I have been back in LA for a little over a week now, but I still don’t know where I am. This will probably be my very last blog on this website. If there is an audience desire for me to continue, I will.

I packed up my things and had a couple good bye nights with friends before my flight home. The first was a wild, drunken night, with Juliette, Pierre, Cassandra, Patrick, Yuko, and many others who’s paths ran with ours at various moments during the night. After a gay parade, a bottle of whiskey, a bar, a night club, and finally my house, I woke up the next morning with a killer hang over and a deck of cards all over my body and bed. The only remedy for that was a Greek sandwich and a lay low day.

I spent the next couple days visiting museums I had yet to see and putting my film on DVD. I should have it up on the internet soon. I will post the address. Then it came time to pack my things, fix boxes to ship off, and scrub the apartment clean.

Thursday was all cleaning. My bags were gone, resting at David's before their long flight in the belly of the jet. My walls were clear and relatively clean other the the cracked dent I had left in the dry wall next to my bed. The kitchen floor could be eaten off of, excepts, I would never... And even Jack’s room was shaping up. But it was not enough to save us from the wrath of our land lord, who’s ears steamed and eyes burned at the sight of our apartment. In my opinion, the apartment was in better shape at that moment then it had been when we had moved in. All besides the hole in the wall of course. But she saw it as a shamble, accusing us for breaking things that were already broken. She scorned at Jack and I for failing to cancel our internet three months before we didn’t know we were supposed to do. She hissed at the toaster oven, that still had burnt pieces of bread inside. She moaned at the broken washing machine button. Then she saw the hole in the wall. “Merdique,” she said.

So we didn’t get more than 300 euro of our 1000 euro deposit back. All nostalgia we felt for the apartment as we packed was instantly turned to an urge to flee from there as fast as possible. We tried to make a small home fit our big adventure. You can’t blame us.

The last two good byes were, a small family dinner at Wilson’s, and a couple rounds of beers at le Bar des Familles. Wilson’s was a sweet pot luck of frozen pizzas and tasty wine. Even as the booze began to run thin, Pierre kept the night from going dry with his constant aura of light heartedness and French/Alabama humor.
I told Slim, the bar man at les Familles that it was my very last night and I would be having a few friends there for drinks. He patted me on the back, threw me a free cold one, and said, “Fait attention a toi.” Take care of your self (out there in the big bad world). I sat at the back of the bar surrounded by a sea of women. Jack was the only other male at our tables, but he was taken, and my buddy Joe showed up later, but I think he might be gay...So there I was with maybe 10 girls bidding me adieu. Not a bad way to go. Juliette stood up and put on her coat. I hugged her good bye and as I pulled away from her, I could see her eyes were filled with tears. I was a prominent reminder of her love, Michael, and now I was going to be gone forever. I told her not to cry and kissed the top of her head. She smiled, turned, and walked out the door with out ever looking back.

Marie told me that if I didn’t cry, then what was it all worth. But that moment felt like any other night at les Familles, minus the banter of Henri, and the rants of Meghan. I walked out the door and hopped on the back of a Vespa for my only Vespa ride in Paris, around the Bastille tower or July column as it is titled in America. I still felt at home. David’s apartment was warm , and my bags were neatly stacked in the living room. As I switched off his bedroom light, I could see the cool night, I could hear the quite Parisian breeze. Even then, I was still home.
Hélèn was the last friend I saw. She took David’s keys and helped me put my bags in the cab. The ride was smooth.
At the airport, I saw that my flight on Air Tahiti Nui was going to be 50% filled with real Tahitians. They were tall, round, and dark. They were athletes, families, and musicians. We all crammed into a little shuttle bus that took us to our plane. During the tour along the run ways, a small Tahitian man played his Ukulele as almost every Tahitian in thebus sang a song somelthing like, “Reviens à moi.” Come back to me. Come back to me. I could see the Eiffel Tower in the distance, like a compass needle pointing towards the sky, Come back to me. I could not keep the tears from falling. Come back to me. I texted Marie, “You win, I’m crying.”

