A Mad Dash Across Europe in a Little Old Car

At five in the morning, I was already filled with a nervous energy. In just a few hours I would be standing in front of a classroom of graduate students giving a lecture and then… I should be off to catch a train to Germany.

That was the plan I had made months before coming to Paris to teach: a five-day trip back home to Germany to celebrate my birthday. It was simple enough but without much room for error:

1. Leave Wednesday afternoon after teaching. Take the metro from the Montparnasse neighborhood of Paris where my campus was located to the Northern train station (Gare du Nord)
2. Catch the TGV high-speed train going to Stuttgart. Transfer several more times once in Germany, crisscrossing across regional lines until finally reaching my little hometown
3. Beer shopping on Thursday
4. Throw a big birthday party at our house on Friday
5. Clean up the inevitable mess on Saturday
6. Leave Sunday morning, transferring again across southern Germany until reaching Mannheim this time, where it would be a straight shot back to Paris
7. Teach again Monday morning in Paris

If all went as planned, I’d be in my hometown that night, roughly 6 hours after leaving Paris. My one mistake though was building my entire itinerary around the Deutsche Bahn. Relying on Germany’s infamous privatized train operator was a massive risk. Frequent and significant delays are the norm when traveling with the Deutsche Bahn. People around the world have this flattering stereotype of Germans and their trains as being punctual and efficient. Among us Germans, however, the Deutsch Bahn is a punchline. We are generally surprised when trains actually arrive on time, and when the eventual delay announcement rings through the muffled speakers on the train, you can often hear sarcastic laughter and audible groans from passengers. German train travel can, in fact, be a uniting experience. I would bet that many new friendships have blossomed through a mutual dislike of Deutsche Bahn.

That early morning, I checked my phone and was greeted with a notification about my upcoming trip. I had dealt with delays of over three hours before when traveling with the Bahn; I was prepared for such cases. This notification was something different. A nationwide strike had been announced to take place today, Wednesday.

Weighing My Options

A strike was something different for me. I didn’t know the extent to which a strike would impact my travel plans. I started researching with a growing sense of dread. On the Deutsch Bahn’s app, my trip had the warning “expect significant delays or train cancellations”. This vague and ominous warning did not give me much hope that I would be able to travel to Germany later that day. I started to run through my options.

The first part of my trip, from Paris to Stuttgart, was being operated by the French railway. Judging from a forum thread I found, I was pretty sure that foreign trains entering Germany would not be impacted by the strike. Even if I made it to Stuttgart, though, there was no way I could take a regional train home since seemingly all trains within Germany were going to be affected. Could I rent a car from the Stuttgart train station and drive three hours home? That wouldn’t work either because my return ticket back to Paris was from Mannheim on Sunday, not Stuttgart. I would not be able to drop the rental car off in Stuttgart.

I checked the trains later that day, and they were all already cancelled at this point. Meanwhile, it was now 7 AM, and I only had an hour before needing to head to campus to teach.

The other issue was that I hadn’t booked any housing for the five days I would be away from Paris. If I stayed in Paris and gave up on my birthday trip to Germany, I would need to find accommodation fast (and at a very steep rate). I do not recommend booking last-minute housing in Paris the day of.

At an impasse, I could admit defeat and cancel my trip, spending hundreds of dollars on last-minute accommodation and spending my birthday alone. If only there was a way to avoid trains completely and dodge the strike. What else was left? Could I fly? Maybe hitchhike or catch a ride? Perhaps even drive the whole way myself? I was getting desperate and evaluated each of the options individually.

Flying from Paris

Booking a flight the day of was unreasonably expensive, and the airports were also quite far apart from my actual destination. I took a look at flights leaving from Paris to Munich that day but quickly ruled this option out after considering the amount of time and money it would take. And if I landed in Munich, I still would not be able to take a train to my hometown due to the strike.

Carpooling or Hitchhiking?

Catching a ride would have almost worked. A website called Blablacar provides a platform for users to post their upcoming travel routes and carpool with others who want to come along. In fact, there was a user who posted a trip from Stuttgart to Memmingen, a town not too far away from where I was going. If I could take the French train to Stuttgart and then catch a ride with this helpful stranger, I could just about make it. Getting back was another, unsolved question to worry about later. I messaged him, but he informed me that he decided to reschedule his trip for another weekend. I ruled that option out as well.

Renting a Car and Driving

Finally, I evaluated making the drive myself. I had never driven across Europe before, but I was determined to make it home for my birthday. To get a sense of the time and distance, I looked at Google Maps for an estimate. The drive was supposed to take around 8 hours nonstop. If I hit the road right after teaching, I could make it home by 11pm.

