In Search of a Well - Mulhouse, France

When MIchael, my husband, suggested we visit my hometown of Mulhouse in the Alsace region of France, I must admit I was not thrilled about the idea. What a mistake it would have been to not make that trip. My father worked in Cairo, Egypt in the mid 1950’s, where he met my mother. They moved to Mulhouse, his hometown, got married, and where, in 1957, I was born. Without family or friends in Mulhouse, France, my mother was miserable. For her, Mulhouse was barren, boring, the food was bland, the people aloof, and, most importantly, it didn’t have the sun of her beloved Cairo. Finally my father was offered a job in New York City, and she was able to escape Mulhouse in 1962. However, she never forgot how miserable she was or missed the opportunity to tell me how much she hated those years. So when Michael suggested we visit the area, I didn’t jump at the chance. I was sure I wouldn’t like it either. Luckily, it is impossible for me to turn down to trip anywhere, so we packed our bags and off we went. Parts of Mulhouse are definitely desolate. Because it was a manufacturing center, the city was badly bombed during WW II. In rebuilding, it retained its blue-collar character in its utilitarian architecture, devoid of ornamentation. Its bleakness was very apparent at our first stop - the church in which my parents were married and I was baptized - Jeanne D'Arc.

Disregarding the bitter cold weather, we walked towards the historical section of town and the city center. I had a picture with me of my parents on their wedding day posing in front of a well. We were going to search every nook and cranny of my birthplace, locate the well, and recreate the scene with Michael and me. My heart was beaming with the thought.

We walked up some streets and down others. Nothing! Neither the old man with a cane and bad eyes nor the girl behind the counter in the pharmacy could identify the well. As I exited the pharmacy, I spotted a police car stopped for a red light. Wanting to show him my photo, I hurried in its direction. As a sideline, Uggs are very, very warm but provide no traction on ice. That’s right, I fell right on my ass as I careened under the police car. “Madame, êtes-vous d'accord? (Are you okay?),” asked the policeman as I crawled from under his car. “Oui, oui, merci, (Yes, yes, thank you)," I managed to mumble as I weakly half-stumbled, half-slid from under the car, holding my photo high in the air. The policeman had no idea as to the whereabouts of the well either. With dignity barely in place, I wiped the ice from my coat and soldiered on.

I never did find the well. It’s okay. I wanted to create a memory and I did. Memories are in the quest and not in the find.