Molissa Smith - 25 Jun, 2026
0 commentsA couple of months ago, a Habiqo member named Remi posted in our private Facebook group offering his home in Paris as a SandDollar exchange.
I've been to Paris several times before, but I'm always looking for an excuse to go back.
There's something about Paris that changes the pace I travel.
Not richer exactly, but perhaps a little more sophisticated.
It's a city that makes me want to wander through museums, sit in cafés for longer than necessary and spend an evening listening to classical music rather than rushing from one attraction to the next.
So when I saw Remi's post, I thought:
Why not?
I logged into Habiqo, checked the dates he had available and sent him a message.
A few hours later, he replied.
What started as a simple exchange request soon became platform messages, WhatsApp conversations and a couple of phone calls.
We agreed the dates, talked through the practical details and worked out things like key collection and access to the apartment.
About twenty minutes into our first phone call, Remi suddenly stopped.
"I've just realised who you are."
Until that moment, he had no idea he was speaking to the founder of Habiqo.
As far as he was concerned, I was simply another member arranging a home exchange.
And honestly, I liked that.
Everything was organised.
My flights were booked.
The apartment was waiting.
Then, eight hours before I was due to leave for Paris, everything changed.

Around midnight on the Friday before my Saturday morning flight, I received the kind of phone call every parent dreads.
My 16-year-old son had been knocked off his bicycle.
Thankfully, his injuries weren't serious, but the hours that followed involved police reports, doctors, phone calls and a lot of uncertainty.
My flight was due to leave just a few hours later.
Under normal circumstances, I would have been heading to the airport at around 8 a.m.
Instead, I was trying to work out whether the trip could happen at all.
By around three o'clock in the morning, it had become clear that I wasn't going to make my flight.
Remy was travelling himself later that day, so I wanted him to know what had happened as soon as he woke up.
I sent him a voice message explaining the situation.
When he replied, the first thing he asked wasn't about the apartment.
It wasn't about the keys.
It wasn't about the dates.
It was simply:
"Is your son okay?"
Only after that did we start talking about the exchange.
The biggest challenge wasn't the exchange itself.
It was the logistics.
We had arranged for family members to hand over the keys, and suddenly those plans no longer worked.
Rather than giving up on the exchange, Remi immediately started looking for another solution.
If I could travel a couple of days later, he could arrange for the keys to be left with someone in the building.
The invitation was still there.
At the same time, the airline was surprisingly accommodating.
Because I contacted them before my original flight departed, they allowed me to move my booking and reduced some of the change fees because of the family emergency.
What could easily have become a cancelled trip became a postponed one instead.
Only later did I realise why it had all been so much easier than I expected.
Had this been a traditional simultaneous home exchange, another family's holiday would also have been thrown into uncertainty.
Instead, we only needed to move one stay.
At the time, I was simply relieved the trip was still possible.
Looking back, I realised that flexibility would become one of the biggest lessons I took away from the entire experience.

When I finally arrived, everything felt easy.
The apartment was spotless.
Clean, uncluttered, welcoming.
Waiting for me was a handwritten note from Remi that simply said:
"Welcome home, Molissa."
After the stress of the previous couple of days, those few words meant more than he probably realised.
I unpacked, looked around, and immediately felt at ease.
The apartment was close to a metro station, with a supermarket practically next door.
One of the first things I did was pick up the ingredients for my morning smoothies.
It's a small detail, but that's one of the things I enjoy about home exchange.
You settle into your normal routines surprisingly quickly.
Once everything was put away, I did what I always do when I arrive in a new city.
I found a rooftop overlooking Paris.
A cocktail in hand, I finally allowed myself to relax and appreciate the fact that the trip was actually happening.

