Space Train to the UK

It’s on. We have the third leg of our triple-crossing of the EU. There’s a big difference running around in everyone’s brains as we take on this leg of the journey- English tongues live at our finishing point. And so we put our minds on hibernate, store all out dankes, dakojems, and mercis in our luggage, and plow forward. Well, right after we go find Charlie wandering around the corn labyrinth under the creepy eye of a clown bouncy-bouncy.

There is a Volkswagon family reunion at one of our petrol pull offs.

None of us have ever traveled across the channel on the vehicle transport, so we follow the suggestions printed on our ticket and get there a couple hours before hand, just in case there’s some hold up. We arrive and the place is jam-packed. Every train before us and after us is sold out thanks to one of the transports having been canceled. So we dutifully wait for our number to be called in the terminal and decide that for our last moments in France, we should try France’s version of McDonalds- Quick. BBE has been avoiding Quick for the sole reason that, due to stiff competition from Quick, there is no BK in the whole of France. I get an Intense Milk Shake and Quick’s version of the Big Mac. I can’t say I’ll be indulging in Quick again. I won’t say it’s terrible, but it’s definitely not good. It’s no BK.

Of course, we are detained at Customs, and for far, far too long. The time for our train departure comes and goes, and we wonder when, if ever we’re going to get to England. The only thing distracting us is the other car held at Customs. The driver decided enough was enough and got out of his car (despite signs that tell you to absolutely do no such thing) and started screaming at the Customs workers. As they scream back, he says “FINE. ARREST ME” over and over. His kids and wife/girlfriend are in the car. Classy dude.

Loading onto the train is absolutely sci-fi. The cover of darkness removes all the peripheral scenery from sight, so all we can see is flocks of lights burning in different tones of white and yellow. We are ushered slowly into our train car, and I wonder if I’m actually getting onto a space freighter to another world. Come to think of it, the UK is kind of like a screwy parallel universe to my American reality.