The ferry beckoned – ‘The Pride of Rotterdam’, built in Venice in 2001. Quite a comfortable vessel but once onboard there’s nothing to do other than eat and drink. Neither of which appeal. A three course evening meal or gargantuan ‘Full English’ are fair enough if you’re burning calories, on say a bike tour, but I’d spend the next day steering and changing gear whilst sat on my derrière. I retired early with a magazine and a salad and was soon looking at the inside of my eye lids. 

The plan was to drive to Luxembourg to collect Anna from the airport and then we’d trundle around locally in Germany and France before I’d deposit her back at the airport, she’d fly home and move I’d continue in France. We’d be in a hotel whilst she was here and I was alone I’d camp.

We didn’t disembark until past 9.15am. I walked down to the car deck whilst all the motorcyclists waddled, with difficulty, down to their motorcycles. Is being over weight mandatory to ride these powerful machines? From here it was the pointless queue for the customs chap to stamp my passport. Clearly the EU’s revenge for Brexit is characteristically bureaucratic although the official asked about my car but forgot to enquire as to whether the chassis was made of wood. The road system around the port of Rotterdam is modern but with a spaghetti of parallel roads beside or above you. I think I made two errors as I relied on Google Maps. Unfortunately (or fortunately) I was missing my ‘Little Helper’. This passenger bonus was always ready, I’d found, to offer such pearls of wisdom as ‘you’re in the wrong lane’ or ‘shouldn’t you be indicating now?’ and ‘are you thinking of turning your lights on as we go into the tunnel?’. Her real crowd pleaser is ‘the lights have turned green’. A way to deactivate this guidance is to utter the words ‘Would you like to f’ing drive?’ This guarantees silence for a little whilst while I show no contrition for continuing to take the wrong turnings!

Holland contains some lovely folk but it’s a dreary place and soon I crossed the border to Belgium. Frankly, this part of Belgium is painfully flat as well. I had plenty of time to drive toward the Luxembourg border and so I avoided motorways. This meant I followed a series of bin wagons, tractors and learner drivers through small but busy towns. This sedate progress allowed me to reflect on the two official Belgian languages: Flemish and French. I noted that all the road signs in the Flemish speaking part were in Flemish and then French in the French speaking. It seems both languages don’t need to be duplicated everywhere to satisfy the sensitivities of either party. Obviously if the language everyone speaks is English but you’re Canadian, Welsh, Irish and even some Scots then multiple gratuitous language signs are mandatory.

Having the hood down was lovely but it was hot. 30°C soon racked up and an investment in another hat seemed unavoidable or I’d become a ‘Guernsey Tom’. 

I’d cycled this route in 2019, on my way to Vienna. So I knew that as I headed south east that the hills would appear in the Ardennes. It took 150 miles before a gradient appeared. I know this because I was watching my tripometer. I was also watching my fuel gauge, however, this wasn’t revealing as it permanently read the following. 

After about 200 miles I thought I’d top Samantha up and pulled into a petrol station with automatic pumps with the instructions in French. ‘Quelle surprise’ I hear you say. Anyway a very attractive young girl was at the pump next to mine and I enquired ‘Do you speak English?’ Of course she did and set me off on the long laborious task of putting petrol into the car. It is laborious because it kicks back after every 5 seconds and it can take 10 minutes to put a decent quantity of fuel in.

I reflected later about my lady assistant being all smiley and helpful and wondered if I’d been 40 years younger would she have been as relaxed? Sadly, yet, usefully, at my age you look helpless and harmless and no threat! Eventually the campsite I’d also used in 2019 came into view and Reception was shut. Not a problem as you paid a machine (€18) and a ticket popped out with all the details including the wi-fi code. Less easy was using the password to raise the site barrier. In a right hand drive Morgan you’re on the wrong side for the barrier key pad and a 18 inches beneath it. So get out and do it that way Tony! I did and when I had got back into the car it’d shut again. I eventually gained access asking a passing bloke to punch the numbers it.

