While driving through the Loire Valley in northern France
on one trip, we visited several magnificent chateaux each day, traversing along
the scenic backroads without any incidents. However, one day we planned to see the
off-the-beaten-path troglodyte Château de Brézé, which has a vast subterranean portion
of the castle built deep into the soft limestone tufa. I’m unsure what incited
Garmina to morph from a disinterested navigator into a vindictive murderer, but
it was on our journey to this chateau that her true form appeared. While
driving through the rural roads of the French countryside, there was an empty
portion of the map that we were being led toward. Without warning, the road
abruptly ended at the edge of a meadow where we clearly were not intended to
drive our car. With much conviction, Garmina insisted that we continue to drive
straight ahead along her imaginary road, despite the obvious lack of asphalt.
And that’s when we noticed the large bilingual road sign that was conspicuously
placed to be unmissable while also blocking any path forward. It was not your
standard “No Trespassing” sign, by any means. Instead, the sign boldly stated in
red and black letters:
“DANGER – MILITARY LAND – UNEXPLOSED PROJECTILES ON THE
RANGES – DO NOT LEAVE THE ROAD”
Despite its lack of being an actual word, the definition
of “unexplosed” came through loud and clear. I wasn’t about to confront fate
over a misspelling and fall victim to the evil machinations of my GPS device.
Instead, we backtracked and took several narrow offshooting farm lanes in an
effort to bypass the minefield. But every time that Garmina decided to reroute
our path, she perpetually led us back to yet another entrance to the death
trap. Perhaps she was experiencing some perverse form of sadistic excitement by
leading us once more unto the breach of a former battleground to bravely join
the fray, but I preferred the monotony of staying alive. In a self-preserving
manner, we had to mute the homicidal maniac and follow our own detour around
the military zone, eventually escaping certain death and coming out victorious
by discovering our destination. I had previously been grateful to have an
authoritative voice guiding me throughout this foreign land, but now I realized
that the seductive Garmina was not to be trusted and had become a loathed rival
after the shock of our nasty breakup finally came to realization. And yet, as
much as we despised each other, we also needed each other to accomplish our
individual purposes…
After surviving Garmina’s failed attempt to blow our car
to smithereens, we cautiously made it through the rest of the vacation without
any further incidents. Having reconciled our differences at the completion of
the vacation, we decided to let Garmina redeem herself during a future road trip
through Italy. Similarly to the previous trip, Garmina started out wonderfully
helpful, using her sultry voice to direct us from town to town until we ultimately
arrived in the city of Naples. While we were driving along the main thoroughfare
of the city on a pleasant weekend afternoon, Garmina abruptly interrupted our
conversation and began redirecting us along an alternate route for no obvious
reason. Fearing an unseen accident or road closure ahead, we faithfully changed
course and let our path be dictated by the omniscient guide. At the next
intersection we approached a one-way street, onto which Garmina commandingly
told us to turn, and so without hesitation we turned the corner and came face
to face with an unexpected sight.
As far as the eye could see down the long stretch of road
was an outdoor market lined with stalls and hundreds of locals out shopping. The
side street was narrow and left virtually no room to proceed amongst the
shoppers. Furthermore, since this was a one-way street, there was absolutely no
hope of turning around and escaping from whence we came, especially after
another small vehicle blindly followed us around the corner, thereby robbing us
of our last ditch opportunity to reverse and make a hasty getaway. Faced with
no alternatives, we bravely forged a path into the bustling market. The pedestrians
had to press up against the sides of the stalls as we inched forward, and
occasionally the shopkeepers even had to move their wares to prevent them from
being knocked over. We received numerous death stares from vendors and shoppers
as we passed, and I sunk down into my passenger seat to avoid seeing the wrath
of the outside world. Had the stalls been filled with items other than fresh
fish and local produce, I might have rolled down my window, browsed the
contents from my car seat, and haggled for a fair price while doing a slow drive-by.
But as it was, I was filled with such embarrassment that I couldn’t even make
eye contact with the vendors as I hid in my seat.
After what seemed like the longest stretch of road we’d
ever driven, during which we narrowly avoided taking out several hobbling
grandmothers in the process, the outdoor market finally dissipated and then
came to an end. At last, freedom was within sight! We finally emerged from
the market after a white-knuckled drive through the gauntlet, and somehow
survived to tell our tale without any casualties. Breathing a deep sigh of
relief at withstanding the humiliating ordeal, we continued down the path until
Garmina decided to break the silence and resume speaking. She unapologetically
demanded that we turn at the next intersection and rejoin our initial path from
which we had been diverted by our evil mistress. Once we got back on
the main road through town, we could clearly see that there had been no
accident or slowdown of any kind – the sparse traffic was moving along at a
steady pace without obstruction. Apparently our 20 minute detour through a
crowded street market had been part of Garmina’s diabolical plan all along to make
us suffer and remind us who was truly in charge of our trip. Even though we
pulled through unscathed, Garmina had won her small victory yet again.
Gluttons for punishment, we continue to bring Garmina
with us on future vacations, where she repeatedly rebels from her designated “third
wheel” status in this relationship and tries to sabotage our road trips across
Europe. In Germany, she blatantly disregarded the posted road signs and told us
to continue onto a highway that had been partially closed for construction work.
Had we been able to understand the German language signs, we may have been able
to prevent this disaster, but she knew that we could not read German and were
therefore unable to prevent the impending trap. As a result of surviving another
of Garmina’s schemes, the German word for detour (umleitung) has been deeply
burned into my memory, surprisingly coming in handy on numerous occasions during
the rest of the trip and allowing us to circumvent any further shenanigans by
Garmina. Or that one time in Spain where Garmina knowingly guided our car down
an unmarked pedestrian alley through the mazelike center of town which gradually
became so narrow that even with our side view mirrors folded inward, there was
no physical way of advancing. We were forced to reverse around multiple tight
corners for several blocks until we were back on a true road again, which was a
harrowing experience.
Despite these distressing driving mishaps that seem to
happen with regularity on our European road trips, I would never give up the
opportunity to forge our own path through a foreign land. Driving gives you a
freedom you can’t get with public transportation or tour groups, and allows you
to spontaneously make detours and stop at any roadside attraction or oddity
that you stumble across while driving to your next destination. And even if you
happen to get into a bit of a bind while traveling, this only serves to give
you an unforgettable story to regale others with in the future! And this all
serves to show that you really need to pick your travel companions with care –
especially when it comes to navigation systems like our dear Garmina!
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