Sunday, July 5, 2009

La Postina

I'm in the middle of a forest. Sleepy as hell. Glad to have missed that damn cupcake looking jelly fish. Damn jelly fish. Let's just say I've been talking about Lacanau, France since my douchebag old fling. Since the Wayne tour canceled, I was able to manipulate myself into a tour de France of my own. We drove to Bordeaux full of beer and cheese and chorizo. Didn't arrive until late in the evening in which I had to find my way through the winding and confusing streets of centre ville. After which we discovered a market place of BARS. Straight bars. Like a "Bar Off". Like the "You Got Served" of bars. I plop my ass down with my Guadeloupian people as usual.

But I'm too far ahead.


Met up with an island boy who I'd been meaning to meet up with. Great. Fantastic. Gigantor is his nickname. But as island boys are and do....and I dont want to be mean. But, yes, my expectations are high and those who tempt to tame the shrew, well...ya know.

Anyway. Paris, clubs under a bridge, bitch ass bar at Hotel Plaza Athenee, and my favorite italian restaurant, my FAVE lingerie canceled, now what are we going to do?

TOUR DE FRANCE!!! My version. I've been dying to surf in Lacanau. My french and surf, i'm thinking....this is gonna be the best trip on the planet.

My friend and I set off, cheese, bread and chorizo in hand, on a road trip to Bordeaux. We arrived know that the directions given are worse than New Jersey here? Like, people shouldn't drive in other countries until they read what all of the signs mean. It's stupid. I wasted an hour just from no sign comprehension.

We unloaded our 50 bags and set off for food. Of course at 12:00am no food was available. My ass, as usual, finds the Guadeloupean bar at the "Bar Off" and we proceed to drink Planteurs, the Guadaloupean version of a rum punch.

A group of loud , drunk , obnoxious but cute Chileans came by and spoke to us in Spancais, or Franish. So we had no choice but to follow them. We found ourselves in a lovely bar of straight people. no really. they were straight, so I thought. It was the DJ who was a raving queen. He told me so as soon as I ordered my 3 beers, but the accent was in French. I give him credit for summoning his inner black girl.

IN any event, his playlist was:
It Raining Men - The Weather Girls (formerly known as Two Tons of Fun)
Think - Aretha Franklin
Hot Stuff - Donna Summer
I'm so Excited - Pointer Sisters

All that hot dancing and I had to run from my 23 year old Chileans. FRICKEN 23 YEAR OLDS LET ME BE!
So we come home. I do a little midnight work (4am work actually) and honestly, this is the 4th night home at 4am. I gotta stop this shit. I mean really.

So got up this morning/afternoon, got an Ipod plug at the Virgin Megastore and drove to Cap Ferret.

The beach is bordered by a beautiful forest where people camp. It's the camp / holiday spot for normal French people....the ones who camp with their families, not traipse the Rue St Honore in hopes of Givenchy sales and Lanvin mark downs.

At our beach bar, I see some crazy fine Costa Rican French boy. Sweet Jesus. God IS the best architect cuz that child was too beautiful for words. We had beers and ZZ Top. It was then i realized that ZZ Top was the truth and not just some redneck band. I'm still downloading the boxed set.

After nasty bloody marys and coffee, we headed to the beach, in which I found an open surf rental.

Wack board, but fuck it. I'm in France fricking surfing.

In the midst of battling high tide and an inconsistent current, I see a cupcake in the water. I'm thinking, why are people so fucking trashy? It's not just Cali, even in France throw their shit in the water. Shortly thereafter I felt some tickling on my feet. Worse case scenario i'm always thinking in the water, but there was that stupid CUPCAKE! Upon second glance, it was just a giant striped Jellyfish. GIANT STRIPED JELLY FISH. I caught a wave so fast just to get out that bitch you woulda thought I was a pro.

Fuck Jellyfish.

Stupid jellyfish.

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