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Despite myself I was pleased to be back in Paris. And all this despite the notoriously confusing web of signs and pathways located below the Gare du Nord. This was a transport hub. Options for the metro and RER, were apparently located there. Somehow people managed to find their way around. Even with years of trying I would inevitably give up and go out and get a taxi.

On this day things were different. I searched for and found the ticket booth. I ha long given up trying to use the ticket machines.. If you were lucky enough to find one that actually works, you plans would still be thwarted. Apparently it this tourist ridden city these machine donÕt accept foreign credit cards. I was determined to take the Metro to the hotel. Even when I saw the ridiculously long line in front of the both I was going to go for it.

There was one woman working there. An odd setup, given that this was midday in a busy hub. Still I was going through with this.

The twenty minutes that I waited, patiently I might add, did quell enthusiasm for being in Paris.  It gave me time to dwell on just how difficult the French could make things. (Seriously: How difficult is it to have a clearly marked rout to the subway? Or have machines that accept non-French credit cards?) I slowly wheeled my suitcase behind me ever, albeit very slowly, closer to the booth.

• There was one woman working there. An odd setup, given that this was midday in a busy hub
• The twenty minutes that I waited, patiently I might add, did quell enthusiasm for being in Paris.
• I slowly wheeled my suitcase behind me ever, albeit very slowly, closer to the booth.
• The woman behind the glass looked at me then my 50 Euro note.

However my spirits rebounded when it at long last was my turn. I approached the booth with a new spring in my step. I handed over my 50 Euro note with a confidence smiling.