on the road less travelled in Ireland and france

Travellers Fran and Conal run into trouble in Grenoble, France, when car thieves break into their hire car.

By Conal Healy

November 6, 2023: If I was being honest with myself, I would have to thank the thieves who broke into our car. True, they did steal our two suitcases. They did take our backpacks. And the duffle bag with all our dirty laundry.

It is true the thieves left us with the clothes we were standing in (and in our overnight bags) but really … it could have been worse. An awful lot worse.

The thieves had taken a lot of clothes that we didn’t really need – we might have been guilty of overpacking.

Thanks to the break-in, we now had less weight to lug around, more room for souvenirs and a new appreciation for the concept of travelling light.

Let’s backtrack.

***\

The previous day we left the delightful city of Clermont-Ferrand (the capital of the Auvergne in central France) bound for Grenoble (in south-eastern France). It was a long three-hour drive and we arrived in the capital city of the French Alps in the early afternoon.

It was too early to check-in to our Airbnb, so we decided to park the car (outside the apartment) and set off to explore Grenoble on foot.

On that mid-November afternoon, the autumn weather was mild, bright, clear skies and it wasn’t raining. We had the local museum/art gallery in mind as Google Maps directed us along the city’s boulevard and upmarket shopping precinct.

With its collections of ancient, modern and contemporary art, the Musée de Grenoble “offers you a chance to traverse the history of western painting from the 13th to the 20th centuries. Included are major masterpieces of classical Flemish, Dutch, Italian and Spanish painting; one of 20th century Europe’s richest collections; and all the great post-1945 contemporary art trends, right up to the most recent artworks of the 2000s.”

Personally I enjoyed seeing works by Monet, Gauguin, Matisse, Picasso, Léger and Ernst, Soulages, Warhol, Nauman, Boltanski and Schütte.

The big pluses were: The entry was free, the galleries were practically empty and the art gallery shop was filled with bargains.

After our fill of culture, we walked back to the Airbnb – ready to put our feet up and relax.

***

We knew there would be challenges with this particular apartment.

The upside? The views from the top-floor – to the mountain peaks beyond – would be amazing. It had a wrap-around balcony for the corner apartment.

The downside? It was on the sixth floor. And there was no lift. A challenge? You betcha.

We knew about the lack of lift beforehand and resolved to take only a minimum from the hire car to carry all the way up to the top floor.

We took a change of clothes, food for a dinner and a few overnight essentials. In essence, a backpack  and two shopping bags each.

 We had been on the road in France almost three weeks, the Suzuki Vitara had become our “car-drobe” and we got into the habit of preparing an overnight bag in advance. So most of our clothes were in the car.

This meant we could arrive at our next destination, check in, drop our overnight bags and go out and explore the locality.

We also knew this Airbnb did have “secure parking” (in a separate building) – but warned guests that it was on the second floor and it could be a “challenge”.

After the long drive, the walk about town, the climb up to the sixth floor, it was decided neither of us needed a “challenge” and we left the hire car on the street outside.

This, we were told later, was our first mistake.

***\

We woke to a cool, clear, late autumn morning in the Airbnb in Grenoble. We watched as dawn hit the tops of the various mountains that bordered the city.

We even caught a glimpse of a snow-tipped peak. Was this really snow? Were we really in the French Alps … and it had been snowing? It was exciting stuff.

We walked the narrow balcony, balancing tea and camera in hand, enjoying the cool morning air.

Fran and I had already mapped out our day – there were museums to see, gardens to wander in and the promise of a nice French lunch (with wine), the probability of an afternoon nap before a night out in Grenoble.

We planned to dust off our sensible travel clothes and dress up for the occasion. Joggers swapped for boots and brogues.

You might have already guessed that never happened.

***/

Fran decided she was up for the “challenge” of moving the Suzuki from the street outside to the secure car park. And before her first cup of coffee for the day too.

We had already decided to have breakfast out. You know, find a nice café. Or stop at a boulangerie and pick up a baguette.

While Fran went down the stairs, I did a quick tidy up of the kitchen, converted my overnight bag into my “day bag” and set off down the flight of stairs.

