Day 4 ½ Empty or ½ Full?

Day 4 – Sat. Oct. 18, 2008

If you consider yourself lucky do you see the results of “mini-disasters” differently than those who see themselves as condemned to suffering?

Since we left la maison de Marie-Hélène, Anna, et les Monts d’Or, we had had a series of “mini-désastres”. In each case, it depends on how you take in the events on how you would assess the outcome.

At home, in the US, Ted and I have “Hal” (named by our family and friends Ron and Sonja Chamberlain on a trip in New Orleans). He’s a Garmin Nüvi 360.

He has been our guide and dear friend in Minnesota, Florida, Georgia, Mississippi, Louisiana, as well as New Yok (York)(Get away from the dooe), New Joisy (Jersey), Pennsylvania, Illinois, and Wisconsin. So we know he works everywhere in the US.

Frankly, we have decided life and adventure wouldn’t be half as fun without him mispronouncing many “famous” streets, avenues, towns etc. He may take some routes you don’t like, but by hook or by crook he get’s ya there every time, and we have learned if you don’t know what your are doing, you’d better listen to Hal.

So, we couldn’t imagine leaving home without him. But…Europe, our Hal is not versed on. If you have driven in Europe, where you have nearly ended up in divorce courts over “left, barely left, bear left, real left, sorta left, really, really left, or I think that’s a left, but maybe…., NO your other left!!!, with the fast impatient drivers, bearing down on your bumper or side, who you are, without any doubt, going to encounter in Europe, it behooves you to have every advantage & tool that either nature or tech geeks can offer you.

Ted has an extraordinary sense of direction (a natural tool) but he insists on always driving (Mad- mouse roads make him puke if he ain’t steering. Better to ride than to clean up puke).

But eventually, even he tires out with the French plastered on your bumper and flicking boogers at them, leaves less of Ted’s cognitive domain to apply to bad map readers or a wife who starts confusing French and English, giving quick instructions in “cross talk”.

So before we left, we bought “Halette” to move into 21st century European travel.

We looked first into upgrading Hal, but incredibly, the upgrade cost the same as buying an entirely new Halette.

She is Halette for two reasons.

1) The voice we selected for her is “Julie” or it could be “Myrtle”.
2) She is a “baby” form or Hal as he is a 360, and she is a mere 270.

The 270 (and 370, 670) are already loaded with European travel necessities – maps, directions, shopping, points of interest, police stations (and how to avoid them), whatever you might want to find Hal”ette” will make it a cake walk. (She does have a smaller screen and no blue tooth, but what girl looks good with a blue tooth anyway).

Another difference, which we didn’t consider is she doesn’t have text to speech – she talks alright, but she says – “Go 1.2 miles, Enter roundabout and Take 3rd Exit”, instead of “Continue on Ave. Walgram 1.2 miles, Enter roundabout, then Exit “Direction St. Michel.”

As it turns out, we were so blessed to have made this “choice”, as the text to speech would have been infinitely more difficult to follow than the simplicity of “take 1st, 2nd, or 3rd exit and right and left (and all the variations of left AND right mentioned above).

We put Halette to her first real test sprinting off from Lyon or really les Monts D’Or , or Albigny sur Saône to the south of France (or rather Midi). We had a 7 day RCI exchange in an alpine village called Jausiers. The name of the place was “Jaussiers Vacances” (original).

Okay, I will have to admit that Halette is not exactly perfect.

She has a problem in programming, which turned out to be a major problem, which ended up being our problem and bit us in the butt in finding Jausiers that night.

Here’s the problem: I could find no way to put in just the City of Jausiers in Halette .

You must put in the some address or Halette ain’t goin’ nowhere.

Okay, no problem, I thought. How big can a little mountain village be? How far astray can you get selecting… say… oh…any old random address in little Jausiers?

Well, ask our son Michael about when we went to Santa Caterina Valfurva for our RCI stay in northern Italy (also in an Alpe).

Oh, what a trip that was!

Mike (14 at the time and suffering from Strep throat) and I were afraid we would not arrive before

the bewitching hour at our condo

and miss getting the key.

Such a time gaffe can be a mild or major disaster. If the stay is a Sat. to Sat. one and you miss getting there on time, it may mean you will be living under the nearest bridge until the next Monday when the key people will again grace the lovely premises.

