First camper van drive (Segment no. 3): Villefranche - Girona (574 km)
On May 29th, after a refreshing sleep, I wake up in a hotel room in Lyon, stretch, and replay the yesterday's entire film in my mind. A wave of self-satisfaction washes over me. If I got through that, it seems I can handle anything that comes my way. At this moment in time, what I cannot imagine is how much this realization will be put to the test.
Full of a continental breakfast and good energy, I check out, load my backpack onto my back, and make my way to my van parked in the hotel parking lot. It’s now eight-thirty; if I leave now, I’ll reach Girona, Spain, around four in the afternoon. Nice.
I settle into the driver’s seat, push the key into the ignition, turn it, click-click, and... nothing. I repeat the same action several times, and on the fourth try, I notice that the light switch is set to the parking lights. In other words, yesterday, after all the canal festivities, I forgot to turn off the parking lights, which apparently—no, not apparently, definitely—were on all night and ha definitely drained the battery dry.
I head back to the hotel. First, I ask if I can stay another night. They tell me, "Yes, but it will cost double." "Why?" "Because it's a walk-in. Because you’re here at the reception." In other words, if I had stepped out of the hotel complex and booked the room online, it would have cost half the price. Well, that’s life. The next question is whether there’s a technical entity here who has jumper cables and might be able to help me. "Just a moment, I’ll check," says the friendly receptionist.
About an hour later, a man with a distinctly Middle Eastern appearance arrives and asks what is the problem. After a brief explanation, he disappears for another half hour, and from the reception area, I see him parking a Peugeot next to my van and coming out with a red cable and a black one. I go to him.
We lift the hood and for a long time, we stare into the guts of my van until he finally says, "There’s no battery!" and gives me a funny look, as if I did something to make the battery disappear. "So where’s the battery?" He finally asks and I have no idea. We both start crawling on all fours around the car. While we're crawling, another guy appears on the scene. He saw us from the balcony of his hotel room, and we all know that male Homo sapiens cannot resist a technological challenge, so he joins the search, and when the three of us can’t decipher the riddle of the battery, I realize that I probably need to call Jacob again.
"What happened this time? Where did you park the car?" he asks. Embarrassed, I say, "I forgot to turn the parking lights off, and the battery is dead." "Well?" Jacob wonders, "What’s the problem? Have someone bring cables, and you’ll start the car!" he snaps at me. "Jacob," I say, struggling to find the words. "What? Speak. What’s the problem?" I quietly say, "We can’t find the battery." "What? You can’t find the battery? Look it up on Google!" What a fool! How did I not think of that myself? I could kick myself! I end the call.
A few minutes later, with the help of the internet gods, we find out where the battery is. So, for those who don’t know, the battery of a Fiat Ducato is located under the driver’s seat. More precisely, under a metal cover secured with screws, which is located beneath the driver’s foot-well.
However, when we finally locate the battery, the hotel maintenance guy—who, by the way, comes from an Algerian background—is urgently called to some other event, and the guest, who turns out to be Turkish, kind of fades away, leaving me with my completely dead van.
I call Jacob again. "Now I’m in the middle of Lyon, France, and I need you to activate the insurance to send someone here to start the vehicle!" I bark at him, "I'm really getting tired of this whole story!" "Okay, fine! Why are you shouting? I didn't leave the parking lights on and I didn't drive the blooming car into the canal!" Jacob shouts back at me, and immediately I am filled with regret.
It’s already ten o’clock in the morning, and I do the math: if the mechanic arrives within an hour, I won’t reach Girona before eight in the evening. I decide I have a whole spare day and that it would be wise to stay another night in Lyon and head towards Spain tomorrow morning.
Around eleven, a tow truck from the insurance company arrives, and after a few failed attempts, the young mechanic manages to start the vehicle. He tells me that my battery is old, worthless, and that if I have plans to go anywhere, I must not turn off the engine under any circumstances, and at the first opportunity, I should buy a new battery. Okay. And just like that, a new reality is created, and all my lodging plans in Lyon are thrown out the window. The engine of my van is running, and I rush to inform the very nice receptionist that, for the third time, my plans have changed. Tonight, alas, I will not be staying in the hotel.
I quickly check out, ensuring to settle any outstanding charges and thanking her for her assistance. With my backpack secured, I head back to my van, feeling a surge of determination despite the setbacks of the day.
Once in the driver's seat, I navigate my route out of Lyon, setting my sights on Girona, Spain. The sun is shining, and the open road ahead fills me with optimism. I remind myself that travel often comes with unplanned twists, but it’s all part of the adventure. As I drive, I reflect on the day’s events and how I managed to overcome the obstacles. It’s a learning experience, and I resolve to be more mindful in the future—perhaps checking the lights before leaving the vehicle. With that thought in mind, I eagerly anticipate the journey ahead, ready to embrace whatever comes next.
Around nine in the evening, I enter the gates of Girona in northeastern Spain and ask myself, where on earth am I going to find a battery at this time of night?! On this day, I learn that it’s always better to arrive at a new place during daylight.
As I drive through the charming streets of Girona, the warm glow of the streetlights begins to illuminate the city. I feel a mix of exhaustion and excitement; the day has been long and filled with unexpected challenges, but I'm finally here.
Here is the video that tells the story of what happened next:
The truth is that despite everything that happened (including the loss of the sixth gear, probably as a result of ditch incident), I sleep well at night. Early in the morning, I head to the company offices, among which is a fancy garage called "Codis Andreu." No, the word "fancy" doesn't even come close to describing this garage. I've never seen a garage like this before. It’s not a garage at all; it’s an operating room.
I ask where the "director mecánico" is, which as I understand means "mechanical manager," in Spanish, and they direct me to one of the transparent booths surrounding the garage floor. I explain my situation, and by the second sentence, the man seems a bit impatient. When I tell him that the sixth gear isn’t engaging and is popping out of place, he says, "No, no, no!" To fix the gearbox, you'll need to leave the car here for two months; we need to order parts, it’s an old vehicle, and do you see all these vans?" He points to the parking lot where my van is parked, and for the first time, I notice a long line of sophisticated vans, all of which need repairs in preparation for the upcoming summer vacation in Europe. "Do you see them? I need to fix all of them before July 1st. So you might get your car back, maybe, by mid-July."
I know I can drive my van without sixth gear; it will just cost me more in fuel. So, without a hint of shame, I plead with him to just replace the battery and promise not to bother him again. To my complete surprise, he agrees. How much will it cost? A lot. No problem. Can I pay by credit card? Yes. "Give me the keys and come back around noon," he says tersely, and I drop the keys into his outstretched hand.
At eleven o'clock, I run out of patience and return to the garage. I see my van outside. Could it be that the service is finished? I enter the garage, and indeed, Francesco, the saintly mechanic in charge, confirms that the service has been successfully completed, and here we are with a new, strong, and expensive battery. Great, I can hit the road.
"Not so fast," Francesco immediately cools my enthusiasm. "The engine sounds bad, listen," he leans in to hear the hum. "Do you hear that? It’s going up and down," and he illustrates with his hand. "And also," he adds, "it doesn’t look good at all. What’s all this burnt oil soot covering the engine?" He looks at me with an expression that leaves no room for misunderstanding. "How should I know?" I think to myself, my heart sinking somewhere deep in my stomach. Francesco concludes, "We don’t know what the source of the contamination is, the engine’s rhythm isn’t good, and it’s highly advisable to visit a garage before heading toward Valencia."
To his credit, he calls all the reliable garages in Girona, but of course, none can take my van for immediate service before the holidays. I thank the wonderful man and say that whatever will be, will be; I’ll take the risk and hope for the best.
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