What I See with Peter Fiorenza: Holiday memories good and bad start to resurface now the travel bug is back

With things appearing better COVID-wise, I’m looking at starting to travel again. Now, where would I like to go? Despite the fact planes are up in the air again, I reckon things will change a fair bit. Even though I’ve done quite a bit of travel overseas, the process has presented its share of anxiety. And, if anything, this element of the experience is going to be possibly more testing in a COVID world. I’ve never been comfortable with the check in, going through the immigration-customs thing, but nothing could be more nerve-racking than when my Mum and I arrived in Paris several years ago. We arrived on the Eurostar — a fantastic, super quick journey direct from St Pancreas Station in London. I love train travel and the trip across the English Channel and through the French countryside didn’t let me down, however, when we stepped out at the station, the atmosphere dramatically changed. As we bustled our way along the crowded platform, people started to come at us left, right and centre, speaking hurriedly in both French and English. “You want car to hotel?” “You want taxi?” Everything seemed to be happening all at once, as I battled to look after Mum and our luggage. Suddenly, as we stepped off at the top of an escalator, we were confronted by a middle-aged man, who, again, asked if we wanted a taxi. As I looked forward, I could see some white vehicles that looked like cabs through an entrance leading out of the complex. “Yes, OK!” I said a bit frazzled. Almost instantaneously some youths appeared and grabbed our bags. I assumed that they would take us to the cars outside. But I was wrong. We were quickly ushered into an elevator, and, instead of heading outside, the lift was headed down to the basement. Mum and I looked blankly at each other. What was going on? When the elevator opened, we were in a basement carpark and another character presented himself to us. “Where do you want to go?” “The Scribe Hotel,” I said. “Yes, the Scribe, €100?” Mum and I looked at each other again. Neither of us had a clue about what was going on. I started to think we were caught up in a scam. Something, definitely, was not right. Not knowing how the fella would react, I looked him in the eye and quizzed. “€100 is far too much?” “OK — €50, we take you to Scribe Hotel,” the man shouted back as a van raced up beside us. Still bamboozled, I nodded, and before you knew it, we were ushered into the vehicle, and it headed out of the basement and into traffic. I held tightly onto Mum’s hand. I was, now, pretty worried. Were we being kidnapped? As the vehicle sped through Paris, I began to look around. Before long, I spied the famous opera building, and the nervous sweat stopped dropping from my forehead. I knew our hotel was close by. And within minutes we stopped, the door rolled open, and there was the guy, waiting for his €50. We stepped on to the pavement to see our luggage sitting on the sidewalk, right in front of us. Phewww! We were safe at the Scribe Hotel. I promptly paid the man, and as quickly as he appeared, he and his van were gone. With our hearts still pumping, Mum and I entered a beautiful lobby. The concierge walked up and smiled. “Welcome to Paris…” Peter Fiorenza hosts Fiorenza on Sunday between 10am and noon on Radio MAMA