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Tuesday, 09 September 2008

The Trip to Cavaillon, May 2008

By Camille Koepnick Shaffer

Bill has been quite vocal in his enjoyment of driving all around Provence, France. It was another lovely day so off we went, headed to Cavaillon for some shopping and a cup of café au lait. We had been on the highway leading there many times and Bill was an old pro at it. I, as usual, had my lips flapping directions – “too fast, too slow, come on pass.”

I am the ultimate backseat driver to Bill’s regret. It makes for a lively trip!

We arrived at the town, famous for its melons, and Bill followed some street into the downtown area - not a downtown as we know it here in the USA, just the center of the town’s activities. And it began. Bill yelling at me, now, to GIVE directions.

"Where should I turn? Where are we? Where do you want to go?" He then confessed that while he loved driving in the countryside, he abhorred driving in the towns. Way too confusing, too fast, signs he couldn’t read - on and on. The dwarf known as Grumpy had appeared and was sitting next to me.

It was about this time that I became aware of my urgent need to go to the bathroom; my bladder had begun to scream at me. I imagined that we could go have our café au lait and I could seek out the toilette. Parking was a problem. Bill was losing it, and I did not want to lose "it"!

In desperation, as we rounded a turn on the edge of town, I spotted a parking lot with empty spaces and shouted to pull in there. Bill did so immediately and was thrilled to be out of the traffic mess.

I told Bill we would sit in the lot and decide what exactly we were going to do: go back into the town area, relax and find parking OR go to a much smaller town where he could manage to drive and not flip out. But, first, there was the matter of my bladder which was now a force to be reckoned with. I looked around the lot we were in: grass areas between the rows, very private, not a soul around and announced to Bill’s horror that I was getting out and relieving myself.

He protested loudly and I turned a deaf ear. I walked down a few rows and found a secluded spot - well, as secluded as a parking lot could be, and hung my big bare cheeks out in the breeze. Ahhh, such relief.

While I was gone, Bill had turned the car around to face the exit. I got in and he was fuming. I told him to get over it, that no one had seen me and I explained what an emergency it had been. He was WAY past that, however, and onto something entirely new.

"You’ve really done it this time, Camille. Always so smart, look what you’ve got us into now." I couldn’t imagine what was possibly wrong.

"Look, just look. Look at the exit!" I finally focused on it and to my horror there was a big old gate blocking it. I had directed us into a gated parking lot. Evidently someone had just entered or exited prior to our arrival and the gate was still up as we zipped in. Now we were trapped in Cavaillon, France, with limited language ability, trespassing.

I imagined a French jail cell, our passports confiscated, trying to call the United States Embassy for help. Mind you, I did find a bit of humor in all this which was not shared by Mr. Grumpy.

"What are we supposed to do now?" he barked. I said we would just have to sit and think, get our bearings, and hope someone would drive in/out so that gate would open at which time we would beat it out of there! And that is what we did.

I began to notice a lot of people on the other side of the fence both milling around and on their way somewhere. There were big buildings which I had not noticed before and it suddenly dawned on me - it was a high school or a college and we were in the faculty parking lot! A little more humor came upon me as I told Bill here I was a retired principal peeing in a faculty parking lot in France. He still did not find this humorous.

It was about this time that a car drove in and that gate wondrously lifted its arm towards heaven. Such a beautiful sight to behold. Bill floored it and out we flew but not fast enough to escape the waving fist and scowl of the other car’s occupant who knew we did not belong there in the first place. I yelled something in French that I hoped meant it was all a bad mistake.

Never did get to shop. Never had our café au lait either.

[EDITORIAL NOTE: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. Instructions are here.]

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