Qype User (edd…)
Yelp
The year was 2002, and I was a young American embarking on my first extended stay abroad. It never really occurred to me until I stepped off the airplane at CDG that "oh man, I don't speak their language and they don't speak mine and WE CAN NOT COMMUNICATE."
So while I would try my hardest to attempt to communicate in one of the most beautiful languages in the world in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, I must say in those days I did lean towards the nightlife frequented by Anglophones, if not for the comfort factor, then really for the convenience of actually exchanging ideas with clarity.
My group of friends frequented The Long Hop (http://www.qype.co.uk/place/149508-The-Long-Hop-Paris ) which was a typical American/Brit sports bar full of young people speaking English and ordering Budweiser and Long Island Iced Teas and getting all around unruly and uninhibited. After the Long Hop closed, those who weren't quite ready to call it a night, as well as the bartenders from The Long Hop would head over to Le Violin Dingue, an underground bar in what could best be described as a cave.
Situated between the Maubert Mutualite and Cardinal Lemoine Metro stops in the Latin Quarter, Le Violin Dingue was less Anglocentric than The Long Hop and darker and more sexy. From the street front entrance, you immediately step down stairs and practically have to duck and crawl through caves to get to the open area underground. The place is cavernous, with a central bar in the middle serving cocktails to the crowd both in the front and back. The cocktails were similar (overpriced and weak to this American palette), the bathrooms absolutely putrid, and the crowd a mixture of Anglophones and friendly Parisian locals (perhaps French chavs? Fravs? It's difficult to tell local culture from a foreigner's perspective). Drunks came rapidly from the bartenders, and I started working towards my goal of drinking 15 vodka poms (vodka with apple juice) a night.
At 5 a.m., when (I believe) the bar closed, I noticed my friends had left me alone, incredibly inebriated, and without any money to catch a cab home. I had no choice but to ask for help from some nice Algerian drug dealers I had befriended who had been so kind to offer me heroin, cocaine, and marijuana earlier in the night (they are so thoughtful!). This plan of course did not turn out as successfully as I imagined it, as I drunkenly and miraculously stumbled back to the 14th arrondissement from somewhere in the 19th arrondissement at around 7:00 a.m.
The thought of vodka pom still makes my stomach unsettled to this very day.