Europeans, better by night

A good portion of the study abroad experience is about seeing monuments, ruins, and famous historical sights. It is also about learning to interact in a different language and within a foreign culture.
But let’s be honest. It is also about partying. Not so much drinking in itself, but drinking as a means to an end. Being young and impressionable, the life of a city at four in the morning is as interesting as it is at four in the afternoon. And it generally produces better stories.

The most memorable interactions I’ve had in Europe are set roughly between midnight and two in the morning. While I will not wax overly poetic about the results of a night of heavy drinking (hangover), I would like to dwell on a few of the characters I have come across on my romps through Europe’s pubs and clubs. This stuff is too good to make up.

First, there was the Swiss law student. A fraternity pledge from Brest, he found himself in Munich with about seven of his brothers, all practicing lawyers, acting mostly as their whipping boy.

After they departed, I realized one of them had left a small book titled “Kant.” It turned out not to be philosophy, but rather a book of fraternity songs. Seeking them out and returning it earned my friend and me two drinks each, and, after that, two nights with English-fluent companions to share a table on which to dance. We also, of course, participated in general rabble-rousing to the tune of traditional German drinking songs.

The London bartender and shoe designer with blonde dreadlocks was also fascinating. Making footwear by day and pulling pints by night, I noticed him as we walked into a crowded blues bar on a side street in central London. After hearing our American accents, he invited a friend and me outside on his break and parted with his life story over a hand-rolled cigarette.

Originally from Boston but with an English mother, he found himself disgusted by the thought of the American college experience and headed across the pond.

After closing the bar on us around 1:00 a.m., he suggested we continue our discussion at another place open later. It was a gritty bar “with lots of tattoos,” as he put it. He was fairly certain that we wouldn’t show up. He lost that bet.

While waiting in the grungy bar for “dreads,” as he was called, I ran into a couple of real Brits. One claimed that the other one was none other than the nephew of a member of AC/DC. He did kind of look like heavy metal’s version of Prince William.

I met the most recent character over a pint—or seven—of Guinness in a crowded pub near Temple Bar in Dublin. He and his mates were footballers, in what is effectively the “minor leagues” of Irish soccer. He spent the first part of the evening explaining to me why the Irish hate the English.

Several drinks and two clubs later, after an astonishingly well-executed round of dancing to Michael Jackson, one of his friends playfully grabbed him in the pocket area and sent his passport flying. I picked it up to find a Libyan visa. He is also apparently a trained engineer who has worked on oil rigs in Libya and who once won 40,000 euro in the Irish lottery. He used his prize money to buy a Mercedes.

Ah, the lucky engineer-athlete. Really, my favorite type of people.

There is invariably the one friend who insists on the way home that so-and-so’s story just couldn’t be true (because it wasn’t boring, I guess). I invariably defend whoever we have met. Not because I am convinced, but because it doesn’t really matter. It’s not about preserving the truth, but preserving the story.

In the words of Oscar Wilde, “The truth is rarely pure and never simple. Modern life would be very tedious if it were either, and modern literature a complete impossibility.”
Disclaimer: Yes, these are all males. I don’t meet very many girls in pubs.

Shane Ferro is a Columbia College junior studying abroad at Reid Hall in Paris. La Vie Culturelle runs alternating Tuesdays.

Tags: Arts & Entertainment, Shane Ferro