would actually already last week once again, an interim report was due. But as for traveling so ... First, it is different, and secondly think as one. Although now are almost all campsites (at least those we have visited) equipped with Wi-Fi - a concession to the indispensability of digital communications, as once the postal stations in the desert - but we forget all too easily that it needs processing before one the experience into words and then also can feed into a network.
So I'm a bit out of me, then the world moved back to sameness to work its magic on me. And what is this, this world ...! Since there are oceans and mountains, woods and stones, roads and cities and people in between ... But let's start in the middle of the beginning: After our break
in French in Le Mas Bleu AdrecheTal (www.lemasbleu.com) with little pool chairs (three guesses - it was still raining in torrents), much market visit (cheese, cheese, herbs and wonderful Indian purses, scarves and clothes!) and occasionally swimming in the Beaume (yes, sometimes it rained then not) we left this past Sunday. Actually appeared the immensely patente farmer of the "Chataingne" (all campsites in the Ardeche are named for the chestnut, sometimes "on" times "in" and occasionally even "on") at the agreed time again, and dragged our caravan with his mini tractor again. Also, the attach worked problems, so that we meet again at 11:30 clock on the road were, this time with the aim of "Mediterranean". What seemed like a short hop was soon to be a wild fight against the forces of nature: tortured Wolfgang, the unexpected idleness the break week, they called in (yes, yes, the pause will be dependent learned!): La Mistral! "The west wind is blowing" - he struck up a time to stay around the other based on "Chocolat" where the Windin drives people together with his wife and child Ahninnenasche before them, unable to gain a foothold and, driven from place to place!
Yes, yes, one containing Solte always pay attention to their own speech, especially if you call Sun unwisely sizes that far exceed your horizons rich. Called - arrived. Sun blew so our departure time for a wind with an hourly rate of lush 400 km - which reduced our cruising speed of 80 grand to 30 mph. Not to mention the travel experience! The inevitable fluctuation, even in bright weather and jumping now increased to a wild, wild West like Herumgeschleudere horn sheep riding, defeatable without nausea but it manageable despite low temperatures only achselnässendem physical. We needed easy 9 hours, to come to the Mediterranean, we - as the Windin ago blew from the interior - mirror welcomed, but with sandstechendem dunes biting. Quick was the first kilo of mussels in spite of my objection, the tow bar was also without Kalkmassde already loaded up to the breaking point, collected, and "home" dragged. Well, what does one do against the elemental dispositions: hunters and gatherers.
spent Despite unrelenting wind speed, we are a quiet night in the calm slowly my dreams. Former neighbors I visited, from masks to reveal to many what lies behind. Washing said, my friend Ana.
around us again campers of all nations - no, not you, essentially monstrous Dutch women in mobile homes. I never would have thought that all the luxury villas on wheels There, futuristic creations, for which one requires certain vehicles with trailer hitches on the roof to move it from the spot. Well, all his toys ... or?
Although actually a sea people that would be used to winch fled the next morning all the neighbors of the coast. Exodus from his guests a little overwhelmed by the German campsite owner said this migration with a laconic comment: Well, this year the wind is probably a bit bad. But he blows in every direction. Law has (had) it.
We decided - also because of the wind - no longer at sea and in particular to go "through the" sea: Along the southern Coast road runs right through the dike on a kind of water! - But inland to evade the direction of Toulouse. The Pyrenees were before us and in us the hope of "obenrum" to drive around a little. But what is "obenrum. And anyway, I had not written during the trip through the Massif Central, flows in the middle of the Ardeche, how well do me the stones? How they fill me with strength and power, courage and stability? Exactly. Be aware of your wishes!
As we with our maximum cruise speed already in the enjoyment of the vicious generosity of many-Peesser had come, so we decided to drive road. And overlooked the deliberately, the what appears on the card as a gentle wiggling in fact a exorbitant could mean on-and low! Voila, les pyrenees!
We drove ... and drove and drove and drove. In hindsight (yes I know now what lay ahead of us ...), only a small prelude to the steady rise and fall of the so-called promontory. By wonderful landscape of the clearest air, woods, as far as the eye, picturesque river valleys and sleepy French villages. And at every crossroads a Madonna, which here mean by "Fatima - Lourdes we approached.
