After half a week in a B&B run by Dutch people in France, I started getting used to the regime. A croissant per person, honey from a plastic bucket. We drove through Vichy in a white tourist train. They remember this later, I thought, not the apartment of Maarschalk Pétain, but how we were there as marmots, fiddled. It was the last sunny day. Then the rainy period started, our hostess said it was exceptional bar and angry, the WiFi also stopped. I received a whole group in a protest against the structural making the coffee maker on breakfast after breakfast between 8.15 and 9.15. In the pouring rain in the vegetable garden we tried to edit the daughter, but we didn’t get through it.
“A coffee maker is not meant for that, then people will remain coffee makers. We also have a life.”
Half an hour later, mother cheerfully came in the dining room.
“You are not happy!” She noted.
I wasn’t that fast that quickly got rid of the social ladder, now we were suddenly the patient and the doctor.
Our hostess explained that in principle you could not leave a coffee maker to guests.
“They throw coffee beans in the water reservoir.”
But she struck the heart.
Still coffee! We didn’t even have to write it down in the notebook at the Honesty-Bar. Another windfall: Amir would come the next day.
“Amir knows everything about WiFi!”
I found a cat in our bed in the afternoon. We played Uno and Galgje for all days, at the end with non-existent words. We visited three churches, where it choked with desperate Dutch people.
A day later our hostess was proudly reported that there was WiFi again, Amir had discovered that one of the maairobots had been driven over a fiber optic cable. Due to the lack of restaurants in this area that is not called the diagonal of the void for nothing, it might be nice to sit down at the Table d’Hôte, she cooked with fresh products. And still recommended: did I have to guess what was in a sports hall forty kilometers away?
Me: “A coffee maker?”
She: “No, it is full of dinosaurs.”
The essence of vacation was hit here. It’s not about the experience on the spot, everything revolves around later. Making Memories. I was just in peace with that fact or I got the sad message that a Vitesse hero has lost us much too early. Martin Lamers (58) was found dead in his garden. Two goals against NEC in the Goffert, my father who threw the rain suits over the fence. Those are memories, and I just nag about coffee.
Marcel van Roosmalen Writes a column on Monday and Thursday.