I'll never forget the night I stayed in a ratty hotel run by an Arab/Maghreb man in the outskirts of Paris, during my vacation from reality last June/July.

I won't mention the name of the hotel but suffice to say it was in a "bad" quartier/neighbourhood. (My travel buddy and I had no idea it was supposedly unsafe for tourists until some locals told us.)

Our room wasn't too shabby, although our frenzied repacking of luggage that evening made the place look like it's been hit by a tornado. Or disastrously ransacked.


Anyway, in the middle of the night, like at 3AM or so after we've gone to bed, we heard people arguing really loudly on the sidewalk (we were on the second floor). There were raised voices, and they were all in Arabic. It wasn't scary per se, but it still made me nervous. Especially since the Arabic language can sound particularly rough when spoken harshly. I made no comment and tried to sleep, thinking my friend was too tired to listen.

The real scary part happened about ten minutes later, when, deeply ensconced in my blanket, I heard someone trying to open our frickin room door. There were bumps, the sound of keys jangling, then of a key being violently turned in the lock.

Pardon my French but I was all WHAT THE FUCK?!?

Then I heard the person talking incoherently, the key apparently stuck in the keyhole.

No, it did not make me feel better. Blanket up to my nose, I had a million thoughts in my head. Did this guy get his room number wrong? Should I wake my friend up? Should we hide or some shit? Grab a weapon? How bout we just jump out the window? Should we both get up and assume some sort of defensive stance? I can still throw a great punch, right?

I do not need some Taken crap happening to me in Paris! It was the freakiest sort of fear, not knowing what sort of person your attacker is. I couldn't move, irrationally afraid that if I turned to face my friend on the next bed, the person outside would hear me and kick the door down.

So I just hugged my pillow and blanket tighter, wishing for a miracle. I'm not sure how long I stayed that way (a minute or two, I suppose) (but I mean, it felt like a solid hour of mental torture), I heard the door open slowly.


BUT IT WASN'T OUR DOOR.

It was the room next to ours! The walls of this hotel were just paper thin! Oh God, I cannot tell you the absolute relief I felt. Yes, I was cursing the unnecessary worry that the walls put me through, but after that I slept way soundly.

I told my friend about it in the morning. She said she didn't know I was awake as well and she was going through the exact agony. Hah! A pox on thin walls! The night could have gone quite differently had we both sat up and started panicking. (Would've made a great story, though.)

Moral of the story? Forking out money for good, reputable accomodation while travelling is a reasonable price to pay for piece of mind.
Especially if you're not Liam Neeson.