Tag: France

Entering our Apartment in Aix-en-Provence

October 9, 2023

Talk about security! I thought we would get a key from a receptionist and go to our room in a hotel. Not so. We were registered at Les Suites  Du Cours in Aix-en-Provence, which we thought was a hotel – but discovered later that in Aix, at least, a hotel is a type of townhouse in the center of the old city, they used to be houses of the wealthy. Our hotel room turned out to be an apartment.

Let me start in the beginning when we received instructions on how to access our “self-registration” where we would be staying tonight. Although we had the street address, the instructions on how to enter our accommodation from the travel agent came the day Kathy drove from St. Remy to Aix-en-Provence, about an hour’s drive.

I was surprised; I expected a hotel with a lobby and a receptionist. Not so. We received an algorithm on how to enter this place via ten successive emails that mirrored a five-page manual on entering this place, the latter also sent via email!

Challenged by digital codes and fobs and keys in the instructions, I was apprehensive about our arrival; what if we could not follow the instructions and were left on the street with no receptionist? Although we had a phone number, what if they do not work at night or not at home? And would my French be good enough to communicate with them?

When we arrived at the address with two backpacks, after being lost for three hours, we faced a large, ornamental door, shown in a picture on the five-page instruction manual. The door at our address was in the middle of outdoor cafes, with people occupying all the tables, oblivious to the new arrivals.

So, we started by punching in the four-digit code to open the ten-foot-high historical, ornamental, heavy door; it clicked and we pushed it inwards. The door was very heavy with springs so strong that I had to lean into it to keep it open. Total darkness awaited us inside the twenty-foot-long vestibule, and I fumbled to find a light switch, indicated by three lighted dots on the wall ten feet away from us. We searched for the mailboxes, as instructed, opened the door, and looked up the next code to open the number 5 mailbox, our apartment number. We punched another four-digit code a few times with no success until I realized that the star after the four digits was part of the code and not the end of the instructions. Two sets of keys fell out of the mailbox for our next set of doors.

A fob was attached to both sets of keys and one of the fobs opened the next door, leading to the staircase and the elevator. This part of the building was also totally in darkness but by now we knew to look for the light switch. With only our backpacks, we decided to walk up the stairs instead of using the elevator even though the twenty-foot ceiling made the stairs long. The instructions were that only one person and a suitcase could be in the elevator at one time, and yet another key to use it. At any rate, our apartment was only on the second floor, we reasoned, and Kathy was worried she might get stuck in the ancient elevator.

Having reached the second floor, we tried to use the old-fashioned elaborately molded key to open the large, ten-foot-high ornamental door. We were tired and the key was obstreperous, it would not work. I was unsure whether I put it in the right manner and twisted it around in all directions. Finally, I banged on the door in frustration, expecting someone to be around to help us or tell us to get out of there but nothing happened.

Then the realization struck us that in France, the second floor is actually on the third level. The ground or first floor is the “rez-de-chaussee”. So, we hauled our baggage up to the next floor in the dark again since the lights worked for a short time only and we had to find the next switch on the next level. This time the old key worked. Finally, we arrived in our “hallway”, but it was pitch black again, and fumbled in the dark to find a switch.

In this hallway, several double doors faced us which, I thought would lead us to the kitchen, bedroom, etc. I heard voices behind one of the doors so I went there and burst in to let the intruders know that we reserved this unit. American voices greeted us in a friendly tone, and they said that they had reserved this unit for five days and our apartment must be behind another door opening from the “hallway”.

Three apartment units opened from this hallway and we, apparently, reserved one of these but we did not see numbers to indicate which one. Each unit had a set of double doors in front of the locked door units themselves – the unit number itself was a small number on the inner door, not visible from the hallway. The ornamental double doors, we speculated, were probably the original doors to be kept for historical purposes, and the inner doors, where our keys worked, were modern, lockable ones.

I was embarrassed for bursting in on the American visitors, apologized, and went to another door in the hallway where one of the keys on the second set of keys worked. Finally, we arrived at our apartment. The “hallway” served three apartments; I mistook the word hallway for our apartment’s lobby.

Once we settled into our bright place, we engaged in a friendly discussion with the neighbors and imbibed a glass of wine to calm our frazzled nerves, I reflected on the amount of security installed here. We needed two digital codes, a fob, and two keys to enter our apartment! Was this necessary? Is this overkill? Is the crime rate in France high? I did not know. But I thought the five barriers to mount to enter an apartment were beyond the pale. But perhaps when you get used to this system, it becomes simple. At any rate, we felt secure to leave our passports in the room when venturing outside.

Now you might think this entrance to occupy your hotel/apartment was frustrating, irritating and unnecessary. It was. But at the same time, to me, it was a puzzle to solve. It was fun. I used to do sudoku and now I do wordle. The satisfaction of solving puzzles was similar to solving this real-life puzzle to get into our accommodation.

