Ride into Paris

I am exhausted. We have just landed in Paris from our 11-hour flight from Sao Paolo. The girls were particularly fussy during the entire flight: the little one, one-year-old Olivia, couldn't stand the pressure on her ears and cried non-stop on take-off, landing and during turbulence, which was particularly bad this time. This was driving the passengers around us crazy, and a couple of times we got not only stern looks but also comments like "Can't you do anything to stop your baby from crying?" Like as a parent I already don't feel bad and am irritating my babies on purpose so that they annoy other passengers.

Clara, our 4-year-old, was fussing about the food and snacks, and didn't sleep much. She is usually a lot calmer, but this was such a long flight that she ran out of patience and started to test ours. Besides, she was also concerned that Olivia was crying all the time, must be sisterly anxiety.

Anyway, I am glad the flight is over. We've cleared the passport control (it helps that we have European Union passports) and are out of the baggage area. My wonderful husband Ronaldo is pushing the cart with all our suitcases while also carrying Clara, who is now sound asleep on his shoulder. She is completely out, dangling her legs as he walks. I don't know how he does it. I'm pushing the stroller with Olivia who is also asleep now. I wish they'd both slept like that on the flight.

We just need to get to the city by train and get to the hotel. I can't wait to put the girls to bed properly and to take a long bath. I need and totally deserve it, my entire body is so sore and tired.

We get to the train ticketing area and oh no, the line is so long! Ronaldo leaves me with the cart to check out what is going on. In about 5 minutes, he comes back and says, "three out of six automatic ticket machines are out, people are queuing up to them and to the main ticketing office. Should we split and try to stand in two lines, whichever is faster?"

I nod desperately, whatever it takes. I just so want to get to the city!

Before we split up, I see a middle-aged woman in a stylish wool coat and a matching French-style beret approaching us. A tall young man is trailing behind her, rolling two suitcases. Must be her son, looks very much like her. Oh god, if she wants to ask for directions or something, I won't be able to help - this is our first time in Paris. I don't speak much French either.

"Excuse me, do you need tickets for the train to the city?" the woman asks in English, looking me straight into the eye.

The question was so unexpected I turn to my husband and ask in Portuguese, "What did she say?"

The woman smiles and repeats, "Do you need tickets to the city? We bought return tickets by mistake and won't need them, our flight to New York is in a couple of hours."

"Are you sure?" I suddenly realize what she's offering, thinking she was God-sent.

"Absolutely! As I said, we won't be able to use the tickets. And you look exhausted. I know how hard it is to travel with kids," she says, handing me the tickets.

"You can't even imagine, today was particularly bad," Ronaldo chimed in.

"Do I hear a Portuguese accent?" the woman asks.

"Maaaaam," her son says disapprovingly, rolling his eyes.

"I'm of age when I can ask where people are from, honey," she tells him and turns back to us.

"Oh, it's totally fine. Yes, we are from Brazil," I say, now holding the train tickets she gave us. "And where's your accent from?"

"I'm Russian, but now live in the States. This one is American," the woman says, proudly measuring her son with her eyes.

"Thank you so much! You don't even know how much this means to us, not to stand in line. Let me give you the money for the tickets," I reach for my wallet.

"Oh, just pay it forward to someone," the woman says and tells her son scrolling away on his smart phone, "Did you figure out where we need to go?" He nods, and as they walk away she tells us, "Have a good time in Paris, we loved it!"

"Thank you so much again!" we both say, and I ask Ronaldo, "What does 'pay it forward' mean?"

"I don't know, must be an American thing. I'll google it up on the train," he says as we move toward the train station, with tickets in hand.