After spending close to two weeks in Avoriaz, France, it was time go home. This is a small peak of what it is like to spend the last day in Europe with my favorite Hobbit, Nick Dirks.
I guess it’s worth mentioning that the previous night was celebration night, a pleasant good-bye party with our French friends, including the King of Avoriaz, Nico Droz, master of wine glass vacuum.
The dinner-party was exactly how a french dinner-party should be, snails, frog-legs, duck, and wine. Dirks was on a mission to expand his cultural horizons, later claiming that snails might be his new favorite thing.
But don’t worry, he soon snapped out of it and became good ol’ Nick. Beer belly-drumming in the club.
Since Dirks doesn’t really see the point of bringing more clothes for a 2-week trip than a normal person would pack for a weekend getaway, packing took him only 5 minutes and we decided to go get some breakfast. Breakfast might be cereal to you, but to Nick it also involves a 10-pack of beer.
Kronenburg, the French working man’s beer and a chicken dry enough to be called jerky.
After a while in the sun, we realized that we had to head back, since I remembered that I pack like a overly vain teenage girl and half of my stuff was still all over the place. On our way back Nick found a baby hoodie which quickly became his new hat.
“An important aspect of being day-drunk is to find weird shit and put it on” – Nick Dirks
The beer carton got soaked in chicken juice and broke down halfway home, luckily Dirks still had his magical cone head hat and figured out that he could carry the beer if he just drank one of them. Beer has the same effect for Dirks as spinach for Popeye.
We got back to our apartment where I started packing while Nick, who was already packed, found Ben Bilocq’s Gin bottle and a can of tuna.
Then he helped clean up.
I’m willing to say that this is probably the turning point of the day, when stuff went from being funny to a hilariously drunken train-wreck on steroids. Dirks with beer, Gin and Absinthe.
Yup, a bottle of Absinthe.
Our ride down to our shuttle was by horse and buggy, adding some alpine class to a somewhat messy day.
Finally we managed to get in to the airport shuttle, stuffed behind a boardbag, which worked as a great visual barrier between us and the driver who wouldn’t let us drink in the back. Some ingenious drunken stealth drinking right there.
Nothing but water in this beanie-bottle.
When you got to go, you got to go.
Mr Dirks really had to go, so he filled up two bottles.
Which he later managed to break at the Geneva airport.
But who cares when you can pay about 18 bucks for a Burger King meal, Nick is loving the Swiss life right here. See how happy he is!
The blurry vision of a true champ.
Nick managed to quit smoking for a staggering 18 hours but had to give in when he found out that he actually wanted a cigarette more than quitting.
The night continued in good style, including Nick slipping sleeping-pills into Aaron Blatt’s beer, turning him into a hopeless zombie, dangerous urban mountain climbing, red light sightseeing, fake car-crashing, illegal beer purchasing, but unfortunately I forgot my cam, so this is the last one.
Mr. Dirks passed out on the couch, still getting his photo taken.
No rest for the wicked.