Ordinary Gente

Little did I know that not having a washing machine would be the least of our concerns. We were stuck in a sketchy town known for pickpockets or worse, it was the middle of the night, we had no place to stay and every room for miles around was booked.

Our airplane was a little late getting in from Barcelona to Marseilles, then we sat on the tarmac, waited in the border control line for about an hour and finally got ready to board the shuttle from the airport to the train station in center of town (45 minutes away). Then we got an email from the guy who manages the small apartment we rented saying we were too late to check in. Closed. Shut. No go. You’re on your own.

My brain went into a momentary freeze. What? As it began to thaw, I thought, “But this apartment has a washing machine which we need in the middle of our 3 week trip.” I didn’t know that we were really stuck. Not then, anyway.

We knew we needed to do some damage control. At that time I thought, “Piece of cake, we’ll just get a hotel room.” I do best with a full charge on my telephone and when I’m not “hangry.” So I told Luis I have to eat something as it was nearing 9PM and I hadn’t eaten since early morning. The only thing we could get was a salate au jambon. But even the little snack bar in the train station was closing so we scooted out of there.

Finally, we sat in relatively clean seats with an outlet nearby. Both Luis and I started tearing up the browser and went to every website to book a room. But I don’t find a thing available. Luis was getting the same results.

NOTHING. NOPE. NADA.

Two hours into a focused search of AirBnB, Booking.com, Trivago, Hotels.com, etc. The realization dawns on us. The regional airline, RyanAir, had a pilot strike and that stranded thousands of people in towns like Marseilles.

In desperation, I called the only person in our time zone, not my sisters or friends who were in the wee hours of the morning their time. I call Miguel in Germany. “Can you help us, mijo?” Maybe he assumed our browsers weren’t functioning right or we’re just too old to scramble and find a room. Luis and I are old, but not incapable. Miguel also finds that there is no available room at any price in Marseille, in Aux in Provence, in Avignon, anywhere… Except way out in the countryside at a steep price. Renting a car wasn’t an option because there weren’t any open rental businesses. Luis suggested we just catch a train to somewhere, anywhere and hope we can get a room in that location. But the last train to Avignon had already left. Not to mention, Miguel had found out all the rooms there were booked up.

So, after finding out the train station was going to close at 1AM, dodging a rat, and witnessing loud interaction between the police and people hanging out at the train station, we found a taxi driver who will take us the 50 or so miles to a — wait for it — a castle converted into a 5-star hotel and restaurant. We ended up at the Château Fonscolombe in the dead of night. In the inky darkness of a country road, the uplighting of the grounds only hinted at the stately grandeur.

Upon checking in, they apologized that their restaurant had just closed. Remember, it’s 1AM at this point. But maybe they could bring us something if we were hungry. I said, “Yes, please, bread and water.” Rather, “Oui, pain et eau.” Room service brought a splendid little feast of fruit and cheese and salad.

Daylight came and we realized the spooky isolation we feared the night before was simply the most beautiful place I have ever stayed, fountains, forested pathways, and vineyards upon the rolling hills for miles.

Instead of checking out by 9AM, we decide to stay another night. This unexpected splurge turned into my birthday present and we thoroughly enjoyed the stay.