You Can Go Home Again!

October 21, 2008 in Paris/Etrepy

Paris had been calling to me for many years; why it took me so long to go back I'll never know. A generous birthday gift from Gary provided the means for this and several other trips I hope to take within the next year.

After the UU service on Sunday, Lisa and I talked a little bit about the country visit I planned to make to Etrepy. She offered to help me put the trip together, just as Severine had done. I told her I already had schedules and the like; it would be getting out there and just doing it, but I was a little nervous thinking about doing it by myself. With that, I asked if she'd be interested in accompanying me on the trip. She said she could do it on Tuesday, so we met early to catch the metro to the Gare d'lest (East Train). We took the train to Chalons-en-Champagne. The land changed from city to suburb to green countryside with picturesque small towns popping up occasionally. Lisa and I talked and laughed and we arrived at our destination in no time.

Checking in with the clerk at the rail station, we were told that the Avis Rental Car office was just across the street. It was a few minutes after noon, so I estimated we'd be in the town of Etrepy by at least 2pm. Walking across the street to rent the car got me quite excited. Alas! The Avis store was CLOSED for lunch! Aaaaarrrrgggghhhh! What we had forgotten is that in France, lunches are very important and can be quite lengthy—the clerk at Avis most likely would be GONE until 2pm. Oh no, what to do?

Lisa thought quickly and motioned for us to go back to the station. Using her expert skills in both French and bargaining, she transferred our tickets to catch a train leaving in a few minutes for a town a bit farther south; St. Dizier. From there, Lisa found, we could get a car and then drive a much shorter route to Etrepy. At least we'd be getting closer to our destination rather than waiting around for the Avis guy to finish eating his baguette. So we're on the train again and got a compartment this time, thinking it would be private, but a young couple bounces in and makes themselves at home, talking quietly and playing with their cell phones. I wasn't bothered by them and continued my usual conversation, but after a while, Lisa motioned that we should leave the compartment and find another one. We were close to our destination anyway, so we made our way down the train to stand by the exit.

Happy to be in St. Dizier, we found that the rental car agency was in the center of town, quite a walk from where we were. We asked about a taxi and were told to talk to the guy who ran the bar next door. A big burly guy behind the bar was surprisingly nice and understanding and got on the phone right away to call his taxi-driving friend, whom, he said, would have enjoyed driving us the whole way to Etrepy, except that she had to take someone to the hospital within the hour.

Several moments later, a little car zooms up to the bar, a bleached-blonde woman at the wheel. I sat in front, though really Lisa should have since I'm not fluent in French. The driver was full of energy and talked a mile a minute; all of which went right over my head. About a minute into the drive, I realized I had not put on my seatbelt; by this time were moving at a fairly nice clip, so just putting on the belt had me dealing with quite a bit of G-Force. I loved it!

We zoomed up to the rental car place, I paid the taxi driver, who had not stopped talking once, and we got out in a drizzle of rain. Short minutes and 100 Euros later, we were throwing our bags into the back of a little blue car and we were on our way to Etrepy! As we drove around the city (several times, by mistake), Lisa apprised me of the rules of the road, like the crazy thing of allowing people coming in from the right to have the right of way, unless we were on a specially designated road. I learned about the roundabouts and the speed limits.

Finally, we were out of the city and driving down beautiful country roads. Lisa said she could tell that I'd been driving a stick-shift for a long time because I was so obviously comfortable with it. Straight out driving, then round a curve, and another gorgeous little town would rise up to meet us. We had fairly good directions, but had somehow ended up on the back roads. I was quite impressed with how clean the roadsides were and the extent to which the Forestry Service was replanting and monitoring the trees in the area. It was good to see. Getting more excited as we passed the towns between St. Dizier and Etrepy, I was still very overwhelmed when the sign to Etrepy appeared before me. I was overcome and the tears flowed.

Lisa probably thought I was a lunatic, but she was very kind and gentle when she suggested we just pull over on the roadside so that I could collect myself and we would walk from there. I was shaking as I grabbed my camera and locked the door. We had parked near the driveway of a lovely stone home that was across a bridge for the stream. We saw that a millrace had been in operation there some time ago, as the water pouring out of the race made a waterfall. Lush and green, the trees were turning, but many flowers still bloomed in the field and in the flowerboxes on the town's houses.

It was cool and drizzly, but we walked on, my heart pounding. Still, nothing looked very familiar and I was fearful of finding the house. The village was eerily deserted and quiet. Up ahead, we saw the old church, majestic and tall, with an adjoining graveyard. In front of the graveyard, there was a gazebo-style roof to something that was underground; now this was seeming closer to home. I ran to the site and saw the underground spring where my mother and her neighbor women used to gather to wash clothes by hand while us children would play about the water and the green.

