Rain, Traffic Jams, and Barbie Dolls

We did it! For almost an entire day, we maneuvered our way through Dutch and Belgian highways. With lots of stops and little go, going from one traffic jam to the next, after quickly picking up some delicious, sweet Snoepjes, once again disregarding all warnings about healthy eating. Eight hours for not even four hundred kilometers.

Rain, storm, and cold drive us from Enschede, where the longest flea market in Holland is taking place this weekend. But with this weather, there will likely be no 2400 stalls inviting bargain hunters over a distance of 3.5 kilometers.

Just before closing time, we get the long-awaited French cheese right at the border and then set out to find a place for the night. This isn’t easy at all, as we’ve ended up for the first time on our travels to the northern French coal region, a few kilometers south of Lille.

The reason for this, as you may guess, is that a lot of Vide Greniers are happening here on Saturday, and the weather frog is croaking a few clouds, but no rain.

Unlike the flea markets in German villages, here the early bird catches the worm, which is why the alarm clock pulls us out of bed. We choose the largest of the about twenty-five flea markets taking place all within a few kilometers.

We start in the town of Grenay, but we quickly cover the almost five hundred stalls. No treasures to be found, except for a kilo of sweet cherries. They could use a little more sun, but they are the first of the year, so one doesn't want to complain.

Next, we head to Annequin. Only ten kilometers away, but with many roundabouts and stop signs. They stop at every corner and everyone follows the rules! Even the cyclists. Not a single traffic offense in reluctant France. We marvel and reach the little place. The Rue d'Église is said to be the place of excitement.

But we are met with yawning emptiness. No stalls, no fleas, no people. The street lies deserted before us. Probably, the locals are already preparing for the family weekend lunch.

Oh no-oh no-oh no! Has the bad flea market karma of spring caught up with me again?

It can happen that I enter the wrong postal code and we end up not in a village near Hildesheim but in a small hamlet with a hundred inhabitants south of Göttingen. And on empty streets.

Or I mix up the date and we have arrived a month too early for the flea market near Peine.

Panicking, I grab my notes and compare them again with the relevant website. But no, the date, place, and time are correct. We spot the markings on the street, but they seem to be intended for another day.

No matter, we still have more villages on our list. The next destination is Divion, a mere 12 kilometers away. Again, we circle around and stop at countless signs. Then we find ourselves in the designated residential area and are astonished.

A single cat strolls across the street and jumps over the next wall. Otherwise, we see nothing! How now?

I check the website; the street is right, the place and date are too. Just no Vide Grenier!

My mood drops a few notches, but Zappa smiles and asks about the next address.

So off we go, nine more kilometers to Gonnehem. Sounds nice and Flemish, doesn’t it?

The Rue Principal lies deserted before us, not even the local cat makes an appearance.

I’ve lost my enthusiasm. Zappa drives to Bruay-la-Buissière, where we again spot the typical markings on the street. And a 'Route barrée' sign indicating that the passage will be closed for the Marchè aux puces tomorrow.

No clue which prankster has made a weird joke and no idea how many flea markets have been incorrectly set.

Then we find a few wind-tattered stalls in Lillers, where exhausted mothers are slowly packing up the remnants of discarded pink children's fashion after the rosé from lunch has warmed up in the now peeking sun.

We definitely got to know the northern French coal region a bit this way. It may not be characterized by tourist highlights, but the landscape is marked by the pointed cones of former dump heaps that have grown from the ground like little volcanoes and can also be climbed in part.

The area is very densely populated; one place flows into the next without a detour. You’re already surprised when you have to travel five kilometers between the individual towns.

The mining companies had built enormous numbers of houses for the workers and their families during the peak production of hard coal in the early 20th century, which has greatly shaped the image of the area. The settlements partly resemble each other like eggs in a nest. Tiny red brick houses with white lime joints and a little garden behind them exude a unique charm of miner's towns.

We find a spot by the canal for our siesta and stay overnight as well. After all, we know for sure that there will be a flea market in Bruay-la-Buissière tomorrow.

And then we continue to the Atlantic, and the singing Barbie for the top-secret project of my colleague accompanies us into the sunset from now on.