I stood there next to this huge Tahitian man, tears splashing in silence as home became just a memory. A memory of my first crèpe at Port d’Orleans. Wine and cheese under the Eiffel Tower in fall. Coffee with Andrieux. This kids at Lycée Leonard Da Vinci. My first kiss with Olimpia after the movies. Seeing Mike lost in the halls at St. Denis. My first Tartiflet at Pierre’s with my brother. Hanging with Yuko like 20 million times. Any night with Henri. The late night stroll with Elliot under the Tour Eiffel. Divan du Monde. Drunk Wilson. 4am walks along the Seine. The top of the Arch. Climbing into a sewer hole. Two days of heavy bike riding. 5am metro. Winter gloves. Wilson parties. David’s political rants but warm and loving heart. Filming a sex a scene in French. My scare with Ashton. Sassy Fanny. And always hearing Jack say, “These olives are glorious,” or “That was a manly meal,” or “You’re pretty.” (He didn’t say that last one to me) Etc, etc, etc...



How do I cope being back? It was like I never left. Like any summer I came home to chill. I’m scared shittless this time because college is over, I’m home for good, jobless, real world, and I’m an aspiring filmmaker in a fucking tsunami of filmmakers. My entire family is just as crazy as ever, except for my brother who is simply at the tail end of puberty. My friends are always just as loud and full of laughs. My room is full of boxes from 1996. The bars are not as smoky, but lack a good Pastis if you want one. I’m the only fucking person on the streets when i go for a walk because in LA, no one goes three blocks without driving. Mexican food that blows my mind. A warm living room with a big couch.

And I’m lost and can’t see the Seine whenever I want, so I settle for the LA River because this is the end of À Paris and the beginning of Ahhhh!!!, Los Angeles.

I’m Yours.

Love, Alexander Charles Aquino-Kaljakin.

