Trike Euro-Log: One Month Of Touring (and getting towed in Paris)

Paris

Typing on my laptop while Ineke drives. In Paris en route to Nantes. Ah, gay Paree... Allow me to tell you what happened today and the events leading up to it.

We spent the last twelve days in Mijnsherenland, outside of Rotterdam, with crazy Ron, a slightly brilliant, slightly neurotic, tall drink of water with a dog named Gizmo. We recorded LOTS for our new album, Mushy Muschi Moshi; vocals, violin, keys, harmonica (finally - I neglected to record it in both Saint John, New Brunswick and Montréal. No, correction: I recorded harmonica tracks in Saint John, but they sounded distorted). Ineke filmed and edited plenty of footage for her documentary.

We also booked a bunch in Mark Lotterman's mother's house (Ron didn't have WiFi at home). We gained about eight shows through all our efforts and lost three. We also got a ridiculous rejection from a venue in Ghent, Belgium, which I will describe in our next blog.

It was a productive twelve days. At first we were skeptical, because it seemed like an endless desert of time, stretching into eternity, but the days went by fast. We caught up on sleep (I have an eyemask and earplugs, which work wonders). I wrote a song. Xania and I both wrote a song about robots. Yes, a lot of bands write songs about robots. Shuddup. I know. I don't care. (it's called "Dance With A Robot [He knows where the FUN starts]"). I also read some of a book by Obama (utterly fascinating and surprisingly touching). We watched Gizmo and Mika try to bang, over and over again, but Mika is about 1/8th Gizmo's size (they're dogs, in case you didn't pick that up).

The time to leave for Nantes drew nigh. We soaked in as much recording time as we could in Ron's studio before finally stuffing the car with our belongings and hightailing it towards Paris, our pitstop before Nantes.

Paris. We arrived last night, met Xania's bosom-buddy, Alexis at Place de la Republique and parked the car in what we thought was a good parking spot. She took us to her charming, small apartment "It's like a cardboard box" she told me. Soon enough we found ourselves in Alexis' living room, lovingly adorned with a modest book collection and Warhol prints, mugs of coffee and bailey's in our hands, chatting with Alexis' adorable boyfriend, Alex (hairdresser and photographer) and her lovely friend, Audrey (graphic designer); both from Quebec. After many glasses of wine and several youtube videos (why do social gatherings often end up with everyone gathered around the computer, showing each other youtube videos? It's a new social phenomenon, I've noticed), we put on Total Recall and promptly fell asleep.

I awoke first, as I often do, with a minor red wine headache. Picked up aspirin at the pharmacy and returned. People started waking up. We planned to have crepes and waffles at Republique, but first, Ineke, Xania and I wanted to get some things from the car. We went to the parking spot and it was GONE! As we found out later, it was towed because it was a loading zone, which we were blissfully unaware of.

It had been towed. Alexis finally showed up and eventually led us to the place where they keep towed vehicles. We had to pay 130 euros. Ineke and I split the cost because we both thought it was an okay place to park. There were no signs saying otherwise. Nothing. We filled out a form to contest it, went back to the car and noticed there were two massive dents on the right side. The women marched back to the office and swiftly told the woman behind the desk, whose heavy-lidded eyes betrayed her general ennuie towards humanity. Oh, she was nice enough, but you could tell; she knew that something is rotten at the core of the Parisien system.

Form after form... finally we left after hugs and kisses, with vague half-promises of returning on Sunday. We got the fuck out of Paris tout de suite and headed towards Nantes. I know nothing of the city, but my only hope is that the people are open to something new. My hope is that they wont smoke apathetic cigarettes, chatting amongst themselves as we play our hearts out. If so, I will tear a strip out of them.