By Kareem McJagger
Before I'd met my boyfriend, I was planning a 10-day Eurovacation for the summer of 2012: London (for World Pride), Amsterdam (for the orange) and Berlin (for the sausage). But somehow, after we’d met, he convinced me to give Paris a try instead.
Once we’d de-boarded the plane, we zipped through customs with no questions asked of us and no forms to fill out. The terminal we walked through was marvelous (it looked like a huge wine barrel). It was a stark contrast to the non-air-conditioned, cattle-car train to the city that looked straight out of Ben Kingsley's Ghandi.
After multiple transfers, we finally arrived at Les Jardins du Marais, our hotel. Apparently, hotels aren't so abundant in La Marais, the gay/chic area, so this one with a 10-minute walk to the main drag would have to suffice. Our room was notably small, but it was nice and had everything we needed except for a full-length mirror.
The bf suggested lunch just down the road in the Bastille area. We settled on Falstaff, a touristy place right on the traffic circle and a prime spot for people-watching. All the outdoor seating at the cafés faces the street to facilitate my second favorite activity (which, I’m sure, is one reason Europeans why are such better dressers).
Btw, as far as I’m concerned, the determining factor for a restaurant outside the US is not the food selection or quality: it's the presence of WiFi. But the seafood salad I had was great!
The bf walked me around La Marais and to some other landmarks like the Pompidou Center. We had a drink at Open Cafe, a gay bar on a busy corner of La Marais with no WiFi. When you walk by this place, you can almost literally feel the stares of the dozens of men who fill the outdoor tables. I hand mixed feelings at first, but I started smiling and winking at them by the second day.
We moved down the rue to Cox, which had WiFi. The bartender was very nice, even if the clientele was a bit standoffish. The scene was mostly on their roped-off sidewalk, which was full of smoke. I guess it didn’t help that I don't speak French, but I was happy to sip a few drinks, watch the bears cruise (making up subtitles in my head) and play on Grindr.
After a disco nap, we hit up Raidd, the most suggested of the bars in Paris from my social-media askings. For reference, Raidd’s dance floor is about the size of NYC’s Barrage without the bar.
The Paris scene seems to have similar timing to the NYC scene, so we arrived at midnight to a packed bar. One thing that the Paris scene doesn't have: vodka. In the US, we're used to about 6 flavors of Absolut and at least 3 flavors of a top-shelf brand in addition to a well brand, several regular call brands and at least a few regular top shelf brands. From what I observed: you could choose betwen Belvedere and well. Perhaps plain Absolut, but this was no-Citrón-and-soda situation. Raidd only had well vodka, so we went with the house white wine, which was surprisingly good and only 4 Euros.
Oh, and there's no free-pouring in Europe. You have to ask (and pay for) a double to get a decent drink. Even the wine is measured pours from an automatic pourer in some bars!
We got lucky with ordering from the bar because our timing put us front and center for one of the legendary shower shows. A strikingly handsome multiracial man in his mid-20s with a great body put on quite a show for the cheering crowd, which was rewarded with a sizable outline in his wet boxer-briefs and just a peek at the tip of the girthy monster that made said outline.
Once we'd had our fill of the Raidd crowd, we walked into Freedj (btw, I have no idea how to pronounce that name) on a whim and found they were playing '90s and early '00s R&B and hip-hop. We ended up hanging out with the black-French DJ and his friends. One particularly wild character, a multi-racial guy who wasn't with them, convinced us to follow him to CUD, the ultra-late dance club. Luckily, it had no cover. He was totally that guy who would go up to a group of guys on the dance floor and start singing to them or would spin them or caress their faces. He was a trip to watch, but, being American, I was definitely worried that his unsolicited attention would start an altercation.
We bade our dance partner farewell and headed home around 4:30. After I got my very tired bf to bed, I fired up Grindr for shits and giggles. Obviously, people in Paris speak excellent English based on the lack of funny screenshots I was able to get. Luckily, I was able to guiltlessly blame my late hours of jet lag and the excitement of the first day of my European vacation.