The Long Distance Runaround
Let me catch up. I'll start with the recent and end with before. A few nights ago I went to a Beastie Boys concert with my buddy Pierre. Those old boys still know how to rock a crowd. They were high energy from beginning to end. The set was like something from a ska show or an old 60's swing band. The video side screens were sometimes in black and white and made to look like it was coming of the Ed Sullavin show. But the man of the night was the triple M alliteration himself, MIx Master Mike. His fingers were so fast and so hot, he broke the cross fader. Oh hell ya!
A couple nights before that, I went to a MUSE concert with David, his friend Gerome, Gerome's brother, and some girl the brother met online, who had to be at the very most 18 years old. We had a little chuckle about her age as we waited in line at the Parc des Princes, a football stadium in south west Paris. The stadium was urbanly decorated inside with all kinds of graf peices. It was really a cool sight to see. David said France's national team used to play there but now the stadium only houses the Paris St. Germain team. The team doesn't play very well, and their hardcore fans have a history of being neo nazis and racists. It gives the normal fans and the city a bad name.
The concert was pretty good though. The set was constructed to look like some kind of airport with a run way and tall antana like lights everywhere. There were huge satalites armed with lights in the middle. They would gyrate and turn shining light into the crown and sky. Large balloons were used for acoustics except for two of which were used to float dancers in the sky over the crowed. This might of been the most beautiful part of the concert. The group played a song called "Blackout" as these two women floated over our heads in grace and rhythm. They rocked pretty hard after that and kept the crowd jumping and shouting. The worst part about a concert in France is that everyone thinks they can sing as well os the singer. Well, you're not on the bloody stage are you, so shut up. I had this guy next to me screaming the lyrcis. He knew only some of the words and none of the keys, all in a thick French accent.
June 21st. This day marked La Fete de la Musique, a wonderful event that takes place in France nationwide and other EU countries. Imagine an entire country staying up all night to rock out to multiple concerts taking place in bars, parks, and the streets. It was amaizing and something the US should serously consider. Music makes the world move. The first show we went to was outside Paris, in an area called Sceaux. A little park there housed a concert where Pierre rapped on stage with a rock band. He was ripping the mic, dancing, and having a good ol' time. After his show, Pierre, Cassandra, Juliette, and I made our way make to Paris. We ended up in Belleville where we found a cool groove afro-island concert. It was sweet. After a beer and a chat, we went out and shook our bodies like our hearts were drums and our nerves guitar strings. There were two girls on stage who were dancing like there was no bones in their bodies. I had never seen the human form physically move like that to the beat. They sent their energy to the sky and back and spread it all over us. The singer was an eclectic character who made the funniest facial expressions. He had great stage presence and knew how to work the crowd. We only wanted more and more.
After that concert ended, we found our selves on the street walking around, looking for the next sound. Like a train roaring down tracks in the other direction, a rumble of twenty drums was moving down the street. We were swept up in this crowd of people, hopping, dropping, banging, bopping, and dancing to the boom of the drum sticks. Boom, boom, batta boom, batta boom. Encore. We were no longer us, we were everyone. This rolling beast of percussion crawled the streets until it found a place to rest in front of a bar. We stayed with the drum circle for sometime, unable to calm our bodies from movement. Juliette kept screaming, "C'est Enorme!" (This is huge!)
The time had come to move on. But our journey after that was music less other than the little sounds we sang on our way. The concerts had moved towards the center of town. We were just too far out. We looked for open metro stations that were pomised to us by the RATP, the metro company. But they had lied and probably went on strike even though they had sold us tickets that were supposed to last all night. Cassandra got the urge to climb things, so she scalled a scafolding and danced at the top. This brought me back to the days of roof top climbing with Nick Keane in Pedaluma, at his old high school. So Cassandra and I both scalled the side of a Parisian bank to see who could get the highest. But after a couple meters and a ledge of anti-pegion spikes, we had gone as high as we could.
Justin, my pal from SF, and his little brother Taylor, were here visiting Europe. We met up and hung out in Paris. We saw some sights, had some beers, and ate some greek, like a regular Parisian day. It was good to have one of the boys in town. It was like having a part of my old SF crew around. It felt good showing old friends, who knew me from before, the new life I was living abroad. Not only was Justin here but also Nina from SF gave me a call, saying she was in Paris too. It was a little SF State reunion party.
I had to break up with the French girl I was seeing. Fanny, a real French girl and a friend from a class I had met last semester. We went out for a few weeks. I liked her for her cute cheeks, simple honesty, and love of cinema. I also took advantage of practicing my French. I probably never spoke better than the time I was with her. But our little fling lost connection. My mind was too occupied by the idea of coming home and see others. While I was off on my travels in Eastern Europe, I never missed her once. That was a strong signal it was over. "Talk to me Detroit. First caller, you're on the air..."
Travels! Vacation?! So where did I go!?! May 31st, Vanessa, my good friend and former roommate from SF, the second person to come and visit me in an entire year (!!!) landed safely in Paris. But I was not there to pick her up. I had over slept. So the poor girl waited for me alone. I finally made it out there, scooped up a bag of hers, and lead her on to the RER. For her first taste of Paris, a boy from the hood got on the train and started shouting lyrical words about his earth, his hood, and not to fuck with it. "C'est ma terre. Villepinte. C'est MA ville!" He ranted for about 4 stops then finally got out. I turned to Vanessa and said, "Welcome to Paris." Nothing like a ride through the banlieue.
She was jet lagged but excited to be there. A good friend, Wilson, was having a going away party for Henri, silly Henri. We ate, drank, and danced all night. I could see Vanessa was super tired but none the less, we did not get home until 5 am. That is the way we get things started here. Now I tried to take Vanessa to all the spots Paris has to offer but it was really hard. There are just too many. We did the big ones though. The Eiffel Tower at night, the top of the Arch de Triomphe. We walked across the dead at Père LaChaise, rolled the hills at Les Buttes Chaumont, and covered all the tracks of the Latin Quarter.
My buddy Mike was leaving Paris for good. So his girl, Juliette, and her sister had a dinner with us before Mike's departure. After dinner that night, Vanessa's jet lag had finally wore off. She said, "I finally feel like I'm here." That was cool.