The day moved then, the road became steeper and steeper, we always slower - And the campsites are sparse. What would have chased a few days ago panic hormones through the blood slipped my mind now only perifer horizon: This trip is gefüht, which I was now safe. If it were done we would find the right place already. And we should overtake broken axle, tires crack and brain death - well, we were in the land of the Goddess and the ingenious hobbyists who knew nothing that could not be repaired again. So what we should - happen really - honestly? Somehow, my supply seemed to fears and anxieties, to plastic and fantastic painted disaster scenarios used up slowly and met a nice fatality me. In addition to thoughts of left shoes, the strength of clouds ineffable scenarios and the viewing of lemon-yellow butterflies in iron ore gray ... how is it that are on rural roads always left shoes? Milestones henceforth footed traveler who had excess Balastik rid ...? And why blue is actually the color of longing?
We found the room for the night, as I said, in the way: A quiet place, surrounded by woods on a haunted mountain, totally overgrown with ferns and creepers, which had their beards hanging into the water. The stones sang in gurgling sounds, and her green and yellow lit as if by an inner light. Without question - we had arrived in the land of magic - so we had to leave for ever.
woke in the night me, the screams of an animal that I have never heard (as I would ever say, being able to have heard a lot of animal Timing!) - A loud shriek, as it give the Wild Parrots of itself, but we were unique to such sounds still too far north. I sat up late, listening to this extraordinary acoustics, and answered by the cry of an owl and other nocturnal animal noises. What is there to hear everything in the world!
In the morning we heard from the small of my French language skills almost euphoric campsite owner, that there even wolves are still wild. And sometimes a bear is sighted again. A happy country, very empty (as measured by human standards) and wonderfully wild on a very gentle way Perhaps the most beautiful place that has given us this trip. And obviously the place we should find, for immediately after our early start not so "took" us the straight road that would take us to the Basque country and the last tip of the Brittany coast.
The Basque Country! Legendary place full of partisans, wild, black-and-bearded guys with Barrett and machete. Land of the women, dark skinned and full of wildlife and determination of the French and English to provide rule of the forehead! So - or something like that - at least that was the image I had in me, fed by reports of any type on this virtual remote place on the European map.
was probably in these fantasies that I thought at first that we have lost our way: Suddenly, transformed the pothole-ridden and barely French road repaired under our wheels in a carefully paved, with proper markings provided "Avenida", lined with nail scissors trimmed, bright green lawn in front of houses, all to sound like freshly imported from Switzerland. No, this gently rolling, lush green land of picturesque cottages in white with red shutters and neatly gemalerten carved balconies, one more accurate than the other - could not it be the infamous Basque country? Where the flaking paint indescribable green and blue were left where the houses made up of thousands of broken stones, found on the road side of mountains? Where are the garages with battered, already antique-style 2-CV in a rainbow of colors before - and a mountain in the scrap yard, which was certainly use again! Where the "Tabac" who lined the roadside everywhere, men and women in trousers worn with Hutgebilden of straw and wool, the futuristic in every major city would have worked?
It was tidier than in any small Swabian town - no question, the Basque Country is not a scrap of French! Freedom for the Basque Country!
No wonder then, that confronted us, the first campsite, we drove off here with its English owner, who advised us with a sour look at our mobile aged with dignity, "la poubelle", the trash (you hear this word at: puh-bel-nice Ugh!) and to separate properly and yes with our wheels not to "touchieren" sorgsamm trimmed the lawn. Touchieren? How in the world, one would maneuver through a 12m frame into tiny parcels subdivided land without touching the lawn? After we had practiced a three-quarter hour in constant back and forth and I had reached the limits of my thanks to 9-hour drive badly frayed nerves, we left the place empty-handed. Do not leave without, however, address and passport number to have: In the event that the lawn had been damaged but still.
What seemed at first like a blow of fate appear but it turned into a stroke of luck: We took our last reserves to the sea and found a wonderful, right behind a dike situated campsite where we even were allowed to drive on the lawn. Name? Passport? ID? Without batting an eyelash, presented me the friendly owner of the smart card of the place, free access to all places and sites, Internet, and toilet flushing machine lavoir included. We would not have run away, he said with - this time knowing smile - look at our Elsa. And if it does, the damage was so limited. Where we do not even electricity would take to complete.
If one brings so much good will, that's worth a break. We spent two days at sea, my companions gathered (may have against the other 25, I put myself successfully defended!) One more kilo shells and stones and I was once again a bit more to his senses. And stated: travel, especially the many ever-changing Impressions, the very beautiful around zipper. Our brain, trimmed for millions of perception and orientation is clearly to its limits, if the conditions are constantly changing. In any case, with such a check copy, as I am.
I was tired and slept, read, in the shade on my entrained Divan lying, ate melon, that actually lived up to its name and honor of sitting at the ocean. Slowly, I could feel physically, and he leaked the seen-driving through my cell and came to the neocortex. Aha, here I was - I?
