June 12, 2013
Test Drive

          Judith, Louis and I leave the house by 7:30 a.m. to make it to the leasing company location by 9:00 a.m.  Today, Wednesday, June 12 is the second day of  a massive strike of airline controllers all over Western Europe and many flights are cancelled.  Judith and Louis believe that their flight to Munich and connection to Newark will be unaffected, based on what the personnel of their carrier, Lufthansa, told them yesterday.  There is also a strike on the TGV, the French high-speed rail system.  The good thing, someone said, is that you know when the strike will take place, so you can plan around it.

          At Europe by Car, who leased us our cars, the procedure is efficient and organized.  Judith and Louis are going to be driven to their terminal by the same man who handled the vehicle return, who will return to set me up with my car.  I will hear how they managed in a few days, with any luck.

          After about a 15 minute wait, the leasing agent puts me through the same paces he did Judith and Louis, just in reverse.  He also shows me to a brand-new gold Renault Clio.  The car can function as a stick-shift of automatic, and the motor can rev into sportscar gear at the touch of a button, although that involves a higher per gallon cost.  There is no key, all is powered by a remote control inserted in the dashboard that turns on the GPS as well as the stereo system.  The design of the car, which is economy size is comfortable.

          The proof of the car's functionality is of course, how it handles: the Clio is an easy car to drive, with a quick pick-up, the digital map connected to the GPS easily visible, the directions given by it clear.  One feature of note are side mirrors controlled by a joystick that enables the mirrors to turn inward while driving through the narrowest of streets, of which there are many in towns here.

          I manage, to my pleasant suprise, to make it to the toll road --the péage-- without incident, and stay on it until it ends near Montpellier, I yield when I am supposed to in the traffic circles, the drivers trying to enter yield to me and all is good.  The only moment of rage road I meet with is a van driver who is annoyed that I have stayed in the left lane as the GPS instructs me to do: I see his hand come off the steering wheel in that gesture the French use to express frustration, but it's a minor matter, especially as I move over to the slower, right-hand lane, which turns out not to affect the route at all.

         The only real problem I encounter is at the second rotary in the direction of Mézamet:  I deviate from the requested route twice and have to turn back twice, passing the same lovely allée of linden trees four times before I finally turn into the right exit from the circle.  I make it the hypermarché  nearby, parking without a problem, picking up and dropping off drycleaning at the 4 Euros a piece pressing, as dry cleaners are called in France.

          I drive on to Peyriac to try to use my U.S. credit card to fill up at the Spar gas station.  This involves driving into and out of Caunes in the opposite direction of Toulouse.  It is not a long ride, but it is hot as blazes, and when I pull in the station is unmanned, as it is 1:30 p.m.  I try to use my credit card, but it will not take.

          While I am doing so, a young man with closely cropped hair, wearing a white button down shirt over plaid bermudas pulls up.  Seeing me fumbling to get gas, he shouts something out the window at me, then pulls out of the gas station like a speed demon.  A few minutes later he returns.

          "I'm sorry, I should not have screamed at you.  Are you having trouble using your credit card?  I could let you use mine and you could pay me the cost of the gasoline."

           He has to say this several times, before I fully believe that he is making the offer out of no ulterior motives. Still, I ask him,

           "Why are you being so nice to me?"

           "Why, aren't people nice where you're from?  I'm just offering to help you because I behaved so rudely.  If you don't want me to get involved no problem.  You're American aren't you?"

            We talk a bit and I establish that his name is Clement, and that he is a computer technician who lives in Rieux.  It would clearly be a big help if I could buy gas this way, as otherwise I have to return to Peyriac to do so after 3:30 p.m.

            He asks whether I am working here, when I say no, I'll just be living here a few months, he says, "Isn't it funny, you want to come here, and I want to leave here.  I want to to to the South --to Texas--"

            "Why?" I ask him.

            "Because there are jobs there."

            I take Clement up on his offer and give him my e-mail address.  There are no Apple stores for miles, the nearest are in Bordeaux and Dijon, 300 miles away, Paris another 400.  A kind computer tech might be a good person to know in the Aude.