Did I…

Oh, yes, I did.

Juliette, you’re a genius.

I don’t often congratulate myself, but I shamelessly did so when I checked the train app and realized that past me had splurged on a first-class train ticket for future me.

Maybe “splurge” is a strong word. If booked weeks ahead, first-class tickets are often around five euros more than second class—you get more comfortable seats and more legroom, which is totally worth it when you’re planning to crash and sleep for the last leg of the journey after a transatlantic flight.

It’s okay. I’m not rushing to some French drama unfolding across the ocean—and before you ask, I did not steal priceless jewellery from the Louvre!—but I have a few things to do in France this fall. So after we came back from Toronto, I unpacked, did a few loads of laundry, and packed again for my French life.

Next thing you know, Feng was driving me to the airport, and I was boarding yet another Air France flight to Paris.

My seatmate was a 22-year-old student from a small town in Southern Ontario who was travelling to Paris to meet up with her boyfriend.

“Is he French?” I asked.

“Yeah! Like… his grandmother was.”

She was worried about navigating the airport because her 1%-French-and-99%-Canadian boyfriend had told her to take an Uber to his university. She didn’t speak French, and she had very little travel experience. I mean, she found Ottawa’s airport “quite big.”

“You know what? I have three hours to kill before my train to my hometown,” I said. “We can go through immigration together, and I’ll show you where to wait for an Uber or Bolt.”

“That would be awesome!”

I smiled. I’ve been there—landing in unfamiliar places, not always speaking the language.

The plane took off, and I watched the amazing sky and fall colours. I spent the following 6.5 hours watching movies and pretending it was okay to just not sleep. It is hard to sleep on this Ottawa-Paris route because the flight lands at 6 a.m. French time, which is 11 p.m. Eastern Time, and I’m never deeply asleep before midnight regardless of where I am in the world.

Of course, I invariably land tired and grumpy, but this time, I couldn’t be tired and grumpy—I had a mission. I had to take the small-town student to the Uber parking lot.

“Are we going there now?”

“We have to go through immigration,” I reminded her. “Then we have to pick up our luggage… do you have a suitcase?”

“A pink one!”

“There you go. So we do that first, clear customs, and then we can walk to the Uber parking lot.”

It was still pitch dark outside, but it wasn’t cold. We waited for her Uber. The driver couldn’t find us, so I argued with him in French. We found him eventually.

I gave her my WhatsApp number, just in case.

She gave me a hug.

Two more hours to kill time and fight sleep before my train. I was afraid to sit down because I was very, very sleepy, so I just explored various terminals. Maybe I’ll remember the layout next time I’m helping another travel rookie.

I passed out on my first-class seat on the train.

Now, back to my French life.