I was nervous about making the drive across unknown roads, and I would not have even considered this as an option if it weren’t for a brilliant travel story I had listened to before. Journalist Scott Gurian, in his excellent Far From Home podcast, shared his adventure driving from London to Mongolia in a tiny, manual car. He had never driven manual transmission before the trip, yet his bravery to hit the road and learn along the way was really inspiring. He documented his entire trip – from the planning to each stop along the way – in season 1 of his podcast. His podcast episode 6 also inspired the title of this post. I highly recommend checking it out and have binged the entire travel series twice already myself.

A Race Against Time

Having built up the courage to consider making the drive, I checked for rental cars around Paris. Almost all car rental agencies were by the Charles de Gaulle airport, more than an hour outside the city and had no cars available for pickup that day. The one company within the city had reasonable prices but also dozens of reviews from customers complaining. Some claimed they were scammed or overcharged. It seemed a bit too risky, especially for cross-country travel.

Nothing seemed to work out. Just as I was about to give up all hope and resign myself to a lonely and expensive birthday in Paris, I recalled an app I had used before in the United States called Turo. Essentially an Airbnb for cars; users can list their vehicles on the site for rental directly without an agency. I wasn’t sure if Turo operated in France though.

Sure enough, I opened the app and saw that Paris also had a marketplace. Running out of time, I found a few listings available for pickup later that day and sent out booking requests. It was time to leave for school. I hoped that when I checked back in the app later, I would have a car waiting for me.

A Break to Teach

Since my Airbnb checkout was that morning, I arrived on campus with all my luggage in tow. I had no housing in Paris for the next five days, so I asked the security guard if I could store my luggage with him during my lecture. He kindly obliged. I wanted to avoid the potential embarrassment and inevitable questions from my students if I brought my belongings to class.

My typical class sessions lasted three hours, with a break at the halfway point. The first half of class was off to a good start, and I managed to focus on teaching instead of the looming uncertainty that hung over my head.

During the break, I checked the Turo app. All five of the requests I had sent out to rent were declined! Now I was really starting to get worried. I was supposed to begin a cross-continental drive in a few hours, but I still didn’t have a vehicle. My guess was that my requests were being rejected because I sent the requests in English using my American driver’s license. This was an unusual situation that most of the car owners on Turo probably wanted to avoid, even if it was perfectly legal for me to use the platform.

Desperately, I thought of one last idea that might allow me to overcome the issue of getting my rental requests rejected. The app had a feature to “instant book” certain vehicles without needing owner approval. Applying the filter, the search returned only three cars across all of Paris. I booked the cheapest one on the app. I didn’t need to be approved for that request. It was time for class again.

I finished the lecture, happy to take my mind off the complexities of last-minute travel logistics. Some students still had questions and comments after the lecture, and I tried to gently ease my way out the door, keenly aware that I needed to check the Turo app to see how I could get a hold of my new vehicle.

An Unresponsive Host

When I exited the classroom and checked my phone, I didn’t see any message from the car rental host. I was supposed to meet the owner in two hours to pick up the keys and hit the road. I sent the owner a message in the app, this time in French with the help of Google Translate. Fifteen minutes went by and still nothing. I was getting worried – a recurring feeling this morning. I tried calling the owner and texting him on his phone. No answer. I imagined a scenario where my last-minute instant booking was never even seen by the owner, perhaps at work at the time. Hours later, he might see it, decline it, and I would be stranded with all my belongings and no place to stay or go. I decided to go on the offensive and call Turo for help.

I explained the situation of my instant booking and the lack of response from the car’s owner to the representative from Turo. They told me they would contact the owner on my behalf. If there was still no response, I would be refunded my deposit and would be back to square one. I needed to kill some time and distract myself while Turo went searching for the silent owner. I went to the school cafeteria to have lunch.

Fine Dining at School

The school cafeteria on campus is a real treat. A team of cooks prepares several different French meals each day, at student prices. I chose the rabbit leg and ratatouille, with an éclair for dessert. I was rapidly approaching the 3PM reservation time where I should be picking up my vehicle for my trans-continental road trip. In all the chaos, though, I thought I might as well enjoy a good French meal. As soon as I sat down to eat, I got a phone call. It was Turo saying that they had successfully got in contact with the car owner, who would be sending me pickup instructions shortly.

I was incredibly relieved to know that I had a vehicle ready for me to drive. However, I needed to stuff down all this wonderful food and make my way to the north of Paris as soon as possible to meet the owner for the keys. Let me tell you, shoveling down mouthfuls of braised rabbit leg is not the ideal way to enjoy such a dish. Alas, I wasn’t going to let manners stop me from reaching the car I had worked so hard to procure.

