One afternoon in the Dordogne-Lot area, on our way back to the village where we were staying, we decided to stop off in the town of Sarlat. It's considered a must-see of the area, and its charming medieval quarter is pedestrian-only.
Got that? It's pedestrian only.
It has so many beautiful old buildings and narrow passages.
The squares in Sarlat are often filled with performers, who often draw a crowd. I took a shot of one crowd watching an acrobat. This was early in his performance, so if you check the photo opposite you'll see him. He's the figure in red in front of the buildings on the left.
Now imagine about twice as many people in the square 20 minutes later, as his performance continued.
Now imagine you are stuck in a car on the other side of the crowd, unable to move.
Yes, our GPS unit (named "Dena," which we brought from home) steered us directly into the pedestrian area, when we thought we were going out of town. Of course, we know Dena is finicky, since both in France and the US, she has tried to steer us down tracks that do not qualify as roads, so partly this was a matter of our inattention. ("Inattention" sounds better than "stupidity," doesn't it?)
When we first entered the pedestrian zone, a friendly bar owner helped us turn around and told us to take the second right beyond the square. But when we got to the square, we encountered the crowd around the acrobat.
He was quite good. We should know. We sat there in the car, ignition off, watching for at least 10 minutes (that felt like an hour), as we waited for the people to disperse.
What to do? Both Kevin and I were flummoxed. Our hearts were pounding, as we struggled to stay calm. At that point (as we later confirmed with each other), we just wanted to get out of there! We didn't care if the gendarmes showed up, reprimanded us, and gave us an expensive ticket, as long as they could get us out of the square without harm to anyone.
But no one--gendarme or friendly bystander--showed up to help.
Finally, as the acrobat took a very short break, some of the people began to leave. I leaped out of the car, as Kevin turned on the ignition.
"Désolé!," I shouted. ("Sorry.") With my right hand, I pointed back at Kevin; with my left hand, I made a sweeping motion to my right, trying to herd the people away from the car.
"Désolé! Sur le droit!" ("Sorry. On the right.") Then I realized, my right was their left.
"Désolé! Sur le gauche!" ("Sorry. On the left.")
Amazingly, they obeyed.
We continued like that, Kevin inching the car forward, while I directed the crowd. If I hadn't been so scared, I think I might have enjoyed the sensation of actually having people follow my command.
The exit street was only about 200 yards away, but it felt like a mile! But the strategy worked. Kevin turned onto the street, and I jumped in the car.
As we drove away, I saw a man on the side of the road with his young daughter on his shoulders. He was smiling, probably amazed at those dumb tourists. "Désolé! ," I called out through the open window.
We were soon on the highway, laughing hysterically. We hadn't run over a single person. We had avoided being clapped in chains or slapped with a huge fine. Life was good again!
Yes, our GPS unit (named "Dena," which we brought from home) steered us directly into the pedestrian area, when we thought we were going out of town. Of course, we know Dena is finicky, since both in France and the US, she has tried to steer us down tracks that do not qualify as roads, so partly this was a matter of our inattention. ("Inattention" sounds better than "stupidity," doesn't it?)
When we first entered the pedestrian zone, a friendly bar owner helped us turn around and told us to take the second right beyond the square. But when we got to the square, we encountered the crowd around the acrobat.
He was quite good. We should know. We sat there in the car, ignition off, watching for at least 10 minutes (that felt like an hour), as we waited for the people to disperse.
What to do? Both Kevin and I were flummoxed. Our hearts were pounding, as we struggled to stay calm. At that point (as we later confirmed with each other), we just wanted to get out of there! We didn't care if the gendarmes showed up, reprimanded us, and gave us an expensive ticket, as long as they could get us out of the square without harm to anyone.
But no one--gendarme or friendly bystander--showed up to help.
Finally, as the acrobat took a very short break, some of the people began to leave. I leaped out of the car, as Kevin turned on the ignition.
"Désolé!," I shouted. ("Sorry.") With my right hand, I pointed back at Kevin; with my left hand, I made a sweeping motion to my right, trying to herd the people away from the car.
"Désolé! Sur le droit!" ("Sorry. On the right.") Then I realized, my right was their left.
"Désolé! Sur le gauche!" ("Sorry. On the left.")
Amazingly, they obeyed.
We continued like that, Kevin inching the car forward, while I directed the crowd. If I hadn't been so scared, I think I might have enjoyed the sensation of actually having people follow my command.
The exit street was only about 200 yards away, but it felt like a mile! But the strategy worked. Kevin turned onto the street, and I jumped in the car.
As we drove away, I saw a man on the side of the road with his young daughter on his shoulders. He was smiling, probably amazed at those dumb tourists. "Désolé! ," I called out through the open window.
We were soon on the highway, laughing hysterically. We hadn't run over a single person. We had avoided being clapped in chains or slapped with a huge fine. Life was good again!
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