Why travelling to Paris doesn't agree with me
I have traveled to Paris twice. Each time to attend important global strategic meetings representing my company affiliate. On both occasions I have had experiences probably only rivaled by Miranda Hart of ‘Miranda’ and only this knowledge and the fortitude in which she has dealt with these problems in the past has given me the confidence to share my shame.
1st trip to Paris:
After only a couple of months with my company I was invited to my first overseas global forecasting alignment meeting. I had planned out every detail of the journey, down to printing out google maps of each taxi journey I would require.
I landed in Paris late in the evening in preparation for my meeting the next day. As I confidently wandered out of the airport I was approached by a young taxi driver who offered to drive me to my hotel. Well that was lucky, I thought. My driver proceeded to chat away with me testing my French and teaching me little bits, laughing as I tried to replicate his words. As the journey progressed I became a little worried that what should have been a 30 minute max taxi ride was quickly becoming a 50 minute taxi ride with no sight of my hotel. I continued to chat away. My taxi driver then propositioned me and after I rejected him he charged me over 100 euro’s for the journey, far above the amount of money in my purse. My Taxi driver kindly offered to lower the charge in return for alternative forms of payment. I didn’t ask what he meant but following a short stop at an ‘ATM’ paid him over 100 euro’s to leave me alone.
When I finally made it to the hotel I was a little emotional and just wanted to go to bed. Unfortunately that wasn’t to be. My greeting at the foyer was less than friendly as it became clear the hotel was overbooked following an internet on the website. The hotel hadn’t even made alternative arrangements for those with booking. As I collapsed onto a nearby couch and proceeded to doze the hotel staff started ringing around nearby hotels. Finally another taxi picked me up and I was deposited at another hotel. Thankfully with the hotel picked up the bill.
2nd trip to Paris:
The second time I travelled to Paris I travelled by Eurostar on a day in which many trains were being cancelled due to icy conditions and others were delayed. My Eurostar was cancelled but I managed to get onto the delayed 19.01 departure. I arrived in Paris Nord at 22.55pm local time and having learnt my taxi driver lesson on my previous journey, carefully ignored all offers from local drivers and lined up in the taxi ranks. I was very grateful when I arrived at the hotel and felt a corner had been turned when I was secure in a luxurious room of black marble flooring, floor length mirrors and white porcelain décor. I had ordered room service, for the first time in my life and, being very hungry I quickly gobbled the sandwich arriving a few minutes later. Afterwards though, I had a conundrum. I was supposed to leave the tray my food had arrived on, cutlery and dishes outside my room door. The hallway to the main door of the room was as wide as the heavy tray so I would have to open the door as wide as possible to navigate the tray through the door and outside. How was I supposed to get the tray of dishes out of my room? I decided to try and balance the tray in one hand and open the door with the other. That didn’t end well. The tray toppled over and the white china plates, pepper and salt pots, side dishes, ketchup and mustard pots all smashed to the hard black marble floor. Pepper went everywhere and a flash of red ketchup spread in a bloody pool. After putting everything back on the tray and hiding the mess under a large metal dome reminiscent of falty towers type room service, I pushed the whole lot out of my room. I stood there, looking at the scene and wondering if I should write a note to explain. Then I heard a click. My room door had locked. Panic stricken I looked down at myself, I wore a nightshirt and nothing else. Thankfully the grey nightshirt reached my thighs and so covered my modesty but it was obvious that I wasn’t wearing a bra. Without my glasses, I couldn’t see very far but I had to get help. After a few unsuccessful explorations of the nearest lift and stairwells, I reached the main lifts and summoning courage ventured down. I was highly embarrassed to see a large party of people downstairs. I didn’t know, and still don’t know, whether any of them were in my team. All I could see were a mass of people blobs. After a very embarrassing trip back up the lift with a member of staff and a number of French onlookers I was let back into my room. My last view of my savior was of her reaching down to pick up my ill-fated tray. I really hope she didn’t look inside that metal lid to see the mess inside.
The next day my morning didn’t start very auspiciously when my alarm failed to wake me up and I got up late. I managed to get to my meeting though and although I wasn’t very impressive or feel very confident with my performance in the meeting I was happy to get back to my room to relax and prepare for the next days meeting. After a while, sitting in a relaxing bath, chatting to my husband on the phone, I heard a knocking on a door somewhere. It was repeated again…and again. Lost in my own thoughts and laughing with my husband I was surprised when suddenly there was a woman in my mirror filled room announcing her intention of giving me room service ‘I haven’t asked for room service!’ I managed to blurt out while trying to cover myself. She quickly left red faced but not before getting an eye full.
