Welcome to Paris

Being the penny-pincher that I am, I booked a the cheapest flight I could find that would get us from Ireland to France ($90CAD). However, at the time I failed to consider that saving a few dollars might not be worth the hassle that would surely come with it.

Firstly, the flight was out of Shannon (instead of Cork, where we had free room and board) and since it was at 8am, we would have to spend the night in Shannon. Arriving at the Shannon airport, we found ourselves surrounded by miles of open field, with no transportation to search for lodging. With no room booked for the evening we set off to find tourist information and hopefully a hotel or B&B close by. After wandering around the desolate airport we found out that the tourist office closed 20 minutes ago; and with no idea where the city bus stop was, or where to go if we could find it (and no one around to ask) we gave up and settled on the only hotel within walking distance. Morosely, we accepted a room at a four star price for two star quality. To make matters worse, our options for dinner were limited to either the overpriced hotel pub grub or the overpriced airport cafe. Resolving not to become too upset I went to bed telling myself that at least we were only a two minute walk to the airport.

The next morning our flight was uneventful, but upon landing we faced the next of many set-backs: our budget Ryanair fight was such a low cost because it had deposited us 75km north of Paris, and we were now faced with a one-and-a-half hour, 26EUR bus ride.

Almost two hours later, with the bus ride out of the way I hopped off hoping that we could finally start to enjoy France. But as I looked around I found that the landscape was nothing at all like the Paris on TV, but rather like Anytown, USA with big department stores, large corporate buildings, and no Eiffel tower in sight. Trying to look on the bright side I thought that this would be a great opportunity to try out my rusty high-school French. So I happily bounded up to the bus driver and spouted "Ou est le metero?", to which he replied, in English, "down the road, past the mall, on your left". Feeling dejected at my failed attempt, we trudged down the road to the metro station only to find that I couldn't understand any of the signs and had absolutely no idea how to get where we needed to go. Walking up to the teller I gave my French another shot. On a positive note she responded in French. On a less than positive note I did not understand a word of it.

Ten minutes later, we had a book of metro tickets, a metro map, and the understanding that we weren't at the right station, but no idea where our starting station was. We stood off to one side looking and feeling more lost than when we started. Someone standing in line cheerily tried to help and told us in poor English that we just had to go outside to get to the metro station. Walking outside we gazed about and saw nothing helpful...

Standing outside with no station or station sign in sight (aside from the one we just left) drops of freezing rain started to fall on me, and a single thought filled my mind: I want to go home. I want to go home right now.

Backpackers say the best way to travel is without any plans. Finding hotels and your way from one place to another on the fly is not only more economical, but also adds to the adventure, they say. Well I say fuck that. These last two days have been expensive, exhausting, and not even remotely fun. I want to go home.