by Taylor Hart
So this is what I did: I bowed my head and I prayed to the Almighty God, and tears streamed down my face as I asked what I should do. Even now I am shaking at thinking how afraid I was, how I felt like that poor, battered, bloodied man on the side of the road waiting for someone to help.
Instantly, I felt calm. In the center of my chest I had the most comforting feeling that it would be alright. I didn’t know how it would be all right. An older man who looked Middle Eastern asked in broken English while pointing up the stairs, “Your husband pickpocket?”
I nodded.
“You okay?”
I wiped my eyes and said, “I don’t know if I should stay here or go look for him.”
He was so sweet, he said, “I think you stay here.”
More than the man helped me, I was so grateful to feel he cared for me.
Then, I thought to call my husband. So I turned my roaming off and called him. To my great relief, he answered, and he was by my side two minutes later.
He was flustered, to say the least, and said, “Let’s get to our hotel.”
So we got on the train. Again, I feel like God gave me the gift of “discernment,” because whenever I turned and looked at someone on the Metro, I instantly knew if they wanted to harm me or not. I saw one man looking at my chest and knew he wanted my iPhone; then I saw him look at my husband and thought he wanted his phone, too.
We got off the train, because we thought we were on the wrong one and we tried to get through to the exit. But we turned back toward the train because my husband thought he knew where to go.
At this point I saw the same guy we’d just seen from the train pass us, and I knew we’d been targeted again. I said to my husband, “Let’s go find a taxi.”
He said, “No, I know which train.”
So we got on another train, where there were more hooligans, and I could feel the powers of darkness surrounding us.
Finally, we arrived and got out of the Metro. But I do testify we only got out by the grace of God. I vehemently recommend that if you go to Paris, you take a taxi or use Uber to your hotel.
We stayed at the Hotel Signature St. Germain, and when we arrived and told the attendant at the desk, she was so sweet and helpful. In fact, they brought champagne to our room as a gift to welcome us to Paris.
When my husband and I calmed down, he recounted to me that the group of teenagers had surrounded him, jostled him, and stopped him from getting his bag in the train. It distracted him enough for them to take his wallet out of his front pocket in less than thirty seconds.
When he’d chased them, he’d hoped they’d simply throw the wallet down, but they were fast, and by the time he got to the top of the stairs they were gone. He tried to talk to someone who looked like security, but he was useless and so he came back.
As we began to investigate other people’s experiences, we found out this is a common theme. There are rings of kids in Paris who work together to distract you, then pickpocket you. It’s a problem in Paris, and it occurs worse in the Metro than at the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, or any other big site.
Of course, my husband spent three hours on the phone trying to make sure the cards were canceled. Even though we acted fast, the thieves had already charged around 5,000 dollars between two credit cards and one debit card. We found out later that our credit card companies and our banks had apps that would have allowed my husband to immediately freeze transaction on the cards from his phone. We didn’t know that at the time, but now you know and can look into that before you travel.
We were grateful they didn’t get his passport. If they had, he would have had to go to the US Embassy and get a temporary passport. This would be time-consuming, and I think we would have had to go back to America and not be able to continue to Rome.
In any event, we learned something very valuable: don’t think you’re safe carrying it in your front pocket. Don’t think it’s safe anywhere, except on your person.
I carry it all in my bra. Cards, cash, phone.
We got him a money belt for Rome, but we don’t carry it all with us anywhere. You leave it in the safe at the hotel and take small bills, and one credit card if you need it.
The best thing about it happening is we paid tuition to learn the lesson. But we were safe. No harm.
The main thing people say about these pickpocket people is they really don’t want to hurt you. They just want your wallet. They aren’t interested in stabbing you or pulling a gun on you. It’s almost an art, some would say. Kind of a sick art, but now you know.
Knowledge is power. Strike that—knowledge plus action is power.
6
The French Police
Unknowingly, we’d picked the time of the European Soccer Championship in France to be in Paris. It wasn’t a big deal. Sure, there were crowds. To me, it actually made me feel safer. Crowds of fans wearing their country’s jerseys, anticipating the big game, were no big deal. They weren’t snarky, at least to me.
Plus, everyone pretty much spoke English. Except at the police station.
To get into the police station, we had to go underground. They didn’t speak English. They carried machine guns and I felt … scared.
They wanded us before letting us in and they weren’t delighted to help us at all. Seriously, I kept getting this feeling if we stayed too long, we’d end up getting stuck there. And as you know from this book, I believe God warns me about a lot of things.
We wanted to file a police report for our credit card companies and banks so they knew we had proof. My husband had tried to file the report online the night before, and the “not very good” WiFi kept kicking him off. Plus, the police site was super glitchy.
So we got wanded and went into the police station, and we were put in this small room to fill out the report. I took pictures of my husband filing the report and sent it to my parents so at least someone would know where we were if we got held. Then, I took pictures of the report my husband filed. I did this quickly and covertly, because it felt like they could get mad at any moment and were just looking for a reason to hold us.
