Travelling by car: Misadventures and Amazing Encounters

Great Britain, August 1978

As I drove along the coast of West Wales towards Barmouth, I had time to reflect on the impressions and incidents of my journey, which had taken me through England and Scotland. For three weeks, I had been driving around the country in my little yellow Renault 4 and had seen a lot and experienced a lot.

I had set off from Berlin with two classmates from the School for Adult Education to get to know Great Britain and, in preparation for our A-level exams next year, to improve our English. Travelling by car was supposed to be an adventure, and it turned out to be an adventure!

It turned out to be an adventure

The first night after we left, we spent in the car, as there was no more ferry from Ostend to Dover. The next night, our first night in England, it initially looked like we would have to spend the night in the car again. All the hotels in the coastal town of Hastings were full. But with the help of a friendly policeman, whom we stopped on the street and asked for advice, we managed to find accommodation. He had mercy on us three young women and recommended a hotel a bit outside of town that still had a room available. The hotel was far too expensive for our taste and wallet, but we desperately needed sleep after the night in the car and a journey with obstacles.

During the first miles on English soil, we had had to deal with a puncture. The flat tyre had caused my little car to lurch quite a bit until I could finally stop. Instead of complaining or grumbling, my fellow drivers immediately became active. I was enormously impressed by their skill. One set up the warning triangle, and the other pumped up the car with the jack. Fortunately, I knew where to find these things in my car, as I had already had to change a tyre myself several times. The tyre was quickly changed and patched at a petrol station, and we were on our way again. No problem. We had earned a good night's sleep in a hotel that was, unfortunately, far too expensive.

The next day we travelled to London, where we parted ways, as we had different travel plans.

I headed north to explore this part of the island. I chose budget options such as youth hostels and cheap bed & breakfasts for accommodation. I didn't have a set travel plan at the time, but I was open to suggestions and ideas from the many interesting people I met on the trip. In the youth hostels, I met young people from all over the world and sometimes we decided to travel together for a few days. My little car was often full of fellow travellers who shared the fuel costs.

It was stimulating and very interesting, and my language skills developed because English was the language everyone used.

No beer today - its Sunday

So I finally arrived in North Wales yesterday, a Sunday, with a full car. After the long drive, I wanted to relax with a cold beer in the pub. But, unfortunately, I hadn't reckoned that alcohol was banned and would not be served on Sundays in Wales. So all the pubs were closed, and there was nowhere to get a beer.

There was a rumour in the hostel that beer was available on Sundays at the campsite just outside the town. So a like-minded beer lover and I went in search of this campsite.

Beware of the tide!!

The signs led us along remote paths. The fact that there were often signs saying "Beware of the Tide!" didn't bother me in the least because I didn't know what a tide was. But the further we drove through the countryside towards the sea, the clearer the meaning of tide became to me. All around us, the water was rising. So the tide was coming in. Eventually, we were entirely surrounded by water. There was no chance of getting to the campsite, but no chance of getting back either. So keep calm and look for ways out!

the traditional telephone box

I drove the car up a small hill, hoping to escape the rising water. Then, miraculously, there was one of those red British telephone boxes. This meant we could let the hostel know we were stuck and wouldn't be coming to the hostel that night.

The nice person at reception knew exactly where we were. It probably happened often with people who didn't know the place. He assured me my car was safe there and would not be washed away by the tide. He also described to me how we could get to the mainland and the hostel via a small path through the water. On foot, it would take a while, but he would leave the back door unlocked so we could get in late at night. A good and thoughtful man!!!

Now it was just a matter of finding the narrow path through the water. In the meantime, it had become dark, which didn't exactly make the search easier. Luckily the moon was full, and with the torch from my car, we found it. A path about 50 centimetres wide stuck out of the water. That didn't look very confidence-inspiring! Should we really dare to do this?

But the idea of sleeping in the car and constantly checking that the water didn't reach us wasn't very tempting either. On the other hand, the receptionist at the youth hostel sounded optimistic when he recommended the way. It was doable without falling into the water or wading through the tide.

So we set off, by moonlight and with a torch, and carefully felt our way along the path. We had to cover several kilometres, but in the distance, we could see a few lights of the place, which we used to orientate ourselves.

Is this Nessie beside us?

We had almost reached the mainland when the water beside us suddenly became churned up. I was so startled that I lost my balance and almost fell into the water if my companion hadn't supported me. We stopped as if paralysed and stared at the water. Then, with a loud bubbling sound, three black figures with backpacks emerged from the water and went ashore. It looked very spooky! After a few seconds of shock, we realised they were divers with their oxygen tanks on their backs. Still strange at this time of day in this place! But relieved, we marched on and reached the youth hostel a while later without an end-of-day beer, but we had made it.

In save haven - just about

The next day I enquired about the best way to get to the island to pick up my car again. It turned out that someone would drive to the campsite in a van anyway and give me a lift to my car. However, time was pressing because the tide was coming back in. If I didn't want to get stuck again along with my car, it had to be quick. Not to panic! I quickly had my things packed, and I was ready to go. It all worked out. I found my car safe and free of water and finally drove off the island past the rising puddles and tideways. We were safe, my car and I.

The journey continues towards new adventures

I drove along the West Wales coastal road towards Barmouth, the next major town. With a smile, I remembered all the little difficulties I had overcome quite well. I rejoiced in life and looked forward to new adventures. Like the sea, the sun tried to come out from between the clouds and glistened silver-grey. It looked fantastic.

Bang!!

