Offered a spliff

Day 12, Friday, Brussels, 13^th May.

Offered a spliff.

With hangovers definitely caused by the mix of Belgian beers last night  we had a lazy morning, and after breakfast in bed we read the hand drawn map, made by us by Luke, the campsite owner, to guide us to the train station. The parking was really confusing, there was nowhere to pay, no signs but cars parked all over the place some with tickets, some without. A lady tried to help us and stopped a man on a bike who told us to follow him to a free parking space, Brilliant! And how very friendly indeed. The train to Brussels was vintage and I absolutely loved it. Dark green leather seats with overhead storage in our carriage, dark blue leather in others. It was spacious and lovely.

On arrival in Brussels, within about one minuet we were invited for a spliff. Eager to get on with our day and see the city, we rejected and headed to the Grand Square. I never expected Brussels to be so touristy, there are artists selling silly portraits of yourself back to you, groups of Japanese and Americans with cameras pointing to the sky, street musicians towering over people drinking coffee and post cards spilling out of every other shop.

 Yes the place is pretty, but overpriced (even the cathedral charged for most things) and not especially different. We wandered around aimlessly, tried to connect to the internet in several occasions but Orange Nowhere was having none of it, wanted to visit a brewing museum but they charged 5 euro to get in, got walked into one too many times and just felt quite annoyed, even a visit to the park didn’t help.

We were still underwhelmed on the journey home, so did some shooting from the hip photography on the overcrowded platform, during which I failed to photogragh a double decker train!

We were still also undecided on if we were going to stay another night at the site or drive through the night to try and save some money. Henry, the bar man had told us that we may be able to get some work in Venlo, Holland, just outside of Belgium and on the German border. So we had a direction, just not a plan. Back at the campsite I decided after tea of a crisp sandwich that I was way too tired to drive and stayed another night. We decided to get an early night and not to return to the bar. A shame, but we need some rest.

Bon nuit, x.

Kuss Mein Kluten.

Day 11, Thursday, Herselt Belgium, 12^th May.

Kuss Mein Kluten.

Eight hours sent in the car was not what I had expected. Belgian roads have few signs and are very bumpy and unkempt. There are speed bumps everywhere and zebra crossings criss crossed over the country like little hot cross buns on every corner. Very confusing and hard to tow a caravan around.

When we finally found a campsite, after driving through Brussels, not something I would ever recommend or want to do again and after diversion after diversion and stopping to ask directions at least seven times. There was no reception so had to go to the bar and as my phone woudnt call the number they gave us, thankfully a lady called the campsite owner to come and assist. At first the assistance seems unhelpful, I am guided up a very steep and skinny hill which neither me nor Vincent could make, so we were taken to another spot among the static caravans. The site owner and another man with very oily hands, now smothered all over the caravan help us to park the caravan on the sloped ground, Gerald is now not looking his best and the oily man returns to his caravan never to be seen again. The campsite is expensive at 17 euro a night, I have to use the men’s loo’s  and the cost of a shower is on top of the basic fee. Arg. We had already decided to use the onboard shower and expressed our shock at the price of the site. However, I have managed to agree that the price is set per day so we can stay until the sun goes down tomorrow, at about 9pm. So will get a good 12 hours for our money. The site manager, Luke, must have felt a bit sorry for us as he invited us for a beer at the bar which we indulged in as soon as we got the chance. The bar is on site, on arrival, after sharing a bottle of wine and some croissants for tea Luke bought us a Duval, shortly followed by a very strong Belgian beer, Brigand before he left. As we sat in the bar chatting to the locals, well, the barman and his wife and another man, it felt great this was what travelling was about. They were interested in us, and us in them. Another beer later and we met a cat, Gizmo, and learnt a new phrase, Kuss mein Kluten, which means kiss my balls. Apparently its al about the balls in Belgium. Saskia, owner of Gizmo, played us a song by Will Tura called I am Superman in my Caravan, they called us real hippies and we had a great time. It felt good to socialise with people and learn about their lives and just get drunk in a bar. They have asked Bob to come back to the bar and play tomorrow in the bar, I think he feels a little scared, but we shall see. We also learnt that you can fish with mice! spelt maise, and is actually sweetcorn, thank goodness and that Henry who works in the bar learnt English from TV.

