I'll say it right from the start, today was not our best day of travelling. We don't want to believe it ourselves, but we do have them.
The mood is so-so, we have run out of water, the national park is rainy and we are haphazard. One wants to hike, one doesn't want to hike. One is hungry, one is out of cereal. Mimimi.
So we bob through the most beautiful national park and end up in Portmeiron. Here, unfortunately, things continue just as grumpy. The parking situation is more than unsatisfactory, we get lost in a super narrow and steep cul-de-sac with oncoming traffic - sure, what else - and the tone could be described as irritable. And the bridge we wanted to cross later turns out to be a wooden pedestrian bridge.
Great. Preferably: Check off the day and start again tomorrow.
But things turn out differently, as they often do.
We park Felix in the huge and completely overpriced tourist car park, pay for two hours and we move. Air. Fresh air. Movement and beach. I pick several blackberries and rose hips. I eat almost half of the blackberries and get a stomach ache on top of it.
So after I have to find a loo and we are still hungry anyway, we sit down in one of those pretty promenade cafés and order really mega-good food.
It starts to rain, we get wet. Gerd asks the couple at the sun-shaded neighbouring table if we can join them. Sure, sit down!
We get to talk to incredibly friendly, knowledgeable, well-travelled and cosmopolitan people. We chat and discuss. Countries. Politics. Love. Family. Nature. Once topics around the world. Time passes, we order the second cappuccino, simply because we enjoy the time together and somehow it is not meant to end.
They report that during the first Corona year, instead of burying their heads in the sand, they simply bought a B'n'B, converted it and opened it. Guests? No, that wasn't possible, it was lockdown. And so, after the lockdowns, they then started it slowly, are now very satisfied and in fact fully booked until shortly before Christmas. Chapeau!
One thing is funny, though: during our conversation he keeps looking at his smartphone, uneasily, we find. When he notices that it is not as inconspicuous as he suspected, he reports: the Queen is unwell, they expect her imminent demise. And he is sad. He does not know any more than most why he is so sad. But the Queen has somehow always been there, so if she dies now, something will be missing.
You and I still don't really understand the monarchy thing, but we realise that many (not all!) Britons grew up with the system and are now helpless in the face of the situation. And the only thing you can do: be with her and her relatives in your thoughts.
At some point the last cappuccino is drunk, the rain gets heavier and heavier, the parasol doesn't keep out everything we think it should, and we say goodbye. Full of gratitude for the wonderful afternoon we spent together, we trot back to Felix's place - by now reconciled with ourselves and our lives again (hopefully no one has noticed that the two hours have turned into something more!)
We spend the evening walking and relaxing at a secluded campsite with the best sunset on the islands, listening to the BBC for the info: The Queen had died today at Balmoral.
Merci for "travelling with us
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New lecture in Muri near Bern.
10 November 2023 - Start 7 pm, door opening 6:45 pm
RoomZoom - Thunstrasse 162 - 33074 Muri b. Bern
We are happy to pay CHF 20 per person. Kids listen for free.
Registration please by e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org
Road trip realities
How we manage to live in the van
Leben pur! Unterwegs. Whether at icy -30 °C in the Lapland winter or in the sand of the Tunisian desert, whether in the left-hand traffic of England or along picturesque dream coasts of Europe. Whether in the hot summer of Turkey or in the "interesting" traffic of Georgia.
We report on frozen sliding doors, living together on 9.5 square metres, the inevitable sand in the desert and unforgettable ferry trips. We look at how we make do with little and still have way too much.