An Infuriating Time in Paris
With one of the companies that I worked for in the hi-tech business, its European headquarters was located in the La Defense neighborhood (about 2 miles north of Paris), so my travels to Paris were frequent and pretty enjoyable, especially when times were good and the company was flush with cash.
I would typically stay at the Marriott hotel nearby that afforded me an easy walk to work every morning and back every evening.
There was a time when we were all asked to moderate our spending given that the economy was not as healthy as it had been. So, for my next trip I was required to stay at a smaller hotel around the corner from the office.
When I arrived at Charles de Gaulle airport, the driver picked me up and deposited me at the hotel so that I could freshen up for the day. After a difficult conversation with the lady at the desk (I don’t speak French), I was finally given a key and made my way to my room.
Exhausted, I was looking forward to a shower and a quick nap. I placed the key into the door and proceeded to enter, but the door would not open completely, it slammed into the bed and the entry, itself, was so narrow that I could barely enter myself, I dragged my suitcase and tossed it on the bed.
I proceeded to look around at the extremely small room, no more than 6 feet x 12 feet with a single bed that pretty much took up most of the room. There was a very small desk opposite the bed, 2 x 2 feet in dimension and a flat screen TV mounted on the wall. There was a small window on the wall next to the bed, but when I tried to open it, I realized that it was screwed shut. Everything looked minuscule, the bed was only 5 1/2 feet long and I am 6 foot tall!
My blood started to boil and I couldn’t believe that the company put me into this kind of a room!!!
I looked for the bathroom so that I could take my shower and saw the door to the left of the bed. I opened it and started to laugh uncontrollably. The room was so small that the toilet bowl was situated, due to the size of the bathroom, half way under the sink, to the extent that a portion of the lid had been cut out so that it would not hit the sink when opened or closed.
I grabbed my all my belongings and walked down to the lobby to see the front desk receptionist. I told her that this would not do and that I wanted to cancel my reservation.
Stepping out on to the street, I looked for a taxi but was told, in broken English, that given it was Sunday, taxis did not necessarily frequent this part of the city. Now I was really ticked off, and grabbing my suitcase and computer bag, I dragged them behind me as I walked around looking for taxi stand hoping that I could get a ride to downtown Paris.
After walking around for close to an hour, I finally found one taxi and tried to ask him to drive me down town. Him not speaking English or Spanish and me not speaking French! Amazing what a pen and paper can do to to convey what I wanted. I drew a wagon wheel with its spokes extended out and the Eiffel Tower in one end and an arch in the middle of the wagon wheel. I proceeded to point at the arch and say “Arc de Triomphe” pointing at the center of the wheel. Finally, the driver grunted “oui” and we were off.
When we got to the Arc de Triomphe, I got out and started to look for a hotel. I found a Best Western, and walked in to find a sweet, English-speaking receptionist. I proceeded to tell her the story of what just happened, and she was good enough to check me in to a much nicer, and larger room.
I was exhausted and crashed as soon as I entered the room. Thank God that my first training session didn’t start until the next day.
To my surprise, I came across the map that I drew in one of my training manuals. Feel free to use it on your next trip!
My Map of Down Town Paris