Tomorrow we plan to go to Brussels, which we drove through earlier and caused us much stress, but as long as the Brigand wears off I think we should be able to make it on the train,

Bon nuit, x.

Orange Nowhere.

Day 10, Mecredi, Salle Chimay to France to Salle Chimay, 11^th May.

Orange Nowhere.

After a frustrating evening trying to get Orange Everywhere to work , we woke up deciding to take Orange Nowhere back. This meant a long drive back to St Quentin, in France, groan.

Back at the Orange shop we get directed to the other Orange shop in St Quentin Ville. When in St Quentin centre ville it felt an unfriendly place, a feeling we have not yet received n our travels and people were actually laughing at the sight of us in the street? Odd. In the orange shop we were told after much argument that we couldn’t return  Orange Nowhere because, well, no reason really, they just shrugged their shoulders. A very rude man plugged it in and it worked, worked, well of course it did, we were in the orange shop! Flaming angry and showing it we left the shop with orange nowhere still plugged in and got mocked some more on our way back to the car. Au revoir St Quentin, glad to see the back of you.

On the road returning to Salle Chimay, Belgium, we stopped at Aldi, our new favourite haunt to stock up on wine, Bob went in while I used the internet in the car park, which was surprisingly still working, in the car. He returned having ony spent 12 of the 20 euro he went in with, so I sent him back for more, unsure if Belgium was going to offer us 80p wine. He returned again with more wine and once back at the campsite after being over taken by the road raging French quite a few times, gosh, they like to drive fast, Bob produced not only our new wine cella but a bag of Oeufs a chocolat (chocolate eggs), and croissants, strangly something we did not eat in france. Nice one Bob!

We ate left over curry from the night before and moaned about Orange Nowhere as, somewhere between France and Belgium the connection  had disappeared!

I havnt taken 1 photograph today and feel quite strange. Also, absolutely knackered from stress and driving I really want to settle down somewhere for a good few days to laze about in the sun and roll in the grass. The 5 euro a night campsites we had dreamt of are still a dream and I am concerned about the budget. Spending almost triple what I had expected, I think we are going to have to find work pre September when our grape picking job begins?

In bed writing I am drinking wine and eating my oeufs a chocolat. I am going to read Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance until I fall asleep for a very long time,

Bon buit, x.

p.s. don’t buy into Orange Nowhere.

A Very straight road.

Day 9, Mardi, Bertangles to Belgium, Salles Chimay, 10^th May.

A very straight road.

My first hang over kicked in this morning when we had to try and pack the caravan away and hit the road. Moving around so fast is beginning to take its toll I think, but I am sure we will get used to it. A rather dry baguette avec jam was what I forced down for breakfast after s sleepless night due to extremely heavy rain during the night and probably a bit too much vin de rouge.

After skidding  on wet grass and filling up with petrol (1.68 euro litre, not happy) we headed for a very straight road in the direction of Belgium. Not really knowing if we were going to make it or not was quite exciting, as was having a sandwich made by Bob packed in the car for ready for lunch. The road we take is a very straight road, you can see down it for quite some distance, its an easy drive going straight ahead for about forty miles. Bob tried to wee into a cola bottle after about twenty miles...

Bob “I can’t do this, its just going to come back at me”

Me “Patti Smith did it in a helicopter”

Bob “Really?”

He tried again to no avail. I had to stop and Bob went into the caravan while massive lorries hurtled past rocking the caravan from side to side. This made me want to go too so then I had to go pee in the bottle too, then carry out the warm, yellow cola at the side of the road and throw it in the bin.

Back on the road we decided to stop and buy a dongle as the internet has been hard to find and as much as we want to keep our journey plan, to have no plan, a little research would be good and a connection with what was home once too. Buying such in item is not the easiest with limited language skills, but we managed, and should have had, from that moment, internet EVERYWHERE! When we tried it out, there was no internet ANYWHERE! We are going to take it back, this was 84 euro not well spent.

