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The road home
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I woke up around 5 o'clock. A new day, with new opportunities. I tried to
figure out at which time breakfast would be served. My clock was already set
to Dutch time, and I figured it was nearly time for breakfast. I used the blue
stairs to find the restaurant, and would you look at that, it was actually
open already.
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I started breakfast with good spirits. Unfortunately, after half an hour and
Indian couple arrived. They looked at the chairs that belonged to the table,
and apparently felt it was a nice spot. Without saying anything, they sat down
as if it was their right to do so, and as if I wasn't important at all. Huh?
Did they have reservations or something? I took my coffee and went to find a
place where I could wait peacefully. But when I stood up to wave Frans over,
my table was immediately taken over by other people from India.
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The Hollandica gently slid through the piers. This had to be the Netherlands
again. Sure, we were still on a ship, but still... I decided to go and get my
stuff, so I told Frans "I'll see you down below, at the motorcycles." The plan
was simple: get down there early, before all the crowds, gently, without any
fuss.
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... slid through the piers ...
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I collected my baggage, locked the cabin, walked into the elevator at the
orange staircase and pressed the button '3'. A Stena employee who also stood
in the elevator apparently had to go to '5' and exited the elevator there.
After that, nothing happened. '3' remained dark, and I started panicking a
bit. After a minute or so I noticed there was a sign that said 'call locked'
or something like that, and the only button that seemed to do anything was '9'.
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At deck 9 the doors opened and I walked out. This was not what I had hoped: a
whole bunch of people blocked the corridor. I found a place in the corner.
More and more people started walking in...
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The speakers now said something about 'go to your vehicle now' so I tried to
do just that. I stood up and looked around. As far as I could see, there were
hordes of people standing close to each other, all who had to take that tiny
little elevator down. I could never go through all of that.... and my
motorcycle was first in line, so I was blocking the way for everyone else! I
could feel my breathe increasing, tried to suppress that, and not two seconds
later I was panting again. Panic struck, and I tried once again to crawl into
that tiny corner.
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An employee of Stena came to me, got me up and brought me to... the same area
that I escaped from yesterday, the very same place where I wasn't allowed! I
tried to make them known I wasn't supposed to be here, but I had to sit down.
Next came the man who sent me away yesterday, now carrying a cup of water. How
was this possible...
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At this time I was severely stressed out and panicking. But, someone told me,
someone would come, and I would just have to drink some water.... and all of a
sudden Frans was there, who came to find me. I was hoisted up and taken along
down the stairs, to the motorcycle. I barely could walk, needed the support of
the railing through the entire trip down, just to make sure I wouldn't fall
down. The simple actions of putting my bag on the motorcycle were turning out
to be extremely complicated, and I didn't dare to ride the motorcycle down the
ramp myself. Using the bulkhead as support, and later when the bulkhead
stopped, staggering, I disembarked. Getting onto the motorcycle was difficult.
But I knew: once I'm sitting in the saddle I'll recover quickly.
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There was just a problem at the customs check. How did I turn off the engine
again, uh... stalling it, was my only possibility. Starting it up again a few
moments later was a complicated set of actions. But I made it work. It wasn't
until we were well underway that I calmed down again. The simple act of
motorcycling, at least I could do that...
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The first few kilometers were across a dyke, then there was a motorway. With a
speed of 90-100 kph we made our way through the remainders of the morning rush hour,
across the A20. At Gouda we stopped for a moment, to call forward to home that we were on
our way. After that, we opened up the throttle... yes, I can occasionally
drive faster than 100 kph...
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The motorcycle was parked behind the house, the coffee was waiting for us and
the first stories were about to be told. I waved Frans off about half an hour
later, after which I went to lay down for roughly half an hour, to recover
from the emotions I experienced this morning. This weekend had been arduous,
sure, but at least I could put 'England' on my list.
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