Quentin Tarantino & Eli Roth present HOSTEL: It's Caulaincourt, bitch.

Hello mes amis,

The internet here is down right now, which means instead of wasting gigantic lapses in time surfing hostel websites & train ticket prices, I will instead write an update. I've arrived at the Hostel in Caulaincourt. Well, I arrived here 5 days ago, I guess, which was quite a long time ago when you think about it. And what an experience I've had, huh? If I desired or thought anyone would care, I could probably list off all that I've done and all the people I've met, but that would be a long list (not very long on the list of things that I've done, but rather the people I've met). Instead, I'll give a different sort of update, and a different sort of account. Less rational, more realistic. Less logical, more longlasting. Less explanation, more exclamation.
After a night of terrible headache, needed sleep, uncomfortable bed, drunk roommates, I awake for my first morning at Hotel Caulaincourt. It's a place like you imagine Kerouac or Thompson. Breakfast is provided and I eat it, a croissant, petit pain (small bread), coffee, orange juice. My headache had gone away, I am awake, and what will I do? My fallthrough is the cemeteries. There's another one here, home to the likes of corpse Emile Zola, corpse Alexander Dumas. And I'm feeling like all great writers have a home in Paris. I sit on benches, smoke Lucky Strikes, write in my notebook. I begin writing a play, and keep writing, keep going til Lockout Time at Hotel Caulaincourt has nearly finished. On my return, a blonde Swede drinks wine and smokes cigarettes on the step leading in. Cigarette quickly jumps from my pack to my mouth, smoke quickly streams from the ash to my lungs, euphoria quickly travels from my dreams to my reality. The Swede talks, I talk, I go, I buy wine, I join The Swede, and soon The Hotel Man Cool Man comes out and has a cigarette, and we talk, and we laugh, and we have good time, man, good time. It takes about 5 minutes for a new friend to come and walk into the life of Me, and it's Big Glasses Amelie From Vancouver (though she's not Amelie, and it's not her name, this is where the film was shot, and she knows all the places by heart, and there is something in her spirit very similar, hey!) Off to the store for her for more wine, back she comes, corkscrew corkscrew where is the corkscrew? The Hotel Man Cool Man has one on his pocketknife, let's use it. But it is so hard, so hard to get the wine from the bottle which would make us all friends, eh? So hard indeed ya. Eventually it's done and new friends have come. South Africa FuckHey. The Finn. Just a bit about all these people. Just a little bit to explain these big people. The Swede has sincerity running through him like bones. The Hotel Man Cool Man runs home runs around the world. Big Glasses Amelie From Vancouver laughs like magic. South Africa FuckHey is absolutely bonkers, man, but I dig it, man, hey. And The Finn must have been buried with the vikings and reborn with all their customs still in tact and developing with every motion of his beer to his mouth.

After much thirst quenching, off we go to the chapel Sacre Couer, where steps lead down to Paris, and music keeps people too entranced to leave. Big Glasses Amelie From Vancouver tells me her life history in a half hour, but it doesn't even need that long, it's similar to the one I've known for so long. The Finn is warming up, the Finn is laughing but not drinking wine. He was poisoned by wine. He doesn't drink the same poison twice, or he'll throw up. Someone wants to look at the gigantic masterpiece that is The Eiffel Tower, so we wander down the road just a few steps to climb the fence and look at the Disney Land/Christmas/Las Vegas show of twinkling lights on the massive piece of metal. I think it ruins the charm, while others giggle with love. But South Africa FuckHey has broken the bottle he's been twirling around, and hey, THE FINN WANTS SOME FUCKING BEER, so we're off. Beer's too expensive though, so off back to Hotel Caulaincourt, where we sit longer, talk longer, and sleep.

After one day with these folk, I know I will not last long in Paris. I must leave, I must see new places, I must meet new people, I must run into them again. And I begin making my plans to leave. To Spain. To Madrid. But all are going to Barcelona. But my father tells me Go To Barcelona. So I will go to Barcelona.

Next day, Big Glasses Amelie From Vancouver and I stroll down for coffee and cigarettes (at the cafe from Amelie, of course). We go to Musee D'Orsay. We wander through the halls of old artwork, the large paintings, the perfect sculptures. We run up the stairs to see Van Gogh, Toulouse LeTrec, Monet, Cezanne. We're both stunned, both overwhelmed. Another cigarette and we're walking to Notre Dame, past Notre Dame, to Shakespeare & Co Bookstore, yet again, where my romantic vision of life lives. Then it's for food at the Kebab place, then it's back home, then it's back to some more wine and back again later to Sacre Couer because The Finn is leaving, and he must take a picture of himself infront of the steps which will show you all of Paris, holding from home some moonshine, a local brew, which he must show his other Finnish Friends, and make them proud. Spokane is there, and Drunk Seattle is there, PunkFangPiercing is there, HippieAussie is there, South Africa FuckHey is there. And some of the guys from the hostel, PunkFangPiercing goes up and sings, and its very cool man, i dig it hey. Back at the hostel again, outside, talking briefly to Big Glasses Amelie From Vancouver, upset over money troubles, and Drunk Seattle comes in and we talk and she slurs, and then to bed.

Next day is hanging around, not much doing, back to the cemetery, but no writing this time, no good. Back at the hostel, I am surprised to see Big Glasses Amelie From Vancouver...she was catching the train to Barcelona that morning. But she'll be leaving that night. The overnight train. Let's drink some. AND it's The Hotel Man Cool Man's birthday, so there's some celebrating but all of the sudden its raining and we can no longer drink on the stairs outside in a circle and chatting, we must come inside. And we drink wine inside, and there's The Opposite Vancouver Sisters, who are new, and there's GorgeousModelTypeAussie, and Spokane, and Hololand. GorgeousModelTypeAussie and I make plans, tomorrow, The Louvre, free night. But we're not going, probably, probably I won't go. And then I'm off to bed, where apparently many drunk people have been in the room, having sex, and throwing up. I don't notice though. So in the morning when they apologize, I have no idea and I'm a little paranoid but I don't give it much attention, man, it's cool, hey.

Next day I book my train to Barcelona, I'm leaving on Monday night. The night train to Barcelona. Til then, we have birthdays to celebrate. Drunk Seattle is heading back to Seattle. We will have many nights on the stairs at Sacre Couer. But I'm ready to leave Paris. I'm feeling the burn. But nothing feels more like home than Hotel Caulaincourt.

And my Songs list (i haven't listened to a whole lot..so this is a bit of a stretch)
1. The Stills - Everything I Build
2. Ryan Adams - Bartering Lines
3. Radiohead - Talk Show Host
4. Get Up Kids - I'm a loner dottie. A rebel.
5. Band of Horses - The Funeral