Thursday 14th March 2016

Wednesday

My mind was already awake when it stirred me from my slumbers at half four. It was going over the stuff I had to do that day, and the route to take and places to visit. Because today was the day of the big roadtrip, one that is now so easy and commonplace, but really is a wonder; within 5 hours of leaving home, I would drive in 5 countries, and visit where I used to live in Germany before meeting a colleague at our hotel for the night for a steak and beer supper.

I lay awake until about quarter to six then began to final preparations for the trip, making breakfast, feeding the cats and so on. Outside it was a clear and bright day, a perfect day for travel.

One final check of my documents, load the car and lock the house before setting off for the Channel Tunnel terminal on the edge of Folkestone. And as usual the A20 was a proper racetrack with weirdos traveling to work in their cars at nearly 100mph; no, I don't get it either. I was tempted to pop into Samphire Hoe to check on the orchids, but thought better of it so accelerated up Shakespeare Cliff, zooming past the lorries struggling up the hill.

I arrived at the terminal to find no queues, so different to last time when all lanes were blocked by trucks trying to get over to France, so I cruise up to the automated check in, the computer reads the numberplate of the car and on the screen are my and the car's details; I get a boarding pass, and have 40 minutes before departure. I go into the terminal to use the facilities and to check on the duty free bargains; not that it is duty free anyomore, nor are there many bargains either. But it is nice to look. There were very few other people about, until a coach filled with teens disgorges its load, and the hall is full of chatter. I get a day-glo vest and emergency triangle; more stuff the car hire people failed to provide; so more stuff the company had to pay for.

I drive to the platforms and am directed to the upper level of the train, driving along most of the length of it before being directed to stop, apply the brake and placing the car in first gear. After the safety announcements, the train pulls away and in a few minutes we disappear into the tunnel and the blackness of the tunnel under the sea. I have a magazine to read, and in the 35 minutes manage to read a couple of articles before we emerge into the sunshine on the French side.

The train slides to a halt, the partition doors open and a few seconds later we can drive off, up the ramp, round a bend and onto the motorway and into Europe. As I had a car, with a large boot, best make use of it by calling in for a few minutes at the wine warehouse; just a couple of boxes of mid-range wine. Well, I say mid-range; some bottles were over €100, and I was willing to pay up to €6, so, triple the usual plonk I buy. Oh, and I want to scour the aisles of Belgian beers, which has expanded in the last year. I buy a dozen small bottles of Leffe, and with my shopping done, I pay then pack the car, so now it clinks slightly when I apply the brakes sharply.

I have a four hour drive ahead of me, so I settle in the car and point the car in the direction of Belgium and rejoin the motorway.

THis route I knew well, as I used to do this commute when I was posted in Germany, so the places acted as waypoints, all familiar to me: the French/Belgian border, Gent ad then the run up to Antwerp (which is where I had planned to spend the previous night before travel was stopped by my employer). Anyway, Antwerp means traffic jams, as motorways from all over Belgium and Europe converge to funnel through a six-lane tunnel then combining, splitting along a 5 mile stretch of ring road, which can be terrifying for the first time visitor to this. In fact, this was the easiest passage I had through the city, not dropping below 80kmh at any point as all lanes were without blockages. I left towards Eindhoven on the other side, and the traffic thinned even further.

At times the inside lane of the motorway was mile after mile of trucks carrying freight; wouldn't it be better if this all traveled by rail? The damage all these truck to the roads is huge, and when one decides to overtake another, accelerating to nearly half a kmh faster than the other, it causes huge tailbacks of cars. Just moaning? maybe, but it really is crazy to have so many trucks when the European rail network is so set up for carrying freight.

I take another turn off at Eindhoven, driving the last motorway leg to Venlo, from where I planned to take a side road to where I used to live just over the border in Germany.

I take the turning onto the N271, which runs north out of Venlo, beside the River Maas; this used to be my neighbourhood, with regular shopping trips into Holland along this road. IN my mind I thought I knew very village, turn and landmark of it; but turns out that in 20 years it has changed so much, I recognised almost nothing, except the thermal baths at Klein Wink I visited a couple of times. At two points, the river approached the side of the road, this was the view I remembered, but the view was lost quickly, and instead the road carried on through light woodland or farmland.

I panicked that I would forget the turn to the old base, but it was signposted well, and the narrow road twisted and turned through Well woods to the old border where there used to be a fruit and vegetables and cheese shop, where we also used to shop. It is now a convience store, but I am thirsty, so go in to buy a drink, and end up buying more fritsause and two bottles of Curry Ketchup.

From there the road to Weeze skirts round the side of the old RAF Laarbruch, my old home, but it seems to go on forever, which confuses me, but again shows how poor my memory is. I had thought of going into Weeze again, but my thoughts turned to when Jools and I went there a few years back, and there was little that I remembered other than the Turkish fast food place, The Botan Grill, and the Itialian Ice Cream parlour; all German towns seem to have one. And as I had beer, mayo and ketchup, there was little need to go into the town again.

Instead I thought I might visit the next town along the main road, Kevelaer, an historical and religious centre with a fine old church and splendid stained glass windows. But as I approached the town, the road was blocked by a huge accident, and instead of sitting there, I decide to perform a turn in the road then find somewhere to stop to program the sat nav for the last push to the hotel.

I find a parking place just before the motorway, and to my surprise the hotel is just 40 minutes away. A blast down the motorway towards Koln, then turn off towards Wessel, crossing the Rheine and into Voerde; even though the sat nav threw a hissy fit that I was crossing a bridge it didn't think existed, it refused to come up with any new directions, but luckily, Voerde showed up on the road signs soon after.

I find the hotel a typical modern German building, but inside I find it tired and staffed by people who knew less English than I knew German. But I check in and go to my room to try to do some work, but end up battling with one of the worse internet connections I have come across in recent years. I get it working, but it dumps me off every 5 minutes, which I soon tire of and go for a walk with my camera.

Now, let me get this straight there is nothing wrong per se with Voerde, but it is faceless, modern place. But it is clean, tidy and the shops seem to be doing OK. Just that I am used to towns with cathedrals, or timber-framed houses or cobbled streets or all of them at once. So, this was a little disappointment. As was the lack of any good looking places to eat other than the usual Turkish shsisha bar and a greasy looking imbiss.

I spot a sign pointing to the railway station, so go to snap a few passing trains, before I become an object of attention for a group of teens. So I walk back to the hotel to wait for my colleague to arrive so I could have dinner. I do stop att eh bar for a beer; a huge half litre stein of a thing full of strong pilsner, making my head spin on an empty stomach.

Manu arrives at just gone seven, so we meet at half past,a nd after the confusion of being presented with two different menus, we find which is the right one and both order onion soup followed by pepper steak. It is pretty darn good, especially to this hungry bloke, washed down with more beer and good conversation.

Back in my room, the Bayern game is on TV, they win quite easily, but to ensure this is the case I end up staying up to quarter to 11; and I am shattered, so tired. But hey; football.