A series of short stories........
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| French Charm At It's Best |
.......as seen through my
By: Jacqueline E. Hughes
Claudine stood tall and strong within her five-foot, three-inch frame as she verbally battled away in her native French language. She was a proud soldier that morning, just on the outskirts of Aix-en-Provence, and we were fortunate enough to have her on our side!
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Our saga began, as it occasionally does, when attempting to find your hotel within a city that blossoms out like an ancient, golden flower from the city center (Centreville). And, you must tackle it by peeling it back, layer by layer, pedal by pedal, until you recognize a street name or a fountain or a cathedral that's been etched on your brain through months and months of research and planning. Whew! In addition, we were entering Aix, population over 144,000 (not including tourists), at around five o'clock in the evening on a Friday night in early September......
Picking-Up Our Rental Car In Nice "This is like looking for a needle in a haystack," Dan shouted, after turning down the same one-way street for the third time. And, to make matters worse, our little, grey Citroen rental car was literally crawling through a mass of humanity as we navigated the tiny cobbled street again and again. "I'll try giving the hotel a call. Maybe they can tell us how close we are." Dialing our cell, I reached the desk clerk at the Hotel de France on the first try! Now it was a matter of letting him know approximately where we were and have him tell us our current relationship to 63 Rue Espariat, the address we were looking for.
Our View From Inside Exhausted and momentarily weary of humanity, our destination for one night loomed in the distance.....like the ancient structure it was, built of grey/black stone and shrouded in variegated dark shadows......we were on the very edge of the old city center and the maddening crowd was pouring in en masse for a lively evening of food, drink and merriment. Soon, we hoped to be doing the same.
Dan was delighted to find a small parking lot with one space available adjacent to the hotel. So, we squeezed in for the night and hauled our luggage back to our hotel to check-in. We were in such an ideal location, really, with shops, restaurants, night life and the Cours Mirabeau, the famed tree-lined avenue named for Honore Gabriel Riqueti, comte de Mirabeau, a French politician who was a leader of the early stages of the French revolution, just a few blocks away. I wish we had been there one day earlier when the vendors lined the Cours Mirabeau with their magnificent wares from homemade cheeses and breads to hand-printed and brightly colored tablecloths making-up one of the largest street markets in Provence. We had been to several in and around Sablet, the hilltop town in the Rhone valley where we had rented a French gite (rental property) for the week, before leaving for Aix to visit Claudine.
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| Fontaine de la Rotonde |
Aix, known for being a college town, constantly reflected its youthful exuberance everywhere we went. The narrow streets were 'full of life' and the wide avenue and heart of the old city, Cours Mirabeau, was jammed with locals, students, as well as tourists from all around the world!
To satiate an early hunger (brought on by stress, I'm sure), we stopped to watch an Asian couple making enormous crepes in their tiny shop and filling each thin, egg pancake with a variety of treats such as Nutella, peanut butter or several kinds of cheese. I opted for a whole wheat crepe oozing with melted cheese, folded in half and then folded again creating a perfect 'walk-as-you-eat' delicacy. "This should do the trick until seriously deciding where to eat later tonight," I proclaimed.
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| Eglise Saint-Jean-de-Malte |
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| Fountain of the Rotonde |
The following day was going to be one of our 'sweetest' yet 'busiest' days of this particular visit to France! Sweetest because we were to meet our friend, Claudine, for an early breakfast at one of the cafés lining Cour Mirabeau. Busiest because upon leaving Aix-en-Provence, we were going to 'fly' down the E80, equivalent to our interstate highways, in our little rental car and cross the boarder into Italy for a short visit before heading back to our hotel near Nice for the night. Yes, we knew that Sunday would be a (whirlwind) kind of day but with Claudine's company in the morning and tucking ourselves in for a good night's rest in Nice on the evening before flying home......life was looking really good!!
All we had to do now was find a great place to grab a late evening meal before heading back to the Hotel de France. Tucked neatly off a small side street three blocks from our hotel, we discovered a small, eight-top (perhaps ten) little gem of a restaurant where we plunged into a light and satisfying repast complete with adequate amounts of French baguette et beurre and a bottle of local Rhone Bourboulenc to compliment the meal. Ah.....heaven on earth!
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| Claudine and Me |
Returning, albeit lethargically, to our hotel, we decided to go via the parking lot to make sure our car was okay and ready for our early departure. The lot remained completely full and our travel 'lifeline' was happily settled-in for the night. Now, it was our turn.
The morning brought us sunshine and contentment, much needed after such a rocky adventure into dreamland. Between the hotel's neon signage just outside our window and the popular nightclub on the other side of the fountain, strobe lights, neon, music and loud conversations swaddled us in their abundance of energy until after four o'clock in the morning! With the sun playing off the bubbling water in the fountain below our window in the square, Dan and I dressed and made our way down to the lobby to meet Claudine.
