I feel like there's a theme going on here with this blog, especially recently. Transportation seems to be challenging, yes? And each day seems to top the last. Here's today’s chapter in the novel:
I left the house a little before 10:00 and headed to the train station to pick up groceries and the rental car we'll be using for the next few days. The first thing I saw was construction equipment (or in this case destruction equipment, since it was tearing our road apart) at the top of the hill. Rain was pouring so I borrowed an umbrella from the Airbnb stash - the fancy long handled kind - and headed out.
I purchased groceries first, adding a few items on the list since I had a car to transport them. But then I discovered that the Sixt rental place I thought would be at the station (and Mom says she told me to call and move the rental to the station which is exactly something I'd forget to do) was actually 1.5 miles away. The walk began. The rain had lightened up so I was carrying the umbrella closed in the same hand as the 20 pound grocery bag. My other hand was occupied by my phone (side note: I found out from our German friends that Germans call cell phones HANDYS - and I can't get that out of my head). So my hands were occupied with my handy and my grocery burden. Shortly, I had to open the umbrella because of, well, rain. Where to put my phone? Not in my pocket with the strong magnet I was carrying to hold said phone in the rental car (do magnets mess up cell phones? Or just handys? I dunno but didn't want to find out). Magnet couldn't go in the pocket with my wallet, which was zipped for security and not convenient for the phone. Hmm. I got smart and put my glasses in with the magnet (they’d get along fine) and put my cell in my breast pocket. While walking across town I took a few pictures of the scenery. There's a river. And a highway.
Okay, finally I have the rental car. It's nice! A hybrid with new features. I set my GPS to the Hotel DeVille, where we were told there'd be parking near our house. I encountered a few wrong turns getting there (you see, I'm directionally challenged and even with a GPS I get lost) and entered the parking lot. Hmm. How to pay? I couldn't figure it out so I asked Google, which told me that you can't just show up and park. Parking has to be reserved in advance and you, my friend, don't have a reservation. When I tried to reserve, of course, there was no room at the inn. Luckily, I was able to get out of the parking lot before I was locked in without permission.
My next plan was to find a spot to pull over and find a parking reservation elsewhere. But then this thing happened. There was nowhere to pull over, no parking anywhere, no way of stopping (which is why there's reserved parking?). I felt like I was in the movie speed and had to keep driving or set off the bomb. When we were in an Uber a week or two ago (what century is it now? I feel like I've been in stasis for years), the driver was telling us that when he was new to London and new to driving in town, he'd follow his bus that used to take home in order to get there in his car. Apparently bus drivers were very suspicious about this behavior. I'm telling you this because in the midst of driving I latched on to that idea in order to get out of the old town where parking is not a thing and find somewhere, anywhere to park. So I followed this silver Volvo. We went up a mountain. Far up a mountain.
At the top of the mountain I found parking. This was about the time I was thinking that Mom may start to worry about me. It's been much longer than I anticipated getting back. I mean, I'd left my morning meds and breakfast out, ready for me to take at a time that was still breakfasty. So I called Mom and her phone went directly to voicemail. Couldn't text either. But I was able to book a parking reservation at the Art Museum lot! Once again, I put the address into Google and headed back into town. That was all good until I was back in the old part of the city again and Google kept telling me to go down streets that were either blocked for construction or pedestrian only. Dang it! Then, I decided to follow some bad Google advice and wound up in a dead end by a church. There was this man just standing there, using his side eyes to crush my tourist soul. I tried to wait him out before making the three point turn of shame, but he wouldn't leave so I gave in and let him judge as I drove away. This is when I turned Google off and gave it a stern talking-to.
Then finally! I saw it. The sign for Q-Park and a hopeful arrow. At this point I didn't care at all about whether I was driving on a street or not, and let me tell you, it is MUCH harder than you'd think to decipher this. I pulled up within 50 feet of the Q-Park sign and couldn't get there because two cars blocked the way with blinkers on, So I waited. For 20 minutes. Finally, I backed up and was ready to leave when they moved. And then guess what? The Q-Park sign was for a pedestrian entrance. So the searching continued. But not five minutes later, there was another Q-Park sign, And whoa! It was on the street that Google didn't even come close to getting me to. Problems are gone and relief took their place. For about 30 seconds. I'd found another pedestrian-only entrance. And this time, the sign was at the exact address for the parking lot given by the parking app I used to find this reserved spot in the first place. It had been over an hour, maybe more, since I'd returned to the old town to park and I'd just been driving and driving and driving, on sidewalks, perhaps on streets, through crowds of pedestrians, in front of a police car that I was sure would pull me over and throw me in tourist jail. And then, after another left turn of doom I was horrifically back in the same spot where I dead ended 45 hours ago! Not only that, but the man was STILL THERE. Oh, we made eye contact alright. And I just did my shame turn and moved on. I have no time for men who stand in dead ends for their entire day.
Last ditch effort, I pulled over in front of one of the pedestrian Q-Park signs and waited for someone to come out of it. Surely, if they were coming out, they knew how to get in, right? Well right. But also, they may not speak English. Which was the case with the very kind woman who responded to my honking and yelling at her on a pedestrian street, in the rain. And she, with hand gestures and a worried look on her face, tried to steer me in the right direction. Following her advice. I drove three blocks, very far away from the Art Museum, not even close to where Google tried to take me, and definitely not at the address given by the parking app. I found it. This is when I parked the car. It was the only thing I did today. That's all.
Except walk back to the house. And when I got there the construction crew had made its way down the street, and in a "this is actually happening" moment, they were actively tearing up the street right in front of the door I needed to walk through. So I became a tourist of destruction equipment until it was safe to pass, into the courtyard, up the steps, through the door, through another door and finally safe inside. Mom was VERY worried and was making plans for how to ship my body back to the states by the time I'd arrived back. It had been almost 4 hours. Finally, we found out that the reason Mom was not getting internet service was because the road crew was messing with it all day. And this story is why I spent the rest of the day in a fetal position sucking my thumb, in my jammies (figuratively - we actually watched Poirot and ate Poke again). You have now reached the end of this story. We will not speak of it again (that list is getting kinda long, huh?)
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