Read what happened before: Day 5
I lay in bed, another triple room, another cheap hotel. This time I was on a childs bed, tucked away in the corner of a room that if you had to describe in one word, you’d describe as “borstal”. I could hear roadworks on the motorway. They seemed very loud. Then I realised that is wasn’t roadworks, it was Al snoring. What a start to the day. We showered and dropped our stuff in the van, before going to a nearby McDonalds for breakfast. Slightly embarrassed admission: McDonalds breakfast is actually not that bad.
Back on the road at 8am, and finally we were out of Germany and into Belgium. We discovered that Liege had yet another name, though by this point I really couldn’t have cared less. We powered on, stopping at a service station with revolving toilet seats and an aisle full of waffles in the shop. The miles (or kilometres) were ticking down. We passed Brussels, just as much a shithole as on the way out. Finally we crossed back into Frogland, and to Calais.
Calais is crap. We chatted with the eurotunnel staff and visited the duty free shop, which was populated by the worst kind of english people. I wanted to run away and live somewhere – anywhere – in Europe and be all cultured and European and stuff. Okay, maybe not anywhere. I wouldn’t live in Brussels. Eventually we got to leave, and shuffled onto the eurotunnel, and back to the UK.
After a whole 6 days abroad, we had forgotten which side of the road to drive on, and it felt weird to be back on the correct side. Still, we followed some faceless motorway back to London, realising that we were close to home when we saw a Morley’s chicken shop.
Bernie had prepared soup for us, and on arrival, we emptied and swept the van, then tucked in to the soup while Bernie returned the van. Amazingly, and despite crashing it 4 times, we got the full deposit back. All that was left was to try to get ourselves, plus bikes, bags and copious duty free booze back to our respective homes.
The duty free booze didn’t make it past that evening.