Because the weather was so warm, I planned just one main activity each day and spent the rest of my time simply wandering wherever Paris happened to take me.
Of course, I visited the major landmarks.
I spent four hours wandering around the Louvre.
I returned to see the Mona Lisa, despite having seen it before.
Some things are worth seeing twice.
I finally visited Notre-Dame, which somehow I had missed on previous trips, and it completely lived up to expectations.
One evening, I also attended a classical concert at La Madeleine, which felt like the perfect way to end a day in the city.
But the moments I remember most weren't necessarily the famous ones.
Each morning, I would leave the apartment and stop at the same café on my way into the city.
Remi had a coffee machine, but I didn't know how to use it.
Everything else in the apartment was easy to use, but I wasn't prepared to experiment with a machine I didn't fully understand.
It did make me appreciate the value of a good home manual.
Instead, I bought coffee.
And perhaps one too many croissants.
Along with fresh pain au chocolat that tasted nothing like the frozen supermarket versions I occasionally buy for my children.
By the third day, the staff recognised me.
We communicated through a mixture of English, French, gestures, and enthusiasm.
The waitress told me she wanted to improve her English.
I attempted my very limited French.
Neither of us was particularly successful, but somehow we understood each other perfectly.
Those little interactions became part of my daily routine.
By the third day, I wasn't simply visiting the neighbourhood anymore.
I was beginning to feel part of it.


One afternoon, while walking through the city, I stopped to photograph a beautiful building.
As I stood there looking at the picture I'd just taken, I noticed a restaurant underneath it.
Outside was a menu board advertising escargot.
Years earlier, I'd tried escargot during another trip to France and had always wanted to try it again.
So I walked inside and asked whether I needed a reservation.
The waitress smiled and told me that because I was dining alone, they could probably find space for me.
I returned that same evening.
The same waitress recognised me immediately and found me a table.
The escargot arrived beautifully prepared with butter, herbs, and all the things that make French food so difficult to resist.
It was excellent.
In fact, I went back and ordered it again later in the week.
That restaurant wasn't on my itinerary.
I hadn't read about it online.
Nobody recommended it.
I found it simply because I was there.

One of the biggest surprises of the trip was a perfume workshop at the Fragonard Perfume Museum.
I booked it on a whim.
It ended up being one of my favourite experiences in Paris.
I learned about the history of perfume in France, how fragrance was worn centuries ago, and some of the traditions surrounding it.
We learned how different perfumes were applied, the messages they sometimes conveyed, and how fragrance became woven into everyday French life.
At the end of the workshop, I left with a perfume I had created myself.
I enjoyed it far more than I expected.
Sometimes the experiences that stay with you are the ones you never planned.

This exchange was made possible through SandDollars.
Remi had chosen to make his home available through a SandDollar exchange because he planned to use those SandDollars for another stay with a Habiqo member.
I offered five SandDollars for the stay.
When my trip was delayed, the dates changed, but the overall length of the exchange remained almost exactly the same.
The flexibility of the arrangement meant neither of us had to start again from scratch.
Looking back, I found myself particularly grateful that this wasn't a simultaneous exchange.
Had another family been planning to stay in my home at the same time, the situation would have been much more complicated.
Instead, we were able to adjust the dates without disrupting another member's travel plans.
It's exactly the kind of flexibility SandDollars were designed to create.

When I boarded the plane home, I was grateful for many things.
The museums.
The cafés.
The rooftop views.
The perfume workshop.
The unexpected restaurant.
The long walks through Paris.
But more than anything, I felt grateful for the people.
For Remi's kindness.
For his flexibility.
For the understanding he showed when life unexpectedly got in the way.
Home exchange is often described in terms of houses, destinations and travel opportunities.
But the longer I'm part of this community, the more convinced I become that the real value lies elsewhere.
It lies in the people.
The generosity.
The trust.
The willingness to help one another when things don't go according to plan.
Eight hours before my flight to Paris, I genuinely thought the trip might not happen.
A few days later, I was sitting on a rooftop overlooking the city.
Sometimes that's all the reminder you need that travel isn't really about places.
It's about people.

If my experience has shown you anything, I hope it's this: home exchange is about far more than saving money on accommodation. It's about the people you meet, the flexibility you gain, and the freedom to experience a destination in a completely different way.
Whether you're interested in a traditional reciprocal exchange or the flexibility of SandDollars, Habiqo makes both possible. If you'd like to explore available homes, learn more about how home exchange works, or discover how SandDollars make flexible travel possible, we'd love to welcome you to our community.
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