France, 1973

This morning my friend Donna sent me images of this incredible bridge, the Millau Viaduct, which is part of the new expressway connecting Paris and Barcelona. It is the highest bridge in the world - taller than the Eiffel tower - and often hidden in the clouds. Amazing!

The Barcelona to Paris connection, however, brought back memories of quite a different trip from Barcelona to Paris in 1973.

My District 62 friend Annie and I spent the summer of 1973 studying in Barcelona. Meanwhile, another friend, Barb, spent the summer assisting missionary friends working in a suburb of Paris. Annie and I decided to meet Barb and spend a few days in Paris before returning home.

For the trip we rented a VW bug with German license plates and set off from the Costa Brava late in the day. By the time we crossed the border, it was dark and we could only exchange the pesetas in our wallets for Francs. We didn't cash any traveler's checks. (Remember, this was 1973.)

We drove into a tiny town just across the border and found a small hotel. Speaking Spanish, we two Germanic looking blondes driving a German car successfully negotiated a room, although the owner wouldn't let us see it because it was "so late" (8:00 p.m.) and extracted our promise to be very quiet. We retrieved our luggage and then showed the owner our passports. I can still picture the horror on her face as she discovered that the women she presumed were Spanish-speaking Germans were, in fact, those despised Americans! She was stuck, however, and let us into the room where we were, obediently, verrrrrry quiet! We did our part for Franco-American relations the next morning when we had a very cordial conversation over breakfast.

Then the real adventure began. We got on the tollway and drove along quite happily noting how French hay stacks differed from Spanish hay stacks. About noon we realized three things: we were running out of gas, the tollway was really expensive, and we had almost no cash! In the France of 1973 banks closed midday. Annie had one virtually unusuable credit card since it was accepted almost nowhere. We both had traveler's checks. We had dollars. We had U.S. checks. We had NO place to exchange anything for francs!

Being the brilliant young women that we were, we did think to get off the tollway and, to no avail, stopped repeatedly to attempt to buy gas using traveler's checks. Finally, with the gas gauge hovering on empty, we found an elegant hotel/restaurant and asked if we could exchange traveler's checks to pay for a meal. To our great relief, they were willing to cash the checks. Feeling somewhat guilty, we set off on the road again without dining at the expensive restaurant....but with Francs in our wallets and petrol in our tank.

Having lost a few hours to the money fiasco, we approached Paris in the late evening. We had Barb's address and earlier had actually gone to the French consulate in Barcelona to find out exactly where it was located. Unfortunately, Barb was staying in a very new suburb and, even with the detailed maps at the consulate, we only had a vague idea of where she was. Relying on our limited French, we somehow arrived in her suburb about 10:00 p.m. but had not the slightest idea where her street was. Almost no one was outside in this neighborhood consisting entirely of large apartment blocks. Annie was driving around aimlessly and, whenever we saw a person on the street, I would yell to them in Spanish asking if they could help us. After several attempts, someone actually understood me and, unbelievably, pointed to the building across the street! We rang the bell and a disbelieving Barb, certain that we would not be arriving that night, let us in.

Fast forward 36 years. Ken and I will arrive in Paris armed with Stella (our GPS unit), multiple ATM and credit cards, Rick Steeves (in book form), cell phones, and MUCH MORE common sense. Will it be as much of an adventure? I sort of hope so!