With a Little Help from My Friends

I’d always wanted to travel, ever since I was in high school. And even though I’d been to Paris a couple of times on a couple of tours, I’d always been given the ‘express treatment’. Meaning, we’d go to our gig, sleep, and then the next day we’d maybe go see the sights until we have to go back and do another show. I was sampling the world, then. Now, I’m ready to take my sweet time, walking slowly, absorbing everything to the smallest of details.

The city is bursting with tourists – an all out fashion extravaganza had attracted fashion fans and followers to Paris like hummingbirds to sweet nectar. That was why it was so hard to find a spare room, one of my roommates later explained. Scattered all along the streets are impeccably groomed and dressed fashion tourists, roaming around between runway shows and cocktail parties, filling up cafes and sitting along the sidewalk drinking strong coffee. In the midst of it, I couldn’t help but smile at how ridiculous some of them looked. There was fashionable, and then there was a point where fashion and abstract art met, to the point where it got just plain ridiculous. I felt at home in my worn jeans, shirt and hoodie combination. You couldn’t go wrong with a set like that.

Walking around was just fine for me. I felt unhurried, even as a stream of people rushed all around me in the same frantic direction. When I felt hungry, I stopped for a sandwich and a coffee so strong that it was borderline toxic. When my legs began to get tired, I’d sit myself on one of the many benches scattered throughout the marvellous city, and watch even more people pass me by, as if I were a part of the scenery myself. I felt pleased with myself, knowing this – a slow, memorable walk through downtown Paris, was how life was supposed to be enjoyed. Sure, being young and shooting through time and memories like a wrecking ball is great; it’s normal, and almost expected of someone in the peak of their youth without a care in the world. But, when things slow down, and you’ve gotten a bit older, things change. For the better, I think. Like a wine, with age, life becomes more full bodied. I now have the chance to relive those fast, hasty memories I’ve collected along the way, at a much slower pace. Suddenly, life becomes so much more when you’re savouring it, and committing all of it to memory.

I was in ‘extreme chill’ mode when I got back to the hostel, when the sun had completely set, and the cold began to seep in through my hoodie. The lobby was a bit more packed now, with more backpackers scattered around the room, their numbers grew dense as I made my way through to the entertainment room. There was a variety night going on, and sitting in the middle of the room, was my roommate, Alec. He had a sloppy grin on his face, indicating just how sober he was, as he clutched a bottle of beer to his puckered lips and sang to a crowd surrounding him. Some people chose to pack themselves around Alec in a tight circle, while some, who were not nearly as interested, drifted around the edges of the room and the doorway with curious and reluctant looks etched into their faces. Alec’s blue eyes scanned through the crowed while he lazily sang into his makeshift beer-bottle-microphone, then landed on me, widening with recognition.

“Brandon!” He called eagerly, “My yankee friend! Get yourself down here and have some fun!”

I shook my head, but already, people were turning their heads and encouraging me into their tight circle around Alec. I glared at him for a second, but found it no use, since he was plastered and probably wouldn’t remember it in the morning anyway.

I lean over to ask him, “What are you doing, Alec?”

“We’re singing!” He cheered, and a couple of people cheered excitedly, as well. “You said you are a musician. Come make music with us!”

“Well...I’m taking a break from music,” I admitted, to the disappointment of a few who let out soft ‘awws’.

“You are a musician! Music does not take breaks,” Alec laughed, elbowing me sharply. “You play guitar. Somebody give this man a guitar!”

Then, as if he were a genie of some sort, a hand burst through the crowd to hand over a cheap steel string, which was poorly untuned. Without even thinking, I began tuning it into standard, to Alec’s delight. Immediately, he began to rile up the crowd, and I could feel my cheeks grow hot under their expectant gazes.
Occasionally, someone would let out an anticipatory ‘woo!’ and some would break into short bursts of clapping. I rarely ever do get nervous these days, and now was not a time where I felt nervous. I couldn’t quite put my finger on exactly how I felt, but it was anything other than nerves that was making the blood flood into my cheeks.

“Play that song,” Alec waved a hand, as if to elaborate the few words he just said.

“What song?” I ask.

“You know, that song,” he nodded. “That Lee-nard Coan song.”

“Leenard Coan?” I echoed confusedly.

Then he started humming, when words had failed him, and I knew what he meant. Leonard Cohen! He wanted me to play ‘Hallelujah’, which was easy enough with just the chords. Alec began to sing a slurred melody in his deep voice. Not long after, others began singing, too, and the whole crowd around us began swaying softly to the sound – me and the cheap steel string, and Alec with his poor, slurring words, and the crowd and their sweet echoes of the lyrics. It probably didn’t sound all that great, probably just a cacophony, a terrible rendition of one of the most beautiful songs ever made. But in that intimate moment, I had realised I had another great memory to store away. I would always remember singing Hallelujah with a handful of backpackers at a hostel in Paris. Always.