As I stepped out onto the street, I noticed Fran waving at me. She was standing beside the hire car. “Why hasn’t be moved it?” I wondered.

I then saw she wasn’t happy. Then I saw the shattered window glass on the pavement.

Before I could say a word, Fran blurted out: “There’s good news and bad news. The good news? They didn’t take the passports and your (other) camera. The bad news? The car was broken into last night.”

The backpacks, duffle bag were missing from the back seat which was now littered with tinted glass particles.

I wondered what else had been taken, and popped the boot open. Where our two almost-full suitcases should have been was now a gaping hole.

That came as a shock to Fran who thought the thieves had just smashed, snatched and ran away.

Nope, the suitcases were gone too.

We both swore.

We were both in shock. What do we do now?

***/

The passports (and the rest of our travel paperwork) were safe, in their hurry the thieves must have missed them. An almost-empty camera bag (with my photo SDs cards) had also been missed or ignored by the robbers.

Our first priority, we decided, was to move the car to the secure location.

With the Suzuki safely secured, I tried to imagine the thief/thieves breaking into the car – what might they have done next? One person could have managed the two (with wheels) suitcases and the two other bags … but in the middle of the night they might have attracted some attention.

Two people, with one suitcase and one bag each … might be normal in a city that attracts a lot of visitors.

If I was a thief, I might have used the first dark alleyway to have a quick look inside the suitcase to see if there was anything worth selling off. And if there was nothing … ditch the suitcase.

With this thought in mind, Fran and I walked around nearby streets and alleyways looking for discarded suitcases/backpacks. We searched the rubbish from the local street market, the bins under the nearby train line … in vain.

Next priority? Tell the hire car firm about the damage and to get a replacement car. We still had another two weeks in France and we were a long way from Paris.

***/

Google told us the car hire firm had an office in Grenoble. It was at the train station – just 10 minutes walk away. Excellent. We set off, Google Maps directing us.

Given we were following the train lines that ran at the bottom of the Airbnb’s street … it wasn’t a hard task.

The fun began when we reached the station. No obvious sign of the hire car office. We walked away – maybe it was in a nearby street? Ten steps later, Google Maps told us to turn around. Back into the station. Both of us looking… looking….looking…. NOPE.

In frustration Fran walked into the station information office. She was mustering up her French to ask “Where is….” when a station “door greeter” saw her and without giving Fran a chance to talk told her in perfect English: “The hire car offices are downstairs”.

Obviously they are used to dealing with frustrated, annoyed car-hire customers.

***/

Downstairs we found the office, entered and began our customary French greetings.

The conversation stalled when we discovered the person behind the counter didn’t understand English.

(Bugger, I swore silently.) Luckily, their supervisor did understand “Anglais”.

Relieved, we explained what had happened to the Suzuki, showed her the photos of the damage and how we moved the car to a safe place.

Our first job, we were told, was to return the car to their offices (here at the station) so they could inspect it.

***/

Back at the Airbnb (and after walking up the many stairs) we contacted our travel insurance company and explained what had happened. The listened, took notes and told us we needed to report the matter to the French police, and we would need to get a signed statement from them about the incident.

That raised a red flag with me. The gendarmes have a fearsome reputation, in my mind. They are actually a part of the French defence forces, unlike the police in Australia.

Back in the 1970s/1980s, I had been warned about the French police – in their eyes a person was guilty until proven innocent. And they didn’t like the look of long-haired, bearded, student lookalikes … especially if they were foreigners. Or was it just me?

I wondered if anything had changed in four decades?

The next job was to return the Suzuki Vitara. With only a few small dramas, we got the car out of the secure parking, punched in the supplied address into Google Map and set off.

Now this sounds like we were calm and collected, we weren’t.

We had skipped breakfast, our luggage had been stolen, our travel plans were up in the air, an encounter with the French police was imminent, we had to battle the narrow streets of Grenoble … were under caffeinated.

So, there was a bit of tension in the car as we tried to locate the subterranean carpark that was located under a hotel complex. The narrow lanes and the tight corners of the carpark didn’t improve our moods … but we managed to keep it together.

It had already been a long day when we hauled out whatever was left inside the car and struggled back to the hire car front counter.

We dumped our belongings on their office floor and braced ourselves for paperwork and explanations.

