't, talk so loud. About having to scrounge 'round, for your next beer.
I didn't get home until 7:30am the next morning. As soon as I got to my apartment, I crashed.
Waking up with a pounding hangover, smelling like smoke, hungry, tired, realizing you got robbed, and having no one to physically talk to about it is not a very pleasant feeling.
Probably the single worst feeling I have ever experienced.
I was quite crushed on Saturday, though calling credit card and phone companies to cancel services did improve my French. I then drafted a press release for the family members back home. I can't imagine how my parents must have felt, reading that their 21 year old son was robbed in Paris.
I then had to figure out how, with no cash or credit cards, I was going to live. Thankfully, my passport was not taken, meaning I could still withdraw money from the bank. That was an enormous relief.
Piecing your life together after getting robbed, especially having to speak another language to do so, is not easy. But I was able to do most of the fixing by Sunday.
Sunday morning was different. I woke up inspired, and with some energy. I realized then and there that things were going to improve, and that there was still a heck of a lot to be thankful for.
How does it feel? How does it feel? To be on your own. No direction home. A complete unknown. Just like a rolling stone.
Long Time Coming
Before I left for Paris, I knew that at one point, I was going to get robbed while in Europe. I just had an inking that it was going to happen. And sure enough, five months into my séjour, that feeling proved correct.
I have gotten away with a lot of risqué decisions in the past, and one could easily say that I got away with one the night I got robbed as well (the thieves never touched me, and I still have a face for radio). Whether it's strolling the Rexall area of Edmonton at 3am, or sipping Heinekens in the Red Light District of Amsterdam underneath the stars or mocking a tattooed Quebecois cannabis salesman, there have been many mornings where I have woken up and thought, "How on Earth did I not get in to trouble?"
I am incredibly lucky that all that happened was a cell phone and wallet being stolen. The optics of the situation were perfect for it to have been far, far worse.
Lessons Learned
Losing a cell phone and credit cards and having to deal with French customer service agents is a pain. But I am quite thankful for the experience. The way I'll look at it is as an educational investment. I probably lost around $400 CAD worth of goods that night (the phone being 3/4 of that total).
In return, I got a huge education on how to avoid similar unsafe situation. I learned how to keep my belongings with me at all times. I learned that a limit is a limit, regardless of how great the company is. I also realized that my resumé of 4am nights is already quite long; in the words of Ted Moseby, "Not every night needs to be legendary." And perhaps above all else, I gained another Parisien story.
It goes without saying that, by choosing to move from Edmonton, Alberta to Paris, France, I was subjecting myself to far more of a roller coaster ride.
That Saturday night was both. I met some great people that night. I talked hockey that night. I had a Parisien experience that night. I also saw some goods disappear that night. And felt the worst feeling I have ever experienced thanks to that night.
After realizing what had happened, one of my new friends and I were at a café that Saturday morning, waiting for the 5am trains. I repeated, "Credit to the thieves. Getting into my jacket while I was next to it for almost the whole night."
There's no telling how many girlfriends I would have if I were half that smooth.
As the roller coaster ride continues, I'm happy to report that I'm on the ascending part of the crazy adventure. I now have a cell phone, new camera, new credit card, and, above all else, the robbery did nothing to dampen my spirit, only give it a well deserved and long-time-coming lesson.
Rome and Barcelona are next on my plate, later this month. I'll be going there alone, ready to unearth and conquer more cities.
I can't promise that there won't be another crazy night or two before I leave this incredible continent. All I can promise a great story, an honest blog, and that I truly did Leave It All Out There.
À la prochaine,
