I Changed My Vacation from a Cab at 11pm the Night Before I Left
And it all worked out.
The night before my boyfriend and I were supposed to leave for Paris, the forecast said it would reach 100 degrees, or “hot af,” as
translated in her newsletter.Of course, the Airbnb I booked for the week was non-refundable, and could only offer a “portable air conditioner” for respite. A perk in a city where window units are as rare as peanut butter products, to be sure. But I didn’t know exactly what that meant, and I was also skeptical that it even existed, so I messaged the host to confirm that chill air would be available to us.
“The portable ac is currently in repair,” replied the host, adding a sad face emoji for emphasis. Quel dommage. She offered us a fan or a refund. I took the refund.
Suddenly, we were free. Should we book a hotel? Nope. No rooms left that didn’t cost twice as much. What about another Airbnb? We’d just sat down for dinner at a well-air-conditioned French restaurant on the Upper West Side, and as I sipped my ice-cold martini, a shocking thought occurred to me: What if we just didn’t stay in Paris?
God, it’s such a thrill to cancel your own plans. We were giddy, rubbing our hands together as though the refund had suddenly made us rich. Where would we go? We could do anything!!!
Being the super original and intrepid New Yorkers that we are, we decided to go to Marseille, a place both of us had been multiple times before. Since the trip was last-minute, we wanted to pick a place we knew. At least we’d be near the water.
After dinner, we went to see Ramy Youssef’s show at the Beacon Theater, and they took our phones away and locked them in those ugly security bags at the door. Didn’t they know that we had an entirely new and exciting vacation to plan?? So many Airbnb interiors to scrutinize, so little time…
As soon as we got out, we called an Uber and got to work. From our phones, we booked a one-night hotel stay in Paris with Delta points, purchased train tickets to Marseille, and found an Airbnb with good reviews right on the water in Malmousque. Sorted.
When we got there, everything was going great—we swam, we spent a day on a boat with a dog named Kiwi, we ate panisse and drank pastis (gross), and even found the time to try (and fail) to acquire a jar of El Mordjene—until my phone was swiped from a table outside our Airbnb by some punk on our last night. I’d been super careful the whole trip, but I looked away for one second, and well, that’ll do it.
You know it was a good vacation, though, because this didn’t ruin it even a little bit. My phone was gone, and I wasn’t getting it back. I just had to roll with the punches and pray I had Apple Care with “Theft and Loss,” which I later learned I did not. (It is now included with Apple Care, of course.)
Below are pictures of me caressing my device before it floated away on Find My iPhone, and I erased it for good. RIP. Thank you, phone, for allowing me to change my vacation plans at the last minute. I love you.
The night it was stolen, I sat bolt upright in bed. “Oh my god, I didn’t change my Substack password!!!”
“Babe,” my boyfriend said, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Nobody here reads Substack.”
RELATED:
Honored to be mentioned and to have kind of contributed to a clever vacation swerve! Love from the land of portable ACs with those elephant trunk tubes that hang out the window, thus letting in even more hot air 🐘❄️
condolences on the phone loss and congratulations on the vacation plan change <3