Day 13. This is the day the trip went south. And I’m not talking geography here.

Started off OK but not great. It was hot in our un-air-conditioned third floor apartment, my sore throat and cough were not getting any better, and an even hotter day was in store.

Breakfast was the usual delight, this morning served outside on the terrace, again with a delightful waitress. She truly could have served us anything and it would have been wonderful—her gracious hospitality was that enchanting. We even had another bird keeping a watchful eye on us–and our food!

After breakfast, we lingered in the shade for a bit, then made the short walk to the car to bring in all of our bags so we could re-pack everything in the room in preparation for the next leg of the trip. Thus far, our two large suitcases had never been out of the car. Our goal now was to make all the hand carry items as heavy as possible so the biggest suitcase would be easier to handle getting on and off of trains the next day.

After that chore, and a bit of writing and relaxing in the room, including another now-familiar picnic lunch, we headed to the car, heavy suitcases in tow, for the last day of visiting family sights. Our destination was Oberhausen, a larger city about a half hour away. It is the city where Oma and Opa were married. The address I had there was for the last place Oma had lived before coming to America.

Our first stop would be the Avis location where we were to drop off the car in the morning. We wanted to confirm how long it would take and make sure we knew the way. When we got to the location the GPS told us was the place, we didn’t see any Avis sign. There was a car dealership and a small repair shop in a large, asphalt parking area. We pulled in. A man was coming out of the repair shop. He looked like he was locking up. I stopped him to ask about Avis. He didn’t seem to know anything about it. I explained more, and nope, there was no Avis, no car rental place here. “Perhaps my colleague knows more,” he said, leading me towards the car dealership and calling out to someone. Another gentleman came out and I explained again. He, too, had never heard of an Avis location here. He asked if I had the address, so I got my phone and looked it up. 13-15 Wehrstrasse. “That is not here,” he said. “That is about 5 km away. Do you have GPS?” “Yes,” I answered. He wanted to wait for me to enter the address in our GPS to be sure we would be able to get there. They were both so sweet, so concerned for us, and so determined to help.

“Where are you from?” they asked. “America. New York. But not the city,” I said. “I am from Lebanon,” one man said, “and he is from Turkey.” “Wir sind alle Ausländer!” (We are all foreigners!) I said, and they both smiled.

The day was exceedingly hot and even being out of the car for that short time had me drenched in sweat. Was it a fever or just the heat?

We made our way to the new address and YES, there was an Avis there! We cheered at the red and white sign. Then we drove up. It was closed. We looked at the door. It closed at noon on Saturday (today) and was not open at all on Sunday. From the beginning, the plan had always been to drop off the car in Oberhausen on Sunday morning. No one from Avis ever told us the location would not be open. We had bought our tickets for the train to Paris from Oberhausen Hauptbahnhof (main train station) specifically because Oberhausen was the Avis drop-off location. We didn’t see any drop-box for keys or any sign saying what to do when the location was closed.

What to do now?

I hadn’t brought any of my paperwork with me, so we were anxious to get back to the hotel where I would have all of that plus Wifi. But since we were already in Oberhausen, it made sense to stop by Oma’s address first.

My mind was swimming with possible solutions: maybe we could change our train, drive the car to closer to Paris and take a train from there. Or find an Avis location that was open on Sunday and was close to a train station. Maybe an airport location would be our only choice. But how would that work with the train situation?

When we got to Michelstrasse 14, it was hard for me to focus on where we were. The building at number 14 was very new—a plain brick house that had a very stark appearance. It was a free-standing house, like most of the houses on this street, unlike the attached apartment buildings we had seen in Gelsenkirchen. Who knows what this street looked like in 1923 when Oma left? Even the trees which lined both sides of the street looked too young to have been here then. I had the strange feeling that Oma was never meant to have been here, at least not to have stayed here. Another life was already awaiting her.

Back at Schloss Berge, our room was even hotter than we remembered, our frustration not helping to cool us off any. I checked the train tickets (not refundable or changeable). Santo found the Avis location at the Düsseldorf Airport that was open today and would be open at 7 am tomorrow. But Düsseldorf was 40 minutes away from Gelsenkirchen and 20 minutes from Obehausen. We could drop the car in the moring and get a taxi to Oberhausen to make our 10 am train. But Santo really wanted to get the car returned today and be done with it. He did not want any hassles in the morning that would mess up our getting to Paris.

