After two weeks road tripping through Europe for Volcom’s Eurothrash (watch this space…) we ended up in the cradle of European civilisation. Paris in Spring.
Paris in Spring is heaven. There is no better place to do interviews in the name of work and soi disant journalism. Didn’t think about surfing. Didn’t touch a skateboard. Disconnected for two days. Saw Galleries. Markets. We locked eyes with pretty girls in the park and then looked down and right with a coy smile. Dressed up a little and ate in 56th floor restaurants we couldn’t afford. The Magret is to die for and the Cote de Rhone to accompany is de rigueur. We drank white wine at lunch, then beers on the river seine, and then Negronis before spending every last cent we had on whisky sours. Engaged in the timeless tradition of sitting at a cafe drinking black coffees and smoking too many cigarettes. Conversed. Debated. Stumbled down cobbled streets. There’s more to this.
There’s a pre election protest happening outside of our hotel but all is well. Armed troops on the street but life must go on – as our hotel receptionist tells us with a hint of defiance “ On a l’habitude, Ici c’est Paris” (we’re used to it – this is Paris)
We walked and talked with Noa on the spring banks of the seine and my god is it beautiful. However we can’t help but feel humbled here; Orwell, Hemingway, Napoleon, Monet, Edith Piaf. Even Coco Chanel at a push. Long may thrashing around Europe continue, in the same way that many greater figures then us have done before. We’re not the first. We’re here right now and we really fucking hope we’re not the last.