| As soon as we get on the freeway, we notice the considerable
traffic. Listening to the radio, we hear that today is expeceted to be the worst traffic
day of the year: a "red day" per
"Bison Fute" (Smart Buffalo) the cute name for
the French traffic Authority. Three hours later, instead of being in Cruzy as expected
we're still in the suburbs of Paris. "Autoroutes"
are the French equivalent of
American freeways, except that they are generally tollways. They also have an abundance of electronic
boards that keep you posted on traffic conditions or remind you to drive safely.
What the traffic board tells us is that it is 1 hour and a half to the autoroute we need
to take (the A6 or Autoroute du Soleil - or Freeway of the sun, as it is the main north-south
axis used by vacationers.)
Thirty minutes latter another sign now says "2 hours to A6".
Mutiny is brewing in thecar and we decide to exit the freeway in a south east suburb of
Paris. Traffic seems reasonable... Janet feels worse and worse and sys that she will have
to stop in a hotel to take a break in the next five minutes... The only hotels around
seems to rent their room by the hour... Suddenly Valerie, who was sleeping in the back,
chimes in "Daddy, my nose is bleeding" and sure enough her face is half covered in blood.
Time of crisis. God was nonetheles with us: a big sign advertising a hotel chain 2 minutes
from our location. And here we are in a parking lot of a big strip mall, in a small
(but friendly and reasonably clean) hotel in a suburb of Paris. After our fist of
long series of nights without air conditionnning in sweltering temperatures, we are ready to
go the next morning and make it to Cruzy without a further hitch. |
