8. road trip

Prior to the excitement of actually finally getting our hands on the keys to the house we had charged Papa Claude with the task of locating a van for us to purchase. He took on the challenge with great commitment and found us a Renault Kangoo van. We thought it would be a sensible choice to buy a van as we would be taking trips to the 'dechetterie' (rubbish dump), picking up furniture and white goods and also traveling back and forth from England with the contents of our flat. Hardly the glamourous sporty soft top I envisaged in its place. It was a nail biting time because I had arranged for the cash for the van and the house to be sent a WEEK before so that when we arrived it would be there all ready to go. Simple. But the best laid plans....

We took the train to Paris and then on to Laon, north east of Paris to stay with Papa Claude and Michelle, who is an excellent cook. Our plan was to collect the van, drive south to Cathy and Dave and then on to the house where the moolah should have already arrived to complete the purchase. The money hadn't arrived on the Friday we arrived. No money. No van. No trip south. Poor Seb was having kittens, but fortunately it had arrived in Papa Claude's account by late morning, phew! I thought we would have a short trip to a nearby to see the van owner, but two hours later that evening we found ourselves just north of Paris in Beauvais. Papa had clearly scoured the countryside looking for a 'bon achat'. So that night we drove off in our butch new white van. We giggled all the way back to Laon.

We stayed two nights with Papa and Michelle. The following day there was various tinkering with the van and collecting tools that we had been given and getting ready for our drive south. But punctuating all this were the fabulous five course meals prepared by Michelle. An unforgettable train of food effortlessly emanated from the kitchen at every meal. Every morsel of food was delicious and seductive. But by the time Sunday lunch came I was so full I thought I might have a food hemorrhage. I remarked to Seb that she was killing us with kindness which papa Claude thought hysterical.


So on the Sunday, after a Henry the Eighth style banquet, lots of hugs and kisses, we started our drive down south. It seems that all roads lead to Paris, which was a definite no no. We plotted a route looping around the bottom of Paris and then than dashing south. It was grim up north. There seemed to be nothing but earth and grey sky and the horizon dividing the two, a dull minimalist painting. As though the battle fields of the wars had only recently been ploughed to grow corn. Half way down the rain started. A relentless sheet of water that made sight of the road near impossible, but did anyone slow down? No! They sped up. Cars were whizzing past us in wet splashy blurs. French drivers either fear nothing or have some kind of direct line insurance with god and drive like crazies in the secure knowledge they have a ready brek shield around them.

Having missed a turn off and added a good hour or so to our journey (grrr) we finally arrived at Cathy and Dave's who had kindly prepared a surprise dinner for us. Not in Michelle's five course league but wholeheartedly welcomed.

On Monday the money for the house arrived, so we were all set for completing and the rest you already know. Seb could now at least get some sleep. He has vowed NEVER to move after this as the stress is just too much.