Of course, departing at seven meant up at six for the excuse for breakfast – well it is France I guess, but even so coffee and pastries hardly cuts it. I can’t say that I was sorry to leave Bordeaux, its probably a lovely place but an out of town hotel and grotty breakfast didn’t dispose me well towards the place. Anyhow, with such meagre pickings we were all loaded and ready to depart some minutes before Dad’s departure deadline.

“You get all that?” Kat asked as we followed the Hymer out of the compound to start today’s odyssey.
“Think so,” I traced the route on the ‘map of France’ that’d been stuffed in the door pocket, “Brive, Clermont then down to Lyon where we pick up the thirty one which takes all the way up to the Duchy.”
“Doesn’t sound so bad when you put it like that.”
“It's not all autobahn,” I noted.
“Joy,” she sighed.

We soon picked up the signs for Brive/Glde which I guess is the place, our little convoy staying together until we joined the actual motorway shortly before crossing the Dordogne river at Libourne.

“Josh!” I pointed madly out of the window some fifty K later.
“What am ah looking at hen?”
“The sign.”
“Wharrabout it like?”
I rolled my eyes, “Bergerac?”
“So?”
Sometimes, and I’m the blonde, “that old cop show, you know, the one on Jersey?”
“That guy from Midsomer Murders? What about it?”
“Bergerac?” I hinted again.
“Not getting it lass.”
“I thought you said it was at the Kanalinseln?” Tali put in.
“It is, the programme is called Bergerac though,” I filled in.
“Ah, so not this Bergerac then?”

Gott, has she been taking Josh’s daft pills too?

“No, it was just the,” I sighed.
“Ah think its on RTL like,” Josh mused.
“Bergerac?” I queried.
“Midsomer Murders, crap dubbing, sounds nothing like him.”

I give in. The conversation in the back turned into a debate over the quality and quantity of imported, dubbed telly we get in Germany.

“Have to get fuel before Brive,” Kat noted a few kilometres further along.
I checked George’s road atlas, “there’re services at some place called Mansac, ‘bout sixty kilometres?”
“Nothing before?”
“Doesn’t show any, few parking areas but no fuel.”
“Guess it’ll have to do.”
“We could get some food,” I hinted.
“We stopping for food?” big ears in the back queried.
“Looks like it,” Kat allowed.

I did notice she took her foot off the go pedal a bit, maybe the fuel situation is a bit more critical than she let on.

Thirty minutes later I was surveying the menu in the Crócque, it wasn’t exactly bristling with breakfast fare.

“What yer having hen?” Josh enquired over my head.
“Why, you paying?”
“Ah walked into that one eh,” the Toon admitted.
“Was thinking cheese and ham toastie thing.”
“Go sit then,” he instructed.
“I was getting Kat’s too,” I pointed out.
“What does she want?”
“Same?”
He sighed, “go on, there’s a table by the window.”

The toasted sarnies were not brilliant despite being fresh but they did fill the space breakfast failed to. I risked the Thé rather than coffee, at least the French have a bit more idea of how to make a brew than the Germans – glass cups, eurgh! We didn’t stop long, just over thirty minutes I guess, but I think we were all feeling more awake when Kat eased us back onto the eastbound motorway.

We joined the northbound L’occitane for a bit before turning for a short bit of Route Nationale that links across to La Transeuropéenne aka the motorway towards Clermont Ferrand. The scenery changed to the combination of forest and rocky outcrops so typical of the Massif Central, at least it was something better to look at than the endless forest we had on the way down. Of course we aren’t stopping there, we’re pushing on another hundred and sixty K to Lyon where the convoy is stopping for lunch.

Well we did stop, but only for a wee and for Kat to get a few minutes out from behind the wheel. I took the opportunity to ring Dad, well of course Angela answered.

“Hi Ang, where are you?”
“Hang on, Dave, Gaby wants to know where we are?”

I couldn’t hear Dad’s reply so waited for her to relay the information.

“About fifty short of Clermont your dad says, where are you guys?”
“Er,” good question, answered by a board by the toilet block, “Aire L’Allier, its about ten K past Clermont.”
“I thought you were going to say you were at Lyon.”
“Nah, even Kat can’t drive that fast.”
There was some mumbling in the background, “your Dad says to remind you that we’re meeting at the Route de France services, they’re just off the motorway apparently, we should be there about two.”
“Okay, looks like Kat’s ready, see you in a couple of hours then, tschuss.”
“Tschuss Gaby.”

“Your Dad?” Kat enquired as I got back in the Bimmer.
“Yeah, they’re about half an hour behind us.”
“They must’ve stopped too,” she offered.
“Uh huh, should be at the services about two.”
She looked at the clock in the dash, “I should have time for forty winks when we get there then.”
“Might join you,” I suggested as we set off once more, the lovebirds still asleep on the back seat.

