Anne and I ended our honeymoon in Paris. Our whole trip had been amazing. We’d seen and done so much. We’d also been careful with our money, so by the time we got to Paris we had money to burn. We didn’t go insane but we didn’t hold back either. We ate a few fancy dinners, we went to the Moulin Rouge, Anne bought some sexy lingerie in Pigalle.
The hostel was a letdown, but that didn’t last long. Our first room was disgusting but we went to the concierge and asked, in our terrible French, if anything could be done. She was charmed that we even tried to hold the conversation in French. She explained that hostel was being renovated and we’d gotten stuck in one of the old rooms by mistake. She moved us to a new room and it made a world of difference. Plenty of space, sparkling clean, its own shower, everything we could hope for. It had space for six, but the concierge assured us that the entire room would be ours. And it was. Despite the fact that the hostel was at capacity no one else came to our room. It was easy to see why. Most of the other guests were pretty rude. No one tried to engage in French, in fact they barely treated the concierge as human.