topsls and turvls.

Now, to those of you who are efficient, you may be marvelling at the ridiculous inefficiencies of our journey.

I mean, who flies into Luxembourg to go to Ireland? And who buys a van in Ireland when they really want to be in France? I can see that it's all a bit daft, but that's how travel goes.

See, we bought the van because we fell in love with it after I'd read online that it's good to buy your campervan in the UK. Now, Ireland is NOT the UK. And it really never occurred to me that  it would be so incredibly nearly impossible to insure a van in Ireland, but I'm finding out that it may, actually, be nearly impossible. I mean, who came up with these daft plans?

Ah well, it's called following my heart, I suppose. Our hearts, since every decision has been discussed with Yarrow (don't tell Clara, but though we pretend to take her opinion into account and obey her as much as possible, actually, we didn't understand her opinion at all).

So now we have the epic experience of transporting 300 pounds of luggage including two cats from Canada to Germany to Luxembourg to Metz by plane plane bus and train within 24 hours, and then of hauling it across France as well -- without arguing. Yarrow's a dream to travel with, he really is. We've both determined that this is what we're going to do and so doing it is a proud strong happy thing to do.

And then we had lovely friendly help hauling it which was lovely lovely too. When you get to practice your French and being a traveller in a place you want to be in, everything feels really, really good. Like today I was walking back from the ferry to the hotel to return the key we forgot to give back, and some people asked me where they could buy bread, and having spent a couple of days in town, I could tell them. In French. :) Which felt nice. I think they must have sailed in on a boat and were looking for some nosh.

It's just so nice to interact with people.

And it's so nice to see people parenting WELL. Dignified little kids out in pubs or dinner, with the adults, expected to behave like adults. Just like I raised Yarrow, but which is so rare in Canada. And nicely raised dogs too, mostly.

I just loved watching the people and being in France. Loved it.

Having said we're cheerful lugging the luggage... backtracking with said ridiculous amount of luggage would be less fun. I sure hope that Yarrow's optimism pans out and we find a way to insure Gigi. Anyway, tomorrow we're renting a car to take the ridiculous luggage to the van and find out the state of her. Maybe the man who's storing her will know some insurance miracles, or the nice wwoofing man who said that he would be willing to help. I talked to an Irish dad on the way over who said his son went off to Australia for 3 years and is now having a miserable time getting insurance himself, and that one possibility would have been for the dad to own the van and name the son as a driver. So maybe some solution like that will work out. We shall see so we shall.

After renting the car, the first thing will be to get a better potty accommodation for the cats, who have gone on strike against the some-litter-on-pee-pad arrangement. This is a bit of a serious worry actually. Their poor wee bladders must hurt by now.

The second thing will be to try to get an Irish SIM card for the telephone. And the third thing is to go see Gigi and pay the man who has been storing her for us.

FOOD:
It needs to be said, eating in France was heaven really it was. I was rather incredulous at the pictorial menu when I boarded the ship, showing meat pies and synthetic-looking jellies. Just yesterday we were restraining ourselves from buying too many delicious provencal sausages and fruits confits (Because there's only so much one can eat, even when it's French food, as we have learned in the past when we bought too much food at a market.)

The ladies at the cafeteria gave Yarrow his pork chop dinner at kids' price of 7 Euros. He came back saying it was quite good but was incredulous that they ACTUALLY had mushy peas, and not by mistake but on purpose they had made the peas mushy and neon green. I told him I loved mushy peas (perhaps exaggerating) and saying he ought to have tried them, but, really, French food heaven is officially over as I've eaten the little pack of stinky cheese with baguette and rose wine.

oh -- just before we left the Ambassadeur Hotel in Cherbourg, I had some Normandie... um, something. With apples and calvados. I had asked the friendly hotel woman what the red aperitif was that I saw so many people drinking last night, she suggested maybe raspberry syrup in cider. Ick, sounded too sucre, but knowing the French it probably tastes great. Anyway, the apple stuff with Calvados, regional Normandy specialty, was splendid.

And. French food heaven officially over for now.