Though I might be a somewhat seasoned traveler, I would never lay claim to be a great traveler. Absolutely, positively the lousiest in fact. Plagued with mysterious aches and pains along with the ever-present insomnia during my flights, it's not that hard to imagine the sallow, bleary-eyed, dishevelled zombie who stumbled out at Aéroport de Paris-Charles-de-Gaulle was in fact moi.
Even the surprisingly radiant autumn sunlight that trickled over the steps to greet me at the airport failed to brighten my spirits. Indeed I felt the need to raise my sunglasses and rush back to the hotel to shut myself up in the suitably darkened room. Was that a touch of the flu?
Obviously all that misery was bringing back shades of deja vu from my last trip there. Back then it was all wretched days filled with cold crêpes and dirty pavements.
Perhaps it was the brief nap at the hotel. Perhaps it was the delicious croissants au beurre. Perhaps it was just the crisp autumn breeze.
But all it took was a couple of hours back in the hotel to give me some bounce in my step. At least enough to happily trip down the stairs to the magnificent Palais Garnier which lay barely a stone's throw away. Or in Paris, that would probably mean less than a ubiquitous Metro stop away.
Bound and determined to make new memories of the wonderful City of Lights! Heard so many endless raves about the place that I knew it deserved a second chance without the sad bias of emotional baggage.
And it's certainly different this time.
Perhaps it was the company. Perhaps it was age. Perhaps it was a healthier bank account. But even the dreary Passage du Choiseul looked almost enchanting despite its dilapidated state.
Even the surprisingly radiant autumn sunlight that trickled over the steps to greet me at the airport failed to brighten my spirits. Indeed I felt the need to raise my sunglasses and rush back to the hotel to shut myself up in the suitably darkened room. Was that a touch of the flu?
Obviously all that misery was bringing back shades of deja vu from my last trip there. Back then it was all wretched days filled with cold crêpes and dirty pavements.
Perhaps it was the brief nap at the hotel. Perhaps it was the delicious croissants au beurre. Perhaps it was just the crisp autumn breeze.
But all it took was a couple of hours back in the hotel to give me some bounce in my step. At least enough to happily trip down the stairs to the magnificent Palais Garnier which lay barely a stone's throw away. Or in Paris, that would probably mean less than a ubiquitous Metro stop away.
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| Paris. Bah. |
And it's certainly different this time.
Perhaps it was the company. Perhaps it was age. Perhaps it was a healthier bank account. But even the dreary Passage du Choiseul looked almost enchanting despite its dilapidated state.
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