France

19 – La Puta Francia and the last estrellas

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Sunday, August 3rd: We leave the nice place in Orléans in the morning, tell the navigational system to avoid Paris at all costs and set sail for our home. When we see the Eiffel Tower appear on the horizon we know something went really wrong.

If this is Paris on a Sunday, I don’t wanna know what Paris on a Monday or Friday looks like. Holy crap. I’m clutching the emotional support drum stick and pray we make it through this city in one piece, preferably without dents and scratches in the car. But Grrrmaneta and my husband are a good team and get out us out of there alive and quickly.

We make a stop at a big motorway restaurant, but regret it afterwards. It was so crowded, I hope we didn’t catch another souvenir. One of those viral ones you sadly cannot brag about.

After more hours in France, we finally arrive in Belgium. We see another A3 sign and I suddenly miss Spain again. We’re not even close to home and I would love to get back already. The emotional support drum stick is helping in an interesting way – I am either holding it together with the steering wheel or tapping around somewhere. I might have a black and blue shoulder once we’re home, but it’s incredibly sooothing. Another thing I don’t expect anyone to understand. But I’m sure it is interesting to watch. Or disturbing – because my husband takes over in Lüttich and won’t let me get back behind the wheel until we reach our house.

At 18:30 we’re back in Germany. Another 3 or 4 hours and we are home.

We drive by Cologne and see the cathedral, but I still like the basilica and Zaragoza better. There. I said it.

We see another German A3 sign and it’s still not the same feeling as it was in Madrid.

We eat crap from our lunch box because we don’t want to stop anymore. We can’t even find a working toilet on any of the German motorways so we decide to just step on the gas and go. We listen to Arde Bogotá and talk about the concert and other things related. At about 22:15 we are in our street. The kids wanted to have some food at their grandparents‘ house so we leave them there and unload the car. At 23:45 all four of us are at home, sitting down and opening the last two estrellas to close this chapter of our adventure road trip to Spain.

18 – No sleep till Burdeos

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Saturday, August 2nd: We are leaving after the Ultraligera gig. The kids are already sleeping in the car, there was nothing to pack, we can start right now. I only regret that I didn’t have the chance to give them the bottle of whisky we brought. I will think about a way when we are at home.

I am freezing. Probably from the cold evening in the desert, maybe from the exhaustion of the travelling those past two weeks, and surely from the emotional hangover that kicked in with the last chord. But the kids have all pillows, blankets and stuff and I don’t have the energy to look for something else. I wrap my cardigan around me and fall asleep. My husband decides to take the toll roads now we avoided on the trip to Spain because it would save us some time. I have dreams about rollercoasters, I sometimes think we are crashing into the guardrails. But it’s only the streets over the mountains, everything is fine. I wake up at about five, we are near the border to France. As if that little Spanish part of my soul wanted to say goodbye properly. I can’t hold back the tears as we cross the sign. Adiós, beloved España, thank you so much for two of the best weeks of my life. I promise I’ll be back soon!

Some time later I realise that I was holding the drum stick while sleeping, like a plushy. We give it the name „emotional support drum stick“ because it really is.

At Burdeos we make a short stop and I take over the wheel. But I’m not really awake and so I forget at one of the toll stations that we already have a ticket I should put into the machine and only pay what it is asking me. Serious question: Can anyone tell me what happens if you forget this? We really struggle with the toll roads. At another one we take the wrong lane and an employee has to come to the rescue (self-checkout not good, remember?!), a third one reads Grrrmaneta as a truck and the ticket comes out of the slot over the roof. La puta Francia. I want to beam us home.

About noon we are sure we won’t make it any further. We are near Orléans and I am looking for a place to sleep. We find a nice apartment 30 km away. 30 kilometres in Spain and you see five different types of land and three climatical zones. 30 kilometres in France and you see 30 kilometres of the same boring show. I am sorry, I won’t become a France enthusiast in the near future.

We find the place, but the room is not ready. We have to wait for two hours, but we can stay in the garden. So it is again an old orchard with geese, pigs, goats, sheep and a pony. The kids are happy, they can use the swing and the trampoline while we wait.

The place is fine. A bit funny, like lights for the bathroom in the kitchen, miles away from the room, or a bedroom without windows. But there is a kitchen and a TV, we make dinner and fall asleep.

3 – Why are we still in France

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Monday, July 21st: We wake up in the morning, the tent is a bit wet, but we intend to find another campsite soon, so a few hours in the rooftop box won’t do it any harm. One horrible instant „Type Latte Macchiato“ later we pack up, put the seats back where they belong and leave. We want to go for breakfast in La Rochelle, but take a roundtrip first because I get distracted when thinking about coffee. Of the famous Asiatique to be exact. I have to try it some day.

La Rochelle is pretty, but it’s still France. We wander around the town center, there is a market in front of a food hall. The kids don’t know whether to throw up from the sight of dead fish or dead mammals, I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry that there are people at about 11 in the morning drinking white wine in the sun and eating oysters while I am still craving coffee. We get some pain de chocolate („por favor“ – oh please, not again!) and I finally get to try pastéis de nata which taste heavenly. We see Bogoseñales and decide to take one look at the sea before finally, finally leaving for Spain.

In the evening there are signs that we are near the border. Road signs that say „Espagne“ for example. We wanted to go to Zaragoza, but it’s impossible to do at least three more hours on the road today. We decide to find a spot near the border, but on the Spanish side. There’s a nice looking place in Hondarribia, it’s only a short ride from where we are now and they have a spot available. We’re relieved because we are both dead tired. This trip is exhausting. France is exhausting. But then something magical happens: We’re crossing a bridge and we’re suddenly in Spain! There is no doubt, Exoplaneta is playing and the road signs have turned into a beautiful yet kind of disturbing mixture of consonants, like a complete opposite of Finnish. This must be it, the famous Euskadi – with its proud people and beautiful landscapes. I heard they are sometimes mistaken to be stubborn here and that you can’t understand anything at all when they are talking. Well, that’s what they say about people from northern Germany as well, especially about those from the seashore. I think we’ll get along just fine.

We arrive at the camping site, we get a spot in the front, next to some Belgians, Netherlands and a nice guy from Spain with a cute dog. K1 and I think there might be a galgo somewhere in the ancestry so we automatically like him. The dog also likes us and gets a bit overexcited with the greetings and scares K2 half to death.

We set up the tent, prepare Grrrmaneta for the night and check out the place. And then I see it and start laughing like a crazy woman. Imagine driving 2000 kilometres and then run into people from Hannover. The couple who owns the car looks a bit „pikiert“ at us (I cannot translate this word, it’s like pissed and amused and a hundred other things at once), but cheer up when I can breathe again and thell them why I was laughing. They are travelling along the north, but will be home before the 31st. I get the feeling otherwise they would have tried to get tickets for the concert, they were very interested in what we were telling them.

The restaurant is still open, we order two beers, lemonade for the kids and some fries, croquetas with fish and rabas. The beer arrives quickly, I think wringing out the tent would have been more tasteful, but it’s at least cold. The croquetas are with ham and the fries not done. We try to make the waiter understand that we would keep the croquetas, but cancel the rabas which he apparently forgot to write down, but in the end we have two variations of croquetas, rabas and the cold fries which are not eatible. At least they didn’t charge us for the second plate of croquetas.