A Strange Trip to Disneyland Paris

Since I had applied for my visa through France and had not entered the country using my new visa, I had to spend at least one night in Paris. When I checked hotel prices, I changed my mind. I decided to spend a few hours at the airport and then head straight to Lisbon, the capital of Portugal. The only problem was that I had to provide an address where I would be staying when entering the country.

I discussed it with one of my friends, and he suggested Disneyland. Since the weather was getting cooler, it was possible to find inexpensive hotels near Disneyland Paris. Disneyland was about 40 minutes from Paris, so I decided to go there directly from the airport, visit Disneyland, and spend the night there, especially since I hadn’t had a chance to see it on my previous visit. So I booked a hotel near Disneyland for just one-quarter of what I would have paid in Paris.

About nine months earlier, a Frenchman named Antoine had come to my home in Tehran. He had brought two other French guys with him, whom he had met at the airport. They stayed at my place for a few days. I decided to let him know that I was coming to France, too. He lived in Lyon, in southern France, but said he would come to Disneyland with me. Less than an hour later, he had bought a ticket for himself. He also arranged a direct train ticket to Disneyland for me and sent it to me.

I thought I might as well let two other friends know. I told Thomas and Tanguy that Antoine and I were going to Disneyland. Tanguy said he was leaving France for Chile that very night. Thomas said he was very busy, but that I could stay at his place for the night. He also sent me a photo of his amazing home in Paris. I was very tempted, but there was another problem: the hotel I had booked was non-refundable.

I opened the app again and checked my hotel reservation. To my complete surprise, I discovered that Booking.com had made an exception and allowed me to cancel the hotel within 24 hours. I canceled it immediately and told Thomas that I would come to Paris to see him. He sent me his address.

This wasn’t the only strange thing about this trip. Six months earlier, I had spent two months on complete bed rest at home because of a herniated disc. I decided to write a novel with a cultural theme, in the form of a travelogue. I used my travelogue Northern Lights as a starting point and made a few changes to it. I shifted some of the dates around and added a little imagination, then published the book under the title The Arctic Circle.

In one of the chapters, I wrote about the French guys coming to my home and incorporated a few cultural observations into the story. At the end, I had written this sentence: “Today, as I write this, six months have passed since that story, and I am sitting in Thomas’s home in Paris.”

I had completely forgotten about it. When I told my sister that Thomas had invited me to stay at his place, she was astonished. She said, “Exactly six months ago, you wrote in your book that you were going to Thomas’s house!”

I arrived in Paris in the morning. Antoine had sent me a step-by-step guide on how to catch the train to Disneyland. It really was confusing. Without his instructions, I would have gotten lost just as I had the previous time. Charles de Gaulle Airport is extremely confusing.

If you plan to visit Disneyland, the cheaper but slower option is to take the metro. You need to buy a ticket for Zone 5, which costs around €14 for a round trip. However, I recommend getting a weekly pass, which is much more economical and can be topped up. Just remember to bring a passport-sized photo.

The second option is the TGV train, which takes only about 10 minutes to reach Disneyland, but costs around €22. You get off at the first station.

Antoine and I spent the day at Disneyland until the evening, reliving our childhood memories. We had talked about Disney many times in university classes, but seeing all the details up close was especially valuable to me.

I checked Thomas’s address on Google Maps and followed its directions, taking the metro to his place. When I got off, I realized that this was the same metro station where I had accidentally gotten off on my previous visit because my GPS hadn’t been working. Thomas’s home was also on the very same street I had first walked into when I arrived in Paris.

After The Arctic Circle, I wrote a fictional novel called Coma, about an anesthesiologist who falls into a coma.

I met Thomas at a café next to his home. We had arranged to meet there for convenience. He gave me a warm welcome. I was incredibly happy to see him, and at the same time, I was still a little bewildered by the strange events that had recently taken place.

One of his friends joined us a few minutes later. Thomas introduced us and mentioned that his friend was a doctor. I asked, “A general practitioner or a specialist?” He replied, “I’m an anesthesiologist.”

We went to Thomas’s home together. It was a quintessential old French house. The spiral staircase and small elevator, the ornate ceiling moldings and wooden wall paneling, combined with the modern interior design, created a very interesting atmosphere.

We sat for a while on his incredible balcony. Then Thomas told me that he would be leaving the house at six the next morning because he had to travel to another city for work. I told him that was perfectly fine and that I would leave with him.

I slept on the sofa in a sleeping bag that night. I was still trying to make sense of all the strange events. I woke up early the next morning and left the house with Thomas. I said goodbye to him and thanked him for his hospitality.

My flight wasn’t until the evening, so I had time to walk around the streets of Paris and revisit some old memories. I walked for a few hours, had some coffee, and then made my way to the airport without rushing.