GPS Lies and Other Adventures

We change countries regularly between Geneva, Switzerland and the South of France. The trip takes between six and eight hours depending on potty, dog walking and food stops. Sometimes, we investigate something of interest along the way.

On moving back to Geneva last month, we decided to stop in Meaux, France (pronounced Moo). Rick is researching WWI for a book and there is a WWI museum there. 

That trip predicted to be six hours took 12.  

The signs "A7 Autoroute coupe" were ominous. How do you cut a major highway in half? We followed the other cars off the exit.

Often when there's a traffic jam on an autoroute we take the national roads, which has led to many interesting discoveries. This time we discovered more villages than we wanted.

The GPS led us over the Rhone River ten times by count. We went in the wrong direction multiple times. 

Despite it all, we reached our hotel. 

The next morning the GPS woman's voice in the clipped British accent told us to go right. We saw some lovely scenery twice, the second time after we realized she'd lied to us again.

We joked that she must be punishing us for all the times we didn't follow her directions. Should we have shared our secret plans? 

We noticed that the tourist signs in brown, yellow etc. which are ubiquitous on the French autoroute were four times more plentiful than on our usual trips. Wonderful...we learned about châteaus, national parks, regional products and historical people that we might never have known about otherwise.

It was even nicer when the rain stopped. I was thrilled to see a sign for Paul, my favorite sandwich place as we passed a rest stop. These stops have an assortment of places to eat or buy food.

We decided to stop at the next one for a Paul sandwich.

The next few? No Pauls! We settled for an alternative, but after buying satisfactory sandwiches we saw a Paul at the next and the next and the next that we passed. C'est la vie.

When I first moved to Europe 35 years ago, the French concept of a sandwich was a semi-stale baguette, a piece of cheese which probably had been banned in this wonderful cheese-producing country and maybe a piece of ham which had dried accidentally. Over the years, the French sandwiches have become varied and good. 

We reached our hotel, a converted mini-château whose grounds included a tennis court, stables, gardens, tennis courts and a swimming pool under a beautiful blanket of colored fall leaves.  

We watched a young man practice his rope twirling skills as we walked the grounds in the last afternoon mist.

Constantin, the receptionist, gave us a choice of languages to speak among his four. mother tongue Russian, English, French and newly learned Spanish.

He also gave us a tour of the building. 

The various sitting rooms with fireplaces and comfortable furniture, art work, wallpaper that belongs in a château, chandeliers, the multi dining rooms were empty. We are out of season. 

We commented on the many statues of Napoleon. "Oh," he said, "The owner is a descendant of Napoleon. My history-loving heart almost burst with happiness.  

We are now preparing to go back to France for the holidays. I wonder what adventures await us.