Sometimes all it takes is a tiny moment and the whole day can turn on itself.
This was the case this weekend. It was the weekend when one of our boys comes home regularly from university to get cuddles from the menagerie of animals, sleep with the cats in his bed, and generally stuff his face with treats and food before his washing is all done and he is packed up and sent away again to hopefully work hard and achieve another small step towards his dreams. The car had already been playing up and the trek up the mountains on Friday night with failing headlights and the dashboard blinking like crazy was not a comforting drive. In your head you are thinking:
One, will we make it home?
Two, oh god how dark it is out here!
Three, there is just no traffic on the road, so if the car does break down it will be a long way to civilisation.
Bum clenched, every time the car stuttered, we finally made it back to the house. Now this sounds as if the nightmare was over, but unfortunately it had just started. Our village house is on a one-way street that narrows just by our home. We usually stop illegally in a tiny lay-by opposite our front door, particularly if we have shopping to unload, before driving back into the village to park in the public car park. Habitually we moved into the small place, unloaded the car and then tried the engine. You guessed it. Dead as a dodo. Just the click of the keys in the ignition to let us know that the key was definitely turning, but that was it.
First problem, our car was badly parked, late at night, completely dead. Together we managed to move the car, pushing and shoving to the point that we could only squeeze out of our front door, just. The problems we had were the lorries during the day, that had a tenadency to thunder past. Fingers crossed, we shut the door and hoped the car would last the night.
The next day the breakdown vehicle was called, and the mechanic investigated the problem. We had hoped it was just a flat battery, but as a catalogue of problems started to descend from the mechanic’s mouth, we quickly realised this was not going to be a quick fix. Using his expertise we managed to move the car to a more secure location and thought of our options. The ancient rust-bucket was going to be changed anyway in a couple of months, so the question was more how much money sink into it, would we and for what purpose exactly? Not only that, there was the issue of our middle son, now with us in the mountains but no car to get him back to Perpignan station, 45 miles away.
I have to put my hands up now and admit that, although we have been living in France for half a lifetime, we are not rugby fans. Not by a long shout. Unfortunately, it completely passed us by that there was the massive rugby tournament in Toulouse that weekend. Taking a moment during the unravelling day I started to book train tickets from Perpignan back to Toulouse. There was nothing. Not a single place available, regardless of what train I checked. All fully booked. All lines into Toulouse. Trying not to panic I suddenly realised my son had to somehow in the next 24hours not only get off the mountain, but also make his way to Toulouse. Due to the remoteness of the village, BlaBla car was out. Trying to hire the last car from the local supermarket, I had just discussed the options with hubbie when suddenly the car greyed out. Someone had got there before us. The only option was the bus. One bus down the mountain, another to Perpignan and the last to Toulouse. Possible?
Sunday came and for the first time, we caught the local public bus down the mountain. My stomach was churning and I hadn’t slept well the night before. If anything went wrong we would be reduced to asking a taxi driver, which would set us back 200 €. The jovial bus driver reassured us of the feasibility of catching the connecting bus, even though there would be only a couple of minutes to spare, and we settled down for the first part of the trip together. I must admit as a driver, you don’t get to see the view of the spectacular scenery around us. Forests stretched as far as the eye could see, the river Tech rushing and babbling down the mountainside. Massive white boulders littered the river banks as if some giant had been throwing them carelessly aside. Remnants of the old railway made an appearance as we passed old stations, one with a fresque illustrating the days now forgotten. A restaurant bustled with the lunchtime service as people chatted in the sun. Finally, bit by bit, I felt the stress of the weekend slowly start to dissipate.
On finally arriving at the old mining village, we got off at the station to find the connecting bus waiting. A quick goodbye and my son continued on his journey. In the end, yes the timing of the journey was longer due to the wait at the connecting stops, but he made it home, safe and sound.
Waiting for the bus back up the mountain I managed to get out my book and read in the sun, a snatched moment of pure pleasure. A quick conversation with my first son who was out for the day near Auch finally put the smile firmly on my face. He had been invited to help “create” foie gras at a friend’s local farm. Something as French as you could get. Or so I thought. He said they then proceeded to go into the garden as it was one of the stops for the local marathon that day. There, they served the runners the foie gras on toast and mugs of wine. He did add that not all participants managed to finish the race, being too tipsy to find the finish line! Where else would you find this? God I love this country!
Yes, things do go wrong in life, but it is in those times that we need to take a step back and realise how lucky we are. In the grand scheme of things, a broken car should be the lowest in our priorities.
There are far more important things in life.
MidLife Crisis In France
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