300. A taste of freedom

On the dining table, an impressive assortment of crates and baskets, piles of crockery and dry goods that could keep us going for days on end. I am so taken with the whole thing that I forget that we are going to travel only for two weeks and in truly-conquered territory. For the last three weeks I have been reading web articles such as How to pack a wagon, How to survive along the Oregon trail, How to store dry foods and Fifty nourishing campfire recipes from 1865 and I even found such reading truly enlightening. 

'You're taking Champagne!' Baby shouts at us, horrified at the sight of her father trying to squeeze bottles of Champagne into the small refrigerator.

The others have sent us brief messages and have decided it would be better if they did not witness the departure of their parents for what they consider a ridiculous venture. Until today they could pretend it was just a crazy idea, or even one of these tales that their dad would make up just to wind them up. But as we are actually on our way, leaving the four of them behind they now have the confirmation for what they've been suspecting for years: their parents are a) the worst parents in the world, b) definitely not normal people. So Miss Organiser is in Paris, Miss Muddy-Boots is planning to whisk Baby away to Barcelona (somebody has to) and our son is off to 'sleep and eat for a week' at his grand-parents' home somewhere in Devon, England. 

'Freedom!' My husband clamours with undisguised enthusiasm.

ROOOOOOOAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR goes the big engine of the big vehicle, the noise bouncing off the walls each side of our narrow street. I am truly disappointed when I realise that none of the neighbours are lining up the street, waving us good bye from their windows with little colourful flags in their hands. I make a mental note to let them know in advance when we'll be off for the true TGA.

The engine roars its way onto our first ferry and even manages to purr along the motorway. It attracts looks and waves from  people in cars passing us ...

Mid-afternoon, as planned, we meet up with a friend we have not seen for many years. We take our first off-road driving test up a very steep narrow country track and as the car shakes and tosses and tumbles its way up, I feel like an onion in a wok. The ground is wet and mud is sent splashing all over the car and big dollops of wet soil land on the windscreen. Low branches knock against the rooftop and the banging resonates inside the small cabin. My husband is concentrating on the driving. Will we reach to top field? Can the vehicle pass the test? I'm reminded of a time long ago when my husband took my mother for a spin in a similar vehicle and nearly killed her.

We reach our friend's 'top field' in no time at all and take in the wonderful view stretching below us for miles. The sheep come and greet us and watch us as we set the table and chairs under the canopy (our friends has put a small wooden patio and holds parties up here in the top field). The picnic basket looks perfect in this setting. The Champagne goes pop and the cork goes flying somewhere under the clear starry sky. I briefly wonder if a sheep could choke on such a cork ... We sit up there in the top field drinking and eating and talking. The feeling is wonderful and I think our holiday is off to a brilliant start. 

In the morning I take a long walk to admire the view from the 'top field' and after getting some advice on how to negotiate the down drive we set off again. We do not slide all over the place nor skid into trees. When we reached the bottom of the track and get to the T-junction where the main road starts I take my post as the trusted navigator). 

'Head West.' I say. 'Just keep heading West.'