Here Comes the Night Time Au Chat Noir, Part 1

The sky had been dark for about six hours before we finally descended on Boulevard Clichy – a one kilometre span of asphalt, corruption and debauchery, stretching between Moulin Rouge on its western edge to the Anvers metro station: a gross and ugly manifestation of the white man's culture. In some ways, it is really just a rusted monument and cemetery for all the showgirls, artists and Opium freaks who owned this town in the 1920s and 1930s. Only after the Third Reich showed up did they stop playing games – the reality of it all will screw with your head. They even had a Café decorated like the fifth circle of Hell called Cabaret de l'Enfer but Satan was driven out and now it is a museum of eroticism, with a large wooden dildo of Hindu origin in the window. Arriving here at midnight, you are alone in the final sense, and must claim a small territory of your own between the trinity of Sex, Drugs and Money. But, there is no sense in hiding these things and I have long thought that it is probably best for all of us that they are illuminated in dirty neon and billboards on the North side of Paris, France. This is a kingdom of whores and pigs – keep this in mind, it will be useful later on.

Le Chat Noir – this was my destination, an infamous bar supported almost entirely by Steinlen's 1896 poster, the icon of modernist culture that decorates almost every home in Western Europe; including the back of my own bedroom door where it is pinned, in postcard form, above a print of a 17^th Century Dutch portrait of a sitting cat and just to the right of a faded release poster for 'Rebel Without a Cause'. Walking here from Place Du Tertre had taken us past an African barbershop leaking Marijuana smoke from its open windows and a series of parties on the lower balconies of the apartment blocks. For good or ill, this boulevard was alive and kicking. Boulevard Clichy itself is Europe's last and best claim to 'Pure Comedy' as an ideology – the idea that an 18 year old ethnical half-cast might be offered cocaine and warm pussy within the space of 15 minutes is a true bullet to the systems, the same basic reflexes that had survived 14 years of the national education system and a short lifetime of protected fun. Nonetheless, I am inebriated and determined to get my kicks for free.

Le Chat Noir is a classy and perverted establishment. Walking through the glass doors immediately twisted my perception of space and time. A female Latin-jazz duo from Puerto Rico played flamenco by the bar. I have never understood the psyche of the Latina – what makes her so fiery and passionate? I don't know and I don't even want to know, but I love it and I want to connect with her spirit. Never fuck with a female Hispanic, they will destroy you and you will deserve it.

My cousin and I took seats next to a stone pillar – this positioned us near the bar and some kind of Bachelorette party going on at a nearby table. This place was loud; the pink-lit bar bounces around sounds of laughter and Caribbean Jazz, but I was occupied with a shallow sense of personal paranoia – this is an alien environment and I sense my heart pulsing like the young deer who cocks her neck back and forth before darting out across the night highway. I ordered a slate of Italian cured meats & cheeses and two cocktails. For me, a 'Moulin Rouge'; I may as well accept my status as an outsider, drop the pretence of self-assurance and revert to the behaviour of a repressed hypochondriac. This was a 10 euro cocktail of Champagne and Chambord – a Kir Royale essentially, but the manager decided to have it integrated with a shot of Agave Tequila, just to push the whole thing off the edge and get his clientele wild.

If you are foolish enough to visit one of the great European cities without a true mission or purpose then you too will gradually become familiar with the sense of ominous despair that encourages heavy drinking. Le Chat Noir is a safe haven of sorts - a guaranteed escape up until the two-hour mark, when you will either break down and enter one of the many nearby sex clubs or go and sleep back at the hotel. If you fall for either of these traps, I have no choice but to call you a bastard and a failure. Perhaps it is not obvious, but nonetheless – Boulevard Clichy has a lot to offer, provided that you arrive here with no heavy baggage and an appetite for fun.