This travelogue was originally posted on Facebook as we made our way from Galway, Ireland to München, Bavaria–our present home. We didn’t tell anybody where we were moving to, however. We asked our friends and family members–our FB connections–to follow our adventure. It was lots of fun to take everybody with us.
August 26, 2017
I was exhausted as we piled into the car. We had decided at the last minute to use a new service for some bags and shipped them via DHL. This will make the journey more comfortable. But as things work out, available space always gets filled up and in no time, we were back to being snuggly packed into our tiny Chevy Spark.
The two cats were balanced in their boxes on top of our laptop bags next to my 14 year old son who has grown significantly since the last road trip. Something we hadn’t considered when we made the decision to take the car. The cats meowed in horror, perhaps recalling the journey from Italy only twelve months earlier. As much as I felt up to a new adventure, I couldn’t help feeling their dread.
Leg One
We crossed Ireland West to East coasts in four hours. The colours were gentle and serene and sobering really as we were of mixed mind about the move. Eventually, the cats fell into a silent sleep, though our ears rang with the echo of their soaring protests for awhile longer.
We made the ferry with 30 minutes to spare. At the check-in gate, we were asked for passports. Five in total. Three humans. Two cats. I searched my bag, the glove compartment, all the logical places one would leave them for the purpose of having them handy. They were nowhere to be find. We had to park the car in a lay space and go through the boot and then to our incredulousness, we had to take everything out of the roof box. As old Murphy would have it, they were in the last bag we checked. Fortunately, this was done very fast and re-assembled even faster. I was too tired and we were too close to the departure time to have any room left for my embarrassment but it carved out its own space through humble apologies and blush stained cheeks.
We had opted to let the cats stay in the car, which was recommended by their vet, rather than place them in small kennels. We’d brought their favourite blankets and familiar food and water bowls.
We emptied out the boot and set up their kitty litter there, removing the parcel shelf so they’d have easy accesss. We set the food up on the floor of the front passenger seat. We’d be allowed to visit them twice. Once at 10pm and again at 10am. I took some comfort in knowing that they actually like the car and often get in to sniff around and even sleep if a window has been left open.
Our cabin was basic. Four bunks. Very clean and the mattresses were comfortable. The food was good in the dinning hall too. By the time we ate and checked on the cats, we were exhausted and got a surprisingly good sleep. I remember hearing the howling sound of wind outside throughout the night but the sway of the boat worked like a charm rocking us like babies, and I kept drifting back to sleep.
In the morning, we were happy to find the cats were grand. My son and I watched Spider-Man Homecoming in the ferry’s cinema, which we had to ourselves. Bit weird–that part where the ferry gets torn apart!
I walked the decks and watched the gulls that follow the boats; it’s as is they were our maritime escorts, had lunch, and took pictures of the Cherbourg as we approached France.
There was one of those life copies art moments reminiscent of a sound gag used in films a lot. All the passengers traveling with dogs were asked to wait along a particular deck as the ferry was pulling into port. A French lady with a gorgeous collie was expounding to everyone around about an encounter she’d had a few moments earlier when a man had asked her to keep her dog away from him; he wanted to take pictures of the view and he didn’t like dogs. I gather he was rude.
She was disgusted. Her hands waved in the air as she recounted the conversation. She spoke good English, very fast, and replayed the dialogue beat by beat between herself and the man—which was quite colorful. At the precise moment it was reaching its climax—a sentence that started with her saying: Look, ugly son of a—the ship’s horn blasted incredibly loud drowning out her words. Her mouth kept moving, however, and her expression left little to the imagination.
Leg Two
There’s nothing quite like waking up in an 18th century castle on beautiful grounds with gorgeous, pet-friendly rooms.
It was all ease and flow leaving the ferry and travelling for three hours to Pressagny-l’Orgueilleux. When we exited the motorway and hit the charming old-world roads, we passed through a little village and had to wait for a large lorry that was blocking the road. Its backdoor was wide open and inside were about a dozen pig carcasses hanging from the ceiling. Not so pleasant and yet impossible not to look at. Shaking that image off, we drove another two minutes and entered the enchanting gates of the Château de la Madeleine—our posh B&B.
Paul, the owner, greeted us with keys and a tour and told us that the castle was our home for the night and we should consider it ours! Many years of roadside travel lodges and rough and ready backpacking hostels, and many miles on these bones have taught me that this is how you do a stop over!
In the morning, I had a misadventure with Fluffy. As much as he appreciated roaming through two rooms, he was not as pleased to have to stay indoors after 24 hours in the car. I didn’t get any sleep from his complaining. Around 6am, I surrendered. I gathered up his harness (quite naively I admit), coerced him into his cat box, and took it outside. I thought I could put the harness on and let him have a sniff and a scratch in the 11 acre wood that Paul had pointed out to me the night before. It ran down a hill to a river and there was no concern of nearby traffic so I thought the risk was low. Fluffy immediately shook out of the harness and took off at bullet speed into the woods. I wasn’t too worried.
