It’s not what you are thinking. It is worse.

During our month in Avignon, we tried to explore as much of Provence as we could within an hour or so from the place we were renting.

One day we went over to the village of Eygalières for lunch. I had been the week before on the day I bought our used car. Our friends Bernard and Virginie from Burgundy were staying there with their friends from England. Bernard was telling me that Eygalières had become an area for the rich and famous. While driving back to his friends place, out in the middle of nowhere, he pointed out his next door neighbor’s house. He said, “that’s Hugh Grant’s house”. Being French, Bernard didn’t get my Divine Brown reference.

It was a neat area, and it had a really pretty town that D would like.

We got there a little before our lunch reservations, so we got a chance to wander around a little bit. Being midweek, not a market day and a little drizzly, there weren’t a lot of people in town. Lunch was excellent. We had a little wine. Well, I did, and maybe a beer.

We then decided to stop in St. Remy on the way back.  That’s another cool town.

We got there around 2 oclock. The place was packed. Wednesday is market day. There is a ring road that circles the town. We drove along that for about 15-20 minutes looking for a spot. We also went down some side streets and tried one parking lot that had pylon jump up and hit the back bumper of the one week old used car. We decided to head back to the rental and visit St. Remy another day.

About 5 minutes after leaving town and 30 minutes to the rental, I hit the danger zone. I really had to go to the bathroom bad.

As you probably know, there are not a ton of fast-food restaurants to stop into in many parts of France. No easy bathroom access. That is probably why I see men peeing on the side of the road conspicuously all the time. There is nowhere else to go.

A couple of minutes later, things are getting tense. I saw a cheese and fine food shop. My plan was to buy some goodies and then talk my way into the back of the shop to use their bathroom. As usual, the clerk at the store was very friendly, especially after she heard that I was from California. She said she only spoke a little English.

I asked about the local cheeses, her favorite especially. Always be selling. Smiling, she pointed to a couple of local goat cheeses that she and the town were very proud of. I quickly said, “I’ll take them both”. She hesitates and wryly said “Oh”. “I will take that charcuterie there too”.

She was totally sold now. After ringing up the order, it was a little more expensive than I had hoped, she was very proud of selling me her wares. Now was my shot. “The toilette sil vous plait?” She looked a me and said “Non, je suis desolate”. I was quickly reminded that I was still in the danger zone. All pretense of speaking French was gone now. “Is there one nearby?” With a shrug, I got back “non”.

Oh no.

I got back in the car. D asked me if I found a bathroom because she had to go too now. “No, I am dying. We are going to have to tough it out.”

Thirty minutes. Traffic circles. Manual transmission. Middle aged. Yikes.

We finally got back to our neighborhood. Me sweating and the world around me fuzzy. The driveway to the place was crazy tough to get into. It is best to back up. There is a slight turn and a hill to navigate at the same time you go through the stone gate. The pavement was a little wet. I turned the car around and started to back up.

I had the wrong angle. Had to try again. I got the angle to where I thought I would be good. Letting off the clutch, my body started to let something else go. The car lurched back, D shreiked, there was a loud bang and the passenger side mirror was hanging off the one week old car.

D yells “why did you do that?” I gasped back, “I have to go the bathroom so bad, I almost wet my pants.” Exasperated, she calmly said, “why didn’t you go over there?” pointing around the secluded wall. Always one to follow directions, I jumped out of the car as fast as I can. The mirror could wait.

Phew. One mirror down. But worth it now.

Getting back to the car. Head hung low. I said “I think I can fix it”

We got back up the driveway and went into the house. D was not happy.

A couple of hours later, I went back down to visit my work. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. The glass part of the mirror, although a little scratched, was still attached to the car and the frame. The outer housing was hanging sadly. Messing around with it a little bit, I was able to snap it back into place. Walking back up to the steps, I proudly announced “fixed it”.

Two days later we decided to the awesome Friday market in Lourmarin. We jumped on the A7. As soon as we got to 110 kmh, I noticed the mirror move just a smidge. The speed limit changed to 130 kmh. By this time, D started to notice the mirror. I said “I think it will be fine”. I pulled over anyway to check it. I sill seemed ok.

Getting back on the road, at 110 kmh, it seemed ok this time. Sigh of relief. Now, up to 130 kmh, still ok. Then, D yelled “Paul!”

Looking in the rear view mirror, I was amazed how fast that mirror moved away from us at 130 kmh.