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| Claudine, Ali and Florence |
Entering the lobby, her bright smile sparkled and warmed our hearts as it had done upon first meeting her a year ago in Florida. "Bonjour mes amies! Comment ca va?" With a brief kiss on either cheek for both of us, Dan and I followed her out into the morning sunshine for our brisk walk to an open café along Cours Mirabeau for strong coffee, croissants and warm conversation. Even though our time together was concise, we caught-up with all the important aspects of our lives and then some. We told her of our desire to return and she said that she would point-out several much more comfortable places to stay that would guarantee us a better night's sleep....if nothing else!
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| The Perfect French Breakfast!! |
Since she had walked from her apartment to meet us, we all walked back to the hotel before sadly saying our good-byes. The three of us duly noted the occasional antique car passing by us along the Rue de la Couronne and enjoyed how well restored and maintained the American-made Ford and Chevrolet cars were and wondered if they would be paraded down a main avenue sometime after our departure that morning. And, with a heartfelt a bientot (until soon, I hope) liberally passed around with Claudine's promise to be our personal guide on our return visit to Aix, we watched her walk out of our lives once again before scurrying upstairs for our luggage and the promise of Italian vistas.
"What the hell is wrong?" was the best I could come up with as I studied the stunned and lost expression glued to my husband's face when he returned to our room carrying the same luggage he'd left with moments ago. "It's gone, Jackie! Our car is gone!," Dan repeated. "What do you mean gone? Was it stolen?" I asked. "If you mean by the gendarme, yes! They towed it away to God only knows where along with every other car in the lot." Speaking in torrents of pain and panic he continued, "I tried to talk to the officer...in French even, to tell him we are tourists and it is a rental car and ask him how do we get it back and he just pointed to one small paper sign attached to a post and it was written in French. Then, he just turned away from me altogether!" Evidently, the female gendarme at the scene at least told Dan that the small paper sign informed car owners that this lot was to be evacuated by eight o'clock that morning due to city business. At eight we were finishing breakfast with Claudine and beginning our walk back to the hotel.
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| Admiring the Antique Ford |
Ten minutes later, the three of us were strategizing, with Claudine, clearly, being the most level-headed. "I have never before owned a car or felt I needed to," she stated. "We will go down and find out what's happening and just where your car has been towed and take it from there, okay?" Leaving our luggage at the desk so that we could check-out of our room, the three of us walked to the parking lot like soldiers heading into battle. Claudine found the male officer and he was as evasive with her, a local speaking his own language, as he had been with Dan. Assuming he'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed, she turned to the female officer and ascertained that our car was towed to the car impound yard on the outskirts of Aix and that we would need cash only to pay the fines and, hopefully, get it back on a Sunday morning. OMG....here we go again! Didn't see that one coming!
Not only did we not see the small sign (tacked-up just before the towing festivities began, I'm sure), but we missed the deadline by mere minutes even if we had. Next, we needed cash and the assurance that someone was working at the impound yard on a Sunday and willing to accept said cash in exchange for the release of our rental car. As Dan ran over to the nearest ATM, Claudine and I looked around the emptying lot. Tears welled-up in my eyes as it slowly registered that the antique vehicles we ogled only a short time before were being driven and parked into the newly emptied spaces of the lot to be placed on public display here for the day. What? Did the spirits of Detroit just manifest long enough to bite us in the ass? I do believe they did....
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| Aix Impound Yard (Fourriere) |
Claudine hailed a cab and we rode to the impound yard (fourriere). In order to prove that the rental car was legally ours, they allowed Dan access to the glove box to extract our rental agreement. Now, we were to conduct business with a gentleman located behind a small, white window. Claudine, of course, did most of the talking. Occasionally, we saw her expression soften and then tighten-up as her conversation with the man became more emphasized and animated. She kept us informed of the pertinent details and discovered we would need to pay a cash fine for the towing and related fees that day and then we had ninety days to pay the fine for the actual ticket that had been written. Total for the two fines was nearly two-hundred Euro with eighty Euro due immediately.
We stood at that window like three Musketeers until paperwork had been typed-up and signed, money exchanged and receipt printed out.....around forty-five minutes to an hour in total. The man handed us the ticket with instructions for payment and gave us permission to enter our vehicle. Nice! As we were driving back into town to park in an underground ramp (our initial mistake), Claudine filled us in on her earlier emotional discussion. "I asked him if he thought this was any way to treat Americans who came to France to spend their money and invest in our city through tourism. Should we not treat tourists with respect so that they will return and bring others with them?" she declared. He told her this was not his problem, simple as that. Claudine told us it was a tact (savoir-faire) that she hoped would soften his heart and make him see reason. I love her....even if it didn't actually work!
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| Claudine and a Very Grateful Husband |
***Let me know if you'd like to hear what happened after we finally left Aix-en-Provence that Sunday morning. If I have enough interested readers, I will make this my next blog.
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| Cafes and Shops Along The Cours Mirabeau |
Copyright © 2014 by Jacqueline E. Hughes
All rights reserved