A statue of a young boy riding on the back of a goose still spouting water after these 44 years of my absence. Lisa offered to take photos of me there and the joy on my face is very genuine. Climbing the steps back up to level ground, I joined Lisa again and we continued walking up the street. To my right was a home that was a chalet-style building and I realized it was the one from the old photos of our street, looking down from our house. To my left was the Mayor's office, Number 7; I posed for another photo, only to find out later that not only was this the Mayor's office, it was also the location of my first school. We did hear children out back, so a school it must still be.

My eyes followed the road up toward the two-lane highway and there it was, on the right, my old house! More beautiful than ever, the brick clean, the wood on the garage doors shiny and new, and flowers, there were so many flowers. This was the most flower bedecked house in the neighborhood. Since I'd lived there, concrete flower boxes had been placed at the front of the stairs and along the ground level of the house. They were all full of beautiful blooms. Lace curtains hung in the kitchen window and everything looked freshly painted and very well cared for.

Directly across the street, in the yard that used to house those loud chickens back in the day, was a yard green with grass now and some deserted rabbit hutches listing to one side. On the concrete wall just below the wire fencing, I could still see the outline of where the old gravel/chicken poop pile sat. Next door lived a dog loudly protesting our visit to anyone who would listen. Before starting back down the hill to retrace our steps to the car, I stood a while longer just looking at the old house where I had lived and had had so many good memories. I thought about my mother, long gone, and my father and my sisters home in the States, and my grandfather, Georg, who would visit us from Munich and would bring along his son, my uncle Hans. As I turned away, I felt full and satisfied.

Walking by the courtyard, I remembered climbing into the limbs of the cherry tree where cherries used to drip like honey. The tree is long gone now, the area grown over with grass and wildflowers.It was getting colder and more rainy, so we walked more briskly back to the car. I would stop occasionally to see whether I could find my old neighbors' name on the labels, but to no avail. We got in the car and I realized that I didn't know how to put the gearshift in reverse! Oh no! What now? I made a tight turn, but could not quite make the full 360 without hitting something, so I let go the clutch, the car's engine sputtered out, and then rolled back exactly to where I needed it to be. Yay!

We drove slowly down the street cracking up over how well that maneuver has worked out for us. We saw a woman standing outside her house and I slowed down while Lisa rolled down her window. She queried the woman about who might know the folks who had lived there so long ago and we were directed to a small house down the street on the left with bright green shutters. Thanking the woman, we drove a little further to find that an elderly gentleman was standing next to the same house we'd been directed to.

Lisa asked the man about Madame Annique; yes, he did remember her! She had married and moved to a town named Sermaise, where she and her husband opened a café and bar. We got excited. We had to drive through that town on the way back to catch our evening train back to Paris. Maybe we could find the bar! We thanked this kind man and hit the highway.

During our drive there, I remarked to Lisa that I had been carrying postcards with me all week forgetting to send them; at one point, she said to pull over quickly. I did and we pulled into a post office parking lot. Brilliant! We got out and just as we turned to take the steps into the building, two women stepped out and locked the door! When asked about the timing, they looked at us as if we should have known that the Post Office closes at 4:30. We ran back to the car and remembered about the reverse—Lisa gamely pushed from the front as we moved backward to go forward again without hitting a wall. We were about giddy at this time.We drove into Sermaise, parked the car again when we saw a possible candidate for the café/bar we were looking for and walked in to query the guy behind the bar. He looked perplexed and said that the name did not sound familiar and that he was sorry. A very nice kitty cat came over and played with my leg; the guy said it would not scratch, but it definitely used me as a scratching post (in a nice way).

We got back out to the car and I burst out laughing because, can you guess? Once again, I had forgotten to park where I could easily get out. So Lisa was at the front again, pushing me backwards until I got clearance. My jaws were starting to hurt from all the craziness and laughing. We were quickly running out of time to make our train in St. Dizier, so tension was heightened and the laughs, though nervous, came easier and easier. We got into St. Dizier with only a few minutes to spare and glory be! We could not find out way over to the side where the train station was located; we looped around several times and wondered if we'd totally lost our bearings!

Finally, we saw the overpass, I gunned the engine, we almost went airborne, I turned sharply to the left and pulled into an illegal parking spot, locked the car, threw the keys at the clerk telling him that we had parked illegally, and were ready to cross over the track to board our train. But, no, the conductor held his hand up. Another train was coming in and we couldn't cross; I was bouncing up and down nervously while we waited for the other train to pass, hoping ours would still be on the other side when it cleared. YES! We raced across the remaining tracks, greeted the conductor with big smiles and flushed faces, and climbed up the steps. With seconds to spare, we had made it!We shed our coats and sweaters and stowed them in the overhead compartments and flushed and happy, settled in for the ride back to Paris, two exhausted but very happy travelers. (Thank you, Lisa!)