The last time I had seen Vanessa was a year ago. I had flown up to SF to hang out and see my friends one last time before going to Paris. She had given me a hug and said goodbye as she headed off to her boyfriends house. A year later, she was stading in my litte Parisian room getting her stuff together for our bus ride to Amsterdam.
I was supposed to recive our tickets in the mail but they never came, so I had to get new ones. The bus closed its doors while Vanessa was still outside. So me and a boy names Joe, who is also from my exchange program, tried getting them open. She finally made it in. 8 hours later, with stops in Lille, Brussles, Antwerp, and Rotterdam, we found ourselves in Amsterdam. Along the way we had meet a yound ex couple named Stella and Adi. Adi and I had a long talk about religion, his strong feelings against fundamentalist Muslims, and his love of Mohammed and the Koran. At first he seemed skeptical that as an American I would feel contempt for his religion. But I said, "Well, but I'm from California, and that is a little different." He laughed. When the bus docked, Adi and Stella helped us find our way to the hostel. We planned to meet up later but we never did.
The hostel was nice, with a bar downstairs and big drum cans for lockers next to our beds. Vanessa, a new traveler in Europe, was scared that everything she owned was going to be stolen. I guess it kept me on guard and aware...but, sheesh.
The first night we went out and ate a nice veggie meal. We found a nice cafe next door called the Amnisia cafe and...um...hmm... The next day we went to the World Press photo exhibit that was set up in this old and seemingly unused church in the center of the Red Light district. The images were moving and incredibly strong. Each image was a window to the world that is happening with us in it, but in places we cannot, do not, or choose not to see. It moves with us, above us, and under us. We don't even know half of the retched stories that happen every day. We stay lost in our TV links to the fake world when there is all kinds of real terror and beauty happening.
Vanessa and I rented bikes, the best way to get around Amsterdam. It was so much fun. First, we rode out to the Heineken brewery, who gives you 3 free half pints of the best Heineken beer you could ever submit your taste buds to. The tour itself was really funny and a little cheesy, especially the film, "What it is like to be a Heineken bottle."
Afterwards, we rode to the Anne Frank huis (house). I never knew how brilliant of a little girl she was. We walked through the little but well equipped apartment her family had stayed hidden in for so long. We passed through the secret compartments behind the bookcase and up the small staircase that lead to her family's sanctum away from the Nazi's. The personal accounts and stories of from the people connected to her were so moving, heart breaking, and inspiring all at once. This was going to play a big part in my perspective of the concentration camp we saw in Germany.
Feeling solum after that, we rode along a salty water bay of Amsterdam that glittered a beautiful sun set. I felt free. That night we chilled at the hostel bar and played pool and fuzball with a couple of Croatian guys we met. A dude sitting behing me at one point started convulsing and having seisure. He had either smoked too much or done some other kind of drug. It was kinda scary and stupid at the same time. Then he hid under the table and repeated, "I'm ok, I'm ok." The hostel owners, who had seen this a million times I'm sure, said, "You smoke too much of da' marijuana? Huh?"
June 6th, 2007. It was my birthday. The morning of it was spent in Amsterdam. The middle was spent on a train. The end of it was spent in Berlin. Berlin was a place I could live. The air was so calm, the people so cool. The city, once divided in half by a wall of conspiracy was now broken into pieces, and people move freely between the two sides. What a time to be alive. What a way to spend a birthday! As soon as I stepped off the train in Berlin, I was in love. The beer was so cheap. And the city had this vibe that is almost indescribable. It was like a new car smell all over the city. Does that make sense?
At first, our hostel looked like it was in a shady part of town. The walls were tagged, the people lurked the dark streets, and metro bums sat on the train steps asking for something, or maybe nothing. Of course, Vanessa clutched her things. She had an uneasy look on her face. In reality, we were in the hipster area of Berlin. I walked the streets one night to find that there were these little bars all over with young people pouring out of them. The restaurants stayed open well past 3 am, and all the stores were over priced trend setter shops. It was like the Silver Lake of Berlin.
In honor of me, we went to eat near the Alexanderplatz (Alexander's place). Vanessa treated me to a good meal and a big beer. We did some walking and spent the rest of the night at our hostel playing cards.
Berlin Day One: Free walking tour of Berlin. I love the city even more. We pass between west and east Berlin, the dead zone between the walls, and learn about the rise of Hitler, WW2, two Berlin's, and the fall of the wall. A thunderstorm passes over the city. That night is free museum night. We go to the Pergamon and see one of the 7 wonders of the world, the Gates of Babylon.
Day Two: We tour the concentration camp Saxenhausen. This was the model concentration camp of the Holocaust. It was a work camp that all the other camps structured themselves from. But the main gunner tower of Saxenhausen never fired a bullet. Still, many people were killed there in the shooting pit or the first prototype gas chamber. Our guide tells us that this atrocity is not the fault of the Germans, nor the Nazi, but of human kind. We murder each other every day. And though we must honor the memories of those who lost their lives during this terrible event, mass genocide still takes place today. "Talk to me world. First caller, you're on the air..."
The camp was not fun, but a good thing to see. What was so odd was how beautiful the area was. There were tall green trees everywhere and the sun shinned that day like it was happy to be seen. It gave me this twisted feeling in my stomach.
Day Three: We make good friends with a couple of Aussi girls, Naomi and Jezel, and a guy I call, Skater Matt, a Canadian guy who is traveling Europe with his skate board.
Train to Prague. We go through the Black Forest and pass little towns along the river. What a breathtaking sight to see.
Prague. Day One: We get there at sun set. the sky is stained with blues and pinks and a hot orange. It is a beautiful sight to see but the sight we are looking for is our next hostel. The hostel, called Emma's, is this grand old apartment building. We have our own room and 4 bed room flat. The kid who works the front dest is so nervous because the keys don't work to lock the door. He is running back and forth, up and down the street, trying to find the right ones.
Day Two. We walk Charles Bridge and see the castle. The city is like a fairy tale. Just beautiful. We see the astrological clock (been telling time since the 1400's) and a church that is glittered with gold. Beer flows there like candy. I order a Budwiser...!!! Why? Because Budwiser is a Czech beer. The name was bough by an american company, but not the ingredients. The Czech Bud is for you, trust me.
Czech girls are beautiful...

