It was early March nearly 20 years ago, when Val and I were just starting our three-month stays in Provence. We had taken a direct flight from San Francisco to Frankfurt, then drove from there, because we were taking our dog Lucca and didn’t want him to change planes.
We picked up our rental car and began the long drive south. We were jet-lagged and didn’t want to drive too far, so after a few hours we stopped in the little French town of Montbéliard, arriving late in the afternoon.
After a quick shower we drove downtown and parked in the town’s main parking lot, an underground structure. Unfortunately, we forgot that it was still winter and we were in northern France, so we only had on light jackets. As soon as the sun went down it turned freezing cold, so we headed for a café to warm up. After some hot coffee, we went to see if there was any place that would serve us at the ungodly early hour of 6pm.
We went to a casual bar/restaurant nearby and asked if we could order a meal. After the barmaid finished laughing, we were reminded that this was France and the answer was “non.” But we were invited to have a drink and wait until food service started at 7pm. Not a bad idea, so we settled in with a couple of glasses of wine.
Things Start to Go Wrong
After a few minutes I excused myself to use the restroom. It was a typical French setup, with separate bathrooms for men and women and a shared sink. For security reasons, the women’s bathroom could only be accessed by a key from the bar.
I did my business, washed my hands and, because there were no towels, dried them with the air dryer. When I came out Val said, “Wow, that dryer is loud, it sounds like a leaf blower. You could hear it all over the bar!”
We were finishing our drinks and thinking about what to order when we saw a woman wearing an apron and clutching a key walk to the restrooms. Clearly, the cook.
A few minutes later she walked back. I asked Val, “Did you hear the air dryer?” Uh, no. And it was so loud it was impossible to miss. The cook must not have washed her hands…I guess we weren’t hungry after all!
We braved the cold again to search out another restaurant. We found a nice little place, had a quick meal and headed back to our car. The timing was perfect because we were getting tired and bed sounded good.
But when we got to the parking lot we found it shut tight behind a huge metal gate. What the…? Then we saw a sign that said the lot closes at 8pm. 8pm?! Who ever heard of such a thing?
A Visit to the Gendarmerie
We found another sign that said to see the police if you need to get your car after 8pm, so we trudged off through the cold to the police station. We explained the situation and were told that it would be “deux minutes” and that we should wait in the unheated hallway. We reluctantly sat down and waited for a half hour, but nothing happened.
Finally, we went back in and glared at the officers (politely, of course – they had guns.) We were again told it would be “deux minutes” and this time it was. Turns out there had been a shift change in progress and the old shift wanted to stick the new shift with our problem.
The new officers were friendly and gave us a card that would open a door into the parking lot. All we had to do was look for it next to the video store, which was next to the supermarket.
Things Are Not As They Seem
No problem, we had seen the video store already. So we plunged back into the cold, which was well below freezing at this point. Grocery store? Check. Video store next to it? Check. Entry door into the parking garage? Non. We asked a few passersby and even the video store owner, but nobody knew what we were talking about. So off we went once again, back to the police station.
Luckily, there were no crimes in progress because the next thing we knew we were in a squad car with three of Montbéliard’s finest. They took a roundabout route, so we had a chance to chat in French with one of them.
He asked where we were from and when Val said “La Californie” he asked if we knew where Sacramento was. Why yes, I said, I was born there. Did I know about the Sacramento Kings, the pro basketball team? Why, yes I did, and Chris Webber used to be their best player. Alas, said the officer, he’s not the player he used to be, too old now.
We agreed on that and, having exhausted our common interests, spent the rest of the ride peering suspiciously out into the dark streets of Montbéliard, where criminal masterminds were undoubtedly plotting away.
Resolution
Eventually we made it to the center of town, where they showed us where we should have gone the first time. Supermarket? Check. A different video store, not next to the market as described but rather down the block and around the corner? Uh, check. Well-hidden door at the bottom of a dark staircase on the other side of the street? Check again (really, who taught these guys how to give directions?)
At this point we thanked the police and shook their hands, while each group was silently thinking of the other, “What a bunch of dopes!”
We got to our car and drove back to our hotel. The only good part of the whole adventure was that the parking was free, because we didn’t have to pay for the card!