Mike and I, on that trip as well, left the now famed Marie-Hélène and Gerhard in our rental car going as fast as you can in a small Opel without blowing out the motor,

up and down and around and around one Alpe at a time, a giant mad-mouse ride that left Mike more ill and me dizzy and worn out.

We came to the vicinity of SCVF (Santa Caterina Valfurva) (Northern Italy) and I asked Mike, “Which way?”
“Straight”, he moaned.

The road became empty, the houses disappeared, and

we were all low on gas, Mike, me and Opel (all cars in our family ((even rentals)) are named.

Worse still, it was nearing the Bewitching Hour.

BTW, here’s the problem about the Bewitching Hour. It is set by those who have the key, and ranges from 6 pm to midnight (in a huge place that is also attached to, say, a hotel). Frankly, even the literature in RCI is rarely accurate on this important time.

I was starting to panic.

In answer to the “Where now Mike?” as he was the one holding the map, and I guess that was it, he was just holding the map (with his eyes closed),

He grunted “Straight”.

The sun set as the road turned from tar to gravel.

We neared the summit of a long hair pinned road which was even more “en pente” (straight, yeah straight, UP) than any I had encountered all day.

What happened next would strike fear in the most adventurous drivers, American, European, even Mexican.

Following along the side of a mountain, the road went from gravel to path and from path to path falling off edge of mountain.

No guard rails, no lighting, no road signs, let alone gas stations or RCI condos.

Just as I was sure things couldn’t get worse, I thought I felt us losing the footing of our back tires on the “road”.

It was at this glorious moment that we encountered another car.


There was no room for us, let alone any room to go around even a large rock, let alone another car, large or teeny weeny.

He (assuming the driver to be a male from his level of aggressiveness) insisted on moving forward, that would require me to be moving backward.

That was not going to happen.

We sat there for a whole minute in a Mexican standoff
and then he started honking.

He was not going to budge and we were going to be sleeping in Opel with interminable honking. It was going to be a long night or even a weekend, or perhaps eternity.

Ever try to out stare a French person?

Your hopes of winning would be about the same as getting this Italian to back up or quit honking.

He won,

really won, because if I was to back up, as I am a pretty smart cookie but spatially challenged, he was not going to have to contend with us for long;

we would be history, a mere speck disappearing blithely over the edge of that Alpe, never to be seen or heard of again.

But somehow, I did it.

I am proud to this day of the courage both Mike and I displayed.

We found a place that I could back up onto the mountain enough for A…hole to race by leaving rocks in our teeth and a clear “path” for us to… nowhere.

I gave the departing fart the five finger finger, and yelled uncontrollably, I think I even spit.

Now the road began to descend. It picked up a little girth and was actually drivable. Hairpinny again, but enlargening as it went down. We had come over the entire Alpe and we were now in Switzerland.

I began to yell at poor Michael, now wide-eyed from the harrowing experience on the mountain (okay red eyed as well – Strep throat can do that to sick scared victims).

He cried “ I just want to go home. I want to go to bed. MY BED.”

I looked at him. He needed a compress on his feverish head, an advil or 2 for his achy body and ear plugs to protect his ears from his mother.

All I could give him was a hug. It didn’t do the trick.

I took three deep breaths.

“It’s not your fault, Mike,” I said calmly. “We need to use a little charm, call in some of our “luck” cards and hope someone left has a key at SCVF when we get there.”

“Oh yeah, and do you want bearnaise on your Steak while you at it?” he sobbed.

“You are part of my plan. Your role is simple and you have been type-casted for it. Walk with me and look sick and very tired- but don’t complain. Just look pathetic.” I instructed.

“This I can manage.” He managed.

(BTW, he did manage and managed well.) We came into a service station on vapors. There was an older man at his cash register inside. It was a small place with only the lights on inside where he was standing.





We stood at the (locked) door two of us looking like the “Boots” on Shrek 3.

Apparently it worked.

He unlocked the door (his first mistake). He spoke Italian. I spoke French, then bad German, & finally Spanish. He gave up. He shook his head, filled our tank, took our Italian Lira, filled a bag with something, shoved it in my hand and sent us on way. Never a smile, in complete silence after our first exchange.


