Day Two: Just You and Me, Kid
...And everything looks better in the morning. I'm here. During my wanderings throughout the day, I was infalliably able to find my way back (in fact I passed it several times looking for other things) -- and that's a gracious plenty in my little directionless cosmos.
Well, begin at the beginning, Mademoiselle. I slept heavily and woke unwillingly. Between one thing and another, it was after ten before I got out to have Madame at the desk call me a cab for La Grande Garage du Gard, to pick up my Peugeot 106, the special "Kid" model.
La Grande Garage -- or the Rabbit Cage of the Future. I kid you not, the ceiling of the offices were composed of reflective chrome strips. Why every Peugeot employee hasn't gone stark raving mad in such a place is one of the wonders of modern psychopharmacology.
People who work regularly with tourists are so brave. Here is this lovely young man (I'm simply astonished by how many lovely young men inhabit France) handing over a vehicle worth several thousand dollars and possessing the power to kill, to a complete stranger with whom he is obliged to speak baby talk.
Je reviens. Vous attendez ici.
(juh ruh-vee-EN. vooz ah-ton-DAY ee-see)
"I will return. You wait here."
And the complete stranger smiles and nods her head and says "Ca va bien" to everything, and you haven't a clue to how much she actually comprehends. (She is obliged to spend some time poring over her dictionary in her room later to figure out what "les feux de brouillard" could possibly be... But she does know what "Cedez la passage" ("Yield") means, so is not snuffed out of existence at the first rond-point.) And you smile and wave "bon voyage," not knowing if the next time you see her will be the evening news...
J'espere que vous ne pourrez pas m'identifier au plus tard.
(juh SPARE kuh voo nuh poo-RAY pa muh-eee-DEN-tee-FEE-RAY oh ploo tahrd)
"I hope that you will not need to identify me later."
At the risk of sounding conceited and inviting the wrath of the gods, I think I'll do okay with French driving. I can definitely see why there are so many fender-benders -- those little round-about things are death traps, plain and simple -- but also how easy they are to avoid if you keep your wits and are not afflicted with machismo. I drove around and around and around and around -- no one could have been more surprised than myself to find myself fetched up at the Comfort Inn at journey's end. The center of Nimes is actually pretty small -- it should be possible to simply go in, park and wander around on foot almost exclusively for the places I want to go. And once you get the hang of it, the road signs are easy to read and plenteously available.
After a little siesta and a bout with the Peugeot manual, I set off for my next project -- checking out the Le Relais de Ledenon, where I'd had my ill-starred attempt at confirming my reservation with Boo Radley working the phones. I was beginning to appreciate the mild amenities of my present abode, now that I wasn't being flurried by skinheads, and felt that I could go either way. It took forever to get underway, because the signs that point to Avignon also said the A5, when I wanted the N86. The trick, I eventually learned, is to follow those A5 signs until you are within sight of the A5 toll booths, then you swerve violently in terror and find yourself peacefully humming along the N86.
The countryside of the Gard is a revelation after the city... pure fairytale French country with infinitesimal villages made of flaky yellow stone. The hills of the Gard rise gently on either side like a cradle, covered with low trees in the grainy gray-green of dried oregano. Was tempted to try the Relais Boo just to be in the landscape, but after scouting it from north and south (with a small interval for getting lost again), decided not. From the outside, it could be quaint or it could be vile, and it is truly en pleine nowhere. So flush with the success of actually finding something, I returned to what will now be home base.
The major devilment I've experienced so far is the comparative ease with which one can turn on the rear windshield wiper compared with the near impossibility of turning on the front windshield wiper. This provides endless entertainment for other drivers, but does not amuse me. I must remember to practice tomorrow.