Navigating Aix-en-Provence: A Travel Experience

October 8, 2023

The travel agent reserved a place for us in Aix-en-Provence and the GPS in the Peugeot 208 indicated a map showing how to get there. The rush-hour traffic engulfed Kathy driving the car and I assisted navigating the road. Crowds of people walking across the street made driving more challenging. And the roundabouts, of which there were more than traffic lights, complicated driving by sprouting many exits and lanes that we had to assess in trying to find the right exit.

Some exits were just lanes. Once the GPS directed us to take the next right, which was a lane that took us into an underground parking that we toured searching for the exit. On exiting, the inserted ticket triggered the gate to open, and we sped out.

The car rental agent switched the GPS to English from French and a serious-sounding, deep-voiced female directed us to our destination with a UK accent. We learned some new expressions such as “bear right” which means to turn right.

The rush of traffic, the crisscrossing pedestrians, and listening to the deep UK-accented voice combined to make us highly nervous driving in a town new to us, and we wanted to get to our place fast. But that was not to be.

The GPS, with the hotel address typed into it, directed us to turn left into a lane right after going around the Rotunda, a central square in Aix. In the fast-moving traffic, we did not notice the small lane quickly enough and missed our turn in the rush-hour traffic. We were frustrated and used some words inappropriate in a blog. After recalculating, the GPS moved us around a few kilometers to come back to the Rotunda again. By this time, with our nerves totally frazzled, we missed the turn lane yet again, being pushed by the cars behind us on our tail.

The third time around Kathy slowed down ignoring the honking behind us and we entered the single lane promising to lead us to our hotel. The next left turn ordered by the GPS left us facing bollards not allowing us into the single lane. Stumped, we stopped trying to analyze the situation before the honking became overbearing and people yelling at us to get a move on. We had no choice. We moved on while Kathy, in her utter frustration showed a finger to the woman driver behind us yelling at us.

At this point, having driven around for over an hour and a half, I said, hell with the hotel reservation, let’s take another hotel anywhere in Aix. Then we realized that we needed gas to continue our search. I clicked on Waze on my cellphone and looked for the nearest gas station. Still in rush-hour traffic, we missed a few gas stations because we could not get to the right lane from the middle lane fast enough.

We filled up at the gas station that we finally reached, where a friendly soul directed us to a suburban hotel twenty minutes away. We were happy with a full tank of gas and redirected the GPS to find the hotel.

Khalid, the hotel receptionist, was sorry but said his hotel was full and he came with me to two adjacent hotels to speak French to the other receptionists, which he said would help us, poor Canadians, find a place to sleep. Walking back and forth among the hotels afforded me time to discover that Khalid came from Tunisia, and he became excited to hear that I loved Tajine.

The horrible option of sleeping in the car came to my mind, should we not find a hotel. But that idea also created a problem; where to find a place to park? Parking in Aix seemed nonexistent. When I shared this idea with Khaled, he would not hear of it, he said he would make sure to find a place for us.

The nearby hotels were full as well. Khalid called another ten hotels to no avail. By this time, it was dark, and we were totally tired out and the unwelcome scenario of finding a quiet spot to park and sleep in the car has become a real option. Instead, Khalid suggested we leave the car at his hotel’s parking garage and take a taxi to our hotel, wherever it was. Since it was an offer to park free in the garage, and we were too tired to think, we accepted his offer. We took our overnight bags and waited for the taxi he called.

The taxi followed the route we had taken previously around the Rotunda, but instead of going where we had gone three times, the driver took the next right which was Cours Mirabeau where our hotel was. When confronted with bollards at the entrance – Cours Mirabeau is closed to traffic except for delivery vehicles and taxis – the driver inserted a card into a slot on a post next to him to make the bollards sink into the ground. And then we drove onto rue Mirabeau and found our hotel.

The next morning, after surveying where we were, we took a taxi to retrieve our car and returned to park it in the nearby parking garage. The instructions to our hotel would have been clearer if directed to seek a garage, and not the hotel, which was inaccessible by car. But since the hotel has a street address, the GPS took us on a futile trip.

In retrospect, the travel agent should have told us to park first with an address for a garage and instructions on how to reach the hotel next. Instead, the address to the hotel was provided with the suggestion that we park in the nearest parking garage.

Finding the hotel was a rough experience that tired us out and frazzled our nerves. But, I must say, it was exciting going around Aix three times, discovering the city, observing rush-hour traffic and blending into a very urbanized environment. And the relaxation we felt after the taxi found our place and we settled in, was immense and very satisfying. We will cherish and remember this adventure for a long time. Our place was in the middle of a major boulevard bordered by exquisite old mansions and sporting a lively atmosphere; lots of cafes and people mingling late into the night. The next morning we went down for a coffee (espresso) and croissant right along our door.