* * *

The next morning, I knew it was time to go.

I woke up to this feeling of complete satisfaction, feeling that I’d come here to accomplish something, and had done so the night before. My time was up in Paris, and that was what I was being told. I’d come here for something, and I’d found it, and it was time to go and find another adventure. I was sad to be leaving so soon, but the contentment I felt far overshadowed the sadness. I even smiled, as a couple of us went out to breakfast at a cafe. We ate hot, buttery croissants and sipped molten hot chocolate, making all the noise because it was still fairly in the morning and nobody had risen yet, except for the bakers. We laughed, and ate, and drank, and relived the warmth of last night.

Perfect strangers talking like life-long friends.

I was in awe of them all, of their ability to adapt to any environment and feel completely comfortable with anyone, anywhere. Their openness, goodness, and love for life and its unexpected pleasures was what I hoped to find in the next bunch of people I met, wherever I was headed to.

When we returned to the hostel, I began packing my bags. Alec had sunk into his bunk and had his nose buried in a comic book. Without even lifting his head from the pages, he asked me ‘where to, next?’

I stopped all my shuffling and straightened myself out. Everyone else who had paid for the room were either showering, or had gone to get breakfast. “I don’t know yet...” I told him, and bit my lip in thought. Should I stay in Europe?

“You don’t know?” Alec lifted his head from his book.

“Nope,” I grinned at him, and he returned it, as if we were sharing a joke. “That’s the beauty of it, don’t you think?”

“You tell the complete truth,” he nodded, then lowered the comic book back into his face.

I resumed shoving my clothes into a bag, wrestling with the zipper until it finally closed. Suddenly, Alec was sitting up, well, as much as the bunk could allow the tall guy to, and was watching me stuff another bag with clothes. The whole time, he would either laugh to himself, or shake his head, or just smile amusedly.

“You make a bad backpacker,” He pointed out.

“I know,” I sighed, and sat myself onto the floor for a break. “How long have you been travelling?”

Alec shrugged, “A couple years.” He thought to himself, “Sometimes, I go for months, then come back home. Sometimes weeks, and sometimes even a year or two.”

I nodded, watching him pull back into his own thoughts. His blue eyes stared holes into the floor, and his light brown hair splattered the edges of his face. Then, he said softly, “I’m tired of France.”

“Hmm?”

“Would you mind if I joined you?” He asked, “I know that you’re not very familiar with Europe. And the adventure is twice as much fun with someone else... but if you prefer to go solo, I understand.”

I took his words into though, letting them mull around as I considered the pros and cons of having Alec around. He was an agreeable guy, fond of the drink, but altogether smart and worldly. He didn’t seem to be headed anywhere, just like I was.

“Sure, I guess,” I answered, and soon, he was wrestling stuff into his little backpack. I must’ve looked astonished, because not two minutes after, he had turned to me and said ‘ready!’

“What...” I pointed to his bag, “could you possibly fit in there?!”

Alec let out a hearty chuckle, “My friend, if you really want to go far, you have to learn to travel light. You only need essentials, and all the rest,” he paused to gesture to my duffle bag, and suitcase, “are just pieces of nothing. Who needs a laptop, a computer, when what awaits you outside is far more enriching? They are tying you to the comforts of home, and only when you can truly let everything go – the past, and all your connections, can you begin to experience life as it should be. As it is.”

“Wow.” I breathed into the heavy silence. Alec could only let out another chuckle, as if he’d practiced that little speech a hundred other times to a hundred other travellers. “I should get rid of the excess then, huh?”

Alec nodded in response, and already, I was thinking of who I would leave my stuff with. I was probably not Quinn’s favourite person right now, and she would probably set the bags on fire. Ryan was... out being a douche. Spencer had made it clear that he wanted the whole world to fuck off and leave him alone. Which left Jonathan. That was easy enough – the guy at the front desk supplied me shipping boxes while I sorted the essentials from the non essentials, whilst Alec went out to get a couple things. When he returned, he had a backpack similar to his in a plastic bag, and his pocket jingled with the curious sound of keys.

“Everything you will ever need will fit in here,” He told me, extracting the backpack from the bag.

I thanked him and began stuffing for my life. Only a three pairs of underwear, a pair of jeans and a pair of shorts and three shirts fit into the bag. Those were the only clothes I had to my name, starting from then, which didn’t include the underwear, jeans, shirt, and hoodie I had on. It was painful, having to say goodbye to everything else. Soon, I had sorted all the non-essentials into boxes marked with Jon’s address. When I had finally finished, Alec pulled a ring of car keys from his pocket.

“I rented a car for a couple of weeks,” He explained. “We’ll drop the boxes off to the postal service before we leave for good.”

Suddenly, it was made final that my stint in Paris was done. The deal was sealed.