The Angels Story

Hello, I am an Angel. Not one of those that float around on clouds playing harps all day, no way! I am made of brass and only as long as a little finger on a human hand. My first memories are of arriving in a little cardboard box, wrapped in tissue paper and being unwrapped at the house of Claus Taeger in a town called Elmhorn, in Germany. There are a group of people in this town that form part of a tribe called "Christian". This branch of the tribe have a custom of lending members of my tribe to people who are about to begin, or are on, a journey of some kind.
Claus took me along with him on the back of his motorbike, when he set off to visit his daughter in Bordeaux, France. I was so excited, never before had I travelled so far and so fast. Claus was a very careful rider and I felt quite safe, but there was a nasty moment when a horrible wailing sound filled the air all around me and the motorbike came to a stop. A man in a uniform, talking a strange language was rousing on Clause and writing things into a book. I think it may have been something about the way he'd been riding his motorbike, so I was not able to help him this time.
At a place called La Rochelle (isn't that a lovely name), I was feeling nice and cosy in Claus"s tent, in the distance I heard Claus talking to two of the other campers, they talked for a long time into the night, and even shared a glass of wine together. It was very late then, when I was disturbed from my resting place and taken to the tent belonging to some people from New Zealand. Claus told them he wanted me to go with them on their bicycle journey and look after them, at the end of their journey, they should pass me on to others who are setting out on some sort of journey.
Later the next day, there I was, perched in a bag on the handlebars of Don's bike. I have worked out their names, the other is Val and they camp in the woods and pack up each morning, riding on and on and on. I feel very comfortable with them, they seem to make friends with people along the way, even though they do not always speak the same language, though Val is getting passably good at this French speak. In fact when Don and Val try to talk to each other as they ride along, it seem that they do not understand each other all the time either, but I am not one to tell those sorts of stories. For a couple of people their age, living on the ground and peddling a bike all day, they really do get on pretty well.

Every day or so they get me out of the handlebar bag and give me a loving rub with warm fingers, I really like that. One day Val put me into her handlebar bag for a change, I enjoyed that a lot, because she is a very careful rider, taking her time crossing busy roads and not taking the sort of risks that Don takes at times, really puts me on the tip of my wings at times getting ready to protect him, not that I can help too much in that sort of situation (remember what happened to Claus).

I'd been in Vals bag for several days, when, on a hot day in a small rural town in France, my two companions had lunch on the town green, then lay down for a short rest, Val going to sleep, with me in her bag just alongside her head. Don read a book for several pages before he too dozed off. I can't be too sure of exactly what happened next, but suddenly there was violent movement, a slamming car door, revving motor, followed by a fast take off. The voice that spoke was in French I think, followed by the sound of zips opening, the light momentarily blinded me and the camera that had been my best friend, was taken from my side. I was struggling to maintain composure, but knew I had to work really hard to ensure that I was safely returned to the ones I had been trusted to look after. I had no time to feel bad about letting this happen. I had a lot of work to do. More zips zipping, a cry of excitement from the person holding the bag, more rocking and tumbling for me and my other travelling companions, Val's favourite pocket knife was having a really rough time but managed to stay in place. My neighbours in the next pocket were gone though, the really nice Euro family, all 300 of them, gone in a flash. I was working really hard, concentrating on the best possible outcome. We had left the town and were speeding out the main road to the next town. My action sensors had finally established the wave length of the person holding me and really without thinking of the consequences for myself and my fellow baggies I got a "throw the bag out the window" message through, and next thing we were tumbling through the air at goodness knows what speed. Thump, roll, tumble, stop. Dead quiet. The Credit Cards in the side pocket were ok, so was the passport, oh sure we were battered and bruised, but out of the car. Still more to do.

Getting into long range mode, I began transmitting, could I possibly get Don and Val to come out on this road, even if they did, would either of them see us down here in the roadside ditch. So many questions, so much still to do. Twenty minutes later, it seemed an eternity (now thats something I know about!) I could hear the humming wheels of Domingo (thats Dons bike) approaching, oh joy, he''s sharp eyed, he'll see me. How wrong I was, he went past without a glance. Come on, I urged myself, get beaming, turn up the angel juice, you have to catch Val.