We followed the very straight road until it started bending and not being very straight anymore. Villages and county side got in the way. I was getting really tired. After about 3 hours of towing the caravan I just want to get out of Vincent and un hitch Gerald and not have to think about driving again for a good few days. I knew that Bob was keen to get into Belgium today and as he was navigator, he navigated us right over the border. The road, for about a mile before Belgium, was dotted with little old men leaning over garden fences or trimming a hedge, all looking at us as we drove past. I felt like it was France saying goodbye, au revoir.

We don’t have a map of Belgium, only the parts of it which border France so are in the French road map, kindly donated to us from Bob’s parents. Bob navigated us right to the end of Belgium as we knew it and then we were on our own. Just off the map is ‘Camping Mon Reve’, and what a dream come true. Belgium is unlike France in that there isn’t a campsite in every village and the sign posts are not very good. After two wrong turns we arrived at the site, there is a restaurant, cabins and a bar, all completely deserted, but quirky and a little ran down. The campsite manager came to meet us and let us off with paying for the car and electric when we said it was quite expensive, saving us 4.50 euro. It’s still expensive at 15 euro a night though but he has also mentioned that we can stay until 2pm tomorrow and helped us manoeuvre the caravan to the right angle, what a nice man.

I made lentil and courgette curry for tea and I drank two pots of earl grey tea, no vin de rouge for me ce soir,

Bon nuit Belgium, x. 

The bus that never came.

Day 8, Lundi, Amiens, 9^th May.

The Bus that never came.

We waited at the bus stop in Bertangles for the number 50 at 9.45am for the bus that was due at 10am, not 9.50 as I had previously thought, I was looking on the wrong side of the road you see, the bus comes to Bertangles at 9.50am from Amiens, then leaves from over the road at 10am.We waited, waited and waited some more. A man stopped and said something in French about the bus and pointed to the Cafe Tabac (now open) over the road and made a drinking gesture. We were tempted by his suggestion but eager to get to Amiens, resisted. We continued to wait, at 11.15am it became clear that the 10am number 50 was the bus that never came.

We decided to walk back in the beating sun and get the car, I felt disappointed, I love trying out new and foreign transport and having a break from being behind the wheel would have felt amazing. But we had to get to Amiens somehow and our only other option seemed to be hitching a lift on a tractor.

Amiens is Tres Belle! The town almost hugged by Notre Dame, its a mixture of traditional and modern, easily recognisable shops surrounded by gothic architecture and typical French rickety street, all lined with shutters and huge door knobs.

 Notre Dame stands amazingly right in the centre ville, humongous and gorgeous and serene. It is said that you can fit the Notre Dame de Paris inside over twice and still have room to spare. Although full of stone carved columns, stained glass windows, candles and the pouring light rain bowed through the glass it is hard to imagine as there is so much to see and admire.

There is a glowing organ floating up miles into the spires which Bob was very keen to see close up, up high, but unfortunately this could not happen due to security reasons. He wanted to joke that he was a very trustworthy person but his language would not stretch that far.

There are many more architectural desires in Amiens, maybe too many for one day. I sat under a tree while Bob visited Le Maison de Jules Verne, a writers’ house who he admires. He wrote A Hitch Hikers guide to the galaxy. There is a library, theatre and many more monuments and chapels scattered around and all a pleasure to have a peek at.

On the way back to the car Bob realised he had lost the parking ticket. Oh no! Worrying about a hefty fine and completely blowing the budget we made our way back to the car. It was quite hard to be stressed when the multi storey car park was playing classical music at you, so I wasn’t really. A nice touch. Bobs charms must have worked well in the ticket office and they made us pay just 3 euro which we would have with the ticket. Pretty cheap for a days parking.

Another trip to Aldi to stock up on wine. Seven bottles later and a few beers (not all drank) we are back in Bertangles at the caravan. Bob met a dutch man who gave us some great tips for when travelling in Holland, about where to go to look for work, what books to get for camping information and also mentioned that men with long hair were the best shooters in the war?

Over a litre of vin de rouge later we cycled out for a look at the water tower. It was closer than I had remembered so we went further and followed a road to a neighbouring village where we found another water tower, this one looking more like a light house than the one in Bertangles. All of the village’s around here are sleepy, you only see the odd person walking a dog or posting a letter. It is mainly farm land, all flat and slowly growing. After a wobble home and a chat with some cows we are tres fatigue (tired), yawn, time for bed,

Bon nuit from Bertangles, x.