Chapter 2: Days 1 - 2 London to Bordeaux (700 miles)

Day 1:  England to Belgium (160 miles)

The next morning, instead of reporting to my Mayfair office, I caught the tube to Victoria Station, promising to send a telegram to my boss at my earliest opportunity.  

I was travelling out of England for the next few weeks, and couldn't, in all conscience, just disappear and have her worry about me.  

Like everyone else, I really needed my job's regular paycheque each month. But, about to disappear without notice, I was uncertain if either would be waiting for me when I returned.

photo by kind courtesy of:

www.simplonpc.co.uk/SNCF1.html#anchor19098 

To avoid being overwhelmed by guilt, I decided not to obsess about taking this time out, at least until I felt ready to explain my reasons to my boss.
 
The rest of the Overland Tour group and I met our drivers at Victoria Station, shortly before we all boarded a chartered bus to the Dover ferry.

photo by kind courtesy of: www.dovercalaisferrytickets.com

By 3pm, we'd crossed the English Channel to Calais and wasted no time in reaching our first pit stop, a campsite in rural Belgium.  

I was the first to spy the Volkswagen 'hippie' wagon

 that was to transport us to Morocco and back.  

It was a riot of flower-power artistry that was sure to attract attention on the road. And, as our drivers pointed out, it would be easy to spot in any parking lot!

Our bus had no bathroom, but it was reliable and would seat us each of us in relative comfort during our 2000 mile  journey to Fes and back.

On the roof of the "Love Bus", as we named it, were cooking and camping gear, provided by our Overland Tour Company.    

photo by kind courtesy of www.wisegeek.com

By pooling our food money, we prepared and ate nutritious meals when and how we chose. Extra funds paid for snacks and restaurant treats

Having spent an entire day travelling from England to collect this bus had primed us for our Morocco trip. We were all eager to venture overland for 17 glorious days, through three countries and two continents.

This trip was a dream come true!

 
Our journey out of England had given me a chance to chat with my fellow travellers, for the first time.  Auspiciously, we numbered thirteen: 8 men, 5 women. 

The other four 20-something women were single nurses who had trained together in Manchester and were now belatedly celebrating their success.   

Four of the men, also in their twenties included a scholar, an architect and two world-travelling brothers from New Zealand.  Our two Aussie drivers, and the two English business-men were all in their late thirties.

I found our two drivers,  and one of the businessmen, very sensible and approachable. Sadly, the other businessman, George, was a relentless wet blanket who heartily disapproved of "my reckless hippie views" and took every opportunity of telling me so!  As a group, we were often to wonder aloud why George had chosen to travel with a 'hippie tour'.

Of the younger set, the four nurses and two brothers were delightful company - polite, helpful and friendly. Only the red-headed Len, a quietly brooding scholar, seemed like a fish out of water. I secretly suspected he would have felt more at home inside a monastic library.

Anton was a young architect from London who had a passion for photography. He was an intelligent and articulate fellow with an infectious smile and a gift for spinning a yarn that kept most of us laughing all the way to Morocco.  And he took an immediate shine to me!

As the odd person out, I had expected to pitch and sleep alone in my own tent for the duration of the trip. But, while were crossing the English Channel, Anton verbally jettisoned Len as his proposed tent-mate, leaving the brooding scholar to fend for himself.

Anton then volunteered to be my bodyguard, which apparently meant he would pitch my tent for me at each and every campsite.  Who was I to argue?!

photo by kind courtesy of: www.diggingalot.org

Upon arriving at our destination that afternoon we removed the camping and cooking gear from the Love Bus roof.

True to his word, Anton efficiently and quietly set up my tent near the others. 

We all pitched in to unpack our camp kitchen and foodstuffs, and then prepared a hearty meal which we ate together around the blazing campfire.  

Later we relaxed, sipping wine before cleaning up, re-packing our cooking gear and calling it a night. That was when I discovered that Anton had placed his own sleeping bag right beside mine, inside my tent!

It was, he explained, easier to protect me when he knew precisely where I was.  And while I couldn't fault his logic, I did wearily wonder why he was being so solicitous of my needs.  But it  had been a long, eventful day and I was much too tired to think. 

Making a note to sort it out 'later', 

I slid into my sleeping bag and was soon asleep. 

