Apologies for not sticking to my 'two posts per week' promise lately. As you might have guessed, our holiday got pretty hairy, and Babe has had mad cow disease since we got back.
When I left you last, I was hoping that our car would be fixed when I got home. It nearly was, but we didn't know this, we were just worried sick as Other Half had left the house three hours earlier with a restless Babe and not yet returned. So his mum - who can barely walk and stops every three paces and jolts backwards, arching and pawing at her spine and gasping for breath - grabbed me by the arm, put her best jacket on and grabbed her huge, black, patent (and empty) handbag, and announced that we were going to look for him. She had an idea that if we walked up a particular road far enough, we would find him.
I didn't have the energy to refuse, so off we set. You can imagine what we looked like. I'm sure her grimaces and stretches were particularly exaggerated that day, so that she could explain to the many onlookers that the blonde with her was her English daughter-in-law. And add the entire story of our holiday so far that lead us to be walking up the road we were. And then ask at the end if anyone knew of a mechanic.
It wasn't filling me with confidence, I have to say, but eventually we did arrive at the top, and there was our car. Result! I understood the mechanic to say that Other Half had left half an hour earlier, but that the car was now ready for me to drive home. Bravo! Before I had time to explain that I hadn't actually driven on the right before and wasn't familiar with the one-way system and that I'm not really a confident driver, my mother-in-law had jumped in. Whatever. I joined her and started the car up. Three wrong turns and two jumped sets of red lights and a lot of shouting later, we arrived home, triumphant! And beeped the horn a lot :).
The next day we went off on our own to Other Half's dad's hometown. Not a day too soon. Saturday was spent with more family members who'd arrived to see us. And that evening, Other Half drove off to the border (the nearer crossing, to see where it was) to collect two nephews that wanted to see Babe.
I knew when he drove off, that something would go wrong. He got back close to midnight, the clutch having played up again, and he'd had to drive for two hours in second gear. It was supposedly fixed on the Sunday (by same mechanic - I forgot to mention that his breath stank of alcohol). And went again on the Monday. On the Wednesday, he re-fitted the old cylinder, saying that the new one was too small. For Pete's sake! (I am trying to reduce the number of expletives I use.)
He invited me to wait in his home and see some technical documents of car engines that his grandfather had drawn. (That 'honourary man' thing was kicking in again...) I embarrassed Other Half by saying in very basic Albanian: 'Look. I am not happy. I now have three clutch cylinders and the two new ones it seems I don't need. You told me to buy them. Now I have no money. I have a long journey ahead of me, to endure with a small child and a moron. This has not been a holiday, it has been a trip into hell. I beg you to fix my car now and I will send you a full set of Manchester United T-shirts when I return to my homeland.'
He got the drift and the car has got us home, but I dread to think what the service it is due will reveal.
We left on the Friday. I won't bore you with the intermittent detail. It includes a few happy hours on the beach, too much socialising with family members, and I spent four nights alone in a hotel across the road which was sheer bliss. I think we were all ready to leave, and I think the family were glad to see the back of me. Other Half said I had been a total pain in the arse, as usual. I think I did well to survive.
The journey home was 'seat of your pants' style - as is it tends to be, when Other Half is involved. Driving to the Greek border at dawn was incredibly beautiful though - through tiny villages, the scent of wild tea, thyme and origano in the air, and you even have to use a raft to cross a river at one point. Then we were hurtling along Greek roads - I've always thought of Greece as the back of beyond, but by comparison, it's like entering the gardens at Buckingham Palace. We joined the queue for the ferry to Venice with 20 mins to spare, but were told as we handed our tickets over to board, that we needed to drive back to the terminal building as we hadn't reserved our cabin. More sodding charges later, we ended up with a lovely cabin at the very front of the ship. In fact the captain called me at night-fall, asking me to close the curtains, so it seems we weren't the only ones with a good view.
The drive back was hell - although we did stop at Lake Como for lunch which was nice. And saw our friends in Switzerland which was wonderful but too brief, and before we knew it we were home again. And despite my fears, the trip does come highly recommended. If nothing else, because it felt like we were away for months, and boy, was I glad to get back...
More soon, on Babe. He's fine ;)
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