Why I'm Never Going Back to France.

I enjoyed Paris, it is a beautiful city, but I definitely thing there's too much hoopla going on about this city.

Armed with a map, I almost never had to ask for directions, or for anything much else, so at the end of my trip, I was pleasantly surprised that the infamous French arrogance wasn't shoved in my face. In fact, when I was heading to somewhere else, or back to Paris on the trains armed with my suitcases, there were dozens of guys who offered to carry my suitcase up and down for me [an offer they'd regret immediately after because of how freaking heavy my suitcases are!]. I presumed the French were pulling up their socks - or so I thought.

When I was going through immigration, at the Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, the guy at the counter who was supposed to stamp my passport had me standing in front of the counter for about two minutes while he chatted with his colleague in French, while the whole time he had my passport in his hands. He then asked me whether I spoke French in French, and I said no. He asked if I was from Singapore, and then, asked if I were Muslim, obviously because of my name. When I nodded yes, he made a face, and started talking to his colleague once again and left me waiting.

He looked back at me and gestured his head up as though asking me 'What do you want?' and while I was annoyed, pissed off and very, very offended, I really didn't want to miss my flight by pissing an immigration officer off. After waiting for about five minutes like a fool while he happily chatted to his colleague and throwing me a disgusted face every time our eyes met, he stamped my passport and let me go. Motherfucker.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I'm never ever stepping my foot in France again. You can shove your baguettes up your fucking asses and be sure I'll never spend a single cent in France.

I'd rather be in Spain any day.