On getting lost and other Sunday outings

It seems to me that most French people, among them my wife, consider that street names are there for decorative purposes, not to serve as indications of where you are in a city.

I have come to this conclusion because of last Sunday's outing, if one can call driving around the twisted streets of Bayonne for more than an hour, an "outing". The occasion was the celebrated "Mexican" shared feast put on by the association to which we belong--AFLACOBA, a jolly group of Latin Americans living in the Pays Basque.

The invitation said we were to bring something to eat and drink and to be shared with others. There was to be sundry activities: singing Mexican songs, a theater group, etc. We were asked to get ourselves up in Mexican items of clothing, so I put on my hat and my wife took a long a blouse that looked like a baby-doll nightgown but to her was very "Mexican". And, she cooked up a tomato tart (don't ask). I took along a jar of my wickedly hot Mexican sauce.

So, off we went.

Me: Oh, we should have looked at the email to see where this place is and...

My wife: I know where it is: the maison for the associations in Bayonne.

Me: Are you sure? It seems to me that there was something about a Belichone or Balichon, or something like that.

My wife: Its the same thing, the same thing. On you go, come on!

And off we went, driving merrily into disaster. We arrived at the place in Bayonne that, reputedly, is meant to house the activities of various associations. There was an eery silence in the place which gave me a bad feeling but not my chirpy wife who sauntered up to the only open room where there was a bored young man sitting behind a reception desk.

My wife (in French): Ah, can you tell us where the AFLACOBA people are meeting?

Young man: The what?

Me: Oh, oh...

My wife: The AFLACOBA, the AFLACOBA...you know that Latin American...

Young man: Not here. There are no meetings of any kind being held here today.

Me: (Panicking) Oh, oh...

My wife: But, surely you are wrong. We got an email saying that this Balichon thing...

Young man: Ah, the Balichon! Well, that is not here.

Me: Oh, oh...

My wife: Well, where is that Balichon thing...

The young man went into a lengthy and complicated description of the trek we would have to make to reach that golden fleece otherwise known as the MVC Balichon. Now you might be asking yourself, what the MVC stands for. Well, that, as you will see later, is the crux of the mystery.

Off we went, to follow directions we did not fully understand, to look for a place we did not really know where or what it was.

Me: (Starting to loose my temper because of hunger) But, you said that you were sure it was at this Association place...

My wife: And, I am. That's what it said in the email.

Me: I don't remember any mention of any association...

My wife: Never mind. The young man said to look for the Galleries Lafayette and to continue up from there.

Me: That's pretty vague. Are you sure he said...

And on we went driving around, getting into wrong way streets, circling for an hour, asking "locals" about a place called Balichon. We saw a man putting things into the boot of his car so we assumed he was a "local". My wife jumped out of the car, while I, motor idling, stayed ready to drive off in whatever misdirection the man would send us. I started to think the man was NOT a local when he produced a huge map, unfolded it and started to trace circles on it with his finger. Much like when one says, "I think its around here."

After a fifteen minute consultation, that seemed as complicated as the planning of the Normandy invasion from the way the man moved his hand over the map and gestured, my wife ran back, got into the car, and said the man had no clue to where the fabled Balichon place was but that he thought it might be...

Off we went, following these new, obscure, and vague instructions of the map guy.

Me: Didn't he mention the name of the street? I mean, did he say where...

My wife: Augh! What for? Anyone knows where this Balichon place is...

Of course, we not only did not find it, we got lost in a very complicated tangle of streets with no names. We asked a half dozen people, all of which gave different directions or gestured wildly, but made no mention of the street where this Balichon place might be. After a half hour of muddling about in that maze of narrow and crooked streets, we gave up and decided to go home.

At home, I took off my hat and Paseo shirt (which had, appropriately, three bullfighters stitched on the back)and sat down to eat our now cold tomato tart. I grumbled and my wife kept insisting that the people who had sent the email should not have mentioned the Association place where we had first gone. "That," she said, "has misled us."

I didn't recall any mention of that Association place so I went to have a look at the email.

Me: Look! There is no mention of any Masion des Associations! It says "MVC Balichon" and it gives the name of the street it is on! We should have looked for that street!

My wife: And, what do I care what street it is on? Do you think I know the name of the street where I do my nails? Of course not! I don't need to know it; I know where the place is!

Me: But what does that have to do with anything? They have established streets names and houses numbers so people can find their way around, so you don't have to say: Oh, my house is near the butcher with the large window and next to the tree with lots of leaves, or something like that.

My wife: But, I have no use for the names of streets. I know where places are.

Me: Not this place! We spent an hour driving around like lost tourists. We could have just asked for directions to the street, not the Maison des whatever!

My wife: Well, it was that MVC thing that misled us. They should not have put that in because it leads one to think that it is the Maison des Associations.

How in the world one goes from an acronym MVC to Maison des Associations is something only the strange and bizarre workings of a Gallic female mind can achieve. Of course, I should have known better, but I didn't, so I asked the question:

Me: How in the world can you say that MVC led you to think that it was the Maison des...

My wife: Ah, but don't you know what it means? Here it is right here, on my screen (she said looking at the Google page). It means "Maison de la Vie Citoyenne", no wonder one confuses it with the "Maison des Associations".

I was speechless.