I arrived in Paris, although I don’t remember going there, and looked into my suitcase. There were no toiletries. Then I realised it was a small weekend case.
The bathroom was in several levels, which made it interesting enough to make me wish mine were like that.
I attended a forum or class with several other people, where nothing was resolved. I walked around during the discussion and discovered “Scott” was lying face down on a desk. I suggested adjournment, and the French leader concurred. An old woman in the back began speaking in French. Her vocabulary and grammar were impressive, but her accent was terrible.
At home or in the room (not sure if there was before or after or even part of another scenario), there was a bee buzzing around that my friend and I sprayed. It moved afterwards, stuck on a book, but it appeared to be quite dead. But days later it was flying around to our surprise and horror. It landed on me, and my friend sprayed it until I realised that I didn’t want to be covered with chemicals. The bee lived on.