Occasionally, the coach stopped so we could get out and take photos. And at each of those stops, Jaelee handed someone her phone and requested, or rather commanded, “Take a photo of me.” We would come to know it as her catchphrase for the tour—maybe they hadn’t heard of selfies in Miami.
As we explored the nooks and crannies of Paris, I started questioning my typical travel style—maybe I was a tourist. Wouldn’t a traveller, especially one who’d been to Paris so many times before, already know all the history and facts I was only just learning?
And I know I’d exaggerated how much of a whirlwind tour it was—fifteen countries in fourteen days, I’d joked to Sarah—but I’d never travelled like that before. Most of my travel was like the Paris trips—quick jaunts to somewhere in Europe with lots of eating and drinking. I also wasn’t much of a culture vulture and, yes, I probably should have visited the Brandenburg Gate, but there was beer to drink and bratwurst to eat.
I’d booked the tour to put some distance between me and Alex and to drown my sorrows. Actually, “sorrows” was hardly the right word. Exasperation? Drown my exasperation? Irritation? Self-flagellation? Why, oh why, had I slept with Alex? As annoying as he’d become since The Incident, I was more ticked off with myself for being a love fugitive. I was hardly setting myself up to be a proper traveller.
Just as we flew into the Arc de Triomphe roundabout—did you know the traffic on the roundabout stops for the incoming traffic? And that twelve roads converge there?—I made a pact with myself. I was not going to fritter away my time in Europe. I was going to see all the things and do all the stuff. Starting with Paris, where we’d have the next day to ourselves.
“Hey.” I nudged Lou gently in the ribs.
Lou’s eyes were fixed on the giant arch, which was so beautifully lit it looked like it was sculpted out of butter. I’d never really noticed before how beautiful it was.
“Hey,” she replied without breaking her gaze.
“You up for exploring tomorrow? I mean, like squeezing the hell out of the day and seeing as much as possible?”
That got her attention; her eyes whipped to meet mine.
“Oh, for sure. I want to see everything.”
“Brilliant.”
“It may be the only time I’m here. Also, Paris is the main reason I booked this trip.”
“We’re coming back to that—” I took out my phone “—but first I’m going to get us tickets to go up the Eiffel Tower—to the top.”
A grin broke out across her face. “Cool.” The coach careened off onto a side street and there was a collective sigh from its occupants. It really was a busy roundabout; traffic was manic.
A quick check with Jaelee and Dani, who were sitting just in front of us, confirmed what I already thought—it would only be me and Lou for the Eiffel Tower. Over dinner, they’d made it clear they were all about the shopping, and not the window variety. They’d both come with spending money—lots of it.
“Actually, it’s what I’ve been looking forward to the most,” Jaelee said as she speared a soggy piece of broccoli, eyeing it with distaste.
I wasn’t really one to judge considering my typical travel style, but shopping was what she was looking forward to the most?
“Really?” asked Lou. I wasn’t the only one then.
“Totally,” replied Jaelee, matter-of-factly.
“Oh, yeah, me too,” added Dani. She had already pushed her plate away and was twirling a paper serviette between her fingers.
I could see how someone into designer clothes and shoes and bags would want to shop in Paris. I loved all those things too—bags especially—only I’m a teacher and I shop at TK Maxx for my designer wares. Still, we were in one of the world’s most beautiful cities; there were famous landmarks and spectacular artworks to see.
“You mean in Paris, right?” Lou pursued her line of questioning. “What you’re looking forward to most in Paris?”
“No,” said Jae, “I mean on the whole trip. The shopping in Europe is supposed to be insane—here, Florence, Rome. I can’t wait for Rome.” Jae gave up on the broccoli and put it back on her plate. Dani nodded in agreement, and Lou and I shrugged our shoulders at each other.
A couple of hours later, as I booked two tickets to the top of the Eiffel Tower, I was secretly pleased it would just be me and Lou.
***
Not surprisingly, sleeping in the garden sheds was less than optimal. Even in early October, when the leaves had started turning gorgeous shades and the night itself was quite chilly, the shed was stuffy. It was also extremely difficult to get comfortable inside a sleeping bag.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in a sleeping bag—I hate camping as much as the next sane person—but sleeping bags were required for the places with cabins, like Paris—or to be more precise, somewhere in the outer outskirts of Paris.
As I rubbed sleep from my eyes and cracked my sore back, I reminded myself of two things. I am a traveller and I am going up the Eiffel Tower today.
“Lou,” I whispered, which was a silly thing to do, because I was trying to wake her up.
“Yes,” she whispered back facetiously.
I had set my phone to vibrate at the ungodly hour of 6:00am with the sole purpose of getting us into a shower before the hordes showed up and we had to A) wait in a queue and B) stand in someone else’s shower water. Blech! Apparently, the bathrooms at the Paris campsite were the worst we’d encounter on the tour and I silently thanked my sister for the insider info.
“Showers,” I reminded her.
I heard a slight groan and then, “Yep. I’m up.”
By 7:00am we were showered, dressed, made up, coiffed, and caffeinated. Danielle frowned sleepily at us when she made her way into the circus tent.
“Where’s Jae?” I asked.
“She’s blow-drying her hair. Is there coffee?” she drawled in her eastern Canadian accent as the frown intensified. Clearly, Dani was not a morning person. Lou pointed to the giant urn with a sign on top saying “coffee” and Dani ambled off.
I finished the rest of my scrambled eggs. That was breakfast, by the way—eggs and as much toasted commercial white bread as we could stand. In France, where decent baked goods are a basic human right.
Traveller, traveller, traveller. My plan was to adopt it as my mantra until I stopped thinking negative thoughts.
“Morning,” called a cheery male voice. Craig sat down opposite us and placed a plate brimming with eggs and toast on the table. The previous night, we’d added a fifth to our little group. Craig was eighteen—yes, really—from Oregon, and was travelling alone.
That last part is why we’d decided to adopt him. Also, I was nearly twice his age and a secondary teacher. I believed it was my moral obligation to make sure Craig had people on the tour. We would be his people.
“Good morning, Craig. Hungry?” asked Lou, semi-mocking his enormous breakfast.
He missed the jibe and nodded while shovelling a massive forkful into his mouth. Lou turned my way. “I have three brothers. They’re all like this at eighteen. Insatiable.” She watched him with a bemused smile, or was it a smirk? And she meant insatiable appetites, right? I didn’t want Lou getting ideas about our boy.