"Paris Hates Me" a Paris Travel Page by LolaSanFrancisco

I know, I know. I'm the only person in the world who hates Paris, but I do.

I have been to Paris three times now, and each time it was made apparent to me that no matter what I’m doing, how much money I bring, Paris thinks I suck. And money can’t buy its love

The first time was on my epic-backpacking trip with my boyfriend at the time. We landed there about 1 week into our 5-week trip. I think we still liked each other, however, my love was starting to ware off. You would think that “Romantic Paris” would have some sort of effect on me, wrong. We did the bare necessities: the Louver, Jim Morison’s Grave -Cimetiere du Pere-Lachaise, The futuristic Centre Georges Pompidou in Paris, and Versailles.
I hit Paris on the way back from Greece several weeks later, on my way to Amsterdam. And by that time, I was totally sick of my said boyfriend, and actually tried to ditch him in Athens. But he followed me anyhow. The only reason I stopped in Paris this time was I was tired and needed a rest. So I picked the greatest hostel EVER!
It had two guarded wings, one for boys and other for girls. I was able to successfully sleep and hide from said boyfriend for two days. I simply told the front desk staff that I hated my boyfriend, he sucked, and to please keep him away from me. And they did! I’m not sure if that was a French thing, or a girl-to-girl thing, but I needed space and got it. I never ventured out of the hostel the whole time.

10 years later….
At the travel agency I was working at at the time, I was planning a very upscale group tour of Paris for a group of 50. The hotel they chose was the Hotel de’ Crillion, very famous hotel in Paris, about $800 a night. The hotel invited me to do a site inspection, stay for free! I thought BINGO! I can’t have a bad time in Paris going totally swanky swank now can I? Wrong.
I was at Cannabis Cup in Amsterdam in the winter of 2001, and tacked Paris on at the end. The hotel arranged for one of my friends and I to have first class train tickets to Paris, a limo pick us up and take us to the Hotel and a car take me back the next day.
To make a long story short, my “friend” got too drunk, started yelling at the French, and passed out buck-naked on the bed by 8:00pm. Once again, not even doing it 5star makes a difference, Paris hates me, and I should never go back.

UPDATE: September 17, 2006
Brace yourself... I'm going back to try it again. Oh really, you think I'm a crazy do ya? Well crazy like a fox, maybe. Maybe. This time, going middle of the road: 3 star hotel in St. Germain location, bringing most steady of my slutty drunkard girlfriends, and a movable bar. This town thinks is so fancy, well I'm the one with posable thumbs dang it. Lets see Paris beat me a thumb rasel.