Day 11 The Trek to Paris

Day 11 Saturday, Oct. 25th 2008

Today, we did the long trajet from Jausiers to Paris. Actually, we rented an apartment in a little suburb by la Défense called Carrières sur Seine.

The long trip here was relatively event-free with the first part whizzing (not that kind) through now rather familiar winding roads to GAP, past the famous McDonalds, and then better and better roads to Grenoble. (The picture on the left shows the "ski lift" sculpture just outside of Grenoble.)

From there a Péage to Paris that went right by Lyon.

We were very tempted to get off in Lyon and put the map we stole from Marie-Hélène on the gate leading to her house.

But knowing her and us, it would have been a disaster one or a number of ways. Either she would have had a heart attack thinking we couldn’t get in and missed seeing us or we would not have been able to resist going in to give her, Anna-Banana, and the returning Gerhard a last big hug, which would have lead to an aperitif - a half bottle of white wine. Payment for such misbehavior would be to arrive in a big city at midnight, not knowing where we were going, and somehow not getting into the place we rented.

As it turns out, it would have been QUITE a disaster.

The freeway express route (Péage) cost 30 Euros. That’s about 45 bucks. That seems like a lot of money, but if you took the non-péage roads you would have to spend a night somewhere on the way. No hotel rooms cost less than $100 a night and most cost a great deal more. So, one should realize that the péage can really be a bargain. Of course, it’s only a real bargain if it’s not raining. If it is raining, then you can only go 110 kph or 66 tops. If it is clear sailing then the speed limit is 130 or about 78 mph. We were lucky (as usual) and it was not raining, foggy, icy, or snowing. We got to the Carrières area at a somewhat reasonable hour of 8:20 pm or so.

The place we rented was no RCI exchange.

We had pictures and descriptions of both the ground floor apartment and the area in which it was located.

Somehow, the real product did not live up to its picture in the brochure and description online. From that literature, I got the impression that there was a park or great expanse of land across the street, and ample parking right around the corner.

When Halette brought us to what she said was the door, the house was better than the picture- but it was squeezed into a complex of buildings that lined both sides of the small street cutting through. The street was made even narrower by cars parked kiddywhampus on every inch of that block and all blocks that had led up to the address.

I am the designated guide. If questions need to be asked, even if it is clear that the one to be questioned speaks English, Ted says – Go Ask!

Things just weren’t right. So we went “around the block.” That is not as easy as it sounds, since there ain’t no blocks. There are one-way streets, often going the wrong way, and no parallel lines of buildings, so it isn’t really going around the block, it’s more like taking (another) tour of the area.

When we got back to where Halette said the address was, she now picked another spot but at least on the same street. Another disconcerting thing about finding addresses in Paris et les environs is that while the odd numbers are one side of the street and evens on the other, they have virtually no relationship with one another. No. 125 can be across the street from no. 146. Then at intersections, the name of the road , avenue or boulevard often changes to something different. It is extremely easy to miss an address and have to make another loopty loop. Which we manage to accomplish for the third time. I finally agreed to – Go Ask!

I talked to a man who had just closed his jalousies (shutters) in my face. I picked him because I knew he was home. I rang the door bell seconds after the shutter encounter.

Bonsoir, Monsieur. Un petit renseignment SVP.

Oui Madame.

Ce quartier, c’est bien Carrières sur Seine.

Oui, Madame.

Et cette rue-ci, c’est Gabriel Peri.

Oui, Madame.

(How come he gets all the easy lines?)

Je cherche le numéro 15. C’est loin d’ici.

Non, Madame. C’est en face de la pharmacie là-bas.

Vous êtes très aimable Monsieur. Merci mille fois.

De rien. Bon courage et bonne soirée Madame.

(It always pays to be polite.)

Since the pharmacy was back down the one way road, we made another loopty loop and told Halette she was not kind.




I consider myself a fairly intelligent sort, I finished my Ph.D. in 2 ½ years, graduating Phi Beta Kappa (4.0)



but I am spatially challenged.

I always turn the map in the direction I am going. North, South etc. never enter into the vocabulary, nor do street names or Highway numbers.





I am a bush driver. My directions sound like this. Go three blocks on the street after the Super America, turn left, keep going just past the yellow house, then hang a right on that street go left after the flowering bush. It’s the third driveway on your right. You’ll know you are there when you see the brown house with the two junkers on the side (no house number either).

I know, you are probably asking what happens when the bush isn’t flowering. I am generally screwed, and I screw up others. Unfortunately, that’s how my mind works. Whatcha gonna do?





Paris should be great for a bush driver like me. Most of the time the buildings are so very different from one another, learning to refind a place is “du gateau.”

Not so here.

This neighborhood was a nightmare. It was constructed at some period when all the buildings were residential and done by the same builder.




But the man had pointed out my bush – the one and only commercial spot around – the pharmacy - and it was very close to directly across the street from the address.

This may seem like a small thing to you, but for the spatially challenged, we have been punished extensively for our lack of quick location of objects and any found methodologies are saviors; that is, if we can make them work.


I had my shrub – une pharmacie, I was in business.