The supervisor defused the situation immediately: “Would you like a coffee?”

Finally, we caught a break. “Yes, please” said Fran.

***/

The hire car staff were friendly, helpful and started on the paperwork for a new car. Not for the first time on this trip, we thanked our lucky stars for getting full insurance.

Now that we didn’t have as much luggage, we asked for a smaller car.

France is made for small cars. Compared to Australia, French roads are narrow, the car parks are smaller and – in traffic – the smaller cars are niftier.

They agreed to our request and assigned us a Fiat Punto. Excellent, we thought. And threw in a bag with snow-chains … just in case it snowed. We were in the French Aps, don’t forget.

***/

We thanked the supervisor, said “Au revoir”, grabbed out belongings and started back down to the underground car park (lugging our belongings) looking for a Fiat.

We found it, no problem. It looked cute (it was mustard coloured). It looked small. It was a pocket rocket, just what we wanted. Just what we needed.

Then Fran looked inside. Her heart dropped.

The car had a Manual transmission. A manual! Neither of us could drive a manual. We are Automatic drivers. Great with Sticks!

We swore!

***/

I opted to stay with our belongings, Fran went back to look for a replacement.

She returned about 30 minutes later with a new set of keys.

The fresh encounter with the hire-car staff did not go well.

The French found it incredulous that neither of could drive a Manual car. And frankly didn’t believe Fran when she told them a lot of Australian only drove Automatic cars.

(Aussies prefer to drive automatic cars, with a whopping 97 percent of cars sold in Australia having automatic transmissions. Source: Suncorp Insurnance)

The bad news: They didn’t have an Automatic car available right now.

I believed, at this point, Fran might have become exacerbated. 

They wanted to get rid of me, Fran recalled and explained, they took an Automatic from another customer (who was due to collect their car later that day) and gave her the vehicle instead. (It had not been a pleasant exchange of conversation, I figured).

Yes, another win, I thought.

Then we saw the car. It was a Ford Kuga – it was even bigger than the Suzuki Vitara.

We were destined to spend the rest of the holiday on the narrow roads of France in a car Fran described as a “lounge chair” and a “yacht on wheels”.

We threw our bags into the boot and set off back to the secure parking.

There was lunch to eat. And a trip to the French police station to be experienced.

***/

Over lunch I realized that Fran and mine’s limited French would not be enough to explain to the police what happened. With this in mind, I sat down with my smart phone and wrote down everything I thought the police would need to complete a form.

For example: The make and age of the car, where it was parked, the approximate time (and date) of the break-in, the precise address where the vehicle was parked, how the thieves gained entry and what they took. And anything else I could think of.

Then I cut and pasted the document into Google Translate (English to French) and moved the French version of my statement back into a document.

This turned out to be a masterstroke.

***/

Grenoble is a great city, the CBD is pedestrian-friendly, the shops are bright and cheerful. There are parked to enjoy. There is a good vibe. The people seem friendly. The six-storey buildings have a hint of Italy about them. The nearby mountains act as a glorious backdrop.

Google directed us to the closest police station. This was not a gendarmerie, this was the Hotel de Police.

These were the local, civilian, police. We arrived mid-afternoon, said our “Bonjour” to the desk sergeant and slip the translated statement under the plastic screen.

He read it, them passed it to a younger colleague who came out to talk to us… in English. (YAY!)

The young (and in full uniform, ie with a gun) officer suggested that with the station waiting room already full, it might be a good idea to come back in the morning. He told us: Be here at 7.15am, for the 7.30am opening … and be first in line to make a statement.

It was come back in the morning, or we could now wait behind everyone else to see a police officer to make a statement. That could take hours.

Back in the morning then? It sounded like a plan!

We thanked the officer for his time, said Au Revoir and left the Hotel de Police to look for replacement clothes.

After all, we only had one sets of clothes each and whatever was in our overnight bag. Time to hit the shops!

***/

It was still dark when the alarm clocks went off at 6am. Dawn was still two hours away. Tea was drunk. Cereal swallowed.

We stepped out into the streets of a city still very much asleep. This was a cold late-autumn morning, with just a winter chill in the air.

