In the ice cellar

#4 - Bellcaire D'Emporda

Yes, I know. It seems like I chose our stages based on how difficult they are to pronounce. Well, that one is in Spain, seven kilometers from the Mediterranean coast and just a stone's throw away from Girona. Girona, we agreed on as our destination - which made many things easier...

Everything else was difficult enough anyway. Last night, I removed our onboard battery from my friends list. Our gas heating worked for two hours. It was over at 10 p.m. Now what? I always assumed that we would have electricity. And in exceptional cases, a gas heater shouldn't need much energy, I thought and forgot about the fan that distributes the warm air and blows quite hard at the beginning. This time, it didn't get beyond the beginning, the fan.

We packed our things and drove off again. There were a few campsites in the area, but almost all of them were closed in winter. The pitches we found on the internet were without electricity. So back on the highway. No problem, drive through if necessary. But a look at the fuel gauge showed me that I only had fuel for 250 kilometers, which is about three hours at our speed. That would be 2 a.m. But a look at the satnav showed me that there was no petrol station on the A75 for miles around, only in the surrounding area. But were they open in the middle of the night? No fuel, no electricity, somewhere in the middle of nowhere in the French Massif Central - that was my nightmare! At least it kept me awake for the next 100 kilometers, then a sign showed that there was a petrol station 500 meters off the motorway. Let's get out of here!

It was a truck stop. Gigantic trucks everywhere and in between them my little motorhome looking for an ant-sized fuel pump. They were self-service fuel pumps, you could only pay with credit cards. My Mastercard didn't swallow the beast, but my debit card did. Luckily! Unthinkable if it hadn't worked!

Meanwhile, it was almost 2 a.m. I quickly checked my onboard battery and behold: full power - whatever that meant. We considered parking at the petrol station, turning on the heating and going to sleep until it got cold again. But what about the dogs? We definitely couldn't do that to Berry, he was weakened by the illness and the operation. We brought him into bed with us. Emmi protested, so we also put her under the covers. No long discussions. Only Pipo, the Spaniard, bravely kept his position rolled up in his cuddly blanket.

The heating lasted for an hour. After about two hours, the motorhome became an ice cellar - no wonder at -6 degrees Celsius outside temperature. Sleep was out of the question anyway. We started driving again. I had to tie Icke to the bed - so to speak - because she could now sleep for a few hours in the warm car and then take over from me later. She didn't want to leave me alone, but I begged her on my knees - so to speak - because it was simply the best solution.

I drove until 9 a.m. We exchanged on a Lidl parking lot in ... No idea. We were in ... No idea. We were there. That's all that mattered. Parked on our booked pitch, let the doggies pee and off to bed. I don't think I've ever fallen asleep so quickly.