Dinner and a beer followed. Not least so I could get some change to buy a token for the shower. By 7pm it was nearly cool enough to take a shower and to stay dry afterwards. Hopefully it’s history and chicken schnitzel tomorrow. 

I suppose an ‘elephant in the room’, for this blog, is Donald Trump, I haven’t mentioned him yet although I know there won’t be a news broadcast in the UK that won’t fail to talk about him, the tariffs, Ukraine or other Trumpian initiatives. When on holiday I glance at the BBC App headlines daily and that’s about it for news interest but without any invitation the Donald has crept into our conversations with some of the natives. 

Simply put I’d say rural Americans are enthusiastic about him but urban, possibly better heeled and educated Americans, are seemingly less so. Texas is a Republican voting State though. Our Airbnb hosts in Austin were anti and the wife departed during our stay to participate in a ‘Hands Off’ protest in the middle of Austin. This march was a protest about all things right wing whether his or the Republicans attitude to the LBGTQ communities, education, abortion, Ukraine etc.  Another person we met at the Ashley McBryde concert, herself a dreary and garrulous lesbian (one of her first declarations) who unloaded her life story on us between the support act and Ashley McBryde, seldom stopping to take breath, availed us of her hostility to all things Trump. Lastly a sweet 77 year old volunteer lady, at a museum, who we struck up a conversation with about her heritage and travels embarked on comparing Trump’s regime to the Nazis and Hitler. These were all women; maybe men may feel less isolated, frightened and hostile? Anyway enough politics.

So after our San Antonio concert we saddled up for a bit of beach time and drove south to the Gulf coast, namely Corpus Christi. Here we rented a place near the beach and planned to chill and see a few sights. For all its coastal/resort charm Corpus Christi is the eighth biggest Texan city with over 300,000 residents and is quite urban and concrete. Our apartment on Padre Island was separated from the mainland by a big long bridge. We were on the first floor in a block of apartments. Beneath us lurked Stacey and her man. Stacey, nearer 40 than 30, was smashed when we passed by her apartment but she leapt out, in her bikini, and apologised profusely? We never understood why but it may have been to do with the fact they had rented our apartment prior to our arrival. In a slur she invited us join her for dinner: they were cooking, in a cauldron, a load of fish they’d caught or bought. The cauldron sat on a burner amongst assorted detritus they’d amassed beside their front door. We never responded and hurried up the stairs prophetically to her beatbox playing Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’. 

The next morning Stacey was sat near her door with white stick on patches beneath her eyes. This was to reduce puffiness she advised. Clearly the binge drinking had taken its toll. More strangely her partner was also wearing them. I couldn’t help but burst out laughing when I saw him. Again we hurried on. Our last conversation with Stacey came later in the day when she was clothed but in full make up and was outside smoking, f’ing and blinding to her partner about whatever and then took the opportunity to regale us with parts of her life story. She worked in the oil and gas industry, was clairvoyant but was currently angry that her meditation was interrupted by some noisy neighbours. We nodded sympathetically, thought privately she was no better than the neighbours and made our exit again. After midnight we heard loud music from their flat and her either singing or intermittently screaming. I suspect drugs may have been her choice later in the evening. Next morning she wasn’t outside and we slipped away glad for no further banter.

Three, happier, memorable things happened on our stay here . The first was visiting the Texan Sealife Center. These volunteers find and nurse to health turtles that come ashore ill or injured. Ill health can be because the weather affects their eating or have growths on their limbs because of a virus. Injuries occur through shark attacks or boating accidents. They can lose limbs. Some turtles are never returned to the sea as they can’t fend for themselves and become permanent residents. In the centre there were also some injured birds and even some reptiles. I found it all very heartening and thought all the youngsters we met doing this work were terrific.

