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.
