This is Todd Borgie. Today we traveled from
Hinterweidenthal, Germany to
Maidstone, England.
The cold damp morning greeted us like a wet sloppy kiss inside Alaska. The interior was coated with a film of dawn slime where Nick, Chanda, Russ and I had been sleeping. The windows, steamed up by our warm humid breath, contained heavy dew like drops that were poised and waiting for our stir, ready to fall and greet the cold damp atmosphere.
We had heard some people come by earlier and figured it was time to get up. Hercules had been stirring earlier with the Pape directive of making it to France. Doug greeted with his usual pounding and pacing. My sleeping bag was warm, and I was caught in the middle of indecision, whether I should embrace the day and new surroundings, or bask in the moment within my toasty warm sleeping bag. Eventually the rest of the team roused themselves and I did the same. There is always a certain excitement when we wake up in the Land Rover the morning after a late night drive, when you weren't quite sure where you had parked. I recall a time during our 1997 Central America trip to Belize when we stopped for the night we thought we had found the perfect camping spot, only to wake up in the middle of a garbage dump. This time luck was with us, we woke in the midst of a meadow surrounded by trees, perhaps a farmer's field. December always leaves you guessing.
We pulled away from the site and circled back into the small town of Hinterweindenthal that was our highway exit to this remote campground. Jeff spotted a small bakery, and the scent of coffee struck us like a fist to the nose. The Land Rovers, realizing what was going on, didn't skip a beat and glided into their respective parking spaces. We disembarked and made straight for the pastry and coffee counter. This was a great place; off the beaten path, but seemingly reflective of the heart of Germany. Two blonde women served us as we pointed to their delicacies and waved coffee cups. They grinned occasionally as we ate breakfast and the experience truly transcended language. I sprung for everyone's breakfast in the name of Carolyn Smith, my girlfriend. She had lived in Germany as an exchange student, so the place had somewhat of a sentimental value for me.
Back in the Land Rover we were again headed west though damp weather in route to France. The windshield wipers cleared our way as we listened to a new John Denver CD set on automatic repeat mode. Jeff and I talked about growing up with the voice of John Denver and we both remarked that we miss him dearly. During the previous evening I was feeling a bit homesick and lonesome for my family so I purchased this CD for a couple of Marks. It was just so nice to be on a highway where your CD no longer skips.
We were traveling through Saarbrucken, when we stopped for gas and general morning clean up. During this time Jeff negotiated with the group to make Saarbrucken a shop-stop, so he could look for a German soccer jersey for his "Sports around the world" collection. The group accommodated his request, but quickly separated into two camps; the shoppers and the non-shoppers. The non-shoppers shopped a bit, but ended up like they usually did in the nearest bar. This seemed like an obvious place to meet and gave the non-shoppers something to do. The shoppers also pay a price for this stop; they must drive the next leg.
An hour or two tumbled by and we decided to stop waiting for Nick and Jeff and proceeded three doors down to a Greek restaurant for some lunch. We left a note on the door so they would know where we went, but I soon found them wandering around, having not received my note. We lunched, and were off again. A little side bar here. As we waited, we realized that something needed to be done about the tardiness that we had just experienced. Nothing like a bar room to inspire creative thinking, we came up with a solution to our problem. We decided that when we split up we would designate a time and a meeting place. When the meeting time came and went (even if only by a few minutes) the group left waiting would report to the nearest bar or restaurant and order drinks and appetizers until the late comers made it back to the agreed upon point. And of course, it would be the late comers responsibility to pick up the tab, for their truancy. Anyway we will see how it works????
We headed for Luxembourg because we heard this country had cheap gas prices. At $300 a fillup it made sense to seek out a good deal and Luxembourg was on our way anyway. This country had intrigued me since perhaps the 1980 Lake Placid Olympics when I saw a lougue or a bobsled team from Luxembourg. All I knew was that Luxembourg was a tiny little country in Europe like Liechtenstein and San Marino. Little did I know then, that I would one-day pass through.
It intrigued me to think about how and why this country maintained autonomy, surviving territorial claims and aims of its neighbors. I am still not sure how it managed to do this, but this place was once known as the Gibraltar of the North as it was the strongest fortress in Europe. Although Luxembourg was stately and beautiful, there was no cheap gas to be found. I imagine the cheap gas prices faded as the European Union took control and European taxes and price have become more uniform. We filled up despite the cost and pointed our bonnets toward Belgium and ultimately France.
Entranced by the wonderful roads and the realization we needed to be in Solihul on a weekday, we decided to continue on to Calais, where we would take a ferry across the English Channel to Dover. We were all getting anxious, and perhaps a little Stir Crazy as we neared Dunkirk. Doug and I were excited to go through Dunkirk as it holds a distinct significance in World War II history. At this point the possibility of catching a ferry tonight was becoming more and more real. We looked at our watches and realized we could be to the ferry terminal at a little after nine. However, outside of Dunkirk, about thirty miles shy of Calais and our ferry, we hit our first bout of European road construction, which forced us off the main highway without the graces of detour signs or instructions to bypass this mess. We didn't have a detailed map of France either, just a larger map of Western Europe. But, like so many times before this, that's when our situation got interesting.
I noticed a medium sized truck making a turn ahead, and a gut feeling suggested that it was in our best interest to follow this truck, as it was probably in the same predicament that we were; looking for an alternate route to Calais. I'm not sure what happened to the truck, but it certainly got us on the right track. We knew the general direction that we were supposed to go, and as it turned out, we made some wise turns. We lead with such confidence in fact, that people started following us. During a stretch of curvy roads through small towns we counted a chain of ten followers. How ironic. If they only knew who they were following. But you can't say they didn't know better as our Rovers are wearing California license plates. A half hour after our forced exit, Nick spied the Highway and we were bound again in direct route for Calais.
We drove into Calais and followed the clearly marked path straight to the ferry terminal. Nick, Russ and I leapt from the Car and trotted towards the ferry terminal to determine when the last ferry was to leave. I spoke the most French, and neared the desk with a bold "bon noir" and a " A quelle heur departaite le ferrie?" The woman smiled and answered me French, but quickly realized, I had just exhausted all of the French I knew, and then proceeded in English. The negotiations were quick. We learned that the next ferry departs in twenty minutes. Within the hour we were bound for England having spent less than one hour in the country of France.
As we boarded the ferry, Doug and I were lamenting the fact that we would not be able to ride home with the Land Rover. Before we started this journey we planned to be on the ship with the Land Rovers all the way home across the Atlantic. However, after this ferry ride across the North Sea, we were pleased that the Gods had watched out for us, and that we weren't going to make the treacherous cross Atlantic Journey. The English Channel was so rough that it was impossible to stand with out holding on to something. I saw many people fall to the ground as they attempted to walk down the hallways. None of us were brave enough to have an outside weather check from the upper decks for fear of being swept overboard. A tempest was a brewing.
Fifty minutes later we were driving off the ferry in Dover. Our Land Rovers are back in their country of orgin and we were all happy to be back in an English speaking country. Once again the driving difficulties were tough to get used to what with roundabouts and driving on the wrong side of the road. Eventually we made our way passed Folkstone, home of the Martin Walter Corporation and likely birthplace of our Dormobiles. We didn't stop however, because the Martin Walter Dormobile Corporation, established in the seventeen hundreds as a company that made buggies and accessories for carriages, stopped operating years ago. Nick rattled off this fact to a car full of uninterested friends, callused by Rover trivia. We stopped for the night in Maidstone and ended the days journey at a 4 star hotel.
It's time for bed so this is Todd Borgie saying good night.
