How much did we really want to retire to the South of France? Enough to join 20 million Frenchmen on the road going south….that was when we knew it was true…"Nous sommes fous!” (We are insane).
Sometimes it really does helps to be downright crazy....
We were sardined into our rental car with our pets and baggage speeding down the giant Auto-route from Paris to the south of France. The rain began to fall and it was a grey autumn day. Fatigue was creeping up on us and we knew it was time for a break. Our French was limited but thankfully the highway style signs used pictograms and numbers. They told that we were coming up on an “Aire d’Autoroutiere”. This - judging by the pictures - meant a rest stop with gasoline, food, WCs, and a picnic area.
In the well-organized complex we parked near a sign depicting a person walking a dog on a leash. Cautiously, I reached into the cat carrier and hooked our large, grumpy cat to his leash while my husband called our dog out. She jumped out gracefully then stood patiently, wagging and waiting while he attached her leash. The cat gave me a look that said, “Try that again sucker, and I’ll tag you!” Then he realized that I’d left the carrier door open. Like a bullet, he shot forth from his prison. This magnificent little lion of a cat pulled as hard as he could to extend his leash to its limit and then walked well ahead of us to show that he was definitely an independent cat.
The four of us made our way to the pet zone. It was our first walk in fresh air since the 10-hour flight from the states and 2 hours on the Auto-route. It was exhilarating! The air was misty and cool. The grass was treacherous ground from the constant use of many animal visitors. The dog understood exactly what was expected of her. Our cat pulled to the right hid under a bush. I waited and eventually he realized why we were there.
Upon our return to the vehicle, the dog again waited patiently while the car was unlocked. I opened the cat carrier and gently lifted our fluffy feline off the ground. My husband watched bemusedly as the cat, suddenly inspired, wrestled himself from my arms and streaked across the top of the carrier. His path was marked by the length of extension leash. He continued his flight over the front seats and planted himself on the floor at the front of the car. Thankfully, it was on the passenger-side. “I guess he’s riding there,” I said. The dog didn't need anyone to tell her what to do. She jumped into the back and curled up in the half-shell of her kennel. We locked the car and went into the mini-mall area for our own comfort break and to refuel ourselves with food and drink.
The mini-mall was bright, well laid out, and filled with people intent on purchases or getting to the stadium worthy public washrooms that were immaculate. We bought a can of soda wandered from stall to stall and went in and then out of the fast food franchises that were there. Sadly for us, their menu boards lacked anything for vegetarians beyond the traditional simple green salad made only of lettuce, French fries, or desserts. We had visited France before, though, and knew well that this was “Très normale”. We had always known that part of retiring to France as vegetarians was going to include a lot of flexible dining and perseverance.
Neither of us was in the mood for French fries as our first taste of retired life in France. Resigned, we headed back outside giving our first ever Gallic shrugs. “C’est la vie!” we grinned. We figured we’d buy a bottle of water at the gas station and unpack the emergency snacks we’d brought from the States. Maybe this would finally be the beginning of that low-cal diet we'd been meaning to start for years... Welcome to France.
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