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packing. going to Santa Cruz for the coldwater Classic Nov 1, 2009
Euro Trash (Fri, 19 Sep 2008 Posted at 06:00:00 PM)
It's that time of year again. Not Christmas. Not Thanksgiving. Not your birthday. But, Euro Trip 08! Get out those Speedos, take off those tops, break out a baguette and a bottle of wine, and let's get Euro! Known for it's all night parties, beautiful beaches, and rock solid beachbreak waves, this year, Lady France did not let us down. In fact, she may have shown us her best side yet.
LACANAU
Lacanau? Where? Hmm... Oh, yeah. It's coming to me now. Tom Curren -- rip slashing a couple cutbacks against a spry young Slater. Mushy looking peaks of aqua blue water. Good-looking women on the water's edge. Over a decade later and its still doing its thing. Waves, girls, goufres, baguettes, clubs - it's all deadly.
Every year, we go we stay at this amazing family-run hotel right on the beach. The family has helped us out of many classic Euro jams that you encounter on the road, as well as understand our strong affinity for French bread, and supplying us with copious amounts of it at breakfast and dinner.
I know what you are thinking... "Bread? C'mon, are these guys for real?" But, no, I am serious. At first, you bite in and it kind of hurts. You wonder, maybe your gums are bleeding. It crunches between your teeth. Your jaw muscles are tightening. It draws you in. Somewhere amongst the crunching, and beyond the crumbs stuck in your beard and all down the front of your shirt, the taste consumes you. You love it. And in that moment, it's as if all of France is smiling back at you.
Boom, boom, boom... It felt like we were in a woofer, as if the theme song from Dance Dance Revolution was coming from inside our room. Most likely, the pounding bass was because our breadbox room was located directly above the infamous Club Le Tex. Once the comp finished up for us, we wasted no time familiarizing ourselves with the situation they called Mojo -- a long narrow club known for it's massive amounts of European vacationers hungry for a shot at the D floor. The place could best be compared to Squid Row in Cabo. You know, the places where the shiny, swollen guys with puka shell necklaces get up on the bars and shower everyone down with squirt guns while the girls are trying their best to look sexy dancing on the bar.
Hottie bartenders were doing some magic wand, hoopla fire shots. I was intrigued by the flames rising and falling with the beat of the music and thought it might be a good idea to throw back one of these puppies into the gas tank. SHIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTT! It's hot. I tear up a little and make an amazing Rumplestiltzkin face. What the hell? Did I not realize it was actually on fire?
They definitely know how the get the party pumping here in France. I kind of felt like I was living in some weird MC Hammer music video sans parachute pants. Soon enough though, we met up with some of the girls that worked at our hotel who actually lived in Lacanau. They laughed at us when we told them we had just come from the Mojo and insisted we had to experience the real Lacanau night scene.
For the rest of the night we hammered the dance floor at this dim lit cobblestone hole in the wall bar. It was epic. The place was resonating with positivity. The red wine flowed through the wee hours in the morning until we were put to bed by the first rays of sunlight.
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