In retrospect we would have to probably stay another three days and nights - at least if we knew did what lay ahead. Spain. Actually, yes even a word - or a job - admittedly a relatively large, measured on the European left - on the map. But I already knew that being here was something very different for us.
Ute Schiran once said: We must include the entire landscape. As we were driving through Spain, I understood what she meant. And how difficult it can be. had changed after the bewitching beauty of France are a country that has centuries of exploitation at its expected nature into a wasteland agragindustrielle. Miles of fields lined up in an endless space together. Color? Grey Beige Brown. For water, it seems well to give only occasionally.
What would explain why the English camp, although located next to the highway-like street - the most expensive of the whole trip was: There was a pool, a keen eye and guarded by a Poolwärterin with antiseptic shower provided as the only access, through a motion was backed up: No sooner does one approach the holy water to 500 feet, poured a gush of fetid broth. Okay, that certainly had not survived the bud. Would I survive it, would show that another day. But at least I was able to escape the heat stroke, because although the sky - was shrouded in a thick, continuous cloud cover - again It was humid in the tropics. But without green.
We slept next to a British
with futuristic United Mobile, where he screwed around until late into the night and the very early morning: wheels, which made a completely intact actually still feel screwed and spare wheels on it screwed. But something seemed that not even in order, that is all down again and changed the procedure around Mikado. As we already completing bets, whether there is the related Nissan roadster's turn equal to that seen 80 year old owner started with the removal of wheel carrier and other bodies. With anything you have to fill his time so appropriate. It
seemed that would lead us on this trip all the people we are all national-colored prejudices encountered in mind that such a building up in the course of a lifetime in a multi-nation community: Big Dutchman with hot spots on the rosy-burned skin, glutäugige French-Algerian, expire at the simple sight of a blond woman in hysterical Balzgluckern, their rubbish in the countryside schmeissende Spaniards and easily irritated German, which the world is actually a size too big. Where does it come this gene-geography, which forces to conduct an assimilated - and weighs in faith, to be natural veeery different from the rest of one's own state-defined cross-clan ... I would be so interested before, what did the people go so well thought of us ...
We thought then only one thing: Just get out of this endless, dreary Spain! But as is so with the things you undbedingt and equal, and now wants to get behind: drag into infinity. In fields fields followed - and again fields, only occasionally interrupted by satellite towns, the East German city planners did not attempt it better: high-rise towering over high-rise, and even in the midst of the few rural idyll was found also determines another one. In most cases empty. Perhaps the air in the 27th Stock no longer quite so stuffy ....? As we
(! Well, but at least Castille) were already trying to Spain to write in full from us surprised the country and brought us our prejudices in mind: to cast a sudden, the ground up, shaped structure of stone and sand, folded himself then flowed into canyons and rivers of pure water, as I have never seen before. We had landed in the park, a vast field full of stone giants, as gently undulating and rounded as they were surrounded by water millions of years.
We came out for a surprise too - the place should not so fast. The Sierra du Douro goes to Portugal and far up into the country - and their first delicate folds and stone monuments were just a taste of the mountains, we drove into the geographically clueless now. We wanted to shorten the path, instead of the planned along the coast through the middle of Castilian country to "cut" the tip of the Iberian coast. We forgot that ends for the Central Europeans, Terra Cognita in Spain. Well, there's still Portugal ...
over a tiny bridge over a valley of incredible - of course marred by a hydroelectric power plant along with Umspannbau had to make way for the entire villages - we Ingenieur in Portugal, the coarse objective of our trip. And slept on the cheapest campsite of our trip. But here, as if everything fell inversely proportional Although the price, but increased organizational performance: Were we in France and even in Spain, occasionally even asked for our name needed, Portuguese guard all the passes in addition to driving license, approval letter for cars and caravans and green card.
Whether he feared, or the administration portugisiesche well, we would dismantle the ancient bath house and take? Little more was to be found, and the pine trees did not look as if they were to uproot times just to mention the fact that transport is 20 meters long growths on a 12m vehicle extremely bad. But maybe they had so concerned about the proper layered, beautifully glittering walls ... It is said that there States, as the prison is on the export of stones ...
Whatever it is or was, we were recognized in all registers of the management and catalog - but only on a decrepit tracing paper, which then disappeared in a drawer of a much older prehistoric desk. A veritable treasure trove probably interested in anthropological archaeologists, at some point ... today probably Entgeld legitimacy for the employed student assistants who otherwise their time more productively with the reading of Dan Brown or the pursuit of the Portugal-Brazil football match spent. What is there to do even on a place around where people live on?