I knew he’d freak out when he realised he wasn’t in his own territory and cry out to me. I followed down the wood slope. Beautiful. Fragrant with pine and moss, alive with birds singing melodically. I tuned in to appreciate it. I love mornings, especially surrounded by woods and, you know, being in France! After a few moments, I called Fluffy’s name and he wailed back in his frantic way. He does the same thing when he can’t find anybody in the house. He was waiting for me on a spindly path, a little nervous, and came running towards me the minute he saw me. I scooped him up and he purred loudly while I scrambled back up the hill. There were only two other guests at the chateau. Two other cars besides our own in the parking lot. I had seen one couple sitting in their car as I took Fluffy out initially and had quite foolishly assumed they would be gone after twenty minutes of cavorting in the woods. However, apparently it takes some folks a little longer to set their Sat Nav. As I was approaching my car, they chose to start their engine. Fluffy freaked out. I tried to hold on to him. I was so close to my own car and I could have just flung open the door and tossed him in. What I should have done is let go of him, let him fly off down the hill into the woods again. But instead, I held on while he sunk his claws into my skin and then bit me. His tactic worked. He got loose and ran into the woods. My eyes must have been like dinner plates. The couple looked at me in horror and a little too afraid to stop in case I displaced my aggression onto them. When they had left the long drive. I went back into the woods and called to the cat. Once again, he cried out in reply and ran into my waiting arms. That was the last time I trusted the harness and the cat!
Leg Three
We reluctantly tore ourselves away from the enchanting Château de la Madeleine, and went to Giverny to see the house and gardens of Claude Monet. I was excited to see the countryside that had inspired the Impressionist maestro. However, what met us was a landscape of tour busses and large groups of visitors from all over the planet. It made it a little hard to appreciate the splendor of the charming town—I’d say there was a one person, one flower ratio—and impossible to visit the house and gardens as the queue was too long for our patience and schedule.
Tearing ourselves away, we left the charming countryside for the efficiency of the motorways. However, the A13 was jammers and it took ages to get through Paris. But hey, it’s Paris, and that still makes me giddy!
On the other side of the city sprawl, the roads cleaned up and we were back to smooth sailing, with convoys of trucks and herds of Lamborghinis and Ferrari and other stuck up beasts galloping past. When we crossed a certain border and exited the motorway, we noticed how the cars were suddenly observing the 50K speed limit on the road that led to Baden Baden, an historic German thermal resort town and our next stop-over. Our hotel room at a nice chain was so small that you could ‘swing a cat in it’ but don’t worry, I didn’t test the saying. The cats played for ages, and guilted us into giving them extra treats. We ate heavy food and drank nice cold beers and surrendered to our exhaustion. We had two rooms, and I insisted that the cats stay with my son, which meant Fluffy didn’t have an audience for his 4am toddler tantrum as my son sleeps through anything.
Leg Four
Guten Tag. Our third day on the road started in Baden Baden, a scenic town at the edge of the enchanting Black Forest, known for being a ‘wellness center.’ Right after waking, my son and I went to the spa and drank cleansing herb & fruit infused water and had a spoonful of dates and nuts before soaking in the outdoor thermal pool rimmed by beautiful Tulip Trees in full yellow regalia.
Afterwards, we quickly packed up and left everything ready in the room, including the snoozing cats, and headed out to take in the city center, a place filled with cafes and more apothecaries than I’ve ever seen in one area, and glimpses of ancient Roma.
I was so caught up taking it all in, I hadn’t noticed a mighty hangry forming until it was chronic! We found a café filled with amazing baked goods. The boys ordered pretzels (the national specialty). After three years of living in Italy I became a straight up espresso drinker, so perhaps it was because of all the chocolate in the window that I made the unthinkable and clearly offensive mistake of asking for a mocha from the English-speaking Waiter, a gent in his Sixties with the air of ownership. He asked what that was and then expounded, quite rudely, that they had coffee and they had hot chocolate but they most certainly did not have coffee with hot chocolate. I ordered coffee, and a croissant. Fast-forward and the boys were served and I wasn’t. Eventually my coffee arrived (it was weak) but my food did not. I nibbled on what the boys shared and mentally drafted my first Trip Advisor review about this terrible place and its horrible waiter. I let this tiny snub, which was probably more of an oversight, really beat me down. I told the lads I’d meet them outside, took a picture of the cafe to accompany my scathing review, and bought a muffin from a bakery across the courtyard. When I handed a friendly lady a two-euro coin to pay for it, she pointed at my change purse. Yep, she wanted 1.80 in small change; it had the added bonus of lightening my load.
Fun Fact: my mom told me that when she visited the Continent in the 70s, there was a change shortage and she was given little hard-boiled sweets instead of pennies as change.
I sat down near a lovely fountain, shaking with hypoglycemia, and scarfed down the muffin.
In that moment, however, everything came crashing down—the whirlwind of packing up and leaving a home we had become quite settled in, the daunting realization that getting into the rhythm of different languages and cultures is fun but also extremely taxing and I don’t have the energy I used to, and a lot of other ugly junk bubbled up. Somebody told me I make all this moving around look easy so I suppose I thought I’d share the wobbles. The tears started rolling, and a lot of pent up stress was released. The stoic voice tried to stop it but then I allowed it, accepting that it was a healthy, cleansing activity. What do you know Baden Baden is a wellness center after all, and that horrible waiter was really a catalyst serving the spirit of the town. My disdain morphed to gratitude and I felt better. I felt lighter, like my coin purse.
The rest of the day was spent in traffic—really bad traffic that added two hours to our three-hour journey. At one point, we were at a standstill for 40 minutes in the aftermath of an accident, which thankfully had no fatalities.
Though, if the cats could have killed us, they would have. Maku had had enough! “Basta” he kept meowing over and over!
When things started moving again, we had to get used to driving on a motorway with many NO SPEED LIMIT ZONES. Scary! I swear our little Chevy Spark lost several layers of paint from racers flying past. However, as soon as we exited the motorway and got on the surface streets, everybody turned into dapper, polite drivers.
With the aid of our Sat Nav, we never got lost on our 2,398 Kilometer trek (with cats). Our journey ended with our arrival at a ‘living hotel’ that is to be our temporary home (while we look for a house).
And that leads us to the beginning of our new chapter in München, arriving just in time for Octoberfest!
Whimspherical 