Day 1 in Paris
Everything began as expected: I landed at Charles de Gaulle at the ungodly hour of 7 AM and whipped up a sign that read “HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS JBSC” to hold up when Brandon entered the baggage claim*. Because, obviously. Hayden arrived some time later, and after we were all reunited/told Hayden how much we hated him for flying first class, we rode the metro over to our luxurious Parisian hotel.
… Except it wasn’t so luxurious. Clearly, one of the interns knew their damn way around Photoshop, because Room 23 and the regal lodging we eyed online were most definitely not identical twins. In fact, they weren’t even related. This here was like the neglected bastard son of hotel rooms: it was the size of a dorm, smelled vaguely of hotdogs (which was confusing given the French don’t eat hotdogs… I tried not to dwell on it) and looked more suited for a war criminal than tourist. We must have missed the part in the brochure about how the rooms doubled as ISIS interrogation compounds for the most hardened of radicals.
The hotel also managed to mess up our rezzie and instead of a suite, we were presented with a single queen bed that I could only presume had an asbestos infection since the mid-90s. Brandon, being the modern-day Mother Teresa that he is, volunteered to sleep on the floor – until I pointed out there wasn’t really a floor to sleep on. Indeed, the bathroom began where the bed ended and his only option was snoozing mummy-style in a corner. It was no bueno.
Luckily, we snagged a last minute Airbnb right by the Louvre, courtesy of a delightful young man who may have been gay, or simply European, we weren’t entirely sure. (Please note that “Gay or European?” will be the most challenging game you ever play abroad.) The apartment was spacious, with a stocked fridge, washer and dryer and, most importantly, lightning-fast WiFi. It’s true, good things come to those who wait browse Airbnb.
Settling into our new crib:
It was deep into the afternoon at this point, so we fulfilled my itinerary by indulging in a splashy 3-course meal/getting an early start on the Europe 15, and walked around Paris until our legs gave out.
God, it was good to be back.
*I would accompany this passage with the photo of myself gleefully holding up my sign, French people judging away in the background… if I hadn’t been sleep-deprived, makeup-free, and looking rather derelict – and no, not in the chic Mary Kate and Ashley way. So use your imagination for this one, folks.
The Art of Being Basic 