While it is still fresh in my mind, let me write the details of David & Marcin Excellent Adventure, or how we crossed the continent and learn how to love the white van.
The direct route between Cambridge, UK and Gliwice, PL seemed to be boring, so we decided to make it more interesting by going via Burgundy and picking up some vine. And it so happened that my sister Kasia and her husband Olek were in Prague, so we added this glorious city to our route. [Here we should say a warm thank you to John, our navigator - ie Simon's TomTom with the voice of John Cleease, and of course to Simon!]
Thus with route established, the planning was done. After finishing my job at dragonmobility and a lovely lunch at the customary Old Spring on Friday, a wonderful Tori and Andy’s wedding on Saturday, a delicious goodbye lunch cooked by Janet on Sunday, packing all day and a quiet dinner with Bella in the Rupert Brook on Monday, we picked up the van from Hertz on Tuesday. It was supposed to be short-wheel-base Ford Transit; in reality it was medium-wheel-base with extended roof and a siren (does anyone have a photo?). After packing it with all the boxes and saying final goodbye to few friends who came to say ‘BYE’ (in a not very loud voice) we started our travel in the early afternoon.
The first leg of the journey was from Cambridge to Calais where we got a ferry. The crossing was quite bumpy and the coffee on the ferry (in the le pub) was vile. Also the shop had a near non-existent whisky selection to both my and David’s dismay. After arriving on the french soil David carried on driving and got us to Saint Quentin. We stayed in a cheap (very cheap) 
B&B (name) hotel. It was somewhat a surreal experience – automatic check-in that issued us a number which was our key. A self-service machine with a microwave and not a sight of other human, or even an animal. We tried to get some food, but the semi-local Buffalo Grill was closed. We were reduced to walking 0.5km to the nearby McDonalds, which closed five minutes before we reached it (probably for the best). We returned to our hotel, feasted on yummy cake that Janet provided which was our starter, main course and dessert and went to sleep.
On the second day we got up early and set to drive to Dijon. Thanks to John we reached it fine. My driving was OK, apart from parking – first I tried to go to a garage which was too low for our high-horse of a car (should have read the signs earlier and not be surprised by a height restriction at the entrance) and then reversing from the entryway to the too-small garage I reshaped french ‘no-entry’ sign and took some french red paint on our van for the rest of the journey. The second attempt at parking was more successful and we have abandoned the van and set of to see some of Dijon. After crossing the same street few times and being undecided we made our mind to have a luncheon in La Ruelle on 8, ruelle Quentin. David had a most tender fillet steak in a pastry, and I enjoyed a tartar de boeuf with a robust salad.
Having satisfied our hunger we thought it better to consider where we are going to stay the night and buy wine. The first plan was to find a wine merchant and ask his advice. However we could not find one – all the ones we saw when we were on the lookout for a pleasant restaurant seemed to disappear and got replaced by a dozens of restaurants, all which seemed new to us, unnoticed before. Finally, after getting lost on the way to our van, we stumbled into a local tourist office where a most friendly and helpful woman gave us maps, recommended a village and booked us a hotel therein. Having fed the co-ordinates to John we reached the picturesque village of Morey-Saint-Dennis soon after.
After settling in the hotel, we took a walk through the vineyards and returned to the village to buy some wine. After tasting few different houses we settled on a selection of Grand Cru, 1er Cru and communales from Pierre Amiot et Fils. I failed to resist temptation to purchase a Grand Cru from Clos des Lambrays. It should mature in 3 years time; will be kept for a special occasion. It was fascinating to walk through different fields and then be able to taste the wine produced just few hundreds yards from the them. After getting the cases into the van we took our bikes and cycled up the local hill and then back to the village. We decided to have a drink and a snack and we stumbled upon a charming hotel – Castel de Tres Girard where we had a most delicious local grand cru and thus I finished my alcohol fast.
The next day was taken mostly by driving. We had a delicious french breakfast in our hotel, a quick german lunch in Schwaben (I had a schnitzel and David a wurst) and finally a dinner in Prague with Kasia and Olek. Exhausted we returned to our hotel about midnight and went to sleep.
The next day we set off towards Poland. Despite being told by John on few occasions that we were driving in the middle of a field (obviously Czechs build their roads very quickly) we reached the border and without much problem entered my homeland. We arrive in Wroclaw in time for a late lunch in an italian restaurant on the market square. (It should be noted that I had a delicate medalions of veal, David enjoyed a well-balanced lasagne, Kasia had a pronounced cheese soup and Olek, I think, had a salad. We also had a delicate and skilfully composed zabaglione for dessert). We left Wroclaw and quickly reached Gliwice, where we were welcomed by my parents. After cutting the welcome a bit short we swapped the cars and David and myself went in my Skoda for Good Friday service at my church.
And thus: Cambridge, UK, Tue 13:30 — Gliwice, PL, Fri 17:45. I am home.
Well … I don’t do gardening. Janet knows that – and she tried to enthuse me to look after the garden at 80AS. My parents know that – I do not partake in discussions about what to put in the flower bed or what is best for shrubs. You know that. Don’t think I do not appreciate the beauty of a well kept garden, I do. But somehow I prefer if it to happen ‘magically’, without input from me.
Poetic prose is not a genre that I have tasted, sampled much. So not knowing what exactly to expect I have bravely read By Grand Central Station I Sat and Wept. The first two chapters overpower the reader like a most potent scent worn by a glamorous beauty. It is too much, by far. And yet one cannot help but to wish to be in the company of the text (and the beauty). And so locked in this companionship wonder if ever such passion can be encountered, and more, sustained on this side of the text. You see, the protagonist is truly consumed. Is it a hyperbole, or a mark to which we, mere mortals, should aspire?
