Dope story breh… ain't nothing like seeing a foreign city with a local.I love and hate this place at the same time. I hate the French and their pompous ways of thinking that because you don't speak French you aren't worthy of their attention.
Being black here can be a serious detriment, especially if you don't speak English cause I've been ignored and straight up talked about in French by shopkeepers and folk on the street. I was told it was derogatory shyt by a passerby who was listening and told me to go elsewhere since they understood French.
I nearly ran the fade with the fakkit frenchy that was at the counter cause he got tired of me saying "Good morning" instead of "Bonjour".
Like, "Motherfukker, What?" If you understand that I'm not French, while also understanding my greeting in my language which means "Good morning" why are you having such a fit?
This fakkit straight up hung up the phone on me and wouldn't send the power converters me and my fam needed to charge our electricals. Had to take it up with the manager who rectified shyt and said breh was having a "Bad day". Me and my folks were threatening to walk and we was like 20 people deep so they were compelled to play nice, especially since they were in renovations and looked like they needed the money at the time.
Plus they smell. Like bad. The lady assigned to clean my room was possibly the worst non homeless human I ever smelt in my life. She smelt ACRID! Google that shyt if you need to. Like whenever she came to our room to clean, we didn't even argue or tell her to come back, we just dipped. You could smell her down the halls, it was that bad.
shyt was so bad, this one time I was in an elevator with a dude staying down the hall and we was going down to the lobby from one of the top floors. Mid way through, the elevator stops and in comes that funky bytch with her cleaning cart and we both in the elevator, hugging the sides looking for side pockets to breathe, she killing us. Duke got so animated, he pushed me and started a fight and had me wrapped up like we clinching in boxing out of nowhere which in turn caused her to stop on the next floor and run out. While I'm trying to swing on dude and find out why he ambushing me, he dropped to his knees going "Breh, I HAD TO DO SOMETHING. I COULDN'T BREATHE IN THAT bytch AND FELT LIKE I WAS GONNA PASS OUT!" and apologized.
It was so fukked up, we stopped on the next available floor and took the fukking stairs.
And that was just one broad so imagine a whole nation of smelly ass women? And that's the weird part, the smell varies. Like you can meet a relatively hot lady, dressed nice, looks nice, smells like a toilet in a metal container out in the sun and meet an old, frumpy broad that actually smells like a human being.
Plus if you don't like cigarette smoke, Paris will piss you off. I think Paris is still one of the few places on Earth that still have non smoking and smoking sections in restaurants. The difference between them? In the non-smoking sections the water brings his own ash tray to dab his butt. I ain't even playing. I'm dead ass fukking serious.
The food is hit or miss, but I eat almost anything, so I didn't mind it too much but fukk getting a proper steak or burger for decent. The time I was there was around that time Obnoxious americans were calling fries "Freedom Fries" instead of "French" and I remember a whole family being tossed out off the strength of that shyt from this one joint I used to frequent that had a very nice onion soup with brisket.
The streets are littered with Cigarette buts and damn near everybody smokes. This limp wristed Parfait puff flicked a butt that hit me in the face but he apologized mad quickly so I couldn't do shyt about it. Also if you into fashion and you ain't petite, don't bother. They'll laugh at you, like literally. I did some window shopping with a cousin because she wanted to see the "Fashion" and I merely looked into a clothing store and the fakkit inside the awning laughed and said "You can't afford what we have here since you'll have to pay by the foot." a clear crack on my weight in regards to his overpriced ass looking suits.
I tossed a barely closed bottle of orange juice inside like a grenade and made my way through the streets before he could come out and see it was me. fukk the French.
which in and of itself was just me meeting some extraordinary people. The architecture is beautiful if you're into that shyt and the place is rich with history. Also you can find a strong pocket of French folk who are trying their best to alleviate the insufferable pride alot of their country men have towards non French and they go out of their way to help you. An old french couple helped me to find my hotel after I went walking like an idiot (This was before I had a smartphone back in the Blackberry era) and forgot my bearings, and wrote down alot of good places to eat that catered more to tourists since my fam was having a harder time than me eating the shyt there.
There was also this bakery that was next a sushi joint that was directly across the road from my hotel that I made fast friends with in there and used to open up early in the morning. My pops loved bread and since he wasn't eating alot of the weird shyt we was finding in restaurants, I used to pop next door and load up on bread. When they saw that I was buying so much and loved it, they used to have my order ready before they officially opened, so we could have breakfast. Sandwiches, crossaints, yougurts, the fukking works all for a very decent fixed price that we agreed on. While I'd like to say they only did it because it was an easy come up, the fact that they use to let my stupid ass go into the bakery and eat bread fresh out the oven, burning myself each time as I did it was just....awesome.
