Jetlagged from the 22 hour flight, I managed to hop out of the taxi which had come to an abrupt halt. I was barely out of the vehicle when it zoomed away, spraying filthy gutter water onto my pants. I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself; I hadn’t imagined my first couple of hours in Paris to be so difficult - the airline had lost my luggage and I couldn’t find a taxi for over twenty minutes, but surely it would get better.

Not bothering to try and clean my pants, I reached into my handbag for my map. However, what I retrieved was not nearly in as good shape as the map I had picked up at the airport: a soggy, unreadable mess clung to my fingers. How was I supposed to find the hotel now, I thought. Maybe I should’ve asked the taxi driver to drop me out the front of it, I thought. But I did want to do some sightseeing.

I trudged over to the nearest rubbish bin to untangle the wet mess from my fingers, but I must’ve been so caught up in thinking about the stupid map that I tripped and fell straight down onto the concrete. My head throbbed badly. So badly, in fact, it took me a while to realize that almost every French person in the suburb had seen me fall and was staring at me in disapproval. I flushed, suddenly embarrassed, and got up wincing. I could just imagine what some of the people passing by were saying on their phones… “I just walked past this homeless lady lying on the ground staring at her hand. I swear she had gutter water on her clothes!”

Trying to rid my mind of all the nasty things these people were probably saying about me, I imagined the luxurious hotel room I had booked. All I had to do was find another map. I’d be there in no time!

I eyed a Tourist Centre on the corner and slipped in via the side door, hoping not to attract attention to myself. But halfway to the map stand a tall, burly man stepped in front of me, blocking my path. He looked furious. “Vous êtes monté sur vous mon chien de fille stupide!” I stepped back in confusion. What was he saying?!

“Ne jamais se approcher de moi ou de mon chien à nouveau!” he shouted.

It was only when he stormed off that I realised he was holding a dog on a leash. I thought back to when I had fallen on the footpath and gasped in realisation. I must’ve tripped over the man’s dog!! It explained his angry outburst and the dirty looks some customers were giving me.

I was exhausted and frustrated but figured I was wasting time just sitting in a tourist centre sulking. So I set off, dirty, luggage-less and without a map, to find an ice cream shop.

It was a holiday after all.