An Ode to my GPS

We've been on many driving adventures this year, and have rarely gotten lost, thanks to our beloved GPS. The roads here are narrow, and twisty, following rivers, and going through forests, making it difficult to hold on to one's sense of direction. But because of our GPS, we always know what direction we're going, and how many minutes till we arrive at our destination. Though it usually directs us to toll-ways, and has horrible German street-name pronunciation, we owe it quite a debt of gratitude, and even more so, after my recent drive to the Basel airport.

 A few weeks ago, I was home alone while Jordan visited a friend in Africa. His trip would probably be a much more interesting post, but I'm afraid you're stuck with me. I'm a big wimp when it comes to staying home alone at night. I'm so thankful that in the three years we've been married, Jordan has only had to travel a handful of times; I realize that for many couples, that isn't the case. On the rare occasion that he is gone, I have to fight against my tendency to imagine all sorts of terrible things happening-burglaries and break-ins, fires and freak accidents. And each time he leaves, I seem to be tormented by some sort of creature that has decided to move-in with me, in Jordan's absence. Once it was a huge, fleshy centipede in the bathroom, and another time it was a (probably) rabid squirrel in the loft.

Well, I am happy to report that despite a recent influx of giant, black spiders into our apartment, stifling heat that could have been abated had I been brave enough to leave the windows open at night, and an elevator in our building that apparently moves between floors at random hours of the night and sounds very much like bad guys breaking in, resulting in a desperate midnight email to the landlord, who kindly came to check out the situation, as there had been some recent break-ins, I wasn't kidnapped, the house didn't burn down, and I didn't see one spider the whole time Jordan was gone!

And while those events would normally made me nervous, it wasn't staying here by myself that scared me the most this time. Surprisingly, what I was most afraid of was driving to the airport. My friend, Johanna, came with me to drop Jordan off, and on the way home we enjoyed the most delicious afternoon floating down the Rhine River with hundreds of other Swiss swimmers during the hottest week this part of Europe has probably seen in thousands of years. Johanna generously offered to ride with me to pick Jordan up at the end of the week, but I decided to be brave and conquer the drive on my own.

The Basel Airport is actually in both France and Switzerland. (You can literally stand in both countries at one time, as I am pictured doing above.) I'd planned to pick Jordan up on the French side, but I hadn't quite made it to France when my day took a turn for the worst. I was sitting at a light in the right turn lane, somewhere in Germany, or maybe Switzerland, obediently following my GPS, when the light turned green. And unfortunately, even after ten months of stick shift driving, sometimes I still stall. And that's what happened. I could blame it on the slight incline, the heat, the distracting blasts of AC that made it difficult to "feel the engine", as Jordan puts it, but whatever it was, I found myself stopped on the exit ramp, holding up traffic.

Cue self talk: "It's okay, no big deal. Just take a deep breath, get back into neutral, and start the car. It's okay that those people are angry and annoyed with you. You'll never see them again. Just start the car." And I did. Or at least, I tried. Three times. But my car utterly refused to start. The self talk began to sound more desperate, " This cannot be happening. Why didn't I ask Johanna to come? Okay....um....okay. What do I do?!?" My thoughts flitted from action plans that involved whipping out the orange safety triangle and matching vest that all German cars are required to carry, to fantasies about pretending I was in America, and that I still had a AAA card in my wallet.

I managed to turn on the flashers; meanwhile, cars were getting backed up on the exit ramp because of me, and angry drivers were staring me down as they waited at the red light. It was then that I noticed a road sign: "Polizei, 2 km". I decided my only option was to walk to the police station and ask for help. That plan was quickly abandoned, though, after exiting the car and realizing that there was no sidewalk, no shoulder, and no cross walk to get me over the four lane intersection.

Thank goodness for our GPS, who is, as you know, the real hero of the story. It showed me the police station phone number. I am never sure if my phone will work in this country. Sometimes I can send and receive texts, sometimes I can't. Up until that point, I'd never made a call but America kept texting me saying, "Welcome abroad! To call back to the U.S., dial: +1 followed by 10-digit number. Please note international rates apply." So I thought I probably could use the phone, it might just be the most expensive call of my life. I haven't yet seen the phone bill, but I'm sure the call was worth it. I dialed, nervously, and pushed send: The sound of ringing was music to my ears!

