Fast and furious
I knew something was wrong first thing when we prised ourselves out of the ferry cabin ready to disembark. My phone refused to use any data. I had spent a lot of time contacting 'talk mobile' and being assured that this was going to work. Oh well, I thought, it'll leap into life when we leave the boat. Alas, as we popped out of the side of the boat very high up on what felt like a gang plank just wide enough for a car, there was still no leaping.
We had no idea of the route. My MO at this point was to drive away from.the sea. Away from the sea and not towards it has to be good, thought I.
This plan of campaign was, of course, doomed. In the end, I lost my bottle and turned off the motorway, ending up on the outskirts of a small town. (No idea of its name) Now we were seriously nowhere. It reminded me of the time we drove to Slovenia when the kids were young. We got so lost in Bruges that in the end, I turned up a tiny high street, stopped, got out and accosted the first unfortunate man to pass and asked him the way to Munich! To be fair, he did a crackin job of getting me on the right track. I decided not to panic. Last week, I had, with uncharacteristic presence of mind, plotted the whole of the first day on my bike riding app just in case of the unforeseen..... Now was the time to employ my bike ride app on a route which took us all the way to the door of this evening's stopover. But it's not a great way to navigate when you're not on a bike. Eventually we were held up in what turned put to be border patrol between Holland and Germany. This consisted of ever so many Police dragging everyone off the motorway and staring at us suspiciously as we drove past. However, we used the time to ring talk mobile. The Indian gentleman on the end of the line insisted on ringing Kate's mobile to talk through the remedial procedure. After telling him for the third time that my wife's phone doesn't function in Europe, he said. Well have you got paper and pen. There then followed a mad scramble as Kate looked for both items while we crawled towards the watchful eye of the law. She found a piece of paper. She found a pen. Great. But the pen didn't work. She listened to the faint crackling voice of someone with a strong accent and rammed the pen against the paper in the hope of reading it later by following the indentations. The procedure went on and on. It covered a whole side of A4. There were all sorts of WAP codes, whatever they are, and stuff we'd never seen nor heard of. When he asked a question and we answered it, he said "more than perfect" each time. I always thought the response 'perfect' was employed by women in their late teens and early twenties, who deliver the word in that funny croaky voice that they seem to have perfected. But 'More than Perfect'? This guy was taking it to a whole new level.
Anyway, when he rang off (after telling us we could check stuff on the website!🤔) we thought, well that will never work. Guess what. It did.
Only now, could I think about coffee. Do you know, the Brits do service stations way better than anyone else.
It seems that wherever you are on the continent, a service station usually consists of a fuel station, a Costa machine and a toilet which you would only consider if the alternative was truly bleak.
We did find one with a real coffee shop in the end. Caffeine was very much needed. I know it always is, but driving down German autobahns is not for the faint hearted. They are as busy as British motorways, but with no speed limit much of the time. (Occasionally you are asked to restrain yourselves to 120kph) The roads are packed with lorries, interacting with very fast cars being driven insanely. I kept an average speed of about 72 mph. Most cars passed me like I was standing still.
After seven solid hours of this, I was glad when we arrived at our hotel.
And then, suddenly, we are in rural Germany.
A quiet village where everyone says allo and you're surrounded by trees and bird song. Outside our room is a lovely courtyard. We sat at a table to rest until a woman came hurrying out to tell us that we were sitting at a table used by the villagers. It turned out the table three feet away was fine. We sat at our new table in the almost empty courtyard and she asked if I'd like a beer. I said a small one would be great. She said, sorry, but the first beer has to be a large one, after which I would be allowed small ones. I explained that I only wanted a small one but she was not to be moved. So I had a large beer. I paid and legged it before she had a chance to insist that I now drunk a small one, too.
So far today, I had eaten a scotch egg and a buscuit from the local bakery so thoughts turned to food. Mine did, anyway. We found a wonderfully random pizzeria a twenty minute walk away. Perfect! (Said in a croaky voice)
We were definately right off the tourist trail and enjoyed bring part of the good humoured and friendly restaurant.
When a day ends like that, it doesn't much matter how it starts.
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