We tried to call Avis and spent nearly an hour on the line with someone who told us that the Rental Agreement Number we had was wrong, even though it was on the contract printed out at the Avis in Naples. Then he asked for the number on our car keys, and said that was wrong too. How could that be? We had the keys in our hands, and we had been driving this car for ten days. The agent was trying to find out if it would cost us more to return the car to Düsseldorf since this was not our original drop-off location, but was unable to get the information because of the “wrong” numbers. In the end, he gave us a number to call Customer Service. “I thought this WAS Customer Service,” I said. “No,” this is the reservation line.” “So we have to start all over with Customer Service?” “Yes.”

This time I let Santo make the call. All the phone options were the same as for the last call. When we got to a person, we asked if it was Customer Service and they said, no, it was the reservation line. “You need to call Customer Service.” THAT’S WHAT WE JUST DID!!!!! Santo explained our situation as briefly as possible and said: “Can you PLEASE connect me to someone in Customer Service who can help with this?” Finally we got a person on the phone who seemed to understand what we were saying. She had no problem finding up our Rental Agreement Number. She put us on hold to look into it … THEN THE CALL DROPPED!!!! “Let’s just take the car to Düsseldorf now and be done with it. Then we can relax in the morning,” Santo said. Seemed like a good idea, even though I was so hot and sick I could hardly imagine making our way back from Düsseldorf by train and then taxi.

First we had to schlep our heavy bags that we had just schlepped TO the car BACK up to the room so we could return the car. By the time I did the  circuit — to the car, to the hotel, back to the car – I thought I would melt.

The drive to Düsseldorf was not too bad, and after one mistake finding the car rental return area, we got the car to the right place. We were told just to leave the keys in the car and go. So we did. If Avis ever tried to charge us more or gave us a problem, we would have it out with them later. Then we walked to the terminal to find out how to get a train back to Gelsenkirchen. The air seemed even heavier, even hotter, if that was possible. The Weather Channel told us it was 94 degrees Fahrenheit.

Luckily, a train was leaving in 10 minutes so we quickly bought tickets and made our way to the train station via the airport tram—NOT AIR CONDITIONED. Made our connection to the train. Santo thought it was air-conditioned but I didn’t feel it. I was dying. Coughing. Hot. Headache from coughing. Tired from not sleeping. And I knew I had another un-air-conditioned night ahead of me.

We got to the Gelsenkirchen train station and found a cab to take us to Schloss Berge. Should I have been surprised that it had no more air conditioning than on the train?

When we got back to our room, I went straight to the bathroom and starting filling up the tub with cold water. I didn’t think there was any other way I could get my body cooled down. We decided to have dinner at the hotel restaurant under the trees on the terrace and hope for the best. At least we would be served. The bath helped, at least enough for me to get dressed and down to dinner. Thank God, we had our wonderful waitress from the morning. She truly made the unbearable bearable. We found light meals to order: chicken in orange sauce with basmati rice for Santo and a wonderful grilled trout amandine for me with boiled potatoes that had just a hint of butter and parsley. We asked for ice and water—and to keep them coming—and made it through the meal feeling a bit more relaxed. At least our car worries were over.

We even had enough energy after dinner for the short walk to Lake Berge. Dusk was beginning to settle on the lake, muting the heat of the day’s sun ever so slightly. A young couple were walking with a baby in a carriage as we neared the lake. I couldn’t resist looking in at the baby. Think dark hair framed her delicate sleeping face. “Jemand ist mude” (Someone is tired), I commented to the couple and they smile. We continued to the semicircular patio overlooking the lake and watched the large carp and ducks swimming leisurely below as pinks began to overtake the sky. It had been a tough day, but we were feeling blessed.

Heading back up to the hotel, the same couple stopped us, wanting to show us something. They had taken pictures of us looking out over the lake. They were just beautiful. “Could you send us a copy?” I asked in German. “I can give you my phone number to text them.” “Do you have WhatsApp?” the woman asked. It took us several minutes to figure out how to get Santo’s WhatsApp number to her so she could send the photos. Meanwhile, we talked. They were from Syria and lived in a town just a few minutes away. Their little girl was named Rita. “A German name,” the father said. We told them about our journey and my connection to Gelsenkirchen. Rita started to fuss while all this was going on, so the dad picked her up and held her. Santo and Rawun, the mother, finally figured out the technology. They wanted to take another close-up picture of us, and we wanted pictures of them. Rawun even managed to take a selfie of all of us.

We come from here. We travel to there. We change our lives and start new ones. Everywhere we go there are strangers–and friends.