Getting the Keys

I rushed to the metro. The car was located in Saint-Denis, in the northern suburbs of Paris. If you aren’t familiar with Saint-Denis, it doesn’t have the best reputation. While the area is probably not as dangerous as most think, it does have higher than average crime rates. In the daytime, however, I was not worried in the slightest.

I was half an hour late for my reservation time, but in the end, it didn’t even matter. The owner sent me the pickup instructions for the car. The car was parked on a residential street. The trunk of the car was unlocked. The key was underneath an umbrella in the trunk. Obviously, the owner wasn’t too worried about the car being stolen here in Saint-Denis.

I walked from the metro with my luggage and spotted the car. Sure enough, the trunk was open. I held they key in my hand and sighed deeply. Now my real task was beginning to dawn on me– a non-stop mad dash across France and western Germany.

At Last—On the Road!

Let’s talk about the car in my possession. If you recall, I only had three options across all of Paris to book instantly. Naturally, I selected the car most in line with my modest sensibilities – the other two being quite pricey. My mechanical companion for the day was a used 2005 Renault Twingo. It had a manual transmission. I had only recently learned how to drive a manual transmission in the safety and comfort of my relatively quiet German small town. I was definitely unsure about my ability to drive a 20-year-old manual car across the European continent.

Given my apprehension, I probably should have found a quiet parking lot to practice the basics of shifting gears in this car. Instead, I opened Google Maps and started the navigation to my hometown in Germany; 8 hours and 40 minutes away. I was eager to get on the road.

It was a bumpy start. The car engine died almost as soon as I pulled out as I didn’t put enough acceleration shifting into first gear. An inpatient driver behind me started to honk as I frantically turned the engine off and back on. This time, I put way too much pressure on the pedal and lurched forward. I also had no idea how to put the car in reverse, as its gear box was different than the one I learned to drive.

I sat through some stop-start traffic getting out of Paris and eventually made it to the highway. I was finally on the big, empty road towards freedom and adventure. My phone was in my left hand with Google Maps guiding me and the steering wheel was in my right. I made sure to stay under the speed limit and keep in the right lane.

Unexpected Delays

I pulled up to my first of many toll booths along the way to Germany. Many European highways have tolls, which can add up. I lowered my driver-side window to pay, and as the gate opened, I tried to raise my window again. It was stuck. The button for the automatic window whined but the window would not go up.

I kept driving, the January wind from the open window chilling my fingers on the steering wheel. It started to rain, and I was miserable for several minutes before using my jacket as a shield against the open window. By continuing to push up and down on the automatic window buttons, I slowly managed to move the car window up. I finally got it to just a crack open, blocking most of the wind and rain. At the next toll, I opened the car door to pay instead of rolling down the window again.

About an hour outside Paris, I saw a police car in my rearview mirror. They turned their flashing lights on behind me. At first, I’m convinced that they want to pass me, as I made sure to not speed. Soon, they were gesturing aggressively out the window for me to pull over. I was shocked. Thoughts raced through my head. Could this car actually be stolen? Did the owner report it as missing? I tried to remain calm as I pulled over and came to a stop.

Two police officers approached and motioned for me to roll down the window. I opened the door, explaining that the window was broken. They spoke to me in French, but I apologized and told them I only spoke English. Their English was limited, so I ended up pulling out my phone to use Google Translate.

Overall, the police officers were relaxed and friendly. They were not confrontational or aggressive like the stereotype of police officers in the United States. Instead, they patiently waited while we passed my phone back and forth, typing out messages to each other on Google Translate. All the while I was still leaning out of the car with the door open since the window didn’t work. I found out that they had pulled me over because I had my phone in my hand. I legitimately did not know that this was not allowed and expressed my ignorance, as I only used it for directions. Amazingly, they left me off with a warning and even helped me back on the road, waving goodbye as I got back on track.

On the road again, and soon it was time to fill up on gas. Having never used a gas station in Europe, I struggled to choose between the different gas options. There were SP95, SP95 E10, and SP98. I tried to look in the driver’s manual before opting to just text the owner. Once I learned which gas to choose, I tried to pay. For some reason, none of my credit cards were working. I ended up using cash but realized that I only had 50 euros left in my wallet. If I ran out of cash, I might not be able to make it all the way. Oh well, nothing I could do about that now.

It was getting late, and I noticed that the original estimate of under 9 hours driving was wildly optimistic. Given how slow I got started and my run-in with the police, I was several hours behind schedule. Instead of arriving around 11pm, I would now be arriving around 1 AM. Another annoyance was that Google Maps kept changing the route without informing me. It would constantly send me on small, winding country roads, ostensibly saving a minute or two in duration. This was the problem with relying on my phone instead of knowing the route myself and using common sense. The computer was not programed to consider the convenience of simply staying on the main roads, even if slightly less expedient.

