On y danse.

On y danse.

I should hope you know the rest. Oui? Or maybe that’s a big fat: Non.

How could we not see a place that was right along our route that has a song named after it?

Precisely, what I thought — we couldn’t.

Beautiful, charming Avignon.

The getting there was long and tiring. But so so so worth it.

We had left Carcassonne, had our pit stop in Corbiere country (per previous posts), and were feeling it … you know, the whole driving along the French countryside in huge ass TE. Being totally swept away by the magic that is France.

So when I hopped on the A9, for what was supposed to be a short hour jaunt to Avignon, I was none too pleased to find deadlock traffic.

An accident/fire/crazy road stuff.

Wonderful.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, had I not been consuming a ton of Perrier, and I’ll admit it — two wine tastings from Chateau du Vieux Parc.

Sidenote: I do want to stress here that I was in no way operating a motor vehicle whilst inebriated.

Only a little buzzed. I’m joking, I’m joking.

Anyway, the point is: I was desperate to pee. I figured once we got on the fancy fast Autoroute, there’d be plenty of exits.

Just like being in the U.S.

I’d get off, find a McDonald’s, pee, and grab a beer to go for Maman. Minus, the beer part.

Someone please tell me why it is we can’t do that here? Cause let me say … it hasn’t done the Europeans any harm.

I held out hope that we’d soon start moving and began blasting Britney and Rihanna. I heart you, Brit Brit and Ri Ri.

It was just like Office Space.

I’d sit, watch other people move along. I’d change lanes. Be stuck. Watch other people moving past in previous lane.

And switch back.

F it.

I finally decided to go for it and give in — I’d show my undying lane allegiance. And no movement. Still.

Things got so desperate that I had no choice. I peed into a McDonald’s cup. The medium size one.

I thought of a couple things during that long pee.

The first was that I never would have imagined, while drinking the Diet Coke that originally filled the cup, that I’d be filling it with pee.

The second was how many truck drivers would be able to look down as they drove along and catch some goods.

The third was how to prevent this.

Maman tried to hang up a shirt in the window, but that didn’t really help, because she then had to empty the pee cup out.

Is that TMI?

Probably.

I did tell you I really had to pee … I mean, I’ve been known to empty out a good 34 fl oz. Yeah, as in a little over a liter.

WTF. Is that even normal?! Probably not.

It was also doubly challenging to have to maintain driving, peeing, and then stopping to wait on Maman and then start the whole thing all over again.

I never knew I had it in me to be such a multi-tasker.

Turns out tough times really do show our true character.

After the pee fiasco, I felt worlds better. And that I could handle anything.

Bring it, France.

Once we finally got out of the horrible traffic jam — which was over two hours later — I put the pedal to the metal (geez, did I actually just use that line? what is this – the 80s?).

TE was hauling.

More Brit Brit. Some Springsteen, too. Bruce, you’re so great to have along on a roadtrip.

By the time we pulled into Avignon, I wasn’t going to f around. I called Jean and Elisabeth, the hospitable duo at Lumani.

Over the course of 20 minutes, and many repetez’s, I knew there was no use. I had no clue what the hell they were saying.

I mean, I did. Yet I didn’t.

The verb “ranger” was used a number of times. I only know “ranger” as: to clean.

What the hell could they mean by clean the street?

Maman had no idea either.

I had no other option, when he asked me for the 17th time if I understood where to go. Oui. Oh, yeah, totally. Definitely got this.

I hung up.

Maman looked at me so full of hope and said:

I’m so glad you know how to get us out of this place.

And I said: I have no f-ing clue where the f we’re supposed to go.

A long, silent pause.

Lots of laughing – by me.

And I was off. I’d find this Lumani if it was the last thing I did.

I was so much better than this! I could figure it out.

Or more like figure out the first person to ask. Which is what happened.

I found a nice lady eating dinner in her car and scared the shit out of her by knocking on her window when her head was turned to the side (food intake).

Turns out, after my profuse “pardons” that we were five minutes away.

Like I’d ever know that when I’m dealing with the old, walled city. Good lord. How did the Popes do it?

We arrived Lumani. Looking rather forlorn. I felt like I hadn’t eaten in 9 days and had crossed the Sahara.

Where was the celebratory vino?

The victory was short lived: TE was too big to park.

There was not one gosh darn space that car could get into.

Thankfully, Jean was able to back it in their driveway. But just barely. He had to climb out the front passenger door, and even then only narrowly made it out.

I had one of the best sleeps that night.

Our French windows wide open. Such a breeze blowing through.

Falling asleep in a place that literally means: light.

How perfect.