The Three Ducks

As a stranger in a strange land, last night I decided to meet some other strangers so I wouldn't have to feel so estranged. I figured a hostel bar would be the perfect place to meet some fellow sojourners. The upscale 16th arrondissement is not the neighborhood you'll find a hostel, so using hostelworld.com and my hostel hero app I found one nearby in the 15th. While close, The Three Ducks only has a 61% rating on hostelworld. On closer inspection, the negative reviews mostly complained of noise from the bar. Knowing that I could be part of the noise and wouldn't have to endure the horrifying showers that everyone else complained about, I decided to give the The Three Ducks a shot. 

Getting there should have been easy. All I had to do was jump on the green line at the Arc de Triomphe, switch to the lavender at Le Motte Picquet Grenelle and take that down to commerce. Simple right? It would have been if I had written down some directions, or even the name of the street that it was on. As it turns out I've become rather reliant on my iPhone to act as my exo-brain. Since I suspended my service with AT&T, and havent yet gotten a hold of a Europan sim card, that brain is currently lobotomized. I had to find it the old fashioned way, but find it I did. 

When I arrived, it was not exactly the lively scene I had hoped for. The place was dead, just a trio of dutch kids chattering amongst themselves, and a pair of korean girls checking their Facebook pages on the free computers in the corner. After all the trouble I had gone through to find the damned place I was determined to stick it out and make the most of it. for the first hour and a half or so I spent most of my time nursing a pint in the corner trying to amuse myself, sketching people on coasters as they came in to use the free internet, and putting together rhyming couplets.

Eventually, I moved to the bar so I could be closer to the free chips and struck up a conversation with the bartender, a lanky frenchman who seemed a bit irritable at first. After we got to talking and I told him why I had come to The Three Ducks he looked really guilty and apologized. I had to laugh when he admitted that he was feeling like shit and had been intentionally playing bad music all night in order to keep people from gathering in the bar, which he assured me was ordinarily really bussy and a great place to mingle and meet other travelers.  After his confession he warmed up considerably and thankfully changed the music (which I had tuned out an hour earlier when a block of back to back Sarah Mclachlan songs came on) to something decent.

I don't know if it was the music or if people decided that they wanted a drink before last call but the bar actually began to fill up at about 12:30.  Before, the steady trickle of borders coming in and out would only stay long enough to check their email or buy a wifi card from the bar, but for whatever reason people began to linger. For the rest of the evening I hung out with a big group of australian university students. It was their last night in Europe before heading back for the start of their semester. They were more than happy to share stories of their trip. They also spent a considerable amount of time eagerly trying to explain "footy" to me, which is as far as I can gather an odd form of Rugby played on something that resembles a Quidditch pitch.  After my new australian friends called it a night, I decided to as well. 

While it defiantly fell short of my expectations, I'm glad that I stuck it out. It made me feel like less of an island to meet new people and listen to them talk about their lives. I'm not going to rush back to The Three Ducks, but I'd defiantly like to come back some time in the future to try to catch it on a better night.  

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.
- Dr. Seuss "Oh! The Places You'll Go"