Back in the sultry days of summer when the thermometers were recording 35 degrees in the shade, our German friends, Herr and Frau S- invited us to stay with them in the south German town of W-.
Herr S-: 'Ve have stayed several times in your gites. Now you must come and stay with us in our house.'
The Comte and I felt unable to disobey such a direct invitation, so we suggested we might come for the Christmas markets.
la Chatelaine, reassuring herself: 'You do have Christmas markets, near you?'
Herr S-: 'Of course. Ve have the best Christmas markets in the whole of Germany.'
Of course. Excellent.
The other reason for going (apart from the fact that we had become good friends with Herr & Frau S- and were genuinely interested in visiting) was that we were hoping to foster the relationship between Princess 2 and young Master S- who was showing all the signs of growing into a very sensible and pleasant young man. With girls you simply have to think ahead. (Le Comte has promised them an acre each as a dowry, but Princess 1 has claimed the acre with the pool).
The appointed visiting time arrived last Friday with forecasts of neige on every weather website. It looked as if we might have chosen an unpromising weekend for our expedition. The Comte hahed and hummed. If we made it to W- would we make it back again? Would the Princesses' Christmas flight to dear old Angleterre from the nearby airport of St- actually take off, or would they be doomed to spend Christmas in the Black Forest eating cake with the Family S- and an elderly aunt?
Bravely, le Comte decided to take the risk. We packed the car with flasks and soup and sleeping bags and snow boots and ski coats and... about 80% of the contents of the Chateau, in fact and set off in the early hours of Friday morning - an English family in a Spanish plated car, driving through France to visit friends in Germany. We felt pretty international.
The estimated journey length was 895km. After 65km we hit the A7, the Autoroute du Soleil, and it started to snow. The snowing continued for the next 750km. We drove through landscapes of white on roads of sludge. Don't get me wrong, white is fine, but in context, you understand. And the prefered context is on a Christmas card, or at the very least when one is snug inside ones Chateau looking out. We crossed the Plain of Ain, and saw no one. We traversed the Forest of Chailluz - no one there either. Road signs warned us of deer and wild boar, but I wouldn't have been surprised to learn of fauns and talking beaver too. In short, we drove through lots of cold, white places, some flat and some bumpy, until eventually, after many hours of following snow ploughs and crawling along icy roads, we crossed the Rhine and entered Deutschland (hurray!). Then the map ran out and we got lost.
la Chatelaine, tetchily: 'We should have bought a map of Germany.'
le Comte: 'Nonsense, we have the Sat nav and the mappy directions.'
la Chatelaine: 'But the Sat Nav and the mappy directions are not sending us the same way.'
le Comte - through tight lips: 'Choose one way and follow that.'
la Chatelaine: 'How am I supposed to decide?!'
And I couldn't decide. Which was best? With no map how could I know? Luckily help was at hand. As we made an unexpected detour through a local town a woman waved a placard at us from the window of a passing car: Halt Polizei, it read.
Le Comte nodded wearily and pulled over. I suppose we must have looked mildly suspicious. I think we were driving the only Spanish car in the whole of Germany.
The Polizeis examined our passports and those of the Princesses. 'Fine,' they said, 'Have a nice day. You do not seem to be drug smugglers.' (They didn't actually say that, you understand. But that was obviously what they thought. And they were right. All we had were two Beechams powders incase Princess 1 got a cold) '
'We can't,' I said, sadly. 'We're lost. We need to get to our friends the S-'s in the town of W-. before nightfall.'
The Polizeis smiled kindly and pointed in the opposite direction to that which we had been heading. 'Zis vay,' they explained.
Excellent.
But we still went three times round Stuttgart and when, for the severalth time, I sent le Comte the wrong way, I felt it might be prudent to phone Herr S- and ask to be rescued before we needed Relate.
Large Germans driving two tons of steel Mercedes can appear intimidating in certain circumstances, but when they come to your rescue they look like they could slay any number of dragons. All this one did was suggest we follow him home, but that was just as good. And there was Frau S- with the young Master S and daughter S- all waiting for us with hot chocolate and hot dinner.
Excellent.
By this time it was minus 10 in the shade, so the fire was lit and the shutters drawn while we checked the weather websites and read of record low temperatures across northern Europe. Le Comte and I felt we had chosen a particularly interesting weekend for our expedition.