Luckily, by the grace of God again, there was a nice man waiting with us who spoke English. He told us he was there because the French police move parked cars around at night to help alleviate congestion due to the games. Usually the police put the license plate on a website so you can find your car later, but his car had been lost in the system. He originally thought his car had been stolen, but after walking around his neighborhood for a few hours he found his car. Because it wasn’t in the system, he had to go to the police station to get it cleared up.
He’d been waiting to speak to someone for an hour before we got there, and he told us there were thirteen people waiting in front of us in different rooms.
At this point I wanted to get the heck out of there. We then tried to talk with the officers behind the desk, but they were of no help. They said that they were busy because of the games and that they didn’t know when we’d be seen. They told us to come back the next day and they’d likely not be as busy.
We left the police station and were going to return the next day. Originally, the plan was for my husband to return the next day and finish up the report, but later that night I just had this sinking feeling that he shouldn’t go back because he’d be there the whole day. He didn’t, and everything with the banks and credits worked out.
Speaking English
When people say the French will be upset if you don’t speak English … nah, not really. Maybe twenty years ago, but today everyone speaks English. There was only one time, in one French restaurant, where they didn’t speak very good English.
The food was still amazing.
7
Our trip to Paris wasn’t a total bust.
No, don’t let these things make any trip a bust!
After we checked into the hotel and got all of my husband’s credit and debit cards canceled, we took a walk to try and find a place to eat. As you can imagine, we were kind of
down and hungry. It was probably around 6 or 7 in the evening. As we walked the neighborhood by our hotel, we noticed that a lot of the little cafés and eateries were closing. We’ve come to find out that many of the shops, including some restaurants, close down so the owners and workers can go to dinner.
We continued to walk the neighborhood looking for a place when a gregarious server from Le Saint Germain on Rue du Bac came outside to convince us we should eat there. He was funny, super nice, and made us feel welcome, so we decided, What the heck, we’ll eat there. After the day we had, the food was good and the server was nice. It helped get us back on track.
Over the next three days, we went to the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame.
The Louvre
Amazing, but completely overwhelming. It’s huge and easy to get lost in. I thought it would be incredible, but what I realized for myself is that staring at art is not really my thing.
I like to see sites rather than art, and the Louvre would have taken probably three or four days to really make it worth it. So we made a command decision: we went to see the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo and left.
After the Louvre, we walked the Tuileries Garden. All throughout the Garden there were soccer fans, mostly from Sweden as they were playing Ireland that night in Paris. They seemed in good spirits, periodically bursting into song. I know during this time there were reports on the news of violence, but we never felt afraid. Most of them were slightly buzzed and happy.
There was a public toilet in the Garden and a man “manning” the toilet. It was maybe 50 euro cents to use the toilet. Then we tipped the nice man. He was sweeping it and keeping it tidy.
The Tuileries Garden ends at the start of the Champs-Élysées—world-famous for shopping. As we walked the Champs-Élysées, we stopped and shopped in the stores. I felt safer shopping inside the stores instead of shopping at the street vendors. It didn’t feel like so many people were trying to pickpocket.
We continued walking the Champs-Élysées until it ended at the Arc de Triomphe. When we got to the Arc, it was crowded with people trying to get you to pay for this and that, which is usual for every major site in Paris. A clown spun me around and started dancing with me, making me laugh. We took a few pictures and he put out his hand to my husband for payment.
By now we were tired, so we hired a Bulgarian guy in a rickshaw to take us from the Arc to the Eiffel Tower. The Bulgarian guy was really chatty and told us all about his life in Bulgaria and how he’d come to Paris during the tourist season to earn money, but because Paris was so expensive he wasn’t making as much as he’d hoped. I felt bad for him by the time he dropped us off at the Trocadéro, as he was huffin’ and puffin’ pretty hard. We gave him a good tip and wished him well. It’s those moments when you feel really grateful for what you have.
The Trocadéro where the Bulgarian guy dropped us off overlooks the Eiffel Tower. It was a fantastic view, so we took a few pictures and grabbed a quick bite. By this time, I had to use the bathroom. Of course the nearest public toilet was closed. I felt bad for these two girls running to the bathroom. One was holding her stomach and looked in pretty bad shape. We she saw it was closed, we could hear a litany of swear words.
I felt her pain. It’s not fun when you think there’s relief coming, to no avail.
We meandered down toward the Tower. Of course, we had to walk through more people selling everything. Probably the merchandise they’d purchased using our stolen cards. Oh well. What do you do?
As we got to the bottom of the hill to the Seine River, there were bathrooms you could pay for on the boats. Something to note.
During this time in Paris, armed guards were everywhere. Like marshal law. It was crazy, but alas, it’s probably the way most of the world is going.
I kept to the premise of no eye contact. Most people were friendly enough, but there seemed to be a tired sort of nervousness among people.
The Eiffel Tower
I couldn’t believe it only cost 18 euros.
The wait in line wasn’t bad, either. We tried to make reservations online, but there were no more reserved spaces available, so we decided to take our chances.
