May 15, 2010

Top: The cottage where we stayed.

Middle: The girls browsing in Loumarin, where Camus lived and is buried.

Bottom: The chateau outside of Aix-en-Provence.

Dude, Where's My Chateau?

The girls and I looked at the calendar and said OMD!!! (Oh Mon Dieu!). We only have about two months left in Europe; we gotta travel, baby! So, because the French are celebrating the Ascension and the girls had Thursday and Friday off, we traveled to Provence for the weekend. We stayed in a cottage on the grounds of a beautiful chateau outside Aix-en-Provence (see picture above).

We spent one afternoon in Aix, soaking up the sights in a southern French city. Very different atmosphere than Paris (think San Francisco versus New York City). It's a big university town, so lots of young'uns. The next day we spent enjoying the chateau; we played tennis and the girls swam in the pool and jumped on the trampoline. The owners are British and bought the place, in ruins, 8 years ago, spent the first year remodeling the three cottages on the grounds and are now working on the chateau itself. This story led to much dreaming (Erin: "Mommy, can we buy a chateau?), (Megan: Mom, think about it, it's an investment, we could rent it out when we're not using it!!). Claire ran the numbers on her financial calculator and realized it doesn't make financial sense. Yet.

Thursday evening, we decided to venture back into Aix for dinner. But, we were low on gas, so first we looked for a gas station. You would think by now I would have learned. It was Ascension Thursday, after all. You guessed it. We had a better chance of being hit by a meteorite than finding a gas station open. So, having learned from my husband (Rob "Intrepid" Pulkownik), we drove towards the autoroute thinking we'd have better luck there. One teensy little problem; I got on the autoroute going the wrong way. ("Told ya," said Megan, without raising her eyes from her book). And, of course, once you get on the autoroute, it's almost impossible to get off. Oh, and no gas station in sight. By this time, our little rental car was on empty. We finally spotted a sign telling us that the next gas station was 20 kilometers away. I told the girls we didn't have 20 kilometers worth of gas.

So, we decided to get off at the next exit and head into the village in search of gasoline. There were gas stations, but none of them were open. In fact, there was nothing open except one tiny little bar. I parked and went in to ask the locals where I could find a gas station. A brief summary of my conversation.

Me: Hi, can you tell me where the nearest gas station is located?

Drunk local (pointing): Yes, it is right down that street. However, it is not open.

Me: Ok, can you tell me where I can find a gas station that is open?

Another drunk local (coming over to help): Madame, are you aware that today is Ascension Thursday? In France, this is a very holy day. A holy day of obligation. It is today that we celebrate the ascension of Jesus Christ into heaven, forty days after Easter.

Me: Yes, I know, but I am almost out of gas.

First drunk local: We have many charming customs to celebrate this most holy of days. I like to pretend I am ascending as well by drinking vins de pays until I can no longer stand. It is as if I am flying.

Second drunk local: At any rate, Madame, you will have to go the neighboring village to find a gas station. It will not be open but there is an automatic machine into which you can put your carte bleu.

Me: This is excellent news! I have a carte bleu! (And a carte de sejours which no one ever wants to see). I will now drive to the neighboring village to find the gas station that is closed but has an automatic machine. Thank you very much for your help!

First drunk local: If you do not find the gas station or you run out of gas along the way, you are most welcome to come back here and drink yourself into ascension with us.

At this point, all of the patrons of the bar (which means the whole village, because it was the only place open on Ascension Thursday) either poured into the street or ran to the window to watch this silly American woman and her three giggling children turn around and head to the next village.

By this time, I was really nervous. We were below empty in boohickey Provence and the nearest gas station was in a village 9 kilometers away. We got there, and after a few turns, found the gas station with the automatic machine. There was much cheering! We pulled in ...

and the automatic machine was broken. A car pulled in right behind us with a handsome young French couple. Turns out they were in the same fix. The young man's parents live in the village, and he was so desperate he was about to call them to bring him some gasoline. But, he reminded me, this was Ascension Thursday. He was unwilling to disturb them. Together, after a lengthy conference (during which I glanced longingly at what were clearly full tanks of gasoline locked up in a cage and thought about what I could find to break the lock and steal a tank), we decided to convoy back into the village in search of an open gas station. I knew this was futile (Jesus Christ himself apparently couldn't buy gas today), but we had company! French company! No one could make fun of us for being stupid Americans, because we were right behind a stupid French couple!! We drove back into the village and into the first gas station we saw. It was closed of course. Then Claire spotted a parked tow truck with a phone number. Brilliant!

I called the number.

Woman: Allo?

Me: Hi, I'm at your gas station and I'm out of gas.

Woman: So? We are closed.

Me: Yes, I know. Can you direct me to the nearest gas station that is open?

Woman: Madame, it is 7:45 in the evening. It is Ascension Thursday!! There are no gas stations open at this time on this most holy of days!

Me (now heartily sick of hearing about Ascension Thursday): Please will you speak to my new best friend?

I put the young French dude on and he prevailed upon them to come to the gas station and open it up. Something about his parents owning the land upon which the gas station was located.

Then, the young Frenchman said to me. You are very smart. I would never have thought to call the number on the tow truck.

I nodded smugly and said, Yep. Good 'ole American ingenuity. You might recall we fired up a few tanks of the stuff during WW II. Saved your bacon then, too. Ascension Thursday notwithstanding.

I've decided it would ruin the moment if I mentioned that it was my 11-year-old that actually saved the day.

I am not kidding when I tell you that 30 seconds later, a very disgruntled gentleman appeared, and angrily pumped gas, first for the young and handsome French couple, then for us. Turns out he lives across the street.

I apologized profusely for disturbing his dinner, and thanked him for rescuing us.

He wagged his finger at me. Be careful Madame, he said. It is, after all Ascension Thursday.