Excellent.
Herr S-: 'Ve have stayed several times in your gites. Now you must come and stay with us in our house.'
The Comte and I felt unable to disobey such a direct invitation, so we suggested we might come for the Christmas markets.
la Chatelaine, reassuring herself: 'You do have Christmas markets, near you?'
Herr S-: 'Of course. Ve have the best Christmas markets in the whole of Germany.'
Of course. Excellent.
The other reason for going (apart from the fact that we had become good friends with Herr & Frau S- and were genuinely interested in visiting) was that we were hoping to foster the relationship between Princess 2 and young Master S- who was showing all the signs of growing into a very sensible and pleasant young man. With girls you simply have to think ahead. (Le Comte has promised them an acre each as a dowry, but Princess 1 has claimed the acre with the pool).
The appointed visiting time arrived last Friday with forecasts of neige on every weather website. It looked as if we might have chosen an unpromising weekend for our expedition. The Comte hahed and hummed. If we made it to W- would we make it back again? Would the Princesses' Christmas flight to dear old Angleterre from the nearby airport of St- actually take off, or would they be doomed to spend Christmas in the Black Forest eating cake with the Family S- and an elderly aunt?
Bravely, le Comte decided to take the risk. We packed the car with flasks and soup and sleeping bags and snow boots and ski coats and... about 80% of the contents of the Chateau, in fact and set off in the early hours of Friday morning - an English family in a Spanish plated car, driving through France to visit friends in Germany. We felt pretty international.
The estimated journey length was 895km. After 65km we hit the A7, the Autoroute du Soleil, and it started to snow. The snowing continued for the next 750km. We drove through landscapes of white on roads of sludge. Don't get me wrong, white is fine, but in context, you understand. And the prefered context is on a Christmas card, or at the very least when one is snug inside ones Chateau looking out. We crossed the Plain of Ain, and saw no one. We traversed the Forest of Chailluz - no one there either. Road signs warned us of deer and wild boar, but I wouldn't have been surprised to learn of fauns and talking beaver too. In short, we drove through lots of cold, white places, some flat and some bumpy, until eventually, after many hours of following snow ploughs and crawling along icy roads, we crossed the Rhine and entered Deutschland (hurray!). Then the map ran out and we got lost.
la Chatelaine, tetchily: 'We should have bought a map of Germany.'
le Comte: 'Nonsense, we have the Sat nav and the mappy directions.'
la Chatelaine: 'But the Sat Nav and the mappy directions are not sending us the same way.'
le Comte - through tight lips: 'Choose one way and follow that.'
la Chatelaine: 'How am I supposed to decide?!'
And I couldn't decide. Which was best? With no map how could I know? Luckily help was at hand. As we made an unexpected detour through a local town a woman waved a placard at us from the window of a passing car: Halt Polizei, it read.
Le Comte nodded wearily and pulled over. I suppose we must have looked mildly suspicious. I think we were driving the only Spanish car in the whole of Germany.
The Polizeis examined our passports and those of the Princesses. 'Fine,' they said, 'Have a nice day. You do not seem to be drug smugglers.' (They didn't actually say that, you understand. But that was obviously what they thought. And they were right. All we had were two Beechams powders incase Princess 1 got a cold) '
'We can't,' I said, sadly. 'We're lost. We need to get to our friends the S-'s in the town of W-. before nightfall.'
The Polizeis smiled kindly and pointed in the opposite direction to that which we had been heading. 'Zis vay,' they explained.
Excellent.
But we still went three times round Stuttgart and when, for the severalth time, I sent le Comte the wrong way, I felt it might be prudent to phone Herr S- and ask to be rescued before we needed Relate.
Large Germans driving two tons of steel Mercedes can appear intimidating in certain circumstances, but when they come to your rescue they look like they could slay any number of dragons. All this one did was suggest we follow him home, but that was just as good. And there was Frau S- with the young Master S and daughter S- all waiting for us with hot chocolate and hot dinner.
Excellent.
By this time it was minus 10 in the shade, so the fire was lit and the shutters drawn while we checked the weather websites and read of record low temperatures across northern Europe. Le Comte and I felt we had chosen a particularly interesting weekend for our expedition.
Excellent.
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