I can not say that this philosophy I am averse, even if it amuses me. They probably just use any requirement of the European Parliament, this outgrowth of bureaucratic hyperinflation like after eating too much dessert, because the rural Campismo was certainly promoted for some pots. Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's ... and it was only on paper. You have to keep the level of mere paper tiger at bay.
Actually we wanted to yes then the place still look a bit ... But now we can not get more, Berta to decouple from Elsa. Probably, this tour has welded them together for ever ... But what else are taxis? Somehow, but an interesting mix - live in caravans and from time to time in grand style ... With a deluxe edition of our Berta we were driven into town, bought, decorated with tiny felt applications purses, hand-made from a beautiful and squinting young artisan, and examine at least 200 towels, colorful display on the tourist hiking mile. The Portuguese seem to maintain a Wäscheobsession that anywhere I have ever seen such a variety of table and bed linen, towels in every size and shape along with blankets and mats, throws and Cushion as here. The almost overwhelming wealth of took us in such demand that we missed the departure of the last taxis and take the 2.5 mile hike around the town on foot we had - loaded with water and fruit, purses and cheese, tomato and new FlippFlopps. No wonder we slept like stones.
Overnight we were kept safely under lock and key, who opened up in the morning. Somehow we had verpeilt that in Portugal is one hour earlier, so we wonder still about the late arrival diemal the nurse who was actually born in Germany. Perhaps it was this fact which caused her to us to recommend an entirely besonbdere route ...
We will probably never know why they sent us to the mountains. Maybe one of these nationally determined prejudices, in which all Noreuropäer are mountain people ... Or they thought that the appeal of a Mercedes is always grown no obstacle - which would explain why in Portugal of these cars is teeming. Although ... probably there are just no other car that these mountains would have grown really ...
I do not even know what this mountain is actually what my geographical Unkentnisse in particular, speaks above all on European Integration effect. If I had been afraid of the Pyrenees, the mountains taught me this really the fear. In scorching heat, Berta tormented with Elsa in the Annex a mountain after another up - and down again with smoky brakes. Fortunately, there were signs everywhere slow and braking ramps - which showed us that these mountains not only brought us kanpp to the limit. The beauty of the landscape was completely under the stress, it would perhaps be the next mountain that Berta would give the rest ... Every moment I thought the engine to see us fly around the ears, in every mountain I was hoping this might be the last - until after the next, the Serpentine Shilouette the other mountain ranges and appeared on her uphill and downhill winding is silver ribbon of the road shimmering in the midday heat ...
How exhaustive was this ride shows that we dare not break, but once we stopped briefly to interject a sandwich and fill up - as if the rush of hope type food ...
But as for that is - everything must come to an end, even this great, terrifying landscape in which man would be better never set foot. Even the most ambitious building projects, cobweb-looking bridges act through incredible valleys here, such as toys, that a gruff again bucking the ridge can destroy. On foot, it was perhaps just as an ant and I just barely elicits even a tired wink. But an ant trail ...?!
Well, we did it. I was just sitting on Portugal's coast, the weather is bad again, it is drizzling and everything is shrouded with mist avalon between proportions. This time it took a while before we found a suitable place for the holiday tourism brings us slowly, the seats are loveless and unkempt, what just happened so if the man appears in masses.
Here we are right in the middle of dunes, tall pines and pines provide shade and we wear identification tags. Everything can be just generally increase it. But the Galau (Coffee with milk) is good, internet is free and even works and Alina has finally found a couple of kids to play. Yesterday she had her first day of mourning, probably caused as much by hanging out with us obnoxious adults. This is for kids just a harsh roar.
Maybe it's also because we are approaching our goal. Only about 600 km are separated from Tamera - and the certainty that we are not on vacation, but are arrived at our new home. Maybe that makes conscious that this step for now does not return. But who knows what comes, what's behind the next bend, the next hill side of the road border is?
We have seen and experienced and have come far. 3500 km, we drove a few detours and a lot of corners. Much we have seen what I can describe only a fraction. As the three are missing at the old road, the difference between the supermarkets, the storks nesting on the highway, and much more. Material for stories and 1000 and one night ...
Now we're a bit held before it goes to the last stage. And I'm going to the sea. And hope that this trip of the mountains - Vosges, Massif Central, Pyrenees, Cordillera, Sierra xxx, Altro du Douro ... - No more hurdles for us holds. But what does one have to adjust the movements of the earth. Exactly. Niente. The only solution: going along.
In this sense: Greetings to all, at home and at home, your Astrid
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