We were finally on our way!

Day 2:  Belgium to Paris (240 miles)
             Paris to Bordeaux (300 miles)

Sometime that night, I startled awake, feeling a warm hand roaming my body.  Irritated by his hubris, I pushed Anton away, then lay in the dark, formulating my response.

Supporting myself on one elbow, I faced my randy tent-mate. Then, in an angry whisper, I impressed upon Anton that, regardless of our circumstances, I expected him to behave like a gentleman! Were his intentions otherwise, I informed him, I would not require his 'services'  for the remainder of our trip.

My would-be bodyguard had understood my boundaries and I had accepted his apology before either of us returned to sleep that night.  And despite some lingering misgivings about Anton, I quickly fell asleep for the rest of the night.

The aroma of fresh coffee and warm croissants roused us all from slumber, a few hours later.

While shopping for that day's food supplies, our drivers spied a boulangerie where they purchased our first "continental" breakfast of the trip.

Quel Surprise! 

While we stowed our tents and backpacks on top of the "Love Bus", I realized, to my chagrin, that I still hadn't sent a telegram to my boss.  

Again, I promised I would  do so when we stopped in Paris.  But first we needed to head south.

   Good bye Belgium!    

  Hello  France!  

I was soon made aware that my decision to ‘room’ with Anton had had the oddest effect on the quietly brooding Len. Though Len had baulked at the idea of solitary camping, he never once stated his objections directly to anyone! Instead, he would add a caustic  “here here” to George's frequent rants against me!

Quelle paire d'imbéciles!

Last night's awkwardness now just a memory, and boundaries established, Anton and I were having far too much fun to allow Len or George to cast even the merest shadow over us. Thankfully, the rest of our fellow-travellers were blissfully unconcerned with how - or why - we, two, had teamed up for the trip.  

With a couple of notable exceptions, our happy little group hung together like a family, enjoying each other's company and the camaraderie of communal mealtimes.  

C'est si bon! 

Christobelle with parents, Yvonne and Jack, in 1950 

That first day, we also shared tales of our former experiences in Europe, and I casually mentioned having once lived in France. But before I could explain that I'd been but a toddler then,  our driver  handed me a map and told me that I would navigate our bus through Paris.

 

*merde!!*

I had really hoped to stop in the City of Lights, if only for an hour to send that telegram. 

Though thwarted, I gamely searched the map for the shortest route through Paris. And this was no easy task! Before its ring road was completed, a few years' later, all roads really did lead to Paris.

But on that particular day, precious few roads seemed to lead from Paris!

photo by kind courtesy of www.survol-paris.com

We, and our poor Love Bus, thus circumnavigated the Arc de Triomphe for an hour before we stumbled upon the road that actually led us out of 'La Ville-Lumière' via the road to Aquitaine.  

photo by courtesy of www.vintageholidays.co.auk

By the time we were beyond Paris' city limits, it was well past lunchtime.  We were exhausted and testy, but still had miles to go before we slept. Most of us were thus were eager to keep driving and make up for lost time.  

Our drivers vetoed our idea, stopping instead beside a picturesque field where we enjoyed a picnic meal. After lunch, our drivers again shopped for the food and supplies we would need when we stopped for the night. 

photo by kind courtesy of girlsguidetoparis.com/archives/best-cycling-workout-in-paris

That pause in our day was a wise decision.  All around us lay broad, flat fields basking in warm spring sunshine, reminding us that we were now on holiday and thus were supposed to be enjoying ourselves.

We resumed our journey, an hour later, more relaxed, with full bellies and much improved dispositions.

We followed the Aquitaine Road south to Orleans, then headed in a south-westerly direction to the outskirts of Bordeaux. 
photo by kind courtesy of: http://qingdaoschoolhub.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/bordeaux.png

By the time we finally set up camp outside Bordeaux that night, it was way too late to eat a full evening meal. So we were most grateful for the recent purchases of cold meats and salad veggies which we ate with baguettes, apples and a couple of dessert cheeses, all washed down with a couple of bottles of local wine!   

Délicieux!! 

Section 3 - Chapter 3: 

 From Bordeaux thru the Pyrenees Mtns. 

to San Sebastian, Spain

Landslides, Little Richard and Loud Laughter in 

My Road to Morocco - Day 3