Another day, another incident. It's really difficult to get into the swing of holidays and really enjoy it when things keep going wrong. Both of us are down in the dumps and in no small way, would like to just turn around, go back to England, sell Skippy and go home.
Today, passing through one of the innumerable toll booths, I drove a just a little bit too close to the left hand side barrier. There was a hideous metallic screeching and tearing sound, a brief silence and then one of those 'Oh crap!' moments. With another awful crunch we continued through the toll and pulled off to the side of the road. I jumped out to inspect the damage. It didn't seem too bad at first until the side door fell off in my hands. This was the last straw. On top of all the things that had gone wrong up to this point with the van, all of the extra money that we'd had to fork out, all of the problems and set backs that we'd encountered over the entire trip, from the months and months delay with my visa to the freezing house, to the repairs on our house back home, the debacle that was bringing Max over and having to send him home again, the dodgy Subaru, the crap jobs, this was it.
Our collective mood was almost unbearable. Appalling.
After managing to jerry rig the door with some spare wire and praying that it would hold while driving on the motorway, we limped into St Aubin sur Mer.
It had started out such a good day too.
It was late-ish on a Saturday, and given that Sunday was a holiday, finding the tools and/or equipment to fix the door didn't seem very likely to happen until at least Monday. We checked into a campsite, bought some cider and had a very depressed night. Why are we on this trip? Why aren't we back in Brisbane, in our own house, where it's warm and things are good?
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