I LOOK LIKE AN OBESE ZEBRA
7.00am – first contact, the above text message received from Jemma. Striped up and ready for action, we have a final briefing and bag pack at Jemma’s. Essential supplies include cereal bars, sweets for bribery, compass, head torch and metal clip-type things (just what are they for, Alex?).
Many press calls and pap sessions later, we find a spare minute to grope the Mayor of Colchester (all in the name of charity of course!) before gathering behind the red tape. 10...9...8...blah blah blah
AND THEY’RE OFF!
Arrival in the big smoke, big shout out to Costume Call for sponsoring our tube tickets! A fleeting moment of calm and culture as we descend the escalators to the sound of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, Spring from the talented violinist busker (unbeknownst to us at the time, to become our cyclical theme tune – more of this later)
Hop on the tube for the long journey to Heathrow.
THE TOUGH, ROUGH AND READY LIFESTYLE OF A FUGITIVE
Not content with our look of gormless disbelief and giggling, they are then kind enough to fill our bag with enough food and drink rations (biscuits, wraps and pretzel nuggets!!) to last us for the remainder of our escape. A very brief flight later and we are sent on our way with a fantastic shout out over the PA system – we are now christened the Stripy Girls!!
HITTING HOLLAND - OM TE ZIJN OF TE ZIJN NIET?
So, we’re in Holland! A quick dash round the airport makes it clear that we won’t be getting another flight, so down to the train station. Behind the information desk sits the lovely Thomas (so named by us, because his uniform looked like something out of Thomas the Tank Engine!).
After convincing him and his boss – Mario (of the super variety) that we were in fact serious, we were provided with a print-out of the route to Cologne and taken down to the platform to meet the cross-Holland train, where we are accosted for a quick photo op by some pervy Dutch policemen! And so our first meeting with our Dutch friends, Abdulkadir and Edwin, the cross-Holland train conductors! Some skilful explanation/negotiation by Thomas with Abdulkadir and Edwin, and possibly some comments that we’re grateful not to understand, we gain passage through the Netherlands...in first class!! Huzzah! With a personal double escort of our two conductors, we enjoy a relaxed three hour journey across our new favourite country, have cultured conversations, including a translation of Shakespeare – our title is a translation of “to be or not to be”, rather fitting really - and manage to restrain ourselves from singing “Windmill in Amsterdam” – out loud at least! The second half of our journey is spent in a private compartment with our conductors and a very important seeming train person and his lovely lady wife, with tea supplied and only minimal piss taking on their part of our English tea making habits. Arriving in Enschede (remember this name, you’ll need it later!), a quick warm up in the guards room (nothing dodgy, you filthy minded people!) and Abdul puts us on our train to whisk
us across the border to Germany.
SCHANDENFREUDE
You should never judge a book by its cover, and you should not listen to racial stereotypes, unfortunately, these were somewhat shoved down our throat in Germany. Everything is clean, efficient and ordered with not a spot of sense of humour to be found! They don't even see why this is funny.....
Lacking in ticket and having heard stories of the not-so-tolerant nature of the German train guards, we assume our best innocent looks and pray that no guard comes through, readying ourselves for a dash to hide in the toilets if necessary.
On boarding the train to Munster, we are accosted by three friendly English actors, who pounce upon us as soon as they hear our English accents. We share a good portion of our journey with them, hearing about their experiences of Germany and studying their road map. They suggest heading to Osnabruck or similar to make use of the presence of the British Army and give birth to our often shouted phrase “search out the soldiers!”.
Arriving in Munster (or should that be Monster?!) is like walking onto the set of 28 Days Later. Not a single member of staff to be found, just many drunk Germans shouting unintelligible things at us. Cold, tired (its almost 1am by this point) and slightly frightened, we manage to find two police officers – hurrah we’re saved!....or not! They can not/will not offer any help and are not subtle in displaying their distain and impatience! Out of desperation, we enquire about the Army base in Munster – can we walk there? After much sighing, they lead us out of the station, past taxis and unmanned police cars, into the police station. Have they changed their mind and are they arranging a patrol car to take us there??.....No. We wait for five minute and are then called in, handed a poorly photocopied map, marking the barracks on the outskirts of the city, and sent out into the wilderness that is Munster’s lap dancing district! After two minutes walk and a rapidly growing sense of uneasiness, we are already lost! Finding ouselves outside a kebab shop, we approach a reasonably friendly-looking group of Germans. Turns out one of them is a doctor and is therefore sympathetic to our Air Ambulance support. They advise us that the barracks is approximately 2 hours walk away and we can't possibly walk there! Our near-tears appearance obviously strikes a chord and they very generously hail a taxi, explain to the driver and give us €20 for the fare to the barracks.
