Well this is going to be an interesting update. So I was in Paris. Why? Well this was my plan: I had heard, while in Sweden, of a bookstore in Paris where they take in aspiring writers. They live there and work at the bookstore and write, essentially, which would have been ideal for me. Well, I showed up in Paris and went to the bookstore, but as my flight had been delayed several hours, it was too late to talk to anyone in charge. I hung out at a bar until closing and met some lovely parisians, but when it was time to go it was time to go. I found myself homeless for the night in Paris, wandering among the legendary monuments of the old city. I found a youth hostel at around 6am and with a nod and a wink, the clerk let me take a recently vacated room for a few hours - no charge. I woke the next morning and cleaned myself up before heading back to the bookstore. Well, sometimes when you just go somewhere and try your luck it works out, other times it doesn`t. That day it didn`t, because they were full. So I wandered the city for a little longer, wondering what I was going to do. Then I remembered I had a friend in Mulhouse, near the german border. So I hit the train station and found the ticket highly overpriced. But let`s just say I didn`t end up paying full price and leave it at that ;) Ah, the tricks you learn wandering europe. So I spent a little time in mulhouse with Heather Force, for those who know her, but I didn`t have the greatest time for various reasons despite the fact that the locals were quite friendly. So I left mulhouse without regret and caught a short little train to Bale, in Switzerland.
Well, I was once again homeless, but I met a street musician named Alf and his friend Pedro. Pedro spoke spanish and I never did quite figure out which language Alf spoke. But they brought me to an anarchist squatt just outside the city in their big smelly van. Various groups of squatters had taken over a whole block of buildings. I found a bed with the anarchist punks, but I wandered throughout the evening to various parts of the squatt. In one section, you had the swiss-germans, who were celebrating the birthday of one among their ranks. It was a raucus good time and the birthday boy ended up having the cake pushed into his face. Now there really was a sense of warmth and community there - something that in general is somewhat lacking in europe, I`m afraid. Everyone brought out musical instruments and there was an impromptu jam and the world was perfect and made sense for a few hours. I also dropped down to visit the section occupied by the french, who sat around a table, drinking their wine and discussing philosophy. Oh, the life "en marginal"! I didn`t get much sleep that night, though, as the anarchists were listening to loud music all night and I was alternately harassed and attacked by their psychopathic dogs. The next day I was exhausted, but made my way to the autoroute to try my luck at hitchhiking. Well, it took a while, and the conversation was somewhat limited because of the language gap, but I made it to Bern, the captial, by nightfall.
It was very cold in Bern, and I tried to find a place to crash for the night. There were no squatts in town anymore - they`d all been shut down; The hostels weren`t taking any workers either. I scoped a place to pitch my tent but it was going to be a miserable night. So, after a few hours of indecision, and exhausted by my lack of sleep the night before, I took a rather strange decision. I jumped a train at random just to get some sleep. Of course, I was caught by the conductor very quickly, and he sort of let me go without paying the full price with a wink (Swiss trains are ridiculously expensive) - I have to say, a quebec accent is the best currency in francophone countries! I got off in Geneva an hour later. It was a very short ride so despite my intentions I still had gotten no sleep.
So, In Geneva now, I went to a bar near the train station, and they were cool about letting me in with my bag. Now Geneva, for the most part, is french speaking. So I had much less trouble getting around than in Bern or in Bale. I met some folks in the bar who were, of course, thrilled to hear a quebec accent. They gave me beer and chatted me up all night, all wanting to know about quebec, and each taking their turn trying to imitate the accent - with very litle success, I assure you. Now they happened to know about a squatt in town, so we walked over there, laughing and talking, and they shared with me some of the history of Geneva. Now apparently the french had tried to take Geneva, and had stormed the city - but with little success. So the Genevois celebrate their holding back the french with a huge party, where people run all over the city, imitating the attempted french storming, in costume. They call it the escalade, after the attempted french scaling of the walls of Geneva. Oh, I should mention that the Genevois do not dress as french soldiers - no, that would be boring - but as ten foot condoms and giant 20-man caterpillars and so on. It must be a sight to see the city stormed by these fantastic creatures. Not historically accurate but certainly more entertaining, I imagine. But, if I stick around a few days here (and those who occupy the squatt seem cool with that), I won`t have to imagine it, as I will have seen it. Maybe I`ll even dress up.

So I spent a few days in Stockholm, wandering the city, attending parties and visiting the local museums of what has turned out to be a very hectic town. There is a feeling of frantic energy in the air that is a little uncomfortable, insisting that you quicken your pace - like when someone is waiting for you to surrender a public phone. But I had a good time there nonetheless, and my hosts were lovely to me.
Tuesday rolled around, the day of my flight, so I went down to the central station early in the morning. My bus left at nine and I had no intention of missing it. I hopped the bus and made my way to the airport, striking up a conversation with a french man who sat next to me. He was there on business and went on at length about it, but I only half minded because it was the first time in a while that I had gotten to speak french - when he, very rarely, let me speak. So we made the airport and went through the whole check-in routine, and I met a very nice (and cute!) waitress at the coffee counter that expressed an obvious interest in me - cruel fate, why do you taunt me with what I can't have? Anyways, she told me I know where to find her, if I ever made it back to sweden. But I digress :) So I went throught the whole airport security ordeal to find that my flight had been... cancelled. Damn it. I had chosen such an early flight so that I could make it to my destination in time to find a place to stay - but I would have no such luck as the next flight would be in six hours. I was fortunate, or so I thought at the time, to meet a british columbian who offered to put me up in her hotel room for the night when we arrived. Anyways, I spent the afternoon in the airport enjoying a free foosball table and meeting my fellow passengers. When we finally boarded the plane, we were greatly relieved, as the airport had been beset with a thick blanket of fog all day, and we were unsure if any flights were going to make it out at all. So two hours later, our plane touched down, and my BCer let me down, as she'd changed her mind about putting me up. The fellow I'd met on the bus offered me a ride into the center of town, which I accepted. Now this fellow was a rather frantic man, and a chronic womanizer, who had given his card to at least two girls on the plane. On top of that, he'd bought a whole mess of candy which he had had to hide in the engine compartment, as his girlfriend would know it wasn't for her, but for another girl; why? She doesn't like candy. Anyways, he dropped me off at a central train station, and I found myself, homeless and lost, smack dab in the middle of the city of lights: Paris.