Every time I did the math, the room that looked so cheap in euros ended up being more than a hundred bucks in dollars.
The exchange rate is a killer.
So in the end, I'd thrown up my hands and used my tried-and-true method.

And sometimes, when I ask around if anyone knows any great secrets for Paris—besides Priceline—I'd get "Try Priceline!" Uh, okay. More than once, I could swear someone is parroting my own advice back to me, given years ago to a mutual friend. But these aren't state secrets. You can read about them in mainstream travel mags, the kind that crow about "bargains" that are so obscene that I laugh aloud while reading on the PATH train.
I ended up with a $90 Novotel in a non-touristy neighborhood right by a metro stop. It was fine. More than fine. I am happy to stay in a decent place for less than the price of a rundown place.
The only problem, then, was the public transportation in Paris. It's terribly similar to New York's. What that means is that what looks like a simple transfer on the map can turn out to involve long underground hikes.
No big deal, right? I assure you, less nice with a backpack and an armful of souvenirs purchased at the last minute in the airport.
By the time I had to transfer trains, I was fried and too tired to pay attention. Had I gone through turnstiles? Had I not? Where was the token booth? Did I care? (No.)
Nowhere to buy a ticket. I wanted to get off the airport train and get on the metro. I could either keep walking and find the purchase point... or I could go through that open door that the woman with a stroller was holding open.
Guess which one I picked? And then sweated nervously—worrying about ticket checks—through another transfer, all the way to my stop.
1 comment:
So didja hit Chez Paul, or is that tomorrow's episode?
Post a Comment