After this trip I’m in Paris again next week for another analyst meeting. Get ready for another Miranda story. How do I get myself into these messes?
1st trip to Paris:
After only a couple of months with my company I was invited to my first overseas global forecasting alignment meeting. I had planned out every detail of the journey, down to printing out google maps of each taxi journey I would require.
I landed in Paris late in the evening in preparation for my meeting the next day. As I confidently wandered out of the airport I was approached by a young taxi driver who offered to drive me to my hotel. Well that was lucky, I thought. My driver proceeded to chat away with me testing my French and teaching me little bits, laughing as I tried to replicate his words. As the journey progressed I became a little worried that what should have been a 30 minute max taxi ride was quickly becoming a 50 minute taxi ride with no sight of my hotel. I continued to chat away. My taxi driver then propositioned me and after I rejected him he charged me over 100 euro’s for the journey, far above the amount of money in my purse. My Taxi driver kindly offered to lower the charge in return for alternative forms of payment. I didn’t ask what he meant but following a short stop at an ‘ATM’ paid him over 100 euro’s to leave me alone.
When I finally made it to the hotel I was a little emotional and just wanted to go to bed. Unfortunately that wasn’t to be. My greeting at the foyer was less than friendly as it became clear the hotel was overbooked following an internet on the website. The hotel hadn’t even made alternative arrangements for those with booking. As I collapsed onto a nearby couch and proceeded to doze the hotel staff started ringing around nearby hotels. Finally another taxi picked me up and I was deposited at another hotel. Thankfully with the hotel picked up the bill.
2nd trip to Paris:
The second time I travelled to Paris I travelled by Eurostar on a day in which many trains were being cancelled due to icy conditions and others were delayed. My Eurostar was cancelled but I managed to get onto the delayed 19.01 departure. I arrived in Paris Nord at 22.55pm local time and having learnt my taxi driver lesson on my previous journey, carefully ignored all offers from local drivers and lined up in the taxi ranks. I was very grateful when I arrived at the hotel and felt a corner had been turned when I was secure in a luxurious room of black marble flooring, floor length mirrors and white porcelain décor. I had ordered room service, for the first time in my life and, being very hungry I quickly gobbled the sandwich arriving a few minutes later. Afterwards though, I had a conundrum. I was supposed to leave the tray my food had arrived on, cutlery and dishes outside my room door. The hallway to the main door of the room was as wide as the heavy tray so I would have to open the door as wide as possible to navigate the tray through the door and outside. How was I supposed to get the tray of dishes out of my room? I decided to try and balance the tray in one hand and open the door with the other. That didn’t end well. The tray toppled over and the white china plates, pepper and salt pots, side dishes, ketchup and mustard pots all smashed to the hard black marble floor. Pepper went everywhere and a flash of red ketchup spread in a bloody pool. After putting everything back on the tray and hiding the mess under a large metal dome reminiscent of falty towers type room service, I pushed the whole lot out of my room. I stood there, looking at the scene and wondering if I should write a note to explain. Then I heard a click. My room door had locked. Panic stricken I looked down at myself, I wore a nightshirt and nothing else. Thankfully the grey nightshirt reached my thighs and so covered my modesty but it was obvious that I wasn’t wearing a bra. Without my glasses, I couldn’t see very far but I had to get help. After a few unsuccessful explorations of the nearest lift and stairwells, I reached the main lifts and summoning courage ventured down. I was highly embarrassed to see a large party of people downstairs. I didn’t know, and still don’t know, whether any of them were in my team. All I could see were a mass of people blobs. After a very embarrassing trip back up the lift with a member of staff and a number of French onlookers I was let back into my room. My last view of my savior was of her reaching down to pick up my ill-fated tray. I really hope she didn’t look inside that metal lid to see the mess inside.
The next day my morning didn’t start very auspiciously when my alarm failed to wake me up and I got up late. I managed to get to my meeting though and although I wasn’t very impressive or feel very confident with my performance in the meeting I was happy to get back to my room to relax and prepare for the next days meeting. After a while, sitting in a relaxing bath, chatting to my husband on the phone, I heard a knocking on a door somewhere. It was repeated again…and again. Lost in my own thoughts and laughing with my husband I was surprised when suddenly there was a woman in my mirror filled room announcing her intention of giving me room service ‘I haven’t asked for room service!’ I managed to blurt out while trying to cover myself. She quickly left red faced but not before getting an eye full.
After this trip I’m in Paris again next week for another analyst meeting. Get ready for another Miranda story. How do I get myself into these messes?