Our hosts kindly put us up for the night. In my cosy little room I became aware of a steely dawn filtering through the window. Hmmm.... must be early I thought, and turned over. A doze later revealed a much brighter light, so I checked the time - 05:23. Too early to rise, I thought, and I dozed fitfully until I gave up and just climbed out of bed. It was 07:30. Whilst in the bathroom, I gazed over the wooded hill in the distance across a valley. A mist swirled around it and spiralled down into the valley below. What a marvellous, evocative view. I was envious of this appealing outlook over the back garden. In my two-dimensional land in Suffolk, my horizon is the nearest hedge.
Niall was already up and firing on all cylinders. He gave us his farewells, and dashed off to earn his crust, tea and fruit in hand. Thank God I don't have to do that anymore I thought.
Tony, Liz and I chatted over breakfast about the multitude of animals that invade the garden, and about family events, often a never ending string of concerns. We all seem to have these challenges in life, be it with children or parents. As we chatted, my eyes were often drawn back to the hill. The warmth of the sun had banished the mist to reveal a golden mound of cereal crowned with a mop of woodland. What a glorious sight - sheer escapism.
But, we had a ferry to catch, and after a quick farewell to Liz, we headed across to Dover. The Satnav carefully chose the most obscure, inconvenient route imaginable, through narrow lanes, small villages, and large towns. Tony fondly called the Satnav Jane, I kept my name for the device to myself.
Because of the propane we were carrying in three of the tanks, we needed an extra level of administration to be conducted at the port. This went smoothly. Indeed, because of multiple balloon meets occurring simultaneously on the continent, there would be many more balloonists negotiating this hurdle over the next few days.
It was a hazy, hot day as we crossed a flat calm English Channel sprinkled with a few yachts whose sails hung limply. This was totally different to the sail across the North Sea that I had experienced some weeks earlier.
Once on the continent at Calais, Tony's strategy was to avoid the expensive French toll roads. So we headed up the coast to Dunkerque, a slow crawl due to road works. Then it was a long haul across to Lille, Namur and Luxembourg. These highways were very busy, in fact so busy that they obviously never had time to fill in the potholes. Endless convoys of trucks from many European countries sped along to keep the wheels of industry turning. The temperature outside steadily climbed to 36 degrees; inside I was starting to get goose-bumps from the air-conditioning.
Once into Luxembourg territory we replenished our diesel. Luxembourg seems to be the place where people call in for cheap fuel, liquor and cigarettes. Tony explained to me that the tax system in this country rendered such commodities as cheap, hence its reputation as a universal pit stop.
Then it was an hour's sprint to Saarbrücken Ost, our first stop over. We arrived late at the IBIS hotel, and checked in. "Are there any restaurants around here?" I asked the man on reception duty. "There are towards the centre of town," he replied indicating the direction where we should head, "It is 15 minutes walk, but you must hurry since many of them will be closing now."
I thanked the man, and we stepped out. The streets were empty. Our location was a mixture of residential properties with an occasional shop, one displaying wedding attire for brides and grooms next door to a pawnbroker. Graffiti abounded. We marched in the direction of town, passing one or two eating establishments that were already closed. Like a beacon, lights blazed out of a corner building 200m further on. We were drawn to it like moths. Avoiding a tram whose colour blended in well with the background mirk, we crossed the street to discover it was a pizza/kebab eatery, and it appeared to be our only option.
The small, wizened man who did all the "cooking" muttered something incoherent to us. I responded by asking him about the pizza options, but I gathered from the grunts and series of head shakes that pizzas were no longer an option. He seemed to suggest a concoction of kebab meat and salad. We were hungry and not in a position to negotiate, so we indicated an affirmative to his suggestion, and grabbed a beer from his chiller to wash it down with.
We were the only two customers, but the food was perfectly adequate. On the way out I called out, "Allahaismarladik!", to which the old man and his son cheerily replied, "Allahaismarladik! Güle güle," confirming they were Turkish.
Sleep was most welcome.