We go to a bar that is all made out of car parts. We drive paddle boats on the river. We danced all night at some club that said, "Biggest club in all Eastern Europe." Don't know if that is true. But it was 4 stories tall, so that is pretty big I guess. We met with Naomy and Jezel for the paddle boating trip. Then Naomi and I decide we are not tired enough, so we climb this huge hill that had a fortress wall running along it. At the top, we find a huge rose garden and a fake Eiffel.
Tower.
Vanessa and I take an over night train to Budapest. Over night trains are strange because you have to wake up every 2 hours and show the passport police your papers.
Budapest Day One: It is a beautiful city and our last stop. We arrive at 9 in the morning, so our rooms aren't ready yet but they tell us we are getting super suite because they over booked our beds. The room was super sweet indeed.
We walk around, a little Pest, then a little Buda. Later that day we meet Botond. All you need to know about Botond is that he loves basket ball, especially the And1 Mix series. "We go play basket ball?" he says to me. "Sure." But first he takes us up to the top of the hill where we see the outside of a huge castle and the monument of King Rex. Or was he an Emperor. I can't remember.
Botond takes us to a buffet which is really quite tasty and truly all you can eat. I am very satisfied but I still get hungry later. We agree to meet later to play basket ball.
Back at the hostel, the hot water heater isn't turned on. So the shower is cold, very cold. I stand there naked and twiddle with this machine that should heat my damn shower. Finally, after twisting and turning knobs and sticking my fingers in places I probably shouldn't, I light that mother on fire. Boom, a burst of flames and the shower gets nice and steamy. But it only lasts for 5 min. Then the stupid heater turns off again. So I finish and leave. About 10 minutes later I hear Vanessa say, "How do I get hot water." Good luck with that.
Botond and I get on the courts while Vanessa sits, watching and writing her journal. (Her journal is much more detailed. So ask her if you have any questions.)
Botond is all street ball, and theatrics. So theatrical, he brought his camera and asks a friend to film his moves. "...Ok" I think. We play, Botond is throwing the ball in the air, catching it later, though it under his shirt, between my legs, under his ear, everywhere. It looks cool, he has got the moves, but what happened to just regular 'one on one'. Has it been so long since I've played? I don't care, I'm having a blast. I start trying moves too, grab the ball with my knees, fake pump to the basket, behind the back, to a lay up fade away over his head. But he wins.
We are grateful he is there showing us around. It has been a long trip and we are tired. So it is perfect that he knows where to go and when to go there.
Budapest Day Two: Vanessa and I sit in the bath houses all......day......long. It feels good.
Budapest Day Three: I take Vanessa to the train station and say good bye. We have had a great time together and we got to know each other a little better and a little differently. That is what happens as you grow up. The friends you had before get to know you as you shift and change. They remember the old you, and see the new you, and vice versa. So we have to take time with our friends each time we change a little so that they can get to know that change and embrace it or reject it.

So embrace me, or reject me when I get home pals, because it is just around the corner. Hey, it is possible that when you read this, I will be right behind you.

I know this has been a long entry and it is my last here in Paris. So if you made it this far, thanks for keeping up.

Ciao,
Alexander.