With Charly Page’s parting words, “You can come back by train, you know,” ringing in our ears, we aimed the MG’s nose downhill in the direction of Basel and back to Germany. In an e-mail Michael Stadler explained his request for our arrival in Nidda no later than three PM on Sunday.  His oldest daughter is to be married the following weekend.  In between he had to fit in the bridal dinner and a Monday business trip to Poland.  Sunday was it or we’d have to wait a week.  What he didn’t know was we had airline tickets from Paris to Los Angeles for Thursday.  There’d be a penalty for a change so Sunday had to be it for us as well. Our mission was clearly drawn.

His casual, “Call when you get to Nidda and I’ll direct you in,” wouldn’t ordinarily be a complication if we hadn’t run out of minutes on our phone.  We found that minutes for a French phone could only be purchased in France, typically from a Tabac (similar to a small convenience store in the States.)  “No problemo,” I told Louise.  “When we get to Basel we’ll just swing off the autobahn, dip into France, buy the minutes at a Tabac and hop back into Germany. “  What could be easier I thought.   We arrived in Huninique St. Louis shortly after noon and, ably guided by Mlle. Recalculare, pulled up to a Tabac.  “Ferme” said the sign on the door.  “Closed on Saturday,” I said.  “What gives?”  Then Louise reminded me, “It’s after twelve and you’re in France.  They won’t open for two hours.”   Thinking, “They can’t all be closed,” I turned again to the GPS.  The next Tabac was not only closed but the accordion gates were locked.  “Vacances” said the sign.  That was even worse because the French go on vacation for a month.   And so it went until we found ourselves on the autoroute heading for Colmar, some sixty miles away and still no minutes.

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