An uneasy taxi ride into god knows where later, we arrive at the barracks, looming oppressively before us and disconcertingly unlit. Oh dear! We hear footsteps on the other side of the gate which is then creaked open on the massive-steel-gate equivalent of a safety chain. A tall, rather severe looking security guard confirms his nationality in the beautiful, rare English language!....well, Scottish anyway! We explain our dilemma (involving lots of whining, pleading and desperate looks) to be met with a very matter of fact “I can’t let you in”......
Sorry what???! That’s not how the plan works!! You are supposed to let us in, give us tea, a bed and then drive us to Berlin.
“No, I’m serious, you can’t come through these gates!”
Big, fat oh F**k!!
We’re in the middle of nowhere at 2am, its freezing cold, we now have €7 of donated money to our name and no one will even speak to us! Apparently the Sergeant’s Nintendo DS game is higher priority than the two stranded young girls and he will not even consider our plight! AT this point we must have looked pretty pathetic as Number 1 security guard calls over number 2, just to look and laugh at us! By some incredible twist of fate, number 2 happens to be our guardian angel! This mad, trusting man takes pity on us at a time when no one else cares and hails from the darkness a very large Fijian guy in a big blacked-out car to take us to his own flat, somewhere in Munster! He accompanies us and the Fijian, lets us into the flat, tells us to make ourselves comfortable and goes back to work! On his way out the door, Claire has the presence of mind to ask one small question.... “by the way, what is your name?”
And thus our god is so named
ALAN!!!! (Cue heavenly chorus and rays of light)
So....here we are! After 20 minutes of sitting on Alan’s couch with the below expressions....
...We tally our rations....
...and decide that two hours sleep is better than none. Not the best sleep, sitting bolt upright under a shared duvet, but sleep all the same. Wake again at 6am – do we wait a couple of hours and then head home or do we forge onwards???
ONWARDS OF COURSE, NEVER SURRENDER!!!
Armed with cereal bar and crap police map, we set out into residential Munster. First task, where are we????
Using compass and map (check us out!) we find a main road and efficiently navigate our way to the station (how quickly German efficiency is picked up!). Hooray, there are staff at the train station! Not so hooray, they are German staff and therefore not interested in us in the slightest. We receive the look that one might give an insect crawling out of one’s salad! So, more umming and ahhing and we decide on more fare-dodging travel – we’re on a jailbreak aren’t we?!
Out of interest and to make ourselves feel better, we look into our route back to Eschede for when we begin our journey home, which happens to involve us travelling via Hamm, Minden and Hannover, all in an easterly direction and therefore adding to our escape mileage! Leaping happily on to the train, we lay low (or as low as our costumes will allow....which is pretty low, as the natives avoid all eye contact with us) and arrive unaccosted in Minden by our deadline of 9.30am!!
That it, it’s over, 24 hours, three countries and a lot of luck has got us approximately 350 miles from our starting point (in a very roundabout way!)
And so...what now? Guess we head home then?
BUT WHERE IS THE N??????
An uneventful trip to Hannover and beyond, and two hours later we joyfully hop off the train at Eschede. Just a minute...
Now is the point when we find out whether you have been paying attention. Did you spot the deliberate mistake? Coz we didn’t!
Alighting on the platform:
Jemma: Hang on, It didn’t look like this last night!
Claire: Yes it did, look, there is the crossing....no, the crossing isn’t there! Why have they changed the station?
Jemma: Look the sign says Eschede, this is definitely Eschede, hang on...
A quick check of our photos (thank god for those boring pictures of various stations!) reveals our mistake.... 
OH F**K!!!
Claire – "Where is the N???" (this is repeated at least 10 times!)
Horrific realisation seeps into our by now manically tired brains. With the mistaken omittence of a single letter in a station name rather than traveling back to ENschede in Holland we have in fact traveled to ESchede (which seems to still be in Germany - and likely to be in completely the opposite direction!) A brief search of the station building – if it can be called a building, or indeed a station – reveals that Eschede on a Sunday is about as populated as Death Valley, with not even a map to tell us where on earth we are! Nor does it reveal an accessible route to the other platform – time for some rail jaywalking! A potentially lethal dash across the tracks and we reach the other platform unfrazzled, we decide all we can do is to retrace our steps and wait for a train which thankfully (eventually) takes us back to Hannover.
So, following a 3 hour detour, we’re back at least heading in the right direction. At Hannover we find our route to take us to Enschede, with an N, and for the first time enter the world of fiscal travel! We’re going home!
