Arrested in Normandy

It's time for some personal care, so we look for access to the stream.

The Canche flows into the sea after only twenty kilometers.

During high storm tides, the water backs up inland to here, and the river overflows with overwhelming force, which is why high dikes have been constructed.

We could get into the water, but it would be difficult to get back out. So instead, we use the bottle shower with fresh tap water.

However, a spot for a siesta can be found right next to a two-star restaurant. The maître has already earned five chef's hats from Gault-Millau, as the internet tells us. The third Michelin star will probably not be long in coming.

I suggest investing my next month's salary in an overnight stay plus dinner menu. Unfortunately, the establishment is already fully booked for the next months. We could have saved precious bottle shower water, though.

It goes on the list for next time.

While continuing our journey, I spot flashing lights in the rearview mirror. But before Zappa can clear the road, the signals are turned off again.

Before the next roundabout, the lights behind us blink again, and a siren sounds. Now the hero pulls over to the roadside to let them pass for their duty.

But the officers stop next to us.

Mr. indicates through the lowered window that we should follow the vehicle.

Oh no, oh no, oh no! What could the eye of the law want from us? We didn’t cheat on a two-star tab. Although we are carrying enormous amounts of Dutch cookies, and we know very well that they are addictive, but they are not illegal! And they are barely sufficient for personal use. Or have we exceeded the allowed maximum amount of Barbie dolls we can carry? In the mildest case, Zappa will have to blow into the tube because he is dragging yet another long line of impatient Normans behind him like a drunken grandpa.

In the middle of the roundabout, the officers stop at the side, and we are forced to stop behind them. Traffic roars by us, many relieved, and some sympathetic looks meet us from the cars.

A young man greets us politely through the window and asks for our travel destination. Then he asks one of us to get out and open the rear hatch. But only one!

I will take on this task to respond to any potential French accusations.

Sweat stands on my forehead, my legs are shaky, and my hands tremble. Uncertain, I go to the back of the Kangoo, where two other officers are waiting for me.

Oh no, oh no, oh no! What is happening here? Are we going to be handcuffed, taken away, and the robbers' den transported and investigated forensically? Will all our belongings be confiscated because the two power distribution boxes are stolen goods from a flea market?

Stay cool, I tell myself and look confidently into the eyes of the two cops. While my butt is freezing on thin ice, I open the tailgate and casually ask if there is a problem.

The indispensable, essential, life-saving catering box nearly falls into my hands! Since we left Château Mistral at home on this trip, we need the mobile kitchen, which is in the black box now placed very close to the rear window.

The two men smile very kindly at me, and the older officer asks if we have un bateau with us.

No, this time we are not accompanied by a boat. Of course, we managed to transport the orange canoe for nine weeks to Spain and back. And only inflated it during that time on a Tour de France peak in the Pyrenees to the delight of all bikers.

But no, today we do not have a bateau on board.

Mr. smiles again and assures me that this is just a routine check. Confidently, I knock on the black box in the now-open car and explain that this is la cuisine. Now all three officers smile charmingly, wish us a good trip, and get into their service vehicle waving goodbye.

Perhaps the indispensable, essential, life-saving catering box raised the suspicion that we were mussel thieves transporting our goods to the two-star chef in the hinterland. Or the experienced Mr. wanted to let his young colleagues practice handling foreigners in serious situations this afternoon.

We now need a place for the night. And perhaps a reorganization in the robbers' den wouldn't hurt either.