My time abroad in London during January was fantastic. It was a magical experience where every moment was a new adventure. The trip was a dream, and when my professor told us all we would have a free weekend, I immediately thought about possible plans. In the end, my mind landed on going to Paris for the weekend with my friends.

The day started early with traveling to the Chunnel. We woke up at 6 a.m. and walked our bags to the station. We found our train easily, but as I attempted to show my tickets, red lights flashed at me. I looked at my phone tickets in horror, wondering how they could possibly be wrong. This was my worst fear; I’d been having nightmares for days about paying hundreds of dollars to go to Paris and being told my tickets weren’t real or some other nightmare fuel.

I walked over to the kiosk that would hopefully save my trip, and lo and behold, a kind woman told me I had someone else’s ticket. After a quick conversation, I was off and through the gate, my real ticket in hand.

We made it through security and onto the train; I smiled at the fact that I was going to be traveling under the water. The train took us to Paris, and we walked to the hotel, dropped off our bags, and headed on our way to the Arc de Triomphe. We found out we needed to take the Métro, and when I looked it up online, it said that you can do contactless pay — an utter lie. We made it into the Métro and tried contactless pay with our credit cards, which failed. We decided then to go to the help desk. There were two desks, but one had a group of boys in front of it trying to pay for a Métro ticket with a big bucket of coins. We stood in both lines for a bit before finally deciding that the line with the boys in it was a lost cause.

We decided to go to the other line, where we were met with a very annoyed French man who said, “I do not speak English.” He waved us off, but we didn’t give up and used our basic French to get tickets to the Arc de Triomphe. We each got tickets to the Métro — or so we thought — but when we tried to swipe them at the gate, that terrible red light that haunted me at the airport decided to visit me once more. Now, some of my friends had decided to put money on the cards, thinking that this was the answer. 15 euros later, we still couldn’t get through the gate.

I decided at this point that I would be the sacrifice. I went up and tried to ask them in broken French — mostly English — what we were supposed to do. I was prepared to get annoyed looks or for them to think of me as a dumb American, especially the help desk guy from before. But lo and behold, to my amazement, the boys with the bucket of coins were finally gone, and I could ask the much kinder woman what I was doing wrong. I thought to myself, “There can’t be any way that my question is gonna be worse than that coin interaction!” Boy, was I wrong.

I walked up and politely asked if she spoke English. She said yes. So I started explaining the problem, and without even letting me finish my sentence, the guy from the other counter started screaming at me, “GATE! GATE! GATE! GATE! GATE!” I got a little scared because they were yelling at me, but I tried to do what they were saying and go to the gate that did not open. Eventually, it opened, and we made it to the train. Someone was playing the accordion on the train; now, it was starting to feel like Paris. I finally felt settled when, out of nowhere, an old man came over to where my friend and I were sitting and started to lean over us. I mean, like, creepily leaning over us. He kept saying, “Hey girls,” in a weird whispery voice and giving us the thumbs up. The whole time, I stared at the wall, hoping we could get off the train soon. Eventually, the man gave up and walked off. My friend and I sighed with relief, and soon we were off the train as well. Finally, we were at the Arc de Triomphe.

I finally felt like I was doing it! I was adulting! I got through all the weird gate stuff, and I was in Paris looking at a beautiful piece of history. The rest of the day went off without a hitch. We took Ubers to go see the Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame, and finally, a delicious restaurant where I got escargot and beef bourguignon for dinner. The meal was quite literally the best thing I have ever eaten in my life. My friend and I planned to get up early the next day to go to a service in Notre-Dame before breakfast — which for me consisted of a crème brûlée. After breakfast, we planned to visit the Louvre and, from there, to get to the Chunnel and back to London. The plan for the morning went perfectly, but then the day turned a little topsy-turvy when we got to the Louvre.
Now, I have always wanted to go to the Louvre, so this was definitely ticking off a big checkmark from my bucket list. I say this as a preface because, while my time at the Louvre was magical, it was also probably the sickest I have ever felt in my entire life. I don’t know what the Louvre pumps into their building through their vents or if they regulate the oxygen for the paintings, but the whole time I was there, I felt like I was going to faint. That, plus the maze-like feel of the museum, made me feel like I was stuck in Daedalus’ Labyrinth. Every turn I took, there was more brilliant art, but also no benches to sit on, and I felt like at any moment I would fall over. My skin felt itchy, my head felt foggy, and every time I would follow signs to exits, they would be emergency exits. This was, yet again, a nightmare scenario. I was running out of time to get out of the museum; I needed to get back to the group so we could get to the Chunnel in time. Eventually, I found my way back. I held back from falling to my knees and yelling in victory. My group reunited, and we made it outside to get an Uber.

Now, I bet you are thinking, “Wow, that was such a fun story, but I’m glad it’s over now, and there won’t be anymore problems.” Wrong!

The Uber was taking a long time, but we figured that was okay, because, based on when it was supposed to arrive, we would have enough time for the drive to the Chunnel. But life isn’t that simple because a minute before the Uber was supposed to get here, the driver changed our meeting location. We attempted to get there, but we didn’t have enough time. We waved to the driver, who then proceeded to see us, shake his head, and cancel the ride. All of this happened within five seconds. We got another Uber and eventually got to the Chunnel. We were on time, but it was a close call. We thankfully went through the security fine — no problems with my ticket this time. We got to the other side of security, excited for the peaceful ride back, and were then informed that our train would have an hour delay. At that point in the Paris weekend, I was no longer surprised that this was happening. I just bought myself a croissant and sat back because, regardless of everything, I had been able to see the city of Paris. I had traveled, and that was all I could ask for. Maybe someday I can go back … and have fewer transportation issues.