Second was a visit to a WW2 aircraft carrier, the USS Lexington. This was permanently moored off the beach. It was commissioned in 1942 and was in the navy reserve up until the 1990s. It did see active service and suffered a kamikaze attack that killed 47 crew and over 130 injured. Wandering around below decks was interesting as were the selection of very steep stairwells that made me realise my aspirations of being a Jolly Jack Tar were improbable due to my decrepitude. We spent three hours up and down the vessel before departing for some tacos.

Lastly near our apartment was near a busy beach. To our horror this beach allowed vehicular access. Inevitably the trucks brought music, gazebos and BBQ’s to the sand. Heaven help turtles thinking of laying some eggs? However, further up the coast we found a beach that was deserted and walked a couple of miles where Tony played ornithology. Even better was that his phone automatically identified the species!

With Corpus Christi ticked off it was back on the interstate for a long drive north to Texas Hill Country.

After leaving Texas’ most populous city, Houston, we stayed en route to the second most populous city, San Antonio, at Schulenburg. Anna’s research had identified this Interstate stop off as quaint with painted German churches. On arrival a quick drive around revealed a ramshackle settlement that may be described as a ‘one horse town’ but ‘ohne pferd’. (One for Google Translate.) Also no painted churches that we could see. On the evening we found an Italian restaurant close by the hotel and then had an early night.

Next morning the Interstate took us to the centre of San Antonio and the Downtown area that also housed the Alamo. The Downtown area is built up but it features an exquisite set of canals that dissect restaurants and hotels. In the sunshine it looked wonderful. It seems that all these hotels accommodate conference attendees that flood into the town and conference centres. 

Nearby the Alamo was a fort that was built by the Spanish, then occupied by the Mexicans and then the Texans or Texians (as the Republic of Texas knew its citizens.) The Mexicans via a siege in February 1836 and subsequent attack retook the fort and the church with all the Texian defenders killed. They then went onto murder other combatants (a total of about 200). This proved to be a call to arms for all Texians as well as men from outside the State for the next battle. Weeks later the Mexican army met the Texians at San Jacinto and this time the Mexicans were routed with considerable loss of life (650) but little for the Texians (11). Here the Texians, via treaty, gained their independence and the Mexicans struggled home. The reality was that the Mexicans thought they’d recover Texas in due course, of course we know they didn’t.

So this location is important to Texans as a vital yet bloody event in their achievement of independence. The ‘money shot’ is the outside of the church, in the then fort grounds. On this day there were many tourists and most spoke Spanish. 

In Texas any signage is in English and Spanish. In hospitality or retail the staff are South American. I say South American rather than Mexican because I think this Latino workforce comes from Central American countries as well as Mexico. Go into Walmart and the shoppers are Latino or go to an attraction the visitors are Latino. In one hotel I asked a member of staff for something and she didn’t speak English. She whipped out her mobile phone and we found the Spanish for ‘butter’ via a translation App. Employment here doesn’t demand the ability to speak English obviously. I once was told by an American guy whose family was from El Salvador that within decades Spanish would be the most popular language in the USA. I believe him.

Wondering around the centre we found an Indian restaurant for lunch before heading to the suburbs to our hotel. Driving in this city of 1.5 million people was no fun. Some of the roads and gradients wouldn’t be out of place in a theme park. Cars regularly took the ramps/turnings off or joined. It made you continually vigilant of vehicles swapping lanes at high speeds and trying to avoid being stuck on pesky exit roads when they diverted off the main route. After check-in I ventured out to sort out a SIM card problem and find a record store. Both were successful missions and I got some new country music vinyl at $8 and $3 each. In the UK this would be £30 a pop. It has to be said such bargains were unusual.

The next day we visited the Botanical Gardens. These were meh! I love a botanical garden. Mainly for the trees, shade and non-indigenous blooms. This newer site had no trees bar a few in a Japanese garden and there were some flowers, especially the orchids and roses that looked lovely but otherwise it wasn’t a memorable garden.

The night was. We attended a concert about 15 miles away from our hotel and so another white knuckle drive on the road system took us there. Any music on a hot summer’s evening outside with a beer seems a great idea and this was a holiday highlight – Ashley McBryde.