The weather was ranging from full on blue skies to that sort of muggy haze you sometimes get when its hot. Certainly the AC was earning its keep, the outside temperature was showing as thirty two C, a bit warmer than comfortable. At least the Autoroute was fairly quiet, no dodging HGV’s, just the occasional donkey wagon – why do they insist on using the oldest thing that will move and drive slower than their cargo could walk?

It seemed to take forever, the mileage barely dropping between signs, it was only after the four kilometre Violay tunnel that we suddenly seemed to make progress. The Route de France services were indeed off the motorway but not by much, we could see the pylon with Route de France before we got to the junction. Kat parked us under a tree a bit away from the restaurant complex and we settled down to await the others.

“How much further Dad?”
“About seven hundred kiddo,” he replied.
“Seven hundred!”
“We’re nearly half way here,” he mentioned.
“We won’t get home until at least nine,” I groaned.
“More like ten, we will need to eat again.”
“And get fuel,” Kat suggested.
“And get fuel,” Dad agreed.
“Don’t worry Gab, we’ll be back on the Ahr first.”

I guess there is that, once we get back into Germany Kat will have her foot on the floorboards all the way home.

After confirming everyone knew where they were going and agreeing a chow stop at Berchem in Luxembourg, the north bound side of where we got fuel last week, we set off once more. Lyon was only a few kilometres further on, we didn’t go in of course but cut across to the A6, direction Dijon. After spending most of the day heading generally east we were finally going northwards.

There was a lot more traffic on this road, its name, L’Autoroute de Soleile, road to the sun, pretty much sums up the traffic. Yup holiday makers heading north after a summer on the Med or down in Spain, the last weekend in August and they’re all heading back to the low countries and work tomorrow. Campers, caravans, overstuffed cars and vans, we had to dodge them all.

We did lose some where the Paris motorway went off south of Dijon, more at the turn for Alsace and southern Germany. it was almost bearable as the road changed numbers to the A31 and the destinations had more familiar names, Nancy, Metz, Thionville and Luxembourg. More traffic went up the Reims / Calais road, leaving us on what felt like empty roads for the first time in best part of three hours.

Off to our right the Vosge was shrouded in haze, I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t get a thunderstorm or two this evening. We took another comfort stop somewhere south of Nancy then it was into the Moselle valley and suddenly it felt like we were nearly home. It was only another hour up past Metz and after best bit of fifteen hundred kilometres we ran out of France and crossed into the Duchy of Luxembourg and a couple of minutes later we were at the fuel pumps at Berchem services.

Everyone looked equally kernackered after a day on the road, twelve hours already and another couple to go back up to our bit of the Rhein. To be honest I didn’t feel that hungry, Dad had sprung for a decent lunch for everyone back at the Route de France and I’ve been half asleep since. The menu here is a bit more recognizable so I got a Frikadel with Pommes – well you have to eat don’t you?

There was a bit of seat shuffling, Tal, Josh and Angela onto the minibus, Mand joining Dad in the Hymer then it was time for goodbyes. Well there’s no sense in the Ahrtal contingent going to Neuwied is there? Anyhow, that done it was time for the final leg back home.

As predicted, once we crossed back into Germany, Kat got a clog on, the speedo barely dropping below a hundred and fifty all the way up to Koblenz. Dad’s prediction of ten might be about right for the camper but it was only just turned nine fifteen when Kat pulled up outside Chez Bond.

“You want coffee?” I offered.
“Best not Gab, if I stop now I’ll not get home.”
I could see her point, “’kay, thanks for driving an’ stuff this week.”
“I get paid to do it.”
“Well its appreciated, see you later in the week?”
“Probably, looks like your mum’s home,” she pointed with her chin towards the house where the kitchen had just sprouted a light.
“Yeah, right I’ll let you go, ciao!”
“Tschuss!”
And with that the big BMW took off into the almost dark.

“Hello?” I queried as I dropped my handtasche on the table, there being no one in the still lit kitchen.

By reflex I put the kettle on, no not physically, it doesn’t fit, no turned it on, I need a cuppa.

“Hi kidda,” Mum greeted, her arms full of freshly laundered bed linen, “just you?”
“Yeah, I came back with Kat in the car, Dad reckons he’ll be back in about an hour, you want a cuppa?”
“Sit, I’ll make it then you can tell me all about Spain.”
“’kay.”
“Where do you want these Mrs B?”
“Max? what’re you doing here?”
“Helping me up till now,” Mum inserted, “I reckon the Prinzessin could do with a kiss young man.”

Now that's an itch I need to scratch!

After a bit of tonsil hockey I made myself comfortable on von Strechau’s knee and started the telling. And tea, you don’t realise how much you miss the home comforts until you smell those sheets, sit in the familiar room, hear the missed voices. It might be late, work might be beckoning in all too few hours but this Ahr Princess is in a very happy place.

Maddy Bell © 12.05.2018