What turned out to be more of the true adventure began when I got off the Eurostar at the Paris station. By the time I got myself and my heavy bags off the train, got myself oriented as to where I was within the station and where the heart of the station was, the time was growing late. I did stop to grab a bite to eat, as I had not eaten for some time and was growing hungry. Either it was later than I thought or all of this took longer than I thought because by the time I was ready to go find a hotel room it was a bit past 10pm – uh, 22:00.
I made my way to the exits, heavy bags in tow, and across the street to where several hotels were neatly lined up awaiting my arrival. I had planned on spending the night in Paris – no, the city – and resuming my journey the next morning. What I had not planned on was every single hotel within a four block radius of the train station being complete: that’s French for “sold out,” “booked solid,” “no vacancy,” “keep walking pal.” So I did – back to the train station.
I resigned myself to spending the night in the station on one of those oh so comfortable looking benches, if I could only find one unoccupied by the many drunks or homeless people. They were everywhere. I had never seen this many people in such a condition in one place anywhere – in all my life. And I have been places. Quickly enough it was midnight, but not quickly enough did the morning come.
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