Time flies even when you’re NOT having fun. It was now after 9:00 pm when we drove into the miniscule driveway at 15 rue Gabriel Péri, Carrières sur Seine, Ile de France, France. (see picture above with blue car in driveway and house with blue shutters)

Even with a car shoe-horn, there was no way we could squeeze our Grey Ghost anywhere on the street, so we committed a cardinal sin and parked in the spot in front of “our” door. The brochure strictly told us that this was a major “non-non” but too bad that was our spot for the night.

I often think of traveling as a labyrinth, a rat’s maze with bad directions, hidden dangers, and problems to solve. Normally, I’m game. I am less enthusiastic late at night or when Ted is ornery. This was one of those moments.


“The key will be under the flower box on the outside windowsill to the left of the door.” Read the directions.



After lifting the said flowerbox, (no key) then feeling along the window sill, then tearing apart both the left and right flowerboxes, and finally resorting to putting my hand warily along the paved area under the window sills, we still both came up empty handed.

Then I really got brave and searched through the shrubs.

This is extremely dangerous as men often use such shrubs to relieve themselves on their way home from the bistrot at night. It could easily be freshly “watered”. The shrub did smell like a pee poo combo, but worse still, produced no key.



Ted said – Go Ask!

Ask whom, my love?


How about the people upstairs?



I could see no lights on upstairs. That meant either, the candidates for interrogation were 1) not home or 2) already in bed. But I went up there anyway. Just like R2D2 and C3PO at Jabba the Hutt’s huge door, I knocked fairly innocuously and then high-tailed it back down the stairs so as not to get a severe scolding if they had been asleep.

“No answer up there.”







Ted pointed across the parking area. Go Ask!

The next victims lived in a strange looking structure a stone’s throw from “our place.” They had lights on in the house. Stupid fools. I rang the “sonnerie” and got no response. So, I knocked on the metal door.

“Isn’t it open? Just push the door” came a woman’s voice (in French) from the bowels of the establishment. Bizarre, I thought. In Paris, some unknown entity knocks at the door, and is invited to enter through an unlocked door at 9:30 pm? A highly unlikely scenario. But I did what I was told, pushing the door open and walking right in. The voice nonchalantly met me coming around the corner to the living room.

Response upon seeing me? Total shock! I was no one she knew and she would clearly never make that error again in her entire life. I held out the papers for the rental and I quickly up-beatly recounted the “key” tale.

The couple was setting up for what seemed a multi-person soirée whose beginning was clearly imminent. I apologized profusely and attempted to escape, but she and her husband refused to let me depart until she knew I was taken care of.

She used her cell phone and called the “Maguey”
(Maggie) that was listed on the paper and from our end of the conversation, Maggie was taken aback that a “renter” had shown up. Maggie would come over immediately. The kind “voisins” invited us to come in from the “cold” until Maggie arrived, but I insisted on her return to her party preparations and again thanked her profusely for all of her help. Despite all, she still stood outside with us until Maggie arrived.


Maggie was a bit more leery than the “voisins” and brought her husband along just in case.

I showed Maggie the email volley with the owners Roger and Andrea.

She just shook her head in disbelief.

The owners had never forgotten before. But the Dr. Buire "en haut" is always home and has a key.

Not tonight, I said pointing to the dark upstairs.
She just shook her head in disbelief.

Dr. Buire was NEVER not home (pardon the double negative) according to Maggie.

Maggie threw in one more thing that sent shivers up and down my spine. She said that typically her husband and she went away on weekends when no renters were due to show up.

In fact, they had plans to be gone until Monday!

but changed their minds at the last minute for some unknown reason.

So, instead of us standing there for hours, eventually sleeping in the car for the weekend, eating the flowers in the flower box, and cussing profusely at the owners, here were Maggie and hubby with a key and prep to get the hot water going, turn on the furnace etc.

DeM. We are so lucky.



I would guess that you are wondering why we didn’t call earlier in the day to be sure things were set up at the Paris place.

Life has changed – a LOT – since our last visit to France a mere 3 years ago.

Our plans before arriving in France were to do things as we had for years;

no need to have a cell phone, nor a computer, and who needed the internet with all the books and info we had?

We had brought along the solution to our biggest problem – divorce over map reading and misdirection. Halette -The GPS solved that (for the most part).

But I learned my lesson well this trip. I ain’t leavin’ home with no cell phone or internet connection ever again. In fact, our family who is all on the same cell phone plan is about to get new phones. And I am going to get one of those phones that has good software for the internet, built in GPS, a touch screen keyboard, and can connect anywhere around the world (as well as 20 other perks that come with the phone). The monthly fees for this new service might be a bit rich, but I already know that this is what I want to spend my money on.

That is the plan unlessl the American economy really tanks, and we are back to no cell phones, no money for gas, and eating peanut butter sandwiches.

In that case, what would I need a GPS, and connection possibilities worldwide for? I won’t be going anywhere and neither will anyone else.

In the meantime, I’ll be an epicurean and “ I is getting’ that phone.”

(P.S. I did get that phone.)