Bazas (France) | Recovery - 22 Jul, 2023

The square near Saint John de Baptiste Cathedral in Bazas serves as a large parking lot during the week. However, on Saturdays, it is transformed into an outdoor market.

I was surprised when the soreness from the wreck disappeared so quickly. After two days, I feel good. Well, except for the bone bruise on my right elbow. When I place my elbow on a table, I feel pain from the tenderness. Bone bruises are strange, there is no swelling, no discoloration, and most of the time, my elbow feels great. However, if I apply a little pressure on the right spot, look out! This one is going to take some time to heal. Fortunately, Céline is also feeling better. She still has soreness in her neck, but she, too, was surprised at how good she felt after a day of rest. We were both very fortunate.

Good thing I had a few days to give before relocating to the Netherlands. On the first day, Céline and I discussed what we recalled from the previous events. "I am surprised you remember so much detail. It was over so fast. I don't remember anything after we collided with the Jeep," she says. I nod my head and tell her about my uncanny ability to slow down time during dangerous moments. Strangely even now, I recall more about the wreck than my day of rest.

I take advantage of my rest day to call home and visit with my mom. I had not talked with my parents in a while. I wanted to tell them about the experience I had yesterday. My mom tells me, "I pray every night to your grandparents and ask them to keep you safe. I think they did their job. It is amazing neither of you had serious injuries." Yes, I think they did do their jobs, as did your prayers. I appreciate it greatly, and it feels good to know they are watching over me, I tell her.

"Your dad and I are selling the house. We decided to move back to Idaho Falls. We are too isolated in Tetonia and it complicates things for us," she tells me. I am not surprised by this news. I always wondered how they would make it work when they moved there a few years ago. Tetonia is beautiful, but the amenities my parents need and want are lacking. After discussing the news further, my mom asks for my help with the move. I let her know that I need to check schedules and fares, but it might be good timing since my 90 days in the Schengen Area of Europe end around when they plan to move.

The last time I was at the Bazas Market, I passed this Organ Grinder. This French Street Organ is an automatic mechanical, pneumatic organ that the lady (i.e., Organ Grinder) operates by feeding perforated card stock through the Organ and rotating a crank. This produces a mechanical melody. George Orwell once wrote, "To ask outright for money is a crime, yet it is perfectly legal to annoy one's fellow citizens by pretending to entertain them. Their [Organ Grinders'] dreadful music results from a purely mechanical gesture." 😂 Although I enjoyed watching and listening to her sing, I feel that the novelty would wear out quickly for me despite her lovely voice. To the Organ's left are red and blue boxes of card stock music.

On day two, Céline tells me she is feeling well enough to retrieve the rest of our things from her wrecked car in Marmande, France. "Do you want to come with me? We'll need to catch the bus at noon to Captieux, France, where I've arranged to borrow Nicolas' van for a few days," she says. It would probably do me some good to move about, I say.

We arrived at the bus stop 3 minutes before the scheduled time, thinking we have plenty of time to catch the bus. "The bus just left," says a little boy sitting on the bench at the bus stop. I look down the street and shake my head. There's no sight or sound of a bus. I turn to Céline and ask, what do we do now? Céline glances at the schedule on the wall of the bus stop. "Nous faisons du stop ou on marche (we hitchhike or we walk). The next bus isn't until 5 pm, and that's too late," she says, smiling. 

So we begin walking south towards Captieux. "Have you ever hitchhiked?" she asks. No, I say. Hitchhiking is less popular now in the United States and Canada. There are many places where it is illegal. I know it is much more common in Europe, and maybe I'll catch my first ride today?

The first few cars that pass by simply continue without slowing down. Then one of the drivers of a car points to the left front of his car as he passes by. "He's not going our direction," says Céline. How do you know? I ask. "Drivers use subtle hand signals to let us know where they are headed," she says. I shake my head, who knew there was a whole unspoken language for hitchhiking. The nuances are magnificent, I say, laughing. 😂 As the cars pass us by, I am starting to recognize gestures.

Alright, Céline, this is our ride, as I point to a little white car heading our way. I can feel it. He's not traveling very fast. He's going to stop, I say after walking several kilometers. Finally, the little white car slows and pulls over. After a brief exchange, we open the car doors, and a billow of cigarette smoke pours out of the car. I climb in the back and listen to Céline and the older man chat till we drive to  Captieux. "Congrats! Now you've hitchhiked. It's not surprising that the old man gave us a ride. He also used to hitchhike. People that have done it are more likely to help others when they have a chance," says Céline. Yeah, apart from the smoking, he was very friendly, I say.

It's late in the afternoon when we arrive in Marmande. The wrecked car is parked at a body shop of the dealership. "The car is the lot outback. Let me take you there," says the man at the service counter. After a short walk, we arrive at the car. "Let's grab everything out of the car. I don't know what is going to happen with the car. I don't want to come back if it is a total loss," says Céline. After gathering the rest of our things, we look the vehicle over. It feels surreal to be here emptying the car for what could be the final time. I put my hand on the roof, thank the car for protecting us, and wish it the best.

I don't know how it works here in France, I tell Céline. I've seen enough wrecked vehicles because of issues at work that I can tell the vehicle has considerable damage. There's an outside chance they fix it, but it is going to be very close to the loss value, I am afraid. I can tell this is not the news she wants to hear. "I love my Dacia Logan. I don't want to replace it," she says. I understand. It protected us well. I would be sad if it didn't get fixed too. You'll have to wait for the insurance adjuster to look it over, then we'll know more. Keep me posted on what you find out, I won't be here to help you. "It's alright. Whatever happens, I'll deal with it," she says.

The Dacia Logan station wagon is a collaborative venture between Peugeot (French) and Dacia (Romanian) car manufacturers. Dacia has been producing cars since World War II and has grown in popularity in recently France. I had never heard of the brand until last summer when I last visited France. However, after seeing the car and walking away from the wreck with little to no injuries, I am impressed by this little car. The car did not fare well, however, and the damage is extensive.

It felt good to take an easy couple of days. Although I am sad about Céline's loss and the complications she now has, I am really glad I was here to help her. She was a bit disoriented after the wreck, and I find in those moments, it is always helpful to have someone present who can assist.