Too Close to Home. Thursday 11th October - East London

With nothing in particular that we wanted to see and five days to see it in, there didn’t seem to be any point in battling the rush hour crowds in our first foray into the City.  The more we thought about it, the less inclined we were to venture beyond the East End.  

Given that we had a few necessary purchases to make to see us comfortably through the next week, we headed for what for Antipodean visitors must be the Capital of déjà vu, the Westfield Stratford Centre.

For just a moment we thought we had stepped uncomfortably back into Westfield Chermside, where we had failed to find the things that we were looking for before our departure five months ago.  Just why we supposed that things would be different here cannot be easily explained, but those same simple items of clothing which were missing from the same branded department stores at home, were missing from here too and to add further insult our loyalty cards were not recognised either.  At least we didn’t have to pay for parking.

Back in Dear Old Blighty. Wednesday 10th October - Sint Idisbald to London

Ria kindly volunteered to drive us to Dunkirk, where we’d catch our first train of the day.  Just before we arrived there however, we had that sort of conversation that happens when someone offers the last slice of cake, and the other, knowing they “really shouldn’t” reaches out and takes it anyway.

The end result of that is that we found ourselves being whisked directly to Lille, leaving at least an hour extra in our schedule, and plenty of bonus time for just one more cup of coffee and just one more round of farewell hugs before descending into the tunnel that marked the beginning of our new adventure.

Hardly an hour later, with the soft embers of summer still glowing softly in our memories, we emerged into the bustle and chaos of the Big Smoke.   We were back in Old Blighty!

Take a Big Deep Breath. Tuesday 9th October - Sint Idisbald

With our boat safely tucked up for the winter, our bags packed, three of our four hands in perfect working condition and a modicum of movement returning to the other one, we had plenty of time this morning to tidy our minds and paperwork, and take some big deep breaths to ready ourselves for the next few weeks.

With that complete and our heads as clear as the blue sky above, there seemed to be no reason not to wander off to Koksijde for one last look at the coast of Belgium for this year, a spot of foraging among the fresh seafood outlets that seem to dot that part of the coast.

Thankfully our foraging was far more successful than our attempt to visit Koksijde’s “Star Chamber, the suspended globe in the City Hall Building which holds the actual Council Chamber. It was probably just as well that we avoided this distraction with the day being as warm as it was, and being laden as we were with a bag full of fresh shrimp and crabs destined to become the basis of our splendid "farewell to Belgium" dinner for this year.

Buitenbeentje. Monday 8th October - Diksmuide to Sint Idisbald

Getting up at the crack of dawn doesn’t seem to be such a big ask when it happens at eight, but the cumulated effects of the last several days had taken their toll, and neither of our bodies were quite as willing to move as efficiently as our minds said they should.

While the one who normally gets things done so efficiently set to work on her final bits and pieces, the other of us with all of the “heavy” blokey jobs still to do, but with a precise plan to work without ceasing or stress, inflicted a small but somewhat recalcitrant wound in the back of his hand.  A few plaster stitches and a visit to the doctor for a compression dressing fixed the bleeding.  Having often boasted that he could do these jobs with one hand tied behind his back, his day of reckoning had arrived.

Meanwhile the small army at Buitenbeentje (pronounced something not at all like “Bert’n’Benjie”) were not suffering such procrastination. With thirty boats to lift, clean and store the team were working with such precision that one would have been forgiven for thinking they were in a country with much higher hills than Belgium has.  Before we could say “well that’s that then”, “Max” and “Joyeux” were safely tucked up for the winter, and their owners had retreated into that wave of silence and exhaustion that marks the end of every grand adventure.

Well everyone has to eat. Sunday 7th October - Diksmuide

The motorhomes moved quietly away some time in the morning, so late that it was actually the afternoon, like lizards looking for a new sunny spot. 

We tried to focus on the task in hand, with the tune of another deadline dancing by playing in the background.  Consoled by the thought that we had until three tomorrow afternoon to get all done, we knocked off early so we could go out to dinner with Dave and Ria and a few of their Flemish boatie friends.

In our life, two weeks seems like a year but it had only been two weeks since we stayed beside the (closed) restaurant at Stavele.   This time we successfully gained entry to be greeted by the owner, Iris, something of a national celebrity who blamed the closure on her one week holiday in London where she took the time, she said, to learn to speak English.  “Eclectic” is not a big enough word to describe the interior of her restaurant, nor is there a word that’s big enough to encompass her.  It is suffice to say that Belgium is not in fear of invasion while they have a force the size of Iris to repel it.   

We were in bed before midnight, just! (sigh), if we somehow we can an uninterrupted run at packing up tomorrow we’ll be OK.

Party Party Party. Saturday 6th October - Diksmuide

The occupants of both motorhomes slowly emerged into the daylight at a time many may have been sitting down to lunch.  We on the other hand had been up and about bright eyed and bushy tailed (in the absence of any witnesses to declare otherwise), for at least enough time to tidy the boat in readiness for the next onslaught.

Any thought of making actual progress on our wintering and packing were forgotten entirely mid afternoon when we realised that with the arrival of Dave and Ria, quantities of food being prepared by the other mob, and a chocolate cake in our oven, we had the makings of a proper party.  Packing could wait.  After all we still have tomorrow.

Time flies when you are having fun, Apparently. After a night of what could only be described as rollicking good times, though quite possibly at times the Americans were more befuddled by the Australians than the Belgians were, we found ourselves reluctantly waving everyone off at about the same time that we realised that we no longer had tomorrow to pack.  Tomorrow was already well upon us.

The Attack of the Camping Cars. Friday 5th October - Diksmuide

Let’s not beat around the bush, one of us is a much more proficient procrastinator than the other. Therefore with three full days left to clean and repair and pack stuff away, rewiring the boat’s heating system seemed like a perfect diversion for him.

Then not entirely unexpectedly, David and Belinda showed up in their monster truck, and Joel and Cindy at the time still two countries away, reckoned they’d be joining us by afternoon tea time.   Naturally the one of us not inverted in the bilge holding bits of heater in his teeth decided that everyone would be hungry, so she quite rightly put packing on hold and fired up the stove.

Such a good time was had by all, and for such a long time that there was no risk of either of the occupants of the motorhomes (who had no packing to do) seeing the beauty of the sunrise the following morning.