We started back up the mountain we had come down with a dot on our map where Mr. Mute had indicated SCVF (at the bottom of the mountain we had done our diligence on.)We started the climb, now in pitch black, still no road signs, no lights, no guard rails, but thankfully, no cars.

“I’m hungry” said my 14 year old 6’2 “boy” who already shaved.

“So am I, but I just couldn’t take that Swissy for one more thing.”

“What’s in the bag he gave me?” Mike asked.

“Let’s see..” I ventured, hoping for a miracle. “Maybe and apple, a piece of bread, a sausage?”

Mike pulled out a large sandwich of saucissons et fromage (sausage and cheese) Heidi- style with no condiments, two apples and a can of authentic Coke.

“Your wish is someone’s command” he mumbled with his mouth happily full, and a hint of a smile.




We made it back to SCVF with relatively little incident and upon arrival knocked on the door to the office. A voice mysteriously emerged from behind the door.




“Name?”

“Klohs.”

A large hand emerged with 2 keys.
“Building 2, Suite 3.”

The hand receded and the door closed nearly silently.

We now return to 2008, a mere 24 hours ago.

Actors: Linda and Ted (not Linda and Mike.)

We leave from Marie-Hélène’s, the outskirts of Lyon heading for the Alpes, to our RCI exchange at Jausiers Vacances.

We have rented a Citroën diesel which gets such good gas mileage that in 3 days of up and back driving to Lyon and environs, we are only down to ½ tank of gas.

Jausiers isn’t that far away as the crow flies but has reminiscent hair pin curves and tiny roads. As we have left by 1 pm and Google maps had said that it was a 4 and ½ hour trajet, I felt that we had advanced past the disasters of pre-Halette.

We had a GPS to guide us, and two relatively healthy adults driving and navigating. Piece of cake.

Unfortunately, as I alluded to earlier Halette won’t just let you put in a city. So, I put in Jausiers as the city, a “1” for the street number, and then put in the letter “A”. Halette spit out a number of options of streets that started with “A”. I chose the first on the list, why not?. Halette confirmed with a route and an arrival time that approximated that of Google Maps. So far so good.

Since there seemed to be hours of extra time until the Bewitching Hour, at first we chose the “no pay toll” option on Halette, but after the 10th roundabout in under a mile, I switch back to “toll roads” enabled. We paid 9 ½ Euros (about 12 American Dollars) to get to Grenoble. The trip was easy sailing, the French no longer drive like fools. We smiled at each other in arrogance.

Then the freeway died and we had no choice but the red or yellow or white roads. We navigated quite a few kilometers with our Happy Halette keeping us on course.

That hubris was the beginning of our troubles.

In travel, it never pays to get smug.

After leaving Gap, (a large town en route), we realized we only had 1/3 tank of gas remaining.

Like smart people in the dead of winter in Minnesota, smart travelers in Europe don’t let their tank go dry.

Things are not as easy at home, and you want to always plan for success (instead of walking down an Alpe at 10 pm with a gas can in hand.) I had just recounted the “Mike and Me” tale of SCVF to Ted and we drove into a service station in a small town.

Hmmmm, I said.

This car is a diesel.

Yeah, Ted agreed. Here’s the green diesel pump. Maybe we should put in the premium diesel, I questioned because of the altitude and the ups and downs? No, we agreed, “Why fix it if it ain’t broke?” This car (named “l’Esprit Gris” – the Grey Ghost” was running like a million bucks. Just stick with the regular stuff.

We left the filling station in Gap and within a mile I said, “Ted, she sounds like diesel.”

“She is a diesel”, he countered.

“But she didn’t sound like one before.”

I was concerned. - Should have bought the good stuff.

We followed Halette’s directions. When we started up a mountain that had less and less cars, no houses for miles, the hair pin turns became sharper and sharper and the road became small enough to have no middle lines, I said, “Perhaps we missed our turn….?!?...”

“Hal’s never been wrong. Halette must be right”, Ted contended.

I was tired and hungry and somehow it was approaching the Bewitching Hour (which I determined was 7 pm.)

We made it to the address that Halette said was the “destination”, but it looked like an abandoned WWII bunker, and I refused to believe that this was our RCI exchange.