Bang!!! A loud boom! I banged my head against the windscreen. Completely bewildered, I sat in my stalled car. What was that? What had pulled me out of my blissful dreams?! Slowly, very slowly, I grasped the situation. I had seen the silver-grey rays of the sun and the silver-grey sea, but the parked silver-grey Rover at the side of the road had escaped me. I had hit it without braking. What bad luck. What should I do now?

However, the answer to this question was taken from me. The loud bang attracted the residents to the street. Curiously, they surrounded my car. How embarrassing! Someone gently pulled me out of the vehicle. I took my handbag as a precaution so that nothing significant could be stolen. I was led into a house and sat in the living room chair. The many people around me were talking wildly.

Whiskey - not tea - was offered

An elderly lady, the woman of the house as it turned out later, offered me a glass of whiskey. It was 11 a.m. A bit early, I thought. But then I reckoned: What the hell! I could do with a sip of whiskey.

After I had emptied my glass, I heard this woman say: "Can somebody call the police!". "Aha!" I thought to myself. "They got you drunk on whiskey so they could claim you were driving drunk. Friendliness and all that! Quite an intriguing lot!"

I was upset and wanted to jump up and protest. But then a man came up and pushed me back on the chair. He was a doctor and the husband of the whiskey-giving woman and began examining me. He was very friendly, and my suspicions sank. He checked my pupils and my reflexes. But, as it seemed, I was not injured. My head hurt a bit, but I was usually tough.

When the policeman finally arrived, he, too, was first handed a glass of whiskey, which he gratefully accepted. Then the people present discussed what should happen to me. That's how I learned that my hosts were the owners of the car I had hit. Fortunately, their heavy Rover had only got a few scratches. Nevertheless, I was shocked and horrified. I was also horribly embarrassed as I had never caused an accident before.

But my car was severely damaged and unusable for the time being. I had ruined my beloved car all by myself. It had always been a pleasure to enjoy the freedom of the road and to drive towards some adventure. What a fiasco!

A good turn

I couldn't think straight, so I apathetically followed the suggestions of the people who took care of me. But, unlike me, they knew what to do.

A neighbour took me in for a few days. She let me use a children's room and fed me. I ate the roast lamb with mint sauce at her place for the first time in my life. Despite all my prejudices, it tasted delicious.

The owners of the damaged car very helpfully provided me with their gardener and his vehicle as a chauffeur because I had a lot of organisational things to do. With a car, of course, it was quicker to get from one place to another, and with an English-speaking companion who knew what to do, I could hope for a successful outcome. So the friendly gardener with his old wooden-framed mini-estate car guided me safely through this time.

My car had to be towed by the AA (the English breakdown service) and taken to a garage in Munich that I trusted. The gardener brought an old sea chest where I could stow my belongings from the car and send them by post to my Berlin address. Finally, I bought a backpack to continue my journey as a backpacker. After my initial shock, I was full of beans again and ready for new adventures. I didn't want to let such a mishap drag me down and go home early.

After a few days, when everything that needed to be done was done, including communication with the insurance company, I was ready to go. I thanked my hostess, the family I had damaged, and the gardener who had been so helpful. Then the gardener even took me to the motorway, where I wanted to continue my journey as a hitchhiker.

Back on the road again

A short time later, a friendly driver stopped in an old, semi-automatic Simca 1100 and gave me a lift. A Munich friend of mine also had such a car, so we talked.

It didn't take long before I told him the story of my accident. The driver was very interested and concerned when I confessed to him that I never wanted to drive again after this shock. He nodded understandingly while we drove through Wales's beautiful, mountainous countryside towards central England. The car was heading in that direction; consequently, that was where I was going. I had no destination but was open to where chance would take me. After that, I wanted to see further.

After a while, my friendly driver began to yawn, said he was too tired to drive on, and asked whether I couldn't take over the wheel for a few miles. After a short rest, he would be happy to drive again. Unfortunately, it was still a long way to go.

I beg your pardon. Me?! After that accident, self-inflicted through inattention?! Had he not appropriately listened when I had told him about my mishap? Indignantly I refused: No! Absolutely not!

But he objected, he was really very tired and the journey would still take a long time. Half an hour's rest would help him. Then he would be fit again.

Well, if I could help him, then, well, maybe. So I let myself be persuaded. He stopped, and we changed places.

So then I was at the wheel of someone else's car, with the steering wheel on the right, the gearstick on the left, and now I was supposed to drive through Wales on the left side of the road. I wonder if that will ever work!

The nice man radiated a lot of calm and confidence. Either he had no fear for his car or trusted me to drive his English vehicle safely.

Cautiously, I started the engine and set off! It was good that I had already driven a friend's semi-automatic Simca in Munich several times. So the car was at least somewhat familiar. It was also not as confusing as I had feared. Fortunately, there wasn't much traffic, and I could slowly get used to the car and English road traffic from the perspective of the driver of an English car.

My co-driver was dozing off in a very relaxed manner. But, boy, did he have his cool! He made no effort to wake up and take over the wheel again. So I drove all the way to Shrewsbury in Middle England, where he was at home. He became chatty again outside the town and suggested we stop at the next service area so I could hitch a ride from there.

He thanked me warmly for being his driver and then said with a grin that I had hopefully overcome my fear of driving. I stumbled for a moment - and understood.

His tiredness had been but a pretence. He wanted to take away my fear of driving after the accident. What a great and generous man! That could well have gone wrong. But it didn't. He had faith in me. And that gave me confidence again. I am still grateful to him for that. (LL.)