slow travel
by Rach
industrial estate just past Montpellier, France
the wind still blows; not a whisper, not a howl, just sufficient to render the beach unattractive
we move on
the map indicates about 170km, not too far
so we stop and shop, a whole week’s worth of food
takes a while in the sprawling supermarket
(France has over 400 varieties of cheese and finding the cheapest takes time)
returning to the vans, we discover the GPS has announced we have to go 320km
it’s already afternoon; it’s going to be a late night
we inhale four French sticks with pate, marmite and confitur
and race off to a standstill
the mistral is chasing all holiday-makers away from the beach
it’s hot; perspiring hot; shirt-sticks-to-your-back hot
grapes hang in luscious black bunches on vines marching away from the roadside
mediterranean summer
hot
an hour of stop-start crawling to the bottle-neck village
past windows tightly shuttered
over the bridge
and off at last
to a brand new road the GPS does not recognise
Rob pulls over commanding us to take the lead, because we Have A Map
it is an unstudied map and Rob is the only person who knows our final destination, but soon that doesn’t matter as we are navigated into another inescapable traffic jam
for another hour plus
“99 green bottles” is sung and when the bottles are all broken, “99 teddy bears sitting on the table” is invented and practised, and it is insignificant relief when “this old man, he plays one”….is begun
even the vans protest at the temperature and threaten to overheat
blasting heaters on full paradoxically keeps them under control,
but does little for the beetroot faces peering out the side windows
children beg for water
moments before we pull over to cool down cars and cargo, the jam disappears
another village negotiated
trans-vehicle negotiations begin
can you take the lead now?
you have the map
but I don’t want to drive us through Montpellier
we’re not there yet
couldn’t the GPS take us *around* it if you get in front?
I can’t re-route while we’re driving
could we pull over somewhere?
the navigator takes control, directing us on to some roadside gravel
the men confer
it takes a long time
little kids accompany me on a no-less-hot walk
finally off again
navigator advises that while The Other Driver’s Belief that *we* got us horribly off track may not be correct, it’s not worth an inquest
besides, Montpellier is not far away, and Nimes only another 40km or so
that would be a good place to stop for dinner before tackling another couple of hours driving in the cool of the evening
too hastily spoken
for one, *cool* never happens
secondly….
At a roundabout on the edge of Montpellier The Bear Cave is waved on by police, and The Other Van, directly behind, is stopped. Police motorcade pulls up. Bikes screech, uniforms buzz around. We have front row seats.
Four unofficial-looking white vans appear followed by four tour busses, all full of black-t-shirted youths and escorted by a flashing-light-topped police car. This must be it. No famous head of state or Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang returning home. Just…..well, who are they? At first we think they may be a sports team. Or perhaps Tour de France supporters. But so many? From the safety of their busses, some shake fists at the cops. Could be soccer players, they have that kind of reputation, but it’s the Middle of Summer. Then right in front of our eyes mayhem breaks loose, bedlam is. Flags, drums, chanting youth all tumble from the vehicles that stop right on the roundabout. Behind us cars are honking. In front a young man is pulling on his pants – did they fall off in his haste to exit the bus?
Obviously the police are caught unawares and with French flair bustle about passionately achieving little. The protestors’ conveyances with a mind of their own seem to push the heaving mass of demonstration down the road. We try to follow too, but Monsieur Gendarme becomes excessively agitated, and while we do not understand the words he bellows through our open window, we sense his meaning clearly and translate his semaphore instructions with ease. We are to get out of the way, preferably right round the other side of the roundabout! Leaving us to sit stubbornly in our lane, he turns his attention to commanding a colleague to better block the road with his car. I inch backwards only enough to not be perverting the course of justice (or whatever it is). I certainly do not want to be reversing up and taking the next exit! I’m meant to be not getting separated from Rob in a town, I’m meant to be right behind Rob (who, by the way, has pulled over down the road to wait for us, but considers it prudent to move on when he sees a dark vocal demonstration approaching – just like the pizzeria operators, who close their stall until the crowd has passed). Thankfully, a big yellow bus comes up from behind and blocks us in, making it impossible to obey orders. Instead we watch with interest as first a police motorbike, and then a police car jump the median barrier chasing the mob. When, eventually, there is sufficient distance between the mass and us, the police relax and let us through. You’d think finding another motorhome on a straight road would be a simple matter, but we are not even sure we’re taking the right exit and in trying to establish their whereabouts, a classic case of miscommunication has us turning up a side street in pursuit of the mob. At that exact moment – ie one moment too late – The Bear Cave Walkie-Talkie operator clarifies that a policecar, not the protestors, has just passed them. So we are hot on the wrong trail, and needing to turn around in a little lane in backed-up impatient traffic.
and it is still hot
and getting late to boot
and children are losing the plot
and not even going *twice* round a roundabout trying to choose an exit makes them smile (the GPS wanted us to take a no entry road!)
and when we finally make it on to the motorway, so has the evening rush hour traffic
“I know it’s taken us all day to get ON to this road, but what do you think about getting off, cooking dinner and hoping the traffic has all gone home by the time we’ve done the dishes?”
approval
fortified with couscous, fresh salad, French sausages and the obligatory baguette (not to mention summery sweet perfectly ripe apricots), we return to the now-flowing-more-freely motorway
wing mirror captures the setting sun
raindrops splash on the windscreen
as if it has not been a full enough day,
we are now treated to a fantastic display of sheet and fork lightning
just as I am asking my navigator if he knows how long we’ll be driving (are we still aiming for Nimes? surely we’re not going further? or are we looking for a different closer spot?….usually I don’t object to just following wherever The Bear Cave takes us, understanding that Rob cannot check the full route easily on the tiny screen and figuring if he’s happy to just trust the machine I will too, but occasionally there is a psychological Need To Know, and this was one of those times…I wonder if Roman soldiers used to be briefed before a march how long they’d be moving each day or if they had to just blindly obey orders and keep going no matter how tired they were….I realise why the little kids are full of questions at the beginning of each day – they need to know what’s going on, what they can expect from a day – will they get to play or will they be sitting? They can appreciate that traffic jams are unavoidable and unexpected, but I resolve to fill them in better on where we think we are going and what we expect to be eating to give them a greater sense of participation, security and involvement)…as I was saying, just as I am making preliminary enquiries, Rob pulls in to an industrial estate.
not quite the vineyard we’d set out for
not even near the halfway point of Nimes
and with a train passing on average every six minutes (for this first hour anyway),
not quite as peaceful either
but I doubt we’ll have trouble sleeping tonight
so long as the spectacular light show abates
Time on the road: need to check Jboy13’s record!
Distance covered: 146km
Tags: 2008/09, children, parenting, postcard: France, weather
rayres
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