Posted by: marilynmendoza | September 26, 2011

All I want is my dog, a bath and NO PORN. Too much to ask for in Chilly.


So I trusted a travel website like Expedia or Kayak but neither of these and booked a hotel room in Paris. Did I know what was waiting for us. They told us it was safe for women, they told us it was a nine minute walk from the station and they told us it was cheap. Lies, I tell you, bloody lies all.

  We arrive at a station in the middle of nowhere with our carry on suitcases  full of fear. This is a staion like no other I’ve seen in Paris. It is under construction and looks like a deserted ship on some planet in inner space. Where am I and more importantly where is this f…..n hotel.   Just then an American girl who seems to come from nowhere speaking English tells us there is no hotel 9 minutes from this station and I’d better go to the center of town and ask. She puts on us a bus towards this place. I am grateful for girls who fall so in love with a Frenchmen they would go anywhere, even here. But our ordeal is just beginning.

We are on a bus to the center of this town somebody had the nerve to call Chilly.  Everyone gets off before us and though I respect the hardworking people who have come from cleaning the dirt that comes from both walking dirty Paris streets and those who don’t believe in hygiene, I want them to stay on the bus with us. Don’t leave us, scowling man with no teeth. I know you don’t understand English but did you have to spit at me when you told me this. Don’t leave me Jamaican lady who is amused at our fear. But they leave and we are — where the hell are we????

We see a restaurant and a cute man who tells us he lived in Toronto tells us we are far away from our hotel, very very far. He calls the hotel for us and the hotel only gives him directions after asking our names. Bad sign. but we are on our way to somewhere.

 We get on another bus and get off at the stop we were told to. What!! It’s a truck stop roundabout!! no people, only trucks and planes. What airport are we near. Oh Orly How do I know?. I see the plane over my head- close very close. Nobody is on the street– on wait, I see two guys in a pathetic attempt to imitate Jay Zee or another rapper who lived in the same Brooklyn project I am from. They pass and say something in French. But even a naive do do head like me understands a panhandlers language.

We go on and on and don’t see anything. We are about to cry. We have been on this 9 minute walk for 3 hours and it’s dark and all we can see is a restaurant that advertises Moules whatever that is. Finally, I know I can’t go on on minute more and we see a Bar, yes a bar but they have food and someone speaks English. They are also sympathetic to our plight and call a taxi since we are close but no cigar. It turns out no one will pick us up. They don’t have a taxi in this town. or one that will pick up two stranded women. There are no women in this town it seems, just Men and moules whatever that is . I find out later it’s Mussels. I hate Mussels.  Finally desperate, we see a truck with an American logo . What! Fed Ex is in France? Oh not Fed Ex but one like it. Three men jump out on their break. I sit on the steps of this bar that like all Paris respites seem to require the suffering of the person who has to climb a million steps. My daughter asks for help and a man comes out , thankfully without the other two men and offer us a ride which he says is only across the road. What luck! What relief! What fear!  I can’t climb into a truck with a stranger. That has not worked in my favor in the past. I can’t even jump in a truck.  But mydaughter says we have no choice and with a last effort I jump like I’m hanging from a bungee cord into this man’s truck. He is from Madagascar. He is a good man and delivers us to the motel that is between one hotel California that you check into and not out of– scary and empty and a disco – really! It is small, it is hidden. It is miserable. No matter we are here. Where?

  We enter the Motel  and a tired Black man offers us a key, a towel and a remote control when we give our names. I have never been given a remote control when checking in a hotel. It is an ominous sign but we go into the room which promised a nautical theme. This means I find out that you must jump into the toilet from the room like we did on the Queen Mary only without the cleanliness, safety or real shower. The shower head is attached to the sink. The place smells like old socks and semen. Yuck.