"Hallo?"
"Hallo! Sprechen Sie English?"
"Ahh, a little bit."
"Great! Well, my car broke down, and I need a jump start, I'm just off the highway, on 69 As Weil Am Rhein/Huningen, I think? Does that sound right? Is that even a place?"
"Ahh, moment."
Long pause...heat rises, more angry stares from fellow drivers.
"Okay. Someone will come. Stay there."
"Okay. Thank you! Vielen Dank!"

Back inside the car, which was feeling more and more like a sauna every minute, I texted Jordan.

Ten minutes later, I had a brilliant idea. I remembered that when our car didn't start this winter, Jordan showed me how to push start it on a hill, so I could get home from the middle school. Well, I was on a hill, I was just going backwards, but I was pretty sure it would still work. And it would have. If I could have remembered to take my foot off the clutch. Unfortunately, all my gear changing and break pumping only got me closer to the highway. I decided to make a video while I waited.

Twenty minutes later, I was ready to give up on the police. The only problem was, I didn't have another plan. And that's when I saw them: two police officers, a man with a gray beard and a really buff-looking woman were running toward me, across the four lane road, right in the center of the intersection. I was so happy to see them, I didn't even care that we didn't speak the same language. They asked me, in German, if I owned the car, where I lived, and what the problem was. We were able to understand each other until I told them the battery died. The looked at each other, puzzled. "Um...the battery...it, it died...car...it stalled...the battery..." I mumbled. For some reason, when speaking to people who don't understand English, my grammar and sentence structure fall apart.

If you look closely, you can see the police officers running across the road.

"Ahh!" The man suddenly cried. "Batteria? Kaputz?"
"Yes! Yes! Batteria Kaputz! Totally kaputz."
The officers then began furiously typing something into a phone. They showed me a screen that said, "English: tow."
"Ohhh, no, no I don't want it towed, I want a jump start."
Puzzled looks.
"Um, I want to jump the car...." I followed this with a charade-like demonstration of someone hooking up jumper cables, and then making exploding sounds and a really happy face. It seemed to work and without even discussing it, they simultaneously trotted to the back of my car and began to push. I guess they figured that telling me the plan would be pointless since I wouldn't be able to understand them. Not knowing where we were headed, and having the unfortunate job of steering the car through this busy, four lane intersection, I distracted myself by taking pictures...

                                   
                         

We eventually crossed the road, and miraculously, the other cars ignored the stoplight and obeyed the hand signals of these two crazy police officers who were pushing my car. It was only once we got to the other side, that I realized we were not headed to their car where jumper cables awaited us. "Nein! Nein! Nein!" the policeman shouted at me when I began to steer toward his car. He signaled me straight on, down the hill, and then opened the passenger door and jumped into the front seat. All at once I was trying to move my purse and water bottle, and save my sunglasses from being squished under his weight, but only one thought came clearly to my mind: "How did I get here? I don't even know what country I'm in, or who this man is, or how I'm going to start this thing." The police officer didn't count on the girl who asked for a jump start to not know how to push start her car. The situation struck me as so funny, I had to suppress my laughter. And it was a good thing that my spirits were high because he then began yelling commands in German, to which I continually responded with, "Mein Deutsch ist nicht gut!"

My stress levels were so high, that I think I blocked out how the next part happened, but somehow, the police officer and I ended up switching seats. We didn't need to speak the same language to understand that our current strategy was not working. Almost as soon as the police officer got into my car, he got it rolling, removed his foot from the clutch, and Voila!-the car started! There was an awkward minute or two as we continued down the road, the German police officer driving me, I wasn't sure where. To the police station? Did I owe him money? Or maybe it was awkward because I was trying to sneakily take his picture.

At the roundabout, he pulled over, and proceeded to give me directions to the airport, that I did not understand. But I wasn't concerned, knowing my trusty GPS would direct me there. I shook the police officer's hand and said 'thank you' as many ways as I knew how, in both German and English.

Never was I so happy to see Jordan, when I finally arrived at the airport. His flight has been delayed, so the timing worked out perfectly. I forgot to leave the car running, so we had to push start it out of the airport parking lot, but we plugged in the address to the park next to the Rhine River in Basel, and our GPS took us there straightaway, where we ate sandwiches, and I relished in the sympathy I received while telling Jordan my tale.

Tomorrow, I will pass on our GPS to Johanna.  Johanna, I hope it guides you to new and exciting places. I hope it recalculates quickly when you make a wrong turn. And I hope your car never breaks down, but if it does, I know you're in good hands.