“It just has to be a little further”, I said, half hoping, half praying.

We make it to the top of the mountain. There was a break in the wall enough for two cars to get through. On the other side was another road down. The sign said “Nice.” For those who might not know “Nice” is a town, not a commentary on the road condition.

I took Halette off her stand.

“What’s the meaning of this?” I asked using a very nasty tone.

I put a new address in Halette. Jausiers , street no. 1, Street name with a L. (lots of L Streets on American models because of Le La Les and L’ all start with L as well as possible street names.) Halette produced a new map with a destination 13 miles DOWN the mountain. How the hell big is Jausiers?

If that the destination distance wasn’t stressful enough, the ETA gave us pause to reflect.

Furthermore, something was seriously wrong with L’Esprit Gris.

Have you ever woken up in the middle of the night, felt your arm and discovered you had a tumor the size of a grapefruit on you arm?

You go into the bathroom, and it is neither a tumor nor is it very big at all, it’s a mosquito bite that you have been enthusiastically scratching. We have a tendency to exaggerate everything in the dark, our illnesses, our problems and our distress.

It was pitch black, with no houses, road signs and virtually no road lines (sound familiar?), speaking of sounding familiar, or in this case not sounding familiar was the diesel sound of the Gray Ghost. She no longer sounded like a diesel, she sound like a glider.

“Huston, we have a problem”, I lightly said to Ted.

“I’d say that’s putting it lightly, Linda."

The car was no longer running. From time to time she would cough and sputter and then would quit altogether.

I had said 10 times on the way up that I was pretty sure we had made a bad decision at the gas pump.

Ted returned with “So what was your first clue?”

The Grey Ghost had been aptly names and was just a silent vestige of her former full spirited self. Just a shell- with no heart – no spirit – no nothing. Thank God it was all down hill to Jausiers some 13 miles away.

We did stop once to ask a woman out raking (in the dark – makes you want to go hmmmmm) if she knew of Jausiers Vacances.

She did! “Bonne route.” She assured us, “Continuez 6 ½ km, traversez 2 ponts et vous violà!
We coasted off away from her ( I suppose she must of thought we were in a hybrid or something).






Six kilometers and NO bridges later, I saw the corner of a sign that said “Jausiers Va….” The rest was covered with branches. Ted slowed to a near halt.

“I think we found it and it is not a WWII bunker.” We rolled in and stopped (that was the easy part).

I got out and ran to what I believed to be the office entrance. It was either 7 pm or damned close. Oops, not the entrance. I tried another “entrance”, no desk on the RC, so I tried the first floor (second floor to us.) There I encountered two people struggling with getting a piece of furniture in their place. I stopped and held the door and asked directions. They directed me to the 3rd possible entrance.

The office existed but it was dark. The sign said “fermé” – closed. I was about to cry, or maybe yell, or roll on the ground or…. But I didn’t because a lady’s voice came at me from behind a car parked out front.

Vous cherchez?

Oui, Je cherche Jausiers Vacances.

Essayez le numéro de telephone.

Lequel? I knew if I could get the lady to come and help me (find the number) I had her. She took the bait. I now had the woman in my web. Ted and I looked like two cats in Shrek 3.

I continued in French. "OMG, this has been the most disastrous day. We put the wrong gas in our car, got bad instructions, went all way to the top of that mountain ( probably pointed in the wrong the direction) and limped all the way down again with no motor working."

(Yeah she undoubtedly thought the motor working Is your mouth.) She answered in French with a “different” accent. “Well, she said, “you are here now.”

She looked at my RCI papers and yelled at the parked car. “Georgette? Les Klohs”

A small hand emerged from the passenger seat, in it were two keys. “Building 2, Apt. 4.”

The hand receded. The window closed. The other lady, as chauffeur, jumped in and a “Bonne soirée” was emitted before the door slammed. And they were gone in a cloud of dust.

One minute later and we might have been left in a town already closed up with a car that didn’t work sleeping under a bridge we couldn’t find, until Monday when the two again would grace the Jausiers Vacances office with their lovely presence.


We had imagined at one point that this was Jausiers Vacances!

So How do I see all this?

Luck was with us today.