Decisions, decisions, decisions. It’s not just parliament that can’t make one - we can’t either. We did, at least, make the decision to get off our indecisive island nation before Boris’s do-or-die (in a ditch) deadline of October 31st just in case a no-deal scenario would prevent us from getting out with the dogs. In order to do so, and fulfil our lifestyle plan of winter travel in a motorhome, we’d had to obtain, at additional costs of course, papers and insurances for the pooches that if still in the EU we wouldn’t have to provide. Well, we’ve got those bits of paper now, and as of this week we don’t have to think about any more Brexit related paperwork until January (shame we paid out for it all ‘just-in-case’ 🤨)
So here we are, after a couple of days parked up near Calais, waiting for the outcome of the EU decision whether or not to grant us an extension, now bowling along through Eastern France on our way south to some sunshine. And it’s such easy going, stopping off at the thoughtfully situated and provided-for aires at little towns along the way. French wine goes down easy, too.
Back when we were thinking about this winter’s trip, I casually mentioned that a trip to Greece would be nice. No sooner thought and uttered, than my diligent other half (Gareth, of course) set about planning said trip. It would take us through Slovenia, Croatia, Albania and Montenegro, the latter two being handy places to sit out some time if a cliff-edge Brexit meant we couldn’t have more than 90 days stay in EU countries. He bought insurance cover for the purpose and we set our minds to a ‘bit of an adventure’.
Something else popped up, though, when we were doing our final planning in Calais, that threw a spanner in the works - the need for winter tyres if we go into Croatia. Hmmmm. An evening looking at the relative costs of different itineraries (including possible ferries across from Spain and Italy to the Peloponnese) and we abandoned the plan in favour of a ‘to-hell-with-it’ approach of “let’s head for Barcelona and see how we feel when we get there”.
Aside from all that, we have fallen back easily into traveller mode. The Hymer, with all of Gareth’s gizmos and adaptations fits snuggly around us. Everything, including the dogs, fits neatly into place. We’ve got lots of new cushioning, too, for the old hips, knees, shoulders and bums. We’ve enough bits and bobs to help us deal with most situations (except winter tyres, of course 🤨).
There is always the emotional wrench of saying goodbye, though, especially as the little ones will have four months development under their belts before we see them next. FaceTime, Whatsapp, whatever, helps a bit with that, I suppose.
We had a lovely send-off evening with friends back in Broughton caravan park and they watched us scurrying about in foul weather getting ready for the off as they prepared for a winter back in their own houses. Camping on Jess and Owen’s driveway the night before leaving Swansea, was the last opportunity for some family hugs but Owen’s face as I gave him instructions on what to do in the event of our sudden demise, said it all - “That’s the last thing I need you to go and do, Mum! I’ve enough on my plate without having to sort out your affairs!” So I gave him my ‘important stuff’ box and left him to carry on with finishing their new kitchen extension.
Before leaving Blighty, we met up with Nick and Lynda, a lovely couple we met last trip, and who’ve also opted for a life as mohomers. It seemed the most natural thing in the world - two campers each containing an itinerant couple with dogs parked up together for a pub meal and the company of watching Wales play South Africa in the Rugby World Cup. Wales lost, but the pleasure of our rendezvous more than made up for that.
Writing this now, glass in hand, dogs snoring and Gareth surfing the net for inspiration, travel seems to me to be like dreaming, it goes where it goes, shape-shifting, fleeting, dissolving, indeterminate.......
Btw, Gareth is now, as I write, suggesting we go to Morocco!!!
Friday
It’s All Saints Day and raining (tears for the dead?) and, wouldn’t you know, The Hymer is threatening to die on us. We’ve been hiccuping along through the valley of the Marne, stopping every couple of miles for Gareth to twiddle under the bonnet and get soaked. This area, between Reims and Dijon is very scenic, its summer woodland foliage dying in dramatic colour. Sadly, it failed to get Gareth’s admiration, preoccupied as he was with fixing Hymer. I tried to make myself useful without having to get wet, so stayed inside in the warm ready to sweetly pass Mr Fix-it a tool or a cuppa. I think I did a good job......
So this evening we have limped into an aire in the walled hill top-town of Landres. Someone came up with the bright idea of an automated entry for a big, new aire which is conveniently situated just outside one of the old town gateways. Unfortunately, the entry system is faulty and we, along with a little huddle of other cold, damp mohomers had to wait for technical help to get some of us in and some of us out. What a faff!
Anyway, we’re now settled in for the night and Gareth thinks he has finally fixed Hymer’s little problem. Ok, where’s the gin....?
PS Some of my ‘regular readers’ (ahem) may have wondered what happened to this blog after the last instalment back in February. The short answer is that we bashed our way back from Portugal to be home in time for Reuben’s sixth birthday, as we’d promised, saw lots of interesting stuff along the way (the Douro valley, for instance) and had a great tapas night in San Sebastián. The blog went on the back burner.
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