I learnt two interesting things the first night we slept in the Landrover at the beginning of our great adventure heading across Europe towards Istanbul. The first was, Refrigerated lorries keep their motors going all night to keep the cargo cold and the second is that French lorry drivers think nothing of working through until the early hours trying to fix a sick engine even if that means bashing and thumping it into submission with a lump hammer in the pouring rain for hours on end. All this knowledge is what one gains from leaving several hours after one intended to leave in order to rush out and buy amongst other things goldfish food and an extension lead for the cool box cigarette lighter adapter.
Despite well laid plans and printed itineraries which had us due to depart all ship shape and bristol fashion, straight after school on Friday, we left home about 7.30 pm as storm clouds darkened the sky and headed towards Rennes to avoid the bouchon caused by every soul in Paris quiting the capital at midnight and rushing off towards the South on the first day of the Grande summer vaccances.
Our ploy worked and we missed all the traffic, gloating as we sped towards Monte Blanc the next day with traffic reports of the roads south being jammed packed with overheating cars and fractious travellers. The price we paid was choosing to sleep in a motorway service area along with several other smart thinking early birds and the afore mentioned lorry drivers.
Our ploy worked and we missed all the traffic, gloating as we sped towards Monte Blanc the next day with traffic reports of the roads south being jammed packed with overheating cars and fractious travellers. The price we paid was choosing to sleep in a motorway service area along with several other smart thinking early birds and the afore mentioned lorry drivers.
In the Early morning light the women trooping out of the various vans and campers and cars emerged looking clean, well rested and dressed for the day I fell out, as only the English can, looking 94 and bearing the appearnace of one who has slept in a hedge. How do French women manage it? I wish I knew or failing that I wish I could look at them and not feel inferior for my inability to look as neat. A womans role here is to look if not a seductress then at least tempting and a great deal of money is spent each year achieiving this goal. As a French friend told us after his wife returned from a 3 hour stint at the hairdressers, women are for thier husbands, an expensive but worthwhile investment. Luckily for our family budget I am the english low maintenance budget option. Amongst the French I stick out like a sore thumb and am long past my sell by date. Happily I find in Greece and Italy even the lorry drivers wink at me and smile , all this and sunshine too I think we may need to relocate, again.
Perhaps I should start at the beginning. What were we doing travelling in the height of summer in an ancient but robust tin box across the width of Europe to the very doorsteps of Asia? It isnt after all your normal summer hols is it? It fits neither into the two weeks at the seaside nor the exotic air travel to glamourous places categories so perhaps the trip needs some explanation. Admittedly I had run out of spices and where better than the Egyptian Market on the banks of the Bosperous to restock but even for me that is rather a flimsy excuse for embarkign on yet another voyage, mind you any excuse would have done. I am a sucker for travel, anywhere, anytime but this excursion had a purpose. Eldest, who has been living in Istanbul for the last 10 months learning Turkish and living like a native thanks to a Rotary Scholarship, needed fetching home .
So it was then that we set off across Brittany through the darkening night, him, me, the two boys, and enough clutter to support an entire boyscout troop on their annual camping trip to Ilfracombe in search of our absent daughter, assorted spices and a bit of an adventure.
And we managed all three.....of which I will tell you later....
Perhaps I should start at the beginning. What were we doing travelling in the height of summer in an ancient but robust tin box across the width of Europe to the very doorsteps of Asia? It isnt after all your normal summer hols is it? It fits neither into the two weeks at the seaside nor the exotic air travel to glamourous places categories so perhaps the trip needs some explanation. Admittedly I had run out of spices and where better than the Egyptian Market on the banks of the Bosperous to restock but even for me that is rather a flimsy excuse for embarkign on yet another voyage, mind you any excuse would have done. I am a sucker for travel, anywhere, anytime but this excursion had a purpose. Eldest, who has been living in Istanbul for the last 10 months learning Turkish and living like a native thanks to a Rotary Scholarship, needed fetching home .
So it was then that we set off across Brittany through the darkening night, him, me, the two boys, and enough clutter to support an entire boyscout troop on their annual camping trip to Ilfracombe in search of our absent daughter, assorted spices and a bit of an adventure.
And we managed all three.....of which I will tell you later....
