Sunday, July 20th: The bites don’t hurt anymore. My mum’s secret balm to cure everything helped a lot. My husband is driving, I am sleeping in the passenger seat, the kids dozed off soon after we left. A lo Oscuro, here we go. I wake up just in time to take a picture of a sign pointing to the near (German) A3. More sleep.
At about 2:30 we are already at the Belgian Border. At 5 we’re making a stop. Obviously the last ones standing from a Saturday night of partying are stranded here. The toilet is filthy. I can’t help, but that’s been for years my only association I have with Belgium – dirty loos. We leave as quickly as possible, next stop France.
At about 7 we make a stop somewhere around Amiens, Grrrmaneta is thirsty. On Sunday, there’s a limit on how much fuels they sell. So it’s only half a drink for our trusty car. We have breakfast in Abbeville, and like I feared my first words to a French man are: „Do you speak English?“ Great start. They will remember that. We have an awful lot of kilometres left in France, this is going to be fun. Not.
But the French kid in the bakery is nice, we try to communicate in all available languages and so I muster up all my courage and order confidently: „Deux croissants, por favor!“ Lord help me, what a disaster. I better pack my stuff and go home right now. On the other hand, it might work better in Spain. If we ever get there. There’s so much of France left. We send a sign of life home and my dad informs me that this is exactly the route my parents were driving some 50 years ago, including suggestions for sightseeing. Nooo, please, I want to just cross this place and go to Spain!
But we won’t make it to Spain today. I’m checking the camping app someone recommended and find a spot near La Rochelle. Reasonable price, toilet and shower. Sounds fine. We arrive around 18:00, the owner is already waiting. It’s an old orchard, it’s like camping in someone’s backyard. Well, it IS camping in someone’s backyard. There’s a goat family with babies, a goose couple with a baby – the kids are thrilled. The owner shows us around. He’s nice, but I also have worked hard on the phrase „Hello, we made a reservation via the app“ in French for the past 5 hours. He is telling us a lot about the garden, but at some point I run out of French. He knows English, and everything is fine. At least we tried. But it would be nice if something of five years French at school would have stuck. Instead I still remember the phone numbers of all my friends in first grade and the name of my bench neighbour’s cologne in Physics in 10th. (Sumatra Rain, in case you’re wondering.)
We put up the tent for my husband and K1, prepare the Grrrmaneta for sleeping in the back and get out the camping kitchen. Ravioli for the carnivores and some cheesy instant noodle dish for me. I decide to shower which is literally a shower in a garden shed. But it’s surprisingly comfortable and warm. We are worn out from 20 hours in the car and fall into sleep quickly. I can see the 571 sign from Cartagena in the back window from where I am. What a nice view. There was a girl in another car exitedly waving at us when she saw the sign as their car overtook us. Looks like the chavales already start to conquer France as well. What a nice thought.
I wake up to someone knocking. K1 wants to sleep in the car as well. Next time I wake up to rain. Are the windows wide open? No. Go back to sleep. I should have closed them at that point, some things got pretty wet in the front. But aren’t we heading towards Spain? It’s warm in Spain, everything will dry there. (Little did I know at this point.)
