More of the pfeffer schnitzel with the light brown sauce and French fries, a side salad and dessert: what looks like little sugar-coated, deep fried donuts is an apple cake thing with a vanilla sauce, fresh whipped cream, fruit garnish and flakes of dark chocolate. I eat the fries with a fork and knife sopped in gravy and topped with the green peppercorns and mention poutine to my mom, a place in Pittsburgh you could get that late night, fries with gravy and fresh cheese curds, French Canadian and popular with the late night drinking crowd.

Sitting in the local restaurant mom calls The Rat (short for Rathaus) I realize we are in fact locals as mom and I greet many others by name including the owners and their two sons who work in the kitchen or out front waiting on guests. (The one with the mustache had a crush on Charlotte when she was here this summer and I wonder if he wonders if I know.)

Then we walk to the drug store, the grocery store, enjoying the warm sun. Laszlo checked mom’s car (he’s a mechanic) and found three categories of problems with possibly a fourth (the anti-freeze, engine oil, brake fluid, tire pressure). Supposedly the Germans are stopping people at the French border now but hoping they’ll wave us on with our German plates. Doesn’t sound like an issue on the French side and we’ve got nothing to hide. But I’m not crazy about the fact we’re American. Maybe that’s worth hiding.

Took the walk through the fields instead of the Himmelsleiter; the fields extend off the river past the public swimming pool, the track where I tried running barefoot one time with mom’s now-dead Parisian neighbor Gilles. I think about him every time I walk by there; today I gave him a salute. You’re a good guy Gilles (he wasn’t exactly). Sometimes there’s a difference between being a good guy and acting like one.

From the fields you can see the immigrant housing they built in 2016, when they were so pro-immigrant they had stickers saying Immigrants welcome! and stick figures with hands clasped running, presumably in. The fields are a patchwork of farmlands with a small paved road running through them and sometimes cars or bikes passing by. A lot of big sky and views of the nearby hillsides / vineyards. It is the original walk we took way back before discovering the Himmelsleiter.

Today we drive to Strasbourg to collect Lily from the chateau where she’s staying, then on to Metz. I brought a wallet of CDs including some of Lily’s from another wallet she had at her boarding school that has a strip of masking tape and her handwriting saying “Lily’s — do not touch,” in caps. Mom’s car is old, pre-aux. We loaded it with treats from Germany for our friends Laurent and Nanou in Metz.

Work blew up of course, prompting me to think about shifting my plans and work through Friday night (I have to work evenings with the time difference on the west coast +9 hours) but I think I dodged the bullet. I told my client I’m driving to France and asked a colleague to text me if there’s anything urgent. That seems fair. And I just liked saying I’m driving to France, so there. That’s what the French would do.

Categories: Creative Nonfiction, Diary, Memoir, Travelogues

Tags: Creative Nonfiction, travel