An hour and a half back to Minden....Strange sense of déjà vu, then a further hour and a half to Dortmund. A short stop off between trains allows us to sample the local cuisine - goodness their McDonalds are weird!! Claire demonstrates her bi-lingual skills and we end up with four BigMacs, a bizarre amount of chips and some strange potato pasty things! Not to worry, as our first hot meal in almost 48 hours, it tastes good (well, maybe not the pasty things!).
Back to the station to a chorus of heckles from young German punks (possibly they felt underdressed compared to us) and we’re on our train back to the wonderful Netherlands – by this point referred to as home!!! We cross the border at approx 6pm to the sound of our massive sighs of relief and visible relaxation of shoulders and jaw lines!
KOMT HOOD!
We have missed our return train with Abdul from Enschede, but a smile and a short explanation to the guard on the platform gains us free passage back to Amsterdam, once again, we must say we love the Dutch! A short transfer and another friendly guard and we are walking out of Amsterdam Central Station, oh wow!
Its just gone 9pm and we want what anyone in our position would want, a bed, a shower and a beer – not necessarily in that order!!!
So, the search for a hostel begins. Shining like a beacon of hope through the dark Amsterdam night, the sign for “Bob’s Youth Hostel” calls to us, offering salvation and refreshment. Groping our way through the fog of “frangranced” smoke in the cafe/reception, we enquire as to whether there are any rooms available. “of coursch” says the smiling “Bob” behind the counter, yay! Our hostel virginity is blatant so Bob patiently shows us the room and explains how hostelling works. The price is €22 each – oh we need money?? But we no longer live in a capitalist society, we’re used to life on the run! Bob kindly directs us to a cashpoint in Dam square. Wow!! The square is full of fun fair...not sure if the fair, or the time spent in the fog of the hostel is responsible for the relaxed yet gleeful look in our eyes! What a way to conclude 36 hours solid travelling!
After waiting a good hour for one guy to finish using the computer, so that we can check in for tomorrow’s flight, we realise that in fact he has been simply staring at the pretty colours on the screen for that whole time!
The munchies strike and Bob provides us a wondrous concoction which he calls cupasoup and bread – oh how comforting this magical liquor is! Time for bed, a quick nod to the novelty of bunkbeds and we’re out for the count!
Waking fresh as the daisies we are, albeit an hour later than planned, quick shower (can’t get over the novelty of this quite yet) and down to breakfast – hmmm, breakfast? A hardboiled egg, bread and jam, and tea the Dutch way (no milk) – interesting! This vanishes as if swarmed on by a plague of locusts and Claire ventures up to do her best Oliver impression “please sir, could I have another slice of bread?” Wallop – Claire returns with three-quarters of a loaf of bread and enough jam to sink the Titanic!
Brilliant! Fill ourselves up on that and off to get a free tour of Amsterdam – it’s becoming a habit now!
In Amsterdam we see lots of interesting and intriguing sites – on arriving in Dam Square for the start of the tour, we are greeted by a person dressed as a sheep, sitting on a mobility scooter, pretending to play a mouth-organ – now do you see why we love this country so??!!
A fantastically conducted four hour tour by Meital shows us sights such as the red light district, the smallest house in Amsterdam and Anne Frank’s house. We learn that the oldest prostitute in Amsterdam is 74 years old and that the city is home to the University of Marijuana and Hash, who’s moto is “ your route to higher education” – do you see what they did there??!
After the tour, we sit soaking up the sun next to the canal and have a childish giggle at the statue of Multatuli, a famous Dutch author, who’s penname in Latin means “I have suffered” but in Finnish means “I have ejaculated” hee hee hee! (still quite tired at this point!)
A few hours to fill before heading back to the airport, so we take a wander to the Rembrandt Plein, admire the 3D Nightwatch and then sup a quick beer outside the oldest bar in Amsterdam, which sells beer by the colour, rather than brand. On our stroll back to the station we pass through Spui, a lovely, lively square where there is a busker playing wonderfully on his violin. Realisation dawns through our relaxed, slightly foggy minds that he is in fact playing Vivaldi's Four Seasons, Spring and we are momentarily overwhelmed by how beautifully book-ended our journey has been by this piece of music - serenading us at the start (in the tube on Saturday morning) and end (as we head on the final leg of our return journey) of our adventure. We donate the last of our Euros and two massive smiles to the busker and manage to restrain ourselves from throwing our arms around him and kissing him and then allow the wonderful melody to carry us to Amsterdam Central Station.
At the station, we don the uniform once more, which by now feels like an old friend, albeit a sweaty, smelly, slightly crumpled friend. Leave our changing rooms/toilets....quick dash back to the toilet because Claire has abandoned our much anticipated waffle...and then aboard another train, with another lovely guard who grants us yet more free passage!
