Off-Topic: My awesome, miserable weekend

This really doesn’t have much to do with photography, unless you can find some photographic interest in the attached photo. I took this picture last night at a private party on a boat in the middle of nowhere. This party was awesome, but my weekend did not start out on a techno-blasting boat in the middle of nowhere. If you’re interested, I will tell you about my disaster of a successful weekend.

I don’t have class on Fridays here, so the weekend starts Thursday night. This last Thursday night was a total bust however. My friend Colt and I went out in search of something to do and found ourselves riding the last of the night trams alone across town, drinking some nasty 11.6% dark beer. It had a strong pine-taste, like someone melted down an old Christmas tree and added alcohol. I was home before 2 AM, wondering why we were even out that late.

Friday night came around and I was determined to make up for the previous night’s failure, so I got together a group of about ten people and went out in search of a new bar I had heard about. Unfortunately, I live in a city called Schiltigheim, to the north of Strasbourg, so I bike into the city at night so I can bike home after the bus system stops at midnight. The unfortunate part was, it was raining—and not just rain, but with the 1*C temperature that night, it was that freezing, almost hail rain. By the time I met up with my friends downtown, I was not only completely soaked but completely frozen. It didn’t take long to find the bar, but the atmosphere was the worst we’ve come across. Bright yellow lighting and lousy music made for awkward conversation and worst of all, there were more people speaking English than French—a clear sign of a tourist trap, so we grabbed our coats and followed some British and Australian girls to a nearby club called “Java” which they promised to be more entertaining. However, “Java” is one of several clubs in Strasbourg that have a very strict door-bouncing policy, and we went about the process all wrong. Rather than sending our top French-speakers to the front of the group to converse with the bouncer, two of our most drunken Franglish-spewing marched right up and were immediately turned away. Of course, the British and Australian girls got in, but we weren’t about to split our group so we kept moving. Ironically, less than a half hour later, we were all split up. Two people decided to go home, as it was already 2:30 AM, and several others met some French students on the street and decided to wonder off with them. I was with Melinda, and we started walking with one group but then changed our minds and decided to go back to meet up with the French people, but when we returned they were long gone, and now we were on our own.

I called up one of my friends and he said they were going to “La Salamandre”, a really cool old warehouse transformed into a very popular club at the south end of the city. Melinda and I walked there and tried to sneak in to avoid the five-Euro cover charge, but of course she got in and I got caught. Luckily, I know how to say “Oh I’m very sorry, my friend told me it was free for students on Fridays” in French, so the bouncer didn’t seem too bothered and just made me pay the five Euros to get in. I got in and there was no sign of Melinda, but the club was packed so I decided to save a Euro and find a place to set my coat to avoid the coat-check. I set it down on a bench off to the side and as I was walking away to find Melinda a guy passed me, helping a girl who looked a little out of it, which I didn’t think much of. However, when I turned around, that same girl was sitting on the bench, vomiting all over my jacket and gloves.

I calmly walked over and picked up the jacket, looked at it, and nearly threw up myself from the sight of it. A man to my right said something like “put that in the trash” in French, and I just laughed. You know—that sad, defeated, whimpering laugh. I took the jacket and gloves to the bathroom and tried to wash them off as best I could in the one, tiny sink, for about five seconds at a time between the constant flow of people needing to use this one sink in the awkwardly crowded bathroom.

It was about 45 minutes to walk Melinda home, another 30 min to walk to where I locked up my bike, and a 20 minute ride home from there, and I had no choice but to wear the fowl-smelling jacket in the below-freezing weather. I got home at 4:30 AM, completely defeated.

Now we have what I like to call third-chance Saturdays, where I set out once again in a desperate attempt to save this dying weekend. My host brother (son of my host family here) is a techno DJ, and he told me he was playing at a private party on a boat on the edge of town, and if I wanted to come he would get me and my friends in VIP. I accepted, and invited five friends to come along. We made the mistake of heading out after midnight, so we missed the last bus out to the side of town we needed to be on, and not everyone had bikes, so we started walking and eventually ran into Bill, a quiet guy from China in my History class. Colt and I grabbed him and said “Bill you’re coming with us—we’re on a quest for a boat!” and he cautiously agreed, perhaps assuming we were just wandering aimlessly.We walked a very cold hour to the river on the far east of town, just another 15 minute walk from the German border. At this point, my friends began to doubt me, as there were absolutely no boats in sight on this river, and the directions I had were all based on the assumption that I correctly understood my host brother’s rapid-fire French. We walked along the river for what felt like an eternity with absolutely no sign of civilization before we finally saw some lights, and several boats.

As I walked up to the boat with bass pounding through the hall and the flashes of colored lights and strobes bombarding every window, I knew my weekend was saved. Sure enough we all got in and hit the dance floor just in time for Adiago for the Strings and danced like maniacs for hours. I got home at 5 AM, and fell asleep still smiling.