Renault Diaries

People in France do not drive so much as play a life size game of bumper cars. The traffic lines are merely decorative; the roads so narrow that I had to suck in my croissant shaped gut in order to fit; and right-of-way is determined by the person who is first to flinch. This mad max reality pretty much guarantees you are going to get hit at some point. Rubbing is racing. Even if you are fortunate enough to survive the gauntlet while driving they'll just get you while you're parked. After making the drive to Cannes, we parked the car on the road overnight instead of paying the $40 it would cost to park at the hotel. The next morning we were minus one side mirror. Thankfully, American Express covers the damage.

Cannes, of film festival fame, is surreal. It's a beach resort for people with a few more zeros on their pay checks than most. The majority of the beach has been claimed by the local hotels, leaving a small sliver for the common folk. The yachts docked in the harbor are the ones you see in TIME magazine when they write about a Saudi prince's opulence. Cannes is everything that Jay-Z raps about, save one: somehow a Steak n Shake is positioned in the heart of downtown. Nothing says, "the 1%," like shoe string french fries.

Once they figured out we weren't paying full price for our five star hotel (thank you Priceline) they kicked us out of Cannes. We headed south west to a sleepy port town called Cassis. Jessica found this hidden gem. No more mega-yachts and private beaches. Just tiny fishing boats and secluded coves.

It was a welcome change of pace; and, as always, the people were gracious. As we first entered town our car navigation system, Bonnie, kept sending us the wrong way down one-way streets. Eventually, we were able to find the tourist office which was closed. While I tried to log on to their WiFi with the hope of using Google Maps, Jessica did what she does best...gallivant. I look up to see her being surrounded by no less than five Frenchmen. From my vantage point I could not hear what they were saying; but I have a keen understanding of non-verbal communication. I am certain the Tyson Beckford looking French guy was pointing at the Augustus Gloop shaped American (me) and laughing. I needed to protect my girl from these opportunists, so I threw down my pain au chocolat and stormed over to them to demand an apology. Once I was close enough, Jessica turned and smiled. "Let's go!" she said, and proceeded to hop back into the car. I turned back to face the Frenchmen who were all smiling and giving me the thumbs up sign. I headed back to the car perplexed. Apparently, Jessica was asking them for directions to our hotel. Then, the shortest one in the group blurts out, "I take you! On my scooter!" Jessica, thinking this was how first dates in France started, responded with, "No, No...my boyfriend," and points toward me. That is when I (Augustus) looked up. The would be Scooter Don Juan simply laughed and replied, "No, you follow. On my scooter I show you." So this guy, who three minutes before we showed up was playing soccer on the beach with his friends, hops on his scooter and drives 10 minutes to help us find our hotel. I don't know if Jessica is that good or the people here are that kind, but we always seem to get the red carpet treatment.

From Cassis, we traded in what was left of the car and took the train into Barcelona. About ten years ago, Jessica lived in Barcelona for four months; and I enjoyed seeing her reminisce.

Jessica's old pad.

It is at this point in our trip that we began to fizzle out. Instead of seeing four or five monuments or museums we only would see two. It is a long time to be on the road and if a vacation begins to feel like work, then you are doing it wrong.

Antoni Gaudi's Park

 

I think I could have taken him.

We returned home two weeks ago and as we settle into our usual rhythm I have had a chance to decompress. Traveling, I feel, exposes people. It makes them vulnerable. People spend most of their day working within a given routine. Routines are safe. Routines are reliable. Routines are what we all strive for to help us manage the countless responsibilities we tackle each day. Traveling disrupts all of that. Every night the bed doesn't feel quite like home, you're hoping that the next hotel has better WiFi and you have to pre-plan your pantomimes before ordering each meal. Everyday you have to admit to the locals that, "Yes, I am an American idiot. And yes, you now get to help me unretard myself." So you are left at the mercy of strangers. Either it's buying train tickets, ordering at a restaurant or trying to find what's left of your right side mirror; you find yourself constantly asking for help. It is within these little interludes that we get the chance to experience something truly unique. The night before we flew home, Jessica and I watched the USA vs Belgium game in a small tavern near the airport. It was a rustic man cave. There were about 20 people crammed inside watching a projected image on the back wall. Jessica and I were, of course, decked out in our USA gear. Each one of them took a moment to talk with us and wish our team luck. After 3 hours of them screaming just as loudly as we were, they gave us a standing ovation as we left. I am not kidding. They praised the USA team for a great effort, stood up and applauded. The whole bar. Needless to say this bar was not listed in our Lonely Planet. We just happened upon it; and yet, those are the experiences that I find myself daydreaming back to. I often wonder if those experiences would be so memorable without the disruption of a routine. Visiting all of the sites is worthwhile and not without value, but one can learn and see most of it with a quick Google search. The pictures we took probably look a great deal like the pictures of countless other visitors of the same points of interest.

Except this one. This one is my masterpiece.

What makes traveling so memorable, I believe, is the stuff that happens outside of the margins. It is the karaoke cab ride to get to downtown Paris. It is the tasty homemade breakfast prepared for you by an unbelievably generous host. It is stranger after stranger treating you like a guest in their house when they see you lost and confused. It is the realization that while America prides itself on having an unbelievable work ethic; European countries like their two hour lunches and month long vacations just fine. It is all the weird little things you stumble upon that you couldn't possibly have planned.

I found the Hoff!

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It's knowing that no matter where you are in the world, if you can't find the US soccer game on TV, you can always call Juan Carlos and watch it with friends on facetime.

The more I travel the more each country has a face, a personality. They are no longer just monuments and museums. They are people. And the more we associate each country with the wonderful people in them, the more difficult it becomes to be dismissive or feel that we are any more exceptional than they are.