Engine Trouble

With about five hours to go, I encountered the biggest issue of the trip yet. Pulling up to yet another toll gate, I noticed that the car’s engine light had come on. It was flashing. I pulled over next to the toll gate to think. Did I push this little old car too far and ruin the engine? I started panicking, unsure of what to do next. Should I keep driving, ignoring the warning? What if the engine gives out or… explodes? Will I have to have the car towed all the way back to Paris? Then I would be stranded in the middle of the French countryside, having to make it back to Paris to teach in a few days. My mind was racing with spiraling catastrophes.

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t notice a man on foot waving at me outside. I opened the door to talk. He was a security person for the toll booth; a very gruff type who spoke no English and had little patience. I pointed to the flashing engine light on the dashboard. He replied in rapid French, and I pulled out my phone again to play another round of pass the Google Translate back and forth.

He typed out that I should call the car rental agency to have it towed. I tried to reply that there was no rental agency but just one person. I told him I was on my way to Germany. He kept urging me to call the agency, so I found the number of the owner, called him, and handed the phone to the security person. They proceeded to argue over my phone, with the security person getting visibly angry. He eventually handed the phone back to me, told me to get out of here and “have fun on Autobahn” in a sarcastic tone. I drove a little further past the toll to get away from the intimidating security to text the owner of the car and understand what they discussed.

The owner assured me that the car was fine to drive, and that the engine light was only a pollution sensor. The sensor indicated that the fumes emitted were above the allowable regulation limit. I was skeptical and still nervous about continuing. The security at the toll booth obviously didn’t believe the owner either. Every noise or rattle that the engine made was evidence to me that it was about to collapse or fail. Still, I ventured on.

Running on Empty

I had lost another hour or so in the whole exchange with the toll booth security and the engine light. It was now 10 pm with about five hours to go. My phone battery was running low and so was the car’s gas tank. I was out of cash and the next gas station was far off in a small village. If that gas station didn’t accept my card, I would officially be stranded. If my phone died, I would be able to navigate the rest of the way without a map. I felt ready to give up.

Finally, I started having a run of good luck. I found a phone charger in the glove compartment that fit the car’s cigarette lighter. The gas station in the village accepted my credit card, providing me with a full tank of gas that would just about bring me to the finish line. And the engine was still running.

The Final Stretch

Hours went by in a state of concentration and anxiety. I entered Germany very anticlimactically, barely noticing the border crossing. My arms, wrist, and legs were aching intensely from driving so long and from shifting gears. I never knew how much more demanding driving a manual was on the body than driving an automatic car. I was getting sleepy as well and made sure to take a few breaks, drinking a caffeinated drink to stay awake. Finally, at around 3 AM, I recognized the familiar roads of my hometown and knew I had made it. I was four hours behind my initial estimate, driving straight for about 12 hours. But I made it.

A Birthday back Home

Back home, I spent a day planning my birthday party and resting from the adventure. The party itself was very fun and full of the usual silliness that accompanies us when my friends and I get together. I enjoyed myself while trying to ignore the fact that in only 24 hours I would have to make the drive back to France. I was already dreading it.

Heading Back

Luckily, the return trip was smooth and uneventful. There was a veil of thin fog across western Germany entering into France, but it didn’t cause any real issues. I had become comfortable and adept at driving stick shift. I stayed on the main roads this time and actually beat the Google Maps duration estimate this time. The engine light, though, never stopped flashing the whole way back.

As I arrived in the north of Paris, back in the suburbs of St. Denis, I checked the owner’s instructions on how to return the car. He told me to park it somewhere near the metro station, unlocked, with the keys in the trunk. It was around 8pm that Sunday night when I found a parking spot. It was time to say goodbye to the car and the wild adventure that had consumed my last few days.

As I stepped away from the car, a sudden commotion caught my attention down the street. Two men were being assaulted by a group that threw them against a wall. The two being attacked shouted out as punches flew in quick succession. Standing alone with my suitcase in the dark, I felt like an easy target. I tried to keep out of eyeshot from the attackers and walked the opposite way I was supposed to be going. I did a long and scary detour, looking over my shoulder every few minutes before finally reaching the metro station safely. My race across France and Germany was complete, and I had made it back safe and sound.

Epilogue

One morning, six months later in the U.S., my dad handed me a letter at the breakfast table. It was addressed to Monsieur Vincent. Quizzically, I opened it to discover… a speeding ticket courtesy of the French government, somewhere east of Paris. A souvenir from my road trip.