I thought she'd gone past, but then I heard the familiar screech of Gingers brakes, followed by Val caling on Don to stop. Soon I was back in Vals hands, assured and releived as she looked through and found each of her treasured items, notebook, pocket knife, bank cards, me of course, I had done my best and they were so relieved, I had failed to stop the thief, but had somewhat saved the day. Hey, but that's what Angels do don't they?.

Where Are We Now

In the town of Givet, the most northerly in France, following the Meurse River and canal path where this afternoon we will enter Belgium.

Another change of plan- not going to Cologne now, want to get to Holland and see as much as we can there, like art galleries, Van Gogh museums and some of the new towns in rural areas.

France has been just great, the people fantastic, fun loving and generous in sharing their beautiful countryside with us. Will try and recount some more of our experiences in later blogs.

Oh by the way, there was someone (or two) who tried to spoil our day. We were snoozing after luch a week or so back; a small rural village green, road on three sides. Both of us dropped into q deep sleep and Vals small handlebar bag was lifted. 300Euros, passport, bank cards, address book etc. We looked around the perimiter, no one in site to ask if they'd seen anything, so off we went to ride 12ks to the nearest gendarmerie. One kilometer out of town, in the tabledrain alongside the road, Val spotted her bag, everything intact except for the cash and her camera. The camera was the biggest loss because she had been taking photos of interest to her and some places we had not both been, so I had not doubled up. We recorded the loss with the police and will see how we go with insurance; but to ride out on the same road the theif had taken and actually find the bag ourselves was a miracle (that could be attributed to something we were given, and the subject of another blog)

Boules on the Street

It was stinking hot, we'd given up on trying to follow the L'Aigle canal and headed north for the Margne. Coming into a small village in the middle of grain crops as far as the eye could see, we were brought to a stop by people standing on one side of the road and bowling a wooden boule onto the road and into the gravel of the roadside; on closer inspection there in amongst the stones and debris of the tabledrain was a small jack. We were seeing road boules for the first time. All down thge hill past the village houses, teams of six were doing the same. We went on down weaving in and out until near the bottom of the hill a side street ran up to an open area near the church, here others were assembled, drinking beer, champagne (this was the Ardennes, Champagne country) and the odd fruit drink. This turned out to be day three of the Village Saints Day; we were welcome to stay and could put our tent up on a bit of grass at the bottom of the road out of town.

We bought a beer and sat down. Val had a chat to one of the locals, there was more boules to be played, then a barbeque followed by music and dancing. Did I want to stay asked Val, I'm not feeling too comfortable yet I said; the words were barely out of my mouth when a party going past on their way to the "boules pitch" stopped in front of us; You are from New Zealand one of them asked, pointing at the flag on Vals bag, yes, are you staying the night and have you somewhere to stay? The only person who spoke english was called in to help. Jerome has a mobile home and you are welcome to stay in it if you want. Off the group went and I said to Val that that was the sort of feedback that suited me and yes, it would be great to take up Jeromes offer.

A couple of champagnes later we finally tracked Jerome down, he was just off to ply the final of the Boules tournament. We went down the hill and there they were in the entrance to a farm shed, playing the last end. Jerome embraced his two opponents, did a double cheek kiss with his partner, turned and signalled to all and sundry to follow him, turning as he departed to make sure we understood that we were to come too.

In the tiled kitchen of Jeromes kitchen the champagne corks were popping and shot glasses put out for the nine or ten people in the room. Glasses filled there was general toasting to the Champions, followed by a second top-up of glasses, then Jeromes parntner, suntanned shaven head, well built, fixed his gaze squarely on me and rattled off something in French and came around the table to stand alongside me, glass poised below his lips and looking for me to meet the challenge, what could I do, the reputation of the All Blacks was at stake, I may drown in the attempt, but what a way to go; drowning in pink champagne on the rolling country of the Ardennes.

We drank two glasses each in quick succession and the mob in the kitchen went wild. Fortuitously one of the boules officials arrived at the door just then and summonsed the winning team back up the hill for the presentation ceremony.

What followed was a great evening, we got stuck into the dancing (one french lady was deluded by the way Val and I were cutting around the floor (ashfelt actually) in the first dance and got me up for the second, where she was soon disolusioned and delivered my back to Val before the DJ started the second bracket!

Jerome was a gracious host, we were to use his bathroom and kitchen whenever, we got to bed lqte qnd got up late, packed and rode off into a stinking hot day with great memories of a little village of around 100 people who allowed us to share their Saint, and it must be in the running for the town with shortest name in France, "Son".