They even sent us to the airport early morning with all the shyt we used to buy for free for liking their shyt so much with a gallon of freshly squeezed orange juice along with some sushi platter shyt from the sushi place next door that wasn't even open. The historical sites like the Louvre and the Eifel, while always filled and busy were nice things to go and view, but I'm putting stock into the people rather than these locations because it's the people that helped me enjoy these things at a higher clip than I would going through the regular channels.
I met a broad. Asian, who worked the front desk of the same hotel I was having problems with but she worked the night shift after Uni and we sorta really hit it off and she invited me out to a rave after we got to talking and drinking (At the counterI might add) and she realized that I listened and read alot of the shyt she cared for (Dune FTW!). Now while I've been to several raves in America and the UK, the french raves were quite spectacular and since everyone was melting their face with drugs, I felt little to no prejudice there and hit it off with a few of her friends and other randoms.
They took us out to the countryside (Which is bomb as fukk, by the way compared to the smelly ass city) and people out there were generally more laid back or politely rude without the pompous act the city dwellers had. The French Rivera by yacht is something I would have had to pay an arm and a leg to view, but I got to off the strength of making friends off of just chatting it up, so I enjoyed the fukk out of it. Also got to take my fam INTO the fukking Eiffel after they got discouraged from the lengthy wait times, especially with it being peak tourist season at the time so they took to simply taking a tour around it. They showed me alot of love and even though I was canoodling with the broad in the front who was making it happen, It felt more like they were looking out for me while showing off their city rather than just doing a favour so damn near any historical site or museum/palace we got into for a fraction of the cost, instead opting to pay the impromptu tour guides I was partying with instead of some stiff mustachioed a$$hole.
Also, the Catacombs. fukk. The Gottdamn Catacombs. You can take a regular ole, run of the mill tour of the catacombs, but since I was in good with a broad who had friends who fancied themselves rebels, I got to tour that shyt at night, illegally and attended a few awesome parties down there. While the parties weren't exactly anything special, just drinks, music, a few lights and the underlying feeling that you'd get caught since the cops toured down there regularly for that shyt, just being down in that place gave off a kind of eerily exciting vibes....after you get used to seeing the skulls.
Like literally. I dropped acid one time and took my stupid ass down a line of skulls, trying to decipher if they was male or female, black or white, poor or rich, which eventually lead to me getting lost. Now getting lost in the catacombs is something no one should wish upon themselves, 'cause just like in the movies, you panic and take every other wrong turn thinking that it looked just like the last. What's even more fukked up, is as I got lost, I saw light beams pouring out of distant areas and while my initial response was to run up and be like "Hey, look at me! I'm lost!" thankfully in my high hallucinating state, the skulls told me to tuck my ass into a corner and let them fools pass since it could be the cops.
I stumbled onto a "Secret" club of masked fools tucked away in this one little enclave, replete with bone furniture (I shyt you not) looking at some film on a reel projector and they just turned to look at me and said...NOTHING.
I watched them for what felt like hours and did the only thing In my mind I could think to do....and that was to spin and attempt the Michael Jackson Toe Stand, which seemed normal enough in my inebriated state. A few mutterings in french, and folk started doing random Michael Jackson dances before someone pulled me away from the opening and told me that the group was going further into the catacombs since they realized I was high and lost. Then I got lectured on all the grimy shyt that goes on down in the Catacombs, from plain clothes cops looking for folk acting like they travellers, to straight up weird cults (Like the ones I just saw) like the lot I interacted with albeit briefly.
I wouldn't have been able to experience this side of the city by myself, since I'd be too scared to break the law and disheartened to interact with anyone outside of the tourist band you're relegated to if you deal strictly with the prejudiced shyts that run rampant in that place, but it really is a nice city, adorned with a$$holes. You just gotta muscle through it (pause) and make it your own experience.
That being said, I've been back a few times and enjoyed it way more than my initial first one, but you're still gonna deal with the same bullshyt everytime with the smelly people and their even smellier attitudes.....but you should go there atleast once to draw your own conclusion, if not just to firmly bolster yourself when you say with all your heart, "fukk the French."
I gotta ask though, where were you staying?
I have never experienced any funky smells, or rude behaviour. Matter of fact, all them French women were pissing off my girl with their overly friendly nature, and talking to me directly (even when ordering at a restaurant) and not paying her much mind.
Also, learning some basic phrases like hello, please, thank you, excuse me, etc in the language of your host country will go a LONG way in buying you good will with whomever you'll be dealing with. Matter of fact, it may be just me, but I feel like I'm being disrespectful in not greeting folks in the service industry in their native language. And, generally these phrases are a breeze so it ain't much effort you gotta put in. Except Korean - them muhfukkas "hello" is needlessly challenging.
Now that I'm thinking about it... this could be a reflection of me greeting everyone with a "bonjour" (even if the very next thing out my mouth is "pardon, parlez vous anglais?"), and why I continue to try to talk to locals in their language because I always receive good service in return.
Now that’s a story, one of the best I’ve read on the internet 