Arriving at Schipol, we again see Mario (of the super variety) and update him on our achievements, showering him in our thanks once again.
YOU KNOW YOU'RE HEADING BACK TO THE UK WHEN....
Departures lounge - optimistically skipping up to the departures screen, nearly home – CLUNK CRASH TINKLE! The sound of our jaws hitting the floor and our dreams shattering. Flight is delayed for an hour and three quarters. There goes our plan to be in the pub back home by 10pm. We fill our time with a quick bite eat (mmmmm, airport food! At least were given a voucher for this, so yet more gratis living). Claire thinks things cannot get any worse when the lid will not come off her miniature bottle of wine. Full credit for her sheer cheek when she attempts to “upgrade” by swapping the small faulty wine bottle with a much larger bottle – “really? I’m so sorry, I thought they were the same!”
More delays greet us at the departure gate and on the plane we are told that we are likely to wait at least a further 45 minutes before take off – not Jemma’s ideal place to waste a bit of time.
Serious sense of humour failures!
Eventually we take off, fly around a bit, then a bit more “oh look there’s the millennium dome”...”oh look, there’s the millennium dome....again ”....”oh look, there’s the Bloody millennium dome...again!”
On touchdown, we throw caution to the wind and recklessly bolt out of our seats before being officially allowed to remove our seatbelts – these girls need to get to the pub before closing! A record breaking sprint takes us from the plane to Heathrow express in 10 minutes flat, where we beg the Don of the Heathrow Express Mafia to let us board – he can obviously sense our desperation for alcohol and consents! Yet more delays and we finally arrive in Paddington.
Sprinting (quite literally the fastest we have ever run – in knee socks and pikey £1 rucksacks) to the waiting tube, Jemma dives on at the very last minute, Claire regrets her choice of turning left at the end of the corridor and bounces off the closing doors! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! The cry echoes though the station, shocking the driver, who knocks the door release and on she leaps. “Is this train heading in the right direction?” “I have no idea, I didn’t look!”
The train is heading in the right direction, but happens to be the slowest train in the history of the London underground – damn that circle line. It is now 10.30pm, closing time is rapidly approaching.
We arrive at Liverpool Street just in time to leap on the 10.48pm train to Colchester – phew, we’re on the home straight. This, of course, is a Colchester train travelling via Shenfield, Birmingham, Edinburgh, Eschede and Timbucktoo...Come on!!
11.45pm “The next station will be Colchester”. YESSSS! Hurtling off the train into the arms of our awaiting chauffeur, Alex (Claire that is), we are whisked up the hill to Colchester’s finest establishment, at that time of night anyway and the intrepid explorers collapse to their knees at the bar, and are promptly bottle-fed cider by Dave. Do we have the best friends or what???
One drink and a barrage of blurted stories, none of which make any sense coming from our veterans-of-63-hours-travelling brains, and we are driven home and poured into bed!
So that was that!
Our little adventure seems a bit like a dream to us now but blimey what a dream!
It is just left to us to thank everybody who we met along the way and all those that supported us in this quite frankly ludicrous expedition. These are:
Michael Cutting - for his generous donation of airmiles (you are still and will always be a star!)
Costume Call - for sponsoring our tube tickets
The Station Supervisor at Colchester Station - for our free travel to London and back
The football boys for a laugh and the first of our rations
The Grey Goose Lady for the cocktails
Michelle - our first class angel
Ian and MET colleague for the encouragement, photography and send off at departure gate
The Cabin Crew of BA flight 442 Heathrow to Amsterdam for the wonderful treatment and rations
Thomas, Mario and all at Schipol airport
Abdul and Edwin - you are too wonderful for words
The three actors on the train to Munster - for your suggestions and friendliness
The lovely Germans who paid for our taxi to the Barracks
ALAN!!!!!!!!!!! - Our Guardian Angel
The two guards on the return trains from Enschede to Amsterdam
Bob and his wonderous hostel
Meital - for her brilliant tour
The two buskers - for culture and a bit of magic
The Heathrow Express Mafia
The tube driver who let Claire on the train!
Dave and Matthew - our hard core welcoming committee
Alex - our driver, escort, encyclopedia and stalwart encourager
Our Castle Send-off entourage
Everyone who has sponsored us so far (it's not too late!)
Anyone we met on the way who smiled, inquired about and encouraged us
Our Beds!
US!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thanks for reading our blog and please if you haven't already, click on the justgiving link and sponsor us. If only in sympathy/pity/disbelief.
www.justgiving.com/jemma_claire
Thank you and goodnight!!!
Claire and Jemma
xxx