 My daughter who is young asked for a extra towel.  She was told it was against the rules as was free water for her tea. but a man who said he liked Americans chatted her up and showed her money in his wallet, convinced the night clerk to give her an extra towel. She came in almost happy until I told her she had been propositioned. This is a  TRUCK STOP HOOKER MOTEL!  This was proven when the remote we were given to the TV  revealed porn from some country that allowes humans and animals to mate.  And the porn is  one channel away from the BBC. Insult to injury!

We stayed inside too afraid to leave, too sick to sleep since the sheets looked less than clean and the whole place smelled of disinfectant. The next day, the manager told us no women stayed here yet we had heard women giggling in the wee hours. We were the only women here in the light of day though.  We spent two days trying to call the American company that had put us here. They claimed innocence and said they only know what the hotel tells them. BS.

The second day before we left a young man who cleaned the rooms knocked on the door. .  He has  the job of cleaning the uncleanable but uses double plastic gloves to do it. He said he leaves  at three and if wanted our room cleaned we had to leave now. He said he never stayed after three PM  due to fights in the hotel at night. Great!

My toes and bleeding from walking for days, now my arthritis is telling me jumping in that truck was a mistake I might regret for years to come.  We stay in Chilly for 2 days. In those days we try to contact and finally speak to a woman from Kentucky who says she will put us in another hotel if I give her more money. What!!  I am desperate I tell her. I must leave this place. She says it will take days to put the money back in my account and I must give her a new credit card so she can move us. With trepidation I try my last card and it works. She says it is a three star hotel in the center of Paris. Great!  We leave Chilly with joy only tempered a bit by the amount of money we spent on our train passes, phone calls to travel company and fatigue. Chilly has seen the last of us.

 We finally get to hotel which looks nice except the minute we give our names, we are told by a scared young woman there are “technical difficulties and before we can say Au Revoir we are whisked away in a taxi which promises to be 9 minutes away from first hotel. Bloody liars. It is Versailles port,  far.

 I am tired. I am angry. I am hungry and I am poor. Do not mess with me. My inner Brooklyn former gang name Tiny comes out. I call this evil travel agency back and tell them I will not move again. and my next  stop will be the hospital so they better keep me here in dirty hotel with an elevator that can only hold one suitcase without  its’ owner. The guy I am ranting  to on the phone  only repeats with some joy. Truckstop Hooker motel and porn movies. I think this excites him but he is unable to get a supervisor.

 Just then our phone decides these calls in Paris have probably exceeded the limit of two women on limited incomes and cut’s us off. We are without phone until it miraculously turns on in London’s St Paul Cathedral days a week later. But in the meantime we wait for travel company to call us. They put us here so why don’t they call. Yeah why don’t they call?  

We stay at the hotel for our allotted  3 days and with money dwindling I remember a name Ibis that was  mentioned as a last resort for a clean hotel that is both  clean and cheap in Paris. We are out of cards to hold this room but somehow one of my daughter’s cards work and we go there with and find a sunny bright clean place that is not unlike our Motel 6’s back home. In fact is is so bright I see we are overlooking a garbage dump. No matter we are safe happy and eat in the restaurant that seems to be full of tour groups from Spain.  Pizza is on the menu and with our last Euros we feast on Pizza and icecream like its our last meal.

London here we come and we are thankful I have booked a B& B that is only 9 minutes away from the tube stop.

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Responses

  1. Quite different from my Paris experience, Marilyn.

    • Hi Boyd,
      This is only part of the Paris trip Boyd. I had to vent and tried to make it amusing. But most of the problems stem from my not being my usual organized self. I had the memoir on my mind and I also didn’t realize how down the dollar is in Europe. Going to Paris and having a few bad days is still better than not going to Paris. Aloha

  2. Good. Glad to hear that.

  3. Marilyn –

    to say your trip was a trip was an understatement. i do appreciate how you managed to make a nitemare this amusing. glad you’re home safe and sounding!

    • Thank you Stacy,
      I almost didn’t put it in because I was angry but writing about stuff makes it funny. I love that about writing. My memoir is said to be hilarious and to me it was raw, gritty and painful but in the end healing because I can see the humor in it. Thank you for commenting


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