As a sweeping generalization, Grenoble doesn’t start functioning until 10am.

Some shops are open. Some cafes too. A boulangerie (bakery) perhaps.

We walked across central Grenoble watching as the city slowly came to life.

This morning we regularly saw broken glass in the gutter where someone else had their car window broken. (The car hire people in Grenoble told us to not leave anything in view inside the car, this would be an invitation for a thief. Grenoble, we were told, has a reputation for a high crime rate.)

The Hotel de Police was already open when Fran and I arrived at 7.20am. We queued to see the desk sergeant, said our best Bonjours, and slid the translated statement across the counter. He looked at it and invited us (in French) to take a seat in the waiting room.

Surveying the room, I realized there were five people in front of us. (The day before the figure would have been 15+).

We took our spot on the cold metal seats and watched police adverts scroll on the wall-mounted TV.

More early morning risers came into the station, I tried to snatch a meaning for their visit: Did the man with the helmet have his bike stolen? Were the two agitated men with loud voices trying to lodge a noise complaint against a neighbour? Was the senior citizen asking that the police talk to the people who let their dog shit on his lawn? I didn’t know. I think they just wanted to tell somebody, or anyone. Only a few stopped to join us in the waiting room, waiting to make a statement. Others were sent away – told to return with appropriate documents.

We had all the paperwork we though we needed: Our international driving licenses, our Australian driving licenses, insurance paperwork, car-hire forms, the French-translated details … and a positive attitude.

We knew the luggage would never be recovered. We had complied a rough list of contents – but it was mainly clothes, shoes and souvenirs. (As the days passed we would look for something … before realizing it had been in the luggage and was now gone.)

Fran and I were on a deadline. We had to be out of the Airbnb by 11am. We had hoped to get an extension. We told our host about out car break-in and having to see the police, but the host could do nothing, there was another guest coming to stay.

We had to get back to the apartment (up to the damned sixth floor), pack up, tidy up (empty the rubbish) and be gone … by 11am.

It was now 8am and were now fourth in line. In the barely heated police station, the cold metal seats were becoming uncomfortable.

Just before 9am, we were called and shown into an office. The police officer couldn’t speak “Anglais” but we quickly moved to Google Translate and got the ball rolling. Having the appropriate documentation ready was a winner. The statement in French – with all the appropriate details – was a big help (for the police officer).

Forms were filled, printed out, signed and stamped. We had the necessary statement for the insurance claim. (Yay) The police officer had been good, helpful and understanding. Yes, I like the French police.

We were out by 9.10am and on our way back to the apartment. Yes, there was packing. Yes, there was cleaning.

More importantly, on this bright, clear morning there was time to do a final walk on the sixth floor apartment wraparound balcony and to admire the glorious mountains that ring Grenoble. Besides, the Alps were calling. And there was a real possibility of snow!

Grenoble at a glance

Grenoble is often overshadowed by France’s more famous cities like Paris, Nice, or Lyon. However, delve a little deeper and you’ll find that this vibrant city nestled in the French Alps is brimming with fascinating history, culture, and natural beauty.

The “Capital of the Alps”: Grenoble is fondly referred to as the “Capital of the Alps” due to its strategic location at the foot of the mountains. The city offers breathtaking views of the snow-capped peaks and is a hub for winter sports enthusiasts.

Grenoble Crime

On a list of the 10 Most Dangerous Cities in France (published in October 2023), Grenoble came in at number five.

Given its location, Grenoble is a skiing destination since it’s at the center of the Les Deux Alpes and Three Valleys.

The city has an overall crime rating of 57.35, with high levels of social discrimination, drug-related crimes, property damage, and vandalism.

FOOTNOTE: I contacted my travel insurance company the morning of the break-in, they explained I needed to file a police report, and get a copy of the report … for the insurance claim. I did all that and we spent about $300 on replacement clothes. When I return to Australia I filed an insurance claim. Long story short? The travel insurance company refused to the honour my claim. Why? Apparently in their view I had “abandoned the vehicle” the night before. I argued that I had parked and locked the car that night … and had gone into the Airbnb to sleep. I believe they would have like me to sleep in the car and to be probably attacked by the thieves. So I was out of pocket.