For whatever reason, we got there at a downtime; the wait to get tickets probably took about 30 minutes. After you get tickets, you are shuffled to the first elevator, which takes you to the second floor. That wait was probably another 20 minutes or so. Then, once you get to the second floor, you have to get in line for the elevator to the top. That wait was probably another 30 minutes or so.
All in all, the total wait time to the top was probably about 80 minutes or so. Not too shabby, considering we didn’t have any reservations and all tourist information suggests the lines are horrendous.
The view was perfect. The experience definitely worth the price! Do it!
We ended up taking Uber from the Tower back to our hotel. By this time it was dinner, and we had made reservations at the fancy French restaurant L’Affable on Rue de Saint-Simon.
The cool thing about dining in Europe is that all the tables are so close together, you can’t help but be part of other people’s meals sometimes.
We got lucky this night because Sharon and Bob from Manhattan, New York, sat next to us. We struck up a conversation, and four hours later we were best friends.
It was fun to learn about their lives and their travel. We exchanged numbers and pictures. I think the best part of travel is the people you meet and learn about.
Notice—French Food is Rich!
The food at L’Affable was amazing, but perhaps it might have been a bit too amazing. Overnight I got sick and ended up staying in bed until around noon or so the next day. I don’t know if it was the rich food or just the rigors of traveling. Probably a bit of both. We were supposed to go to Versailles, but because I was sick we ended up taking the morning to rest. Well, I rested. I sent my husband on errands to get me stuff. One thing to remember is Paris doesn’t have a one-stop shop like Wal-Mart, so if you need groceries you go to an Epicerie and if you need personal care items like ibuprofen you go to a pharmacy. The stuff I wanted my husband to get me took him to three different stores, and needless to say, he let me know about that. Then, to top it off, it was laundry day again in preparation for our last stop to Rome. My husband found a nearby launderette and spent a few hours doing laundry.
Note: I had so much fun packing and shopping for this trip. So much fun!
In retrospect, I wouldn’t pack as much next time. “Famous last words,” my husband echoes behind me. But I wouldn’t. It was a pain to keep repacking it all.
Although, we did use a great system. We bought some Eagle Creek pack systems (put in affiliate link). This made packing it all into one suitcase organized and doable.
By the time my husband got back from errands and laundry, I was feeling better, so we decided to hit Notre Dame Cathedral.
Notre Dame
Notre Dame Cathedral is cool. Not quite as cool as St. Paul’s Cathedral to me, but it’s still cool.
It was interesting to notice the women within the vicinity of the Cathedral, who lay prostrate on the ground, crying out and holding a can for money. The scripture version of “gnashing of teeth” came to mind as I watched them.
At one point, while we were in line, I took some money and dropped it in the can, hoping to simply silence them. But they didn’t.
It was an interesting mix of those women and the other people trying to sell water, trinkets, etc. There was also a big group of guys in the courtyard playing soccer.
Afterwards, I had finally worked up a bit of an appetite, so I decided it was time to try an authentic crepe. I was still iffy on whether I should based on the previous night, but I was in Paris so I had to try the crepes. We stopped at the place right next to Notre Dame called Creperie du Cloitre on Rue du Cloitre Notre Dame. The crepes were good, but they didn’t blow my socks off.
After the crepes we walked over to Sainte-Chapelle, another gothic cathedral in Paris. It was c
ool, but I don’t know if that stop was worth it or not.
We did see a girl scoping us out for more pickpocketing. It’s kind of funny because when you look them in the eye and let them know you’ve seen them, they usually run away. It was amazing how fast she disappeared when we made her.
Okay, on to Rome!
8
Rome
Ah, she says with a smile—Roma!
Flying from Paris to Rome was easy peasy lemon squeezy.
We took a taxi—taxi, I say—to Charles de Gaulle Airport from our hotel. The hotel arranged it the night before, and it picked us up at 7:30 and had us there by 8:45ish.
The cab driver took us straight to the Alitalia drop-off station. We had to check in at the kiosk. Since my husband no longer had the credit card he used to purchase the flights, he used the confirmation number from the airline confirmation that was emailed to him when we booked the flights.
Important: make sure you get your frequent flyer miles, too. We both have accounts, but you have to put in your number when you claim your ticket. Our itinerary was a Delta itinerary with Alitalia as a partner airline, so when you check in, make sure you’re putting in the right information.
The kiosk will print your tickets, then you go and check your bags. I was surprised this was all “self checkout” kind of thing, too. And you have to scan your passports when you scan your boarding pass.
Then through security. This took about twenty minutes. But it was a short line and fast-moving. I think if you were there at a peak time, it would be longer. Charles de Gaulle Airport is very big and can be intimidating. Just give yourself enough time, relax, and follow the signs.
It honestly felt like our whole trip to Paris was long. Everything took longer.
I know we’re American and that’s the charm in doing the Europe tour: slow down, expect delays. But really? France never had trains running on time or in the right line—part of our problem when my husband got pickpocketed.