First camper van drive (segment no. 2): Freiburg - Villefranche (406 km)
Updated: Mar 5
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Just like any other morning, May 28th 2023 began with the sunrise and the chirping of birds. Only I know that it is my first awakening in the belly of a camper van, and like honey, it is a golden-sweet awakening. After breakfast, folding everything that can be folded, securing everything that needs to be tied, lowering the pop-up roof, disconnecting the camper from the power source, and so on and so forth, I hit the road with a sense of satisfaction and anticipation for what is to come—another peaceful transition from point A to point B, and between the two points, a wealth of landscapes and aesthetics straight out of a fairy tale.
I instruct Waze to guide me through the back roads, and thus drive through small villages that have been standing here for centuries not threatened or pursued, without fear, without an urgency of any kind. My consciousness marvels at the serenity that resided everywhere. At most, a mooing cow or a ringing church bell momentarily brake the layer of cotton candy that envelopes this new landscape that surrounds me.
At some point, to save time, I return to the highway, and as expected, the pastoral atmosphere changes. Not only are trucks and cars rushing forward from all sides, but dark clouds are filling the horizon, and drizzles are turning into heavy rain.
I already mentioned the app for finding kosher parking spots, and I just wanted to say that the route I'm traveling is, in fact, the way to one of the parking lots I found on the app and it's in the area of the city of Lyon, in eastern France, not far from the French Alps. The scenery here is breathtaking, and the rain that had fallen has vanished as quickly as it came, and once again the green glistens, with the villages blending perfectly into the hillside, and the camper fills with adjectives that suit one of the most beautiful regions in the world.
Mixed with my joy is anxiety about the next parking lot—did I need to pay in advance? Would I not be allowed to park without paying first? Would there even be a space? And if so, would it be filled with families, parents and children, and barking dogs?
Around five in the afternoon, I arrive at the camper site. The entrance gate is locked, and there’s no one around who looks like an official representative. From outside the gate I can see English and German tourists in all shades of lobster red trudging in flip-flops from the various camping neighborhoods to the lake shore and back.
I spot a machine with a sticker resembling a credit card and buttons right next to the entrance gate. I approach it, trying to understand the instructions and the French arrows, but I don’t get it. A green light is blinking at the machine's mouth, and with the utmost distrust, I insert my credit card into it. An electronic vocal message bursts from the device. Because of my somewhat limited French, I don't understand a word. I press in the sacred code number, and again an electronic message shouts at me, and the machine spits the card out. The gate remains locked.
Behind my camper, two more camper vans are already lined up, and although their drivers are not honking, it’s clear they are very unhappy with my camper blocking their entrance to the area. I gesture, get back in the car, and move it aside. I pull out my phone , and open the parking app.
Next to one of the advertised camping sites, there’s a photo—a river with trees reflected in its flat waters and blue skies above the trees. Under the picture, it says: "Shaded, flat, and level parking spots along the river, right on the water line, with no disturbances, accessible to all types of vehicles." Hmm… it looks like an ideal place. On the map, I see that the only thing separating me from this great camping spot is the Saône River. So, to reach it, I have to drive to the bridge located in the village of Messieu, cross the river, pass through another village, and drive my van back to the western riverbank.
It’s already five-thirty, the sun is blinding, and I arrive at the village of Cuancey. Miss Waze instructs me that in 300 meters, at the square, I have to take the third exit onto Rue La Salle, and so I do. Rue La Salle turns, believe it or not, into Rue Jérusalem, and in another 200 meters, I need to turn left onto an unnamed street. Very quickly, the unnamed street becomes a dirt road, and after another left turn, it turns into a tractor path barely a meter and a half wide. Well? I ask, have we arrived? And Miss Waze says to continue a little further. The camper van is shaking and shuddering from the bumps and potholes, and it goes without saying that I’m not really relaxed either. On one side of the road is an unharvested wheat field, and on the other are trees, that through them I can see the river. A thought crosses my mind: "Should I turn back?" but it’s clear there’s no way I can possibly to turn around, and the drive is either forward or backward.
Suddenly, about twenty meters to the north, parked between a linden tree and a large cedar tree, a dirty metallic Renault appears. A sigh of relief escapes my lips, but as I get closer, I see that the car is quite battered, dusty, and for some reason, the driver’s door is open. The momentary relief is replaced by suspicion. I slow down, lean forward to see better, and then I see it. Laying on the ground next to the car is a body. That is, there is a man sprawled out, half-naked, who, in my opinion, is dead.
My right foot slams on the brake, my left foot squeezes the clutch, I grip the gear stick and push it into reverse, release the clutch and brake, and throw the car into reverse. The problem is that the road is still as narrow as it was before, and the camper is too wide, and within seconds, I veer into the tall wheat field. I brake, shift into first, get out of the field, straighten out, and again shift into reverse, using the side mirrors to guide the car back as quickly as possible. Suddenly, the car starts beeping like a fucking meshuganeh—beep, beep, beep!!!! I jam on the breaks. 'Oh,' I say aloud, 'maybe here I can turn around.' I shift into first gear, and press the accelerator. The RPMs rise nicely, but the camper remains in place. My heart sinks, and suddenly it’s clear to me that I’m in trouble. 'Houston, we have a problem...' I say, opening the door of the camper.
Immediately, I see that the camper is resting on its belly, with both rear wheels in the air and above a water channel. On one hand, I know there’s no way I can get it out of here without a tow; on the other hand, I’m not sure that the body that I saw won't come back to life and kill me.
"Now what do I do?" I think to myself. First, take a picture of the catastrophe and then call Jacob - you know, the guy who sold me the van. Technically the van is his and I do remember he mentioned insurance.
'If you’re calling now, that’s not a good sign,' he says even before I can say a word. 'True,' I admit. 'Hey, is it possible to order a tow truck?' I ask. 'Where are you?' he wants to know. 'I have no idea,' I reply, looking around. 'So how do you expect us to order a tow truck?' Jacob wonders. 'Wait,' I look at Google Maps and search for the blue dot that represents me. 'I’m on the banks of the Saône River, about two kilometers from Cuancey le Tennis...' Jacob shouts, 'What's that? Where are you? What country are you in?' 'In France, next to a river, and the car has two rear wheels in a ditch.'
'Listen,' Jacob says slowly, 'you’re going to that village, Conchy le Tennis, and you're gonna knock on all the doors of whoever and you're gonna ask if whoever has a tractor and can they come with the tractor to get the car out of the ditch, understand?' 'But Jacob, you said there’s insurance and that the insurance covers towing across all of Europe!' Now the crying begins. Jacob says, 'Stop crying! Of course there’s a tow truck, but it'll take days until it gets to this middle of nowhere place you're at, and besides, tomorrow is a holiday, and all of Europe is closed. So maybe you’ll get out of there in three days. I’m telling you, go find someone with a tractor, pay them two euros, and have them pull you out of the ditch. Alright, bye.' And Jacob ends the call.
It’s almost six; the sun is about to drop below the horizon, and I start running back to the village. While running, I try to remember the French I once spoke way back in the early 1970's.
"Excusez-moi monsieur, je conduire ici et ma voiture est tombre dans la canale. Avez - vous un machine, un tracteur qui peut me tire du canale?"
I run and repeat, repeat and run, and suddenly I find myself at the gate of the first house in the village. Knocking on the door and tugging at the bell cord yield nothing, and I am already running to the next farm. Again, there’s no answer. I pause for a moment and try to see if there’s anyone alive in this God forsaken place, and I hear some noise coming from that direction. I run there. I turn a corner and see a large plant nursery where, presumably, most of the villagers are.
From my days of walking in Turkey, I learned that you should choose a target and direct a friendly smile toward them, and usually, that elicits the desired response and help. I chose a young man with a mustache, directed my friendliest face toward him, and smiled deeply into his eyes. "Excusez-moi, Monsieur, avez-vous un tracteur?" I ask him, and he pulls at his mustache and raises his eyebrows. I make a small gesture of a woman who has no idea what is happening to her, and he chuckles and explains in fluent French how to get to the farmer who surely has a tractor.
Following the instructions of the mustached man, I take a right and then another right, arriving at a tall wooden gate. After knocking and pausing, then knocking again and pausing, and just on the brink of despair, I hear the distant crushing steps of boots on gravel. Holding my breath, I wait, and then the gate opens slightly. From the crack, blue eyes peer out, set in a face lined with wrinkles. "Bonjour, Monsieur, bonjour!" I try to soften my voice as much as possible. "Avez-vous un tracteur?" The man furrows his brow, and I get my phone out and search for the photos of the camper in the ditch. "Mon voiture..." I show him the photo on my phone. "Elle est tombée dans le canal, et j'ai besoin d'un tracteur pour la sortir dehors..." For a few moments, he stares at the screen, and then he says, "Oh là là!" I nod vigorously and say, "Oui, oui! Grand oh là là!" I shrug my shoulders in a gesture that says, "What can I do? I'm such an idiot?" and the old man opens the gate.
Yes, he has a tractor; he just needs to finish sorting a box of carrots, and I’m invited to help, and then he will bring the tractor around. The sun is quickly making its way down, the sky is orange, we finish sorting the carrots, and then the farmer goes to look for the keys to the much desired tractor.
For some reason he gets frustrated with the drawers and I'm afraid the keys will never be found. He disappears into his house, and from the same door, his wife comes out and looks me over from head to toe. "Bonjour, bonjour, mon voiture est dans le canal..." I mumble, and she nods and goes back inside.
Ten minutes later, from the other side of the yard, I hear a pleasant engine sound. A red tractor is heading toward me. The farmer seats me on the wheel arch, and we set off, not before he hands me three tow cables. In less than five minutes, we arrive at the lopsided camper van. I jump off the tractor’s arch and dive under the car, where I attach the cables to the front axle, and the farmer, looking at me with a hint of astonishment, connects them to the tractor’s hook. With a rev, the tractor's wheels spin in place, but on the second attempt, the dazed van lifts out of the ditch and stands on the safe dirt road. Before the man drives away, I slip fifty euros into the pocket of his shirt and say, "Merci, merci, merci!" and the farmer with the red tractor drives off.
I settle into the car and immediately call Jacob. "So? What now?" he asks in despair. "You won’t believe it, but I found a man with a tractor and we got the camper out of the ditch!" "Well done!" Jacob chuckles his unique chuckle. "So? Did you give him something?" he asks, and without hesitation, I reply, "Of course! Fifty Euros!" "Are you serious?" Jacob exclaims. "Are you normal? Fifty euros?! I told you two euros!" I’ve already learned not to get upset by all the Israelis whose hobby is to make me feel like I am the ultimate sucker in the world. "I brought a tractor and got the car out of the ditch! Goodbye!"
I start the car, and it immediately fires up. Ah, what a good camper van, I think to myself as I begin to move forward. Suddenly, from the edge of the path, a dusty blue banged up Renault comes speeding toward me, with the dead man driving. "Honey," I say to myself, "tonight you are